Gloves Off In The Poison Garden

“Henry! Henry? Where are you? Coo-ee.”

Henry ducked behind the potting bench, steadying the rakes on their wall hooks so they wouldn’t give him away. The door of the enormous shed swung open. Lady Gerrit’s shapely jodhpur-encased legs came into view as he stared across from under the planting table.

“You can’t keep hiding behind there, this is important.”

Henry extracted himself from between the table and the tools and stood up in his yellow high-vis jacket. Perhaps it had been foolish to expect she wouldn’t see him. Tapping his right forefinger against his temple to calm his nerves, Henry let out a long sigh.

“If you would leave me alone like I asked, I wouldn’t have to keep hiding. And it is important. It’s important that you leave me alone.”

Lady Gerrit’s nostrils flared. He used to find it charming that her face was so expressive, but the events of the last eight years had only served to make her features grate on him.

“Lisa is your daughter." Lady Gerrit snorted. "Whether she knows that or not is hardly the point.”

“Shhhhh! Don’t say that out loud." Henry tapped his temple again. "Your husband could appear at any moment. Do you want me out of a job and a home? Do you want to be out of a marriage? What’s wrong with you? Lisa's a mistake, that’s what she is, and nothing more.”

“He’s off shooting again. Lisa’s at her violin lesson. It’s the perfect time for us to talk. I want to start bringing her down here more often, leaving her with you on the odd afternoon. Seeing her father once a month is not sufficient.”

“Not sufficient for what?” Henry exhaled, tapping. “Not sufficient for getting me fired? This job's more important to me than you ever were. What was I thinking?”

Lady Gerrit placed her riding helmet on a shelf, smoothed a few tendrils of glossy brunette hair back into place under her hair net, pursed her poppy-red lips and pushed her ample bosom forward to fill the breast of her tweed hunting jacket. She idly tapped her jumping crop against her leather riding boots and Henry remembered what he was thinking all those years ago. She still had it, and she knew it.

Tearing his eyes from her porcelain face, Henry took a few steps from behind the potting bench, towards the door. “I wouldn’t put your hat there.” He pointed at the black-silked skull cap. “The gloves on the left need washing.”

“You see? You do care.” Lady Gerrit picked up the helmet and cradled it in one arm. “You could have easily allowed me to risk being poisoned.” She fluttered her lashes.

“Yeah, another way to be out of a job,” Henry scoffed.

“Right, you are as selfish as I suspected. I’ll have Lisa win you over herself. I’ll bring her down tomorrow afternoon for a couple of hours. We’re doing this whatever you think. She’s really charming, you’ll see.”

“I won’t be persuaded,” snapped Henry. “Not by the so-called charm of an eight-year-old.”

“Then perhaps I will have to tell my husband that you've been making inappropriate advances on me.” Lady Gerrit tilted her head and widened her eyes. “Perhaps a few things will go missing, a few restricted plants from the Gerrit Botanical Collection? Or perhaps I caught you sneaking around the main house one afternoon, going through the safe?”

“Not much of a Lady it turns out, Lady Gerrit.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow.” She held up her right hand and opened and closed her fingers against her palm in a fake flirtatious wave. Then she turned and left the shed before Henry could respond.

Henry sighed. She had him over a barrel. And he had to be there for deliveries the next day – she must have checked the schedule. He couldn't avoid seeing her tomorrow.

Twenty years Henry had tended Lord Gerrit’s botanical gardens, gathering a deep theoretical knowledge of the poisons held within. It was time to gain some practical experience. . .

He tapped his temple, rubbed his forehead, and took the top pair of clean gloves from the right-hand box, pulling them on to his enormous hands. He habitually placed the tip of his right forefinger between his lips and gently bit the fabric before wandering out into the poison garden. Blinking in the morning sun, he went looking for inspiration among his carefully tended specimens. Even though her metaphorical gloves were off, his literal gloves were very much on.

Deep purple foxgloves stood tall against the hedgerow, their broad leaves velvety in the sun. Digestive distress, heart palpitations, he thought, that would be one way, though not very pretty. Pure white Lily of the Valley was next, delicate bell-shaped sprays of flowers. Heart failure. He passed the pale green, ribbed leaves of the deadly nightshade, the deep blue spires of monkshood flowers, and the innocent-seeming daffodil patch. Not much to look at this time of year, thought Henry, but the bulb can cause paralysis in large quantities. However, it tastes awful, a child is unlikely to be persuaded.

A clump of European Mistletoe clung to the branches of a graceful white willow. Cardiac arrest induced by Mistletoe tea might be an option. He made a mental note. The aspirin-containing bark of the willow itself could cause a coma in high enough doses.

Next to the stream grew giant hogweed. Taller than Henry, its tiny white blooms were not a contender for his plans. Its fluids cause severe burns on contact with the skin. Gloves, he thought, I’m very glad of my gloves.

Running his hand over the low branch of a yew tree, he broke several needles off against his glove. Henry ran his finger through the sap that raised to the surface of the twig. He rubbed the viscous fluid between his thumb and forefinger. “No known antidote to that!” he said out loud before returning to the shed deep in thought.

Henry removed the dirty gloves, placed them carefully in the left-hand box, ready for washing, and considered his options.

