“The whole thing upset the girl terribly. And the letter from that Holmes man even more so. After the inquest she begged to be let go so she could return to her parents. She’s still a child and I didn’t have the heart to say no.”
There was a faintly mulish set to Mrs. Cornish’s mouth, as if daring Inspector Treadles to question a decision she’d made out of compassion.
“Of course you were right to think of her, Mrs. Cornish,” he said mildly, rising. “Sergeant MacDonald and I will remove to the drawing room upstairs. Please inform Mrs. Meek that we would like to speak with her next.”
Mrs. Meek, the thinnest cook Inspector Treadles had ever come across, turned out to be a much more voluble witness.
“I think it was food from the pub—those two gastric attacks in April. You see Mrs. Oxley, who was cook here before me, she had to leave end of March to look after her orphaned nieces. Until I came, folks here had to make do with what the inn could supply. Now Mrs. Pegg at the inn is a fine woman and serves ample portions, but her food is a bit rough around the edges, if you know what I mean.
“But me—before I came here, I worked at Mrs. Woodlawn’s Convalescent Home in Paignton. For ten years I did nothing but cook for ladies with the most worrisome digestions in the whole country. I’m proud to say that Mrs. Woodlawn’s was awful sorry to see me go—I helped make the reputation of her establishment.”
“And your food agreed with Mr. Sackville?” asked Treadles, though that was obviously Mrs. Meek’s point.
“I had no complaints. But then again, I didn’t cook very long for him, did I?”
“I’m sure your work was most satisfactory. Now, if I may have your description of the twenty-four hours before Mr. Sackville was found comatose—and your account of the events of that morning.”
Mrs. Meek took a long swallow of her tea. “Certainly. The day before was our half day. I was busy in the kitchen most of the morning. There was luncheon to be thought of and cold suppers for everyone, but we were also making jam that day—Tommy Dunn has a green thumb and we had strawberries and gooseberries coming in by the boxful from the kitchen garden. When the washing up from luncheon and the jam-making was done, I walked Jenny Price, our scullery maid, to her parents’ place. They are lovely people, the Prices. I had a chat with Mrs. Price. We had tea together. And in the evening we were sent back in the dogcart.
“After dinner that night I made sure the kitchen was all tidylike and went to bed. I was in the kitchen again at six in the morning, as usual. Mr. Hodges was out, so I made Mr. Sackville his cocoa, and Becky Birtle took it to him.
“A few minutes later she was back in the kitchen, all alarmed like. ‘Mrs. Meek, I don’t think Mr. Sackville is all right. He’s cold.’ My heart rather did a turn. ‘You don’t mean he’s dead, do you?’ I asked her. ‘No, he’s breathing. But real cold. Come and see for yourself, please.’
“I was about to rush upstairs with her, but then I thought Mrs. Cornish ought to know. So I jogged down to her room. She was still in her dressing gown. She gasped when I told her what Becky told me and we all ran up together. And there Mr. Sackville was, like Becky described, still breathing but cold as a bucket of water kept in the cellar.
“We opened the curtains for a better look. And I said to Mrs. Cornish that whatever it was, I didn’t think Mr. Sackville was going to make it. Becky started whimpering and shaking. Mrs. Cornish told me to look after her; she herself ran out for help.
“I slapped Mr. Sackville a few times, took him by the shoulders and shook him, but he didn’t even twitch. Becky started to cry. I remembered then that Jenny Price was in the kitchen alone and that if I wasn’t there to supervise, she’d eat what I’d cooked for the master, or add goodness knows what to the pot. So I told Becky to come with me to the kitchen but she said she didn’t want Mr. Sackville to be all alone.
“I went down to the kitchen by myself. I heard Mrs. Cornish coming back in and running upstairs. She came down after a while and said Tommy Dunn was gone to fetch Dr. Harris and she supposed there was nothing we could do except wait. I still had everyone’s luncheon to see to so I kept working, or at least I tried to. But every few minutes I’d stick my head out of the door and see if I couldn’t hear anyone coming.
“When finally someone came, it wasn’t Dr. Harris but a different doctor. When he’d worked out that it was chloral, he shouted at us to get some hot water bottles next to Mr. Sackville so that he wouldn’t keep getting colder. We were in a mad scramble. Becky, that silly child, filled the pot with too much water and then she was crying again that it wasn’t getting hot. Jenny Price thought we were playing a game and almost got herself burned. Mrs. Cornish had to drag her out of the kitchen and lock her in her room.”