She was gathering her strength to move toward the morning room when Kit appeared. He took her by the arm and supported her weight.
“Are you alright?”
She nodded. “Just tired. I need to eat.”
Kit called down to a footman down the stairs and shouted instructions. Violet could hear boot heels striking the marble floor. With his help, she settled in a chair in the morning room among the pile of invitations. She would have laughed at the look of horror on Kit’s face if she were in any condition to.
Kit took a seat across from her in a settee. “Vexley is in the drawing room with his legs tied to the chair. He shouted his innocence all the way here. He wished to know as soon as possible the condition of his cousin. What do you think?”
“Is he hurt?”
“No. He is confused and frightened, although he would not say it.”
A tray with tea and sandwiches arrived. She never wanted to see another cup of tea, but she was thirsty.
“Allow me,” Kit said, reaching for the teapot.
Once he gave her an approving nod, she forced herself to eat and drink, searching for unusual flavours in each bite.
“About Edmund Vexley, will you see to it?” she said. “I need to look in on the cook.”
"Of course."
“Find out about his relationship with Sarah Baker. Ask him what they fought about outside the garden gate. I want toknow if he was involved in this attempted murder or if he was complicit.”
“It shall be attended to. The police have been instructed to come here once they locate the maid.”
She nodded. “Thank you. I shall be below stairs if you need me.”
They left together with their arms linked. He walked her to the kitchen and left her with Mrs Greer before going back up the stairs. She could hear the wailing, faint and muffled.
“Is that…” Violet said.
“Mrs Garrick, Your Grace. The Duchess of Cranbrook put her in the cellar as soon as you gave the order. She has been in there for nearly two hours. She is in a terrible state.”
Violet went down.
The cellar was cold and damp and lit by a single tallow candle that someone had placed on a barrel. Mrs Garrick sat on an overturned crate in the far corner, her apron pressed to her face, her shoulders heaving. She looked up when Violet appeared, and her eyes were swollen and red and terrified. Mrs Greer held the door open and let more light into the space.
Mrs Garrick began talking in halted speech. “Your Grace, I swear to you, on my mother’s grave, I have done nothing wrong.”
Violet pulled another crate forward and sat on it. The cold of the cellar seeped through her dress. She folded her hands in her lap and looked at the cook.
“Mrs Garrick. The duke has been poisoned with arsenic.”
Mrs Garrick’s hands went to her open mouth. “Arsenic?”
“Yes.”
“Your Grace, I would never… I have cooked for this family for twenty-two years. I could cut off my own hands before—”
“I need you to tell me the truth about the stillroom.”
Mrs Garrick wiped her face with her apron. She was buying time, Violet thought. The older woman’s hands were shaking. “Ishall tell you the truth. I went in for sage. Early in the morning, before the house was up. The larder was out and I needed it for the sausage.”
“Did you move the dresser?”
“No, Your Grace. I went to the near shelf like I said yesterday. Second row. The sage was in a brown jar with a cork. I took it, I used it, I put it back.”