***

The following afternoon, Henry took receipt of some new test tubes and conical flasks to go with the other scientific equipment Lord Gerrit had ordered to pander to his own long-standing interest in toxicology. He was stacking and restacking each box three times, as he was compelled to do with every delivery, when the dreaded “Coo-ee” drifted across the lawn. It was accompanied by a childlike giggle. Henry took a deep breath and tapped his temple.

The shed door swung open, and Lisa Gerrit bounded through it, shattering the peace of Henry’s wooden-slatted sanctuary with her chatter and garish pink jumper. She flicked the lights off and back on a couple of times and pushed a window open.

“Come in, come in.” Henry plumped up a cushion, trying not to show his annoyance. He popped it on a plastic chair in a corner of the shed and lifted Lisa Gerrit onto it. “I’ve made some tea.” Henry picked up his own mug and took a swig before pouring out two more cups from the pot on the folding table.

“Well, Henry, I’m pleasantly surprised.” Lady Gerrit pulled up another plastic chair next to her daughter and sat down. “You’ve even got biscuits.” She reached forward and took a custard cream from the little plate.

“Milk and sugar?” Henry gestured towards a plastic milk bottle and a box of sugar cubes. He hadn’t gone so far as to find a milk jug and sugar bowl. That would be taking the charade a step too far.

“Actually, Henry, could we step outside for a moment please?”

“Sure.” Henry stood and tapped his temple. “Now don’t you touch anything Lisa, some of the things in here are dangerous.”

“I won’t.” Lisa grinned back at him.

Out in the fresh air of the garden, Lady Gerrit shut the shed door behind them and pointed a warm smile at Henry. “I’m so glad you had a change of heart.”

“Well, I don’t seem to have any choice.” Henry spat on the ground near Lady Gerrit’s feet. “There’s a sour taste in my mouth.”

“No need for that. These walking boots are new, I’d thank you not to contaminate them.”

“If I’m so filthy, why do you even want me to see Lisa?”

“Oh, I don’t think now is the time to discuss your shortcomings, do you?” she raised her eyebrows and tipped her head towards the shed. “Let’s just say I have certain expectations of the help.”

“What did you call me outside for then?”

“I want to make a regular arrangement. Every other Wednesday afternoon I have a personal engagement that I wish to keep.” She gave a coy grin. “I can’t do that with Lisa hanging around the place. So, she’ll be yours for a couple of hours. I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”

“Can’t you leave her with Pierre? You’re paying that new chef enough that he should be expected to take on some extra duties. Besides, she might like cooking. What am I supposed to entertain her with?” Henry shrugged.

“Pierre will be otherwise engaged.” Another coy grin.

“You really do have certain expectations of the help.” Henry was unsurprised.

“I think we have come to an agreement. Now play nicely and we won’t stay long.”

Back inside the shed Henry discovered Lisa still sitting in the garden chair, she had eaten several biscuits, but she hadn’t touched her tea. 

“Henry?" Lisa stood and pointed to the table top. “Can you show me those seedlings? What will they grow into?”

“Ah, those, Diffenbachia. They’re not actually seedlings. I’m propagating them from a parent plant. I’ll show you.” Keeping to his strict safety routine Henry pulled on a pair of gloves from the right-hand box. “Like with everything in the garden, and in this shed, you have to be very careful. These can leave you unable to speak.” He put his gloved right forefinger between his lips in his usual ritual, thinking it would be nice to render Lisa mute for a while.

The glove tasted bitter. He ran his tongue over the plastic coating, it wasn’t the soapiness of the washing liquid. With his finger still to his lips he looked at the boxes again, his stomach sinking. He had definitely taken the gloves from the right-hand box, the clean box. But the box wasn’t straight on the shelf. Neither was the left-hand one. He turned to face Lisa with a quizzical look.

“Did you touch anything?” A sharp pain started in Henry’s stomach.

“Did I get it right, Mum?” Lisa took Lady Gerrit’s hand and smiled.

“What have you done?” The pain spread through Henry’s gut and he collapsed onto the wooden floor.

“I had no idea it would be so effective.” Lady Gerrit beamed. “What on earth were you handling yesterday, Henry?”

“Yew tree. No antidote.” Henry's vision blurred as the agony took over.

“Yes, Darling, you got it exactly right.” Lady Gerrit lifted Lisa up and carried her back to the folding table, put her down on the cushioned chair and took a seat next to her. “Now let’s just wait here a while until it’s all over. I'm parched.”

Lady Gerrit lifted her tea to her lips and drank to her victory. She didn’t stop until the mug was drained. “I'll have to find some other way to keep you entertained on Wednesday afternoons. Shouldn’t be too hard, Maria the maid is spending altogether too much time with Reverend Greene. I knew I’d have to leverage that at some point. Are you not drinking your tea, Dear?”

“I gave it a sniff and didn’t like the smell, Mum. Bitter.”

“It actually tastes overly sweetened. What’s in this, Henry? Canderel?”

Henry groaned on the floor, a headache building behind his eyes and nausea growing in his belly. “Yes, sweetener. Lots of it.”

Lady Gerrit looked around the shed. “What else is in it, Henry?”

Could she see, as Henry could, the remains of three daffodil bulbs and six stalks of hemlock lying under the bench? Henry’s eyes rolled back into his head as the yew tree sap took its deadly course through his body.

"You've got about half an hour," he whispered. “It won’t be pleasant."