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had added a woman to her scene, a woman holding a child.
“We do not celebrate the Christian holidays here at Hever,” John Paul said to Rayley. “They are
oppressive, created by men, enforced by the restraints of the church. Instead we celebrate the true
cycles of nature, and we mark each full moon with a revel. Tonight is special, for we have a full
moon and the solstice in tandem so there will be a bonfire, singing, and dancing. And yes, some ale.
Are you sure you won’t accompany me, Dorinda?”
“Quite sure,” she said, using a slender paintbrush to give her half-realized child a blanket of blue.
“And does LaRusse decree costumes for this solstice celebration?” Rayley asked. The question was
meant ironically, but to his surprise Dorinda and John Paul both nodded, almost in unison.
“Some wear them,” Dorinda said. “Of course, the show is better when there are a troop of actors in
residence. They always manage so be gay and charming, no matter what challenges they face.” She
turned from her canvas and looked straight at Rayley. “Are you the theatrical type, Mr. Abrams?
Shall you dazzle me tonight by taking on an identity I would never expect?”
“Perhaps,” Rayley said, and even though he knew her flirtatