The first thing they saw when they entered the kitchen was a wooden shelf which held a sacking apron neatly folded, a clean trowel and a kneeling mat. Miss Bellringer turned quickly away into the centre of the room then cried: ‘Phroo . . . what a ghastly smell.’ She moved towards the sink.
Barnaby cried: ‘Don’t touch anything, please.’
‘Oh.’ She stood stock still like a child playing statues. ‘Because of dabs, you mean?’
There was certainly an overpoweringly musty odour in the air. The chief inspector looked around. Everything was beautifully clean and tidy. There was a jam jar of parsley on top of the fridge. A vegetable rack holding a few potatoes, and a couple of apples in a cloisonné bowl.
‘Have you been back here since the body was removed?’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t bear it without her.’
‘Did you notice the smell before?’
‘No. But my olfactory equipment isn’t too lively. Emily was always grumbling about it. Urging me to sniff this or sniff that. Complete waste of time.’
‘But you would have noticed, surely, if it had been as strong as this?’
‘I suppose so.’ She started to move unhappily about, frowning with distress. ‘Good grief.’
‘What is it?’
‘Here’s the explanation. Who on earth could have brought it in?’ She indicated the jar on the fridge. Barnaby approached and smelt it. The mousey odour made him want to sneeze.
He said: ‘Isn’t it parsley?’
‘My dear man - it’s hemlock.’
‘What?’
‘There’s a fieldful of it down by the old railway lines.’
‘It looks like parsley. Do you think your friend mistook -’
‘Good heavens, no. Emily had a lovely little parsley patch. Next to the walnut tree. Grew three sorts. You can forget that idea. Anyway - it wasn’t here the morning she died.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Pretty sure, yes. I didn’t go round taking an inventory, you understand.’
‘And the cottage has been locked up since?’
‘It has. And’ - she anticipated his next question - ‘I have the only spare key. The front door was kept bolted on the inside. It opens directly on to the lane. Emily never used it. Don’t you realize what this means, Chief Inspector?’ She seized his arm excitedly. ‘We’ve found our first clue!’
‘Is this the sitting room?’ Barnaby moved away, ducking his head.
‘Yes.’ She followed him. ‘There are just these two rooms downstairs.’
‘Was this door open the morning she was found?’
‘No. Closed.’
A grandfather clock ticked slumbrously in the corner. There was a small inglenook fireplace and beams decorated with brasses, a chintz-covered three-piece suite, a Queen Anne table and two diamond-paned cabinets full of plates and figurines. One wall was solidly packed with books.
The interior of the cottage was so precisely what the exterior led one to expect that Barnaby had the disturbing feeling that he had stepped on to a perfect period stage set. Surely any minute now a maid would enter, pick up the heavy black Bakelite telephone and say, ‘I’m afraid her ladyship is not at home.’ Or a cream-flannelled juvenile would ask if there was anyone for tennis. Alternatively there was the crusty old colonel: ‘The body was lying just there, Inspector.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Just here.’ Miss Bellringer was standing in front of the empty fireplace.
‘Could you show me exactly?’
‘Do m’best.’ She frowned at the hearthrug then lay down, kicked aside the Burberry revealing a glimpse of eau-de-nil celanese knickers, and curved herself into a helpful comma. ‘Her head was about here - is that all right?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’ To himself Barnaby cursed the delay. No pictures. The corpse tidied neatly away. The scent stone cold.
‘Of course.’ Miss Bellringer got up very slowly. ‘Doctor Lessiter must have - oh thank you, Chief Inspector - must have moved her during the examination.’ She watched Barnaby walk over to the cabinets and take a closer look. Some of the plates were exceptionally beautiful, gleaming with the touch of gold.
‘Meissen in there’ - Miss Bellringer nodded to the left - ‘and the other’s Coalport. Although there’s a couple of pieces she brought home from France. We used to bicycle to the sales years ago. Picked up all sorts of snips.’
Between the cabinets a little piecrust table held the telephone and a stack of books. Palgrave’s Golden Treasury, some Jacobean plays, The Adventurous Gardener and the Mermaid edition of Julius Caesar.