She groaned as they passed through the kitchen passage. “What would your solution be for that? Watch me sleep?”
“If I need to.” He was not smiling.
“No need to watch me or the stillroom, Kit. We have confirmed she is still active. You should get your beauty sleep.”
No reaction. They entered the stillroom.
“I advise you to sleep in the same room as your husband,” Kit said.
“Or?”
“Or death.”
He crouched to examine the flagstones. Violet got on her knees beside him. The powder was there, tiny remnants that were almost invisible if one was not looking for them.
Violet gripped the dresser and pulled, managed only a few inches. She stood back up. “She must be strong. She could suffocate me without much effort.”
Kit nudged her away from the dresser and pulled. “I heard her. It was one continuous motion. She’s had some practice. Perhaps twelve years of practice.”
The dresser swung on its arc, the scratch on the stone aligning with the old groove. Violet picked up the candle and entered the cool room alone while Kit guarded the door. Three steps down. Cold air. The stone shelf appeared to contain the same bottles.
She went along them one by one, lifting each to the light. Spirit. Tincture of rue. Raspberry leaf infusion. A darker bottle she uncorked and smelled: rosemary. Each one sitting in its place, each one full or nearly full. She had not thought to mark them the last time she was here, and she cursed herself for it.
The mortar was scrubbed clean. She ran her finger along the inside rim and brought it to her nose. Stone and lye. She was about to turn back when she saw the muslin. Three squares of it hung on a nail beside the spirit lamp. The last time she had been here, they had been dry and stiff with age. She touched them. Two were dry, one was damp. Someone had strained through the cloths recently. She checked the fabric and found no residuals. She hung them back on the nail and left the room. After the dresser was put back, she placed three new rue seeds in its path.
Kit had just opened the door with Violet following behind him when she heard a squeal.
“Oh, you half scared me to death, Mr Harris,” said Mrs Garrick’s voice.
Violet stepped forward.
“Your Grace!” The cook exclaimed while dabbing sweat off her face. “I didn’t know you’d be here today.”
“Yes, Mrs Garrick. Mr Harris and I had some business to attend to regarding the ball.” She made her features cool. “And yourself, Mrs Garrick? I was not aware you would be using the stillroom.”
“Oh, I owe you an apology, Your Grace,” the flustered woman said, her apron crumpled in her hands. “I was in the stillroom this morning, you see, and I needed dried sage for the breakfast sausage.”
“What time was that at, Mrs Garrick?”
“Uh,” the woman said, her eyes flicking between Violet and Kit before settling on neither. “It was early, Your Grace, before the house was up. I know I ought to have asked, but it was so early and the larder was out. I thought you might have some. You did.”
“Did you move anything else? Anything on the far wall by the dresser?”
Mrs Garrick frowned. “I was in that area looking for the right jar, but I did not touch or move anything else, Your Grace.” Her apron was bundled up in her hands now. “I took the sage jar to the kitchen and put it back after. I am sorry for the liberty.”
Violet studied the nervous woman. Her hands were dusted with flour as her apron was.
“Thank you for telling me, Mrs Garrick, but please do refrain from entering again without permission. If you need something, you may ask Mr Harris here or myself.”
“Yes, Your Grace. Thank you, Your Grace.” She curtseyed clumsily before hurrying away to the kitchen.
Violet and Kit took the servant’s stairs back to the second floor. She stopped on the steps. “So it was her this morning. Or was it both? Or has it been Garrick all along?”
“Or she’s covering for someone.”
“How vexing. I was so sure it was Sarah. What are the chances of them entering the room the same morning?”
“She could be covering for her.”