The Poisonous Seed Read Online Free Page B
Author: Linda Stratmann
It was a ridiculous and dangerous idea. Despairingly she realised that the two people whom she would most have liked to interview were, in any case, utterly beyond her reach. It would have been highly improper to approach Mrs Garton, and Dr Collin would tell her no more than she could glean from the newspapers.
After some further thought she composed a note to Ada and sought out Tom, the errand boy, to deliver it. Tom had worked for the Doughtys for three months but in that time had made himself entirely at home. His predecessor in the post had ended a brief and undistinguished career by being arrested for thieving, and Frances had scarcely formed the resolution to find a replacement, when Tom appeared, looking as if he had been born to the job. A small boy in that indeterminate period of life between nine and eleven, he resembled Sarah sufficiently to make it obvious that he was a member of her family, though in what way he was related to her the Doughtys had never liked to enquire. They were aware that Sarah came from a substantial brood, a family whose tendrils spread across most of the East End, and found it convenient to assume that he was a nephew. Tom shared Sarah’s room and made himself generally useful at little cost, since he seemed to be able to feed himself more than adequately by scavenging. Mindful of his need to appear clean and neat in the service of a chemist, Sarah would every so often seize him by his collar, dunk him to his shoulders in a tub of water, and scrub him till his face glowed brightly enough to put Messrs Bryant and May out of business, a process that always elicited some unusual verbal expressions which Frances found both amusing and educational.
Frances found Tom in the stockroom, munching at a piece of bread almost as large as his head, and sent him off to the Gartons’ house in Porchester Terrace with the note.
The next idea to occupy her thoughts was how the medicine bottle might have been tampered with. When the bottle had left the premises it had been sealed with a cork, which had first been mechanically compressed to ensure a secure fit. The bottle had then been wrapped in a sheet of white paper, the original prescription placed in a special envelope which was laid at the side of the bottle, and the whole tied with pink string. The knots of the string had then been sealed with wax, and an impression of William Doughty’s own business seal.
‘How easy do you think it would be for someone to introduce poison into the bottle before it was unwrapped, but without Mr Garton noticing?’ Frances asked Herbert. She felt sure she knew the answer but wanted his opinion to confirm what she was already thinking.
He frowned. ‘I would have thought that anything done in that way would leave some signs. How would they re-tie and re-seal the package? And once the cork was taken out it would be very obvious that the bottle was not as it left the shop.’
‘Could someone have injected poison with a syringe? Then they wouldn’t need to unwrap the bottle.’
There was a pause as Herbert thought about this. ‘That’s the kind of thing one reads about in sensational novels. Not that you read such things, of course. I suppose it is possible for a person of experience, but it would need a very strong needle, and would leave a hole in the paper and the cork.’
Tom returned about half an hour later with a reply in one hand and a corner of piecrust in the other. Frances unfolded the paper, and perused the contents. Ada would be able to speak to her at five o’clock. She decided to say nothing of this to Herbert.
Business remained slow and Frances could easily be spared to attend the opening of the inquest at Paddington coroner’s court, William and Herbert’s attendance not being required on this occasion. Providence Hall was a meeting house on Church Street near Paddington Green. Wearing her winter coat and black bonnet with a demure veil, she travelled there alone, and on foot. It was not a
After some further thought she composed a note to Ada and sought out Tom, the errand boy, to deliver it. Tom had worked for the Doughtys for three months but in that time had made himself entirely at home. His predecessor in the post had ended a brief and undistinguished career by being arrested for thieving, and Frances had scarcely formed the resolution to find a replacement, when Tom appeared, looking as if he had been born to the job. A small boy in that indeterminate period of life between nine and eleven, he resembled Sarah sufficiently to make it obvious that he was a member of her family, though in what way he was related to her the Doughtys had never liked to enquire. They were aware that Sarah came from a substantial brood, a family whose tendrils spread across most of the East End, and found it convenient to assume that he was a nephew. Tom shared Sarah’s room and made himself generally useful at little cost, since he seemed to be able to feed himself more than adequately by scavenging. Mindful of his need to appear clean and neat in the service of a chemist, Sarah would every so often seize him by his collar, dunk him to his shoulders in a tub of water, and scrub him till his face glowed brightly enough to put Messrs Bryant and May out of business, a process that always elicited some unusual verbal expressions which Frances found both amusing and educational.
Frances found Tom in the stockroom, munching at a piece of bread almost as large as his head, and sent him off to the Gartons’ house in Porchester Terrace with the note.
The next idea to occupy her thoughts was how the medicine bottle might have been tampered with. When the bottle had left the premises it had been sealed with a cork, which had first been mechanically compressed to ensure a secure fit. The bottle had then been wrapped in a sheet of white paper, the original prescription placed in a special envelope which was laid at the side of the bottle, and the whole tied with pink string. The knots of the string had then been sealed with wax, and an impression of William Doughty’s own business seal.
‘How easy do you think it would be for someone to introduce poison into the bottle before it was unwrapped, but without Mr Garton noticing?’ Frances asked Herbert. She felt sure she knew the answer but wanted his opinion to confirm what she was already thinking.
He frowned. ‘I would have thought that anything done in that way would leave some signs. How would they re-tie and re-seal the package? And once the cork was taken out it would be very obvious that the bottle was not as it left the shop.’
‘Could someone have injected poison with a syringe? Then they wouldn’t need to unwrap the bottle.’
There was a pause as Herbert thought about this. ‘That’s the kind of thing one reads about in sensational novels. Not that you read such things, of course. I suppose it is possible for a person of experience, but it would need a very strong needle, and would leave a hole in the paper and the cork.’
Tom returned about half an hour later with a reply in one hand and a corner of piecrust in the other. Frances unfolded the paper, and perused the contents. Ada would be able to speak to her at five o’clock. She decided to say nothing of this to Herbert.
Business remained slow and Frances could easily be spared to attend the opening of the inquest at Paddington coroner’s court, William and Herbert’s attendance not being required on this occasion. Providence Hall was a meeting house on Church Street near Paddington Green. Wearing her winter coat and black bonnet with a demure veil, she travelled there alone, and on foot. It was not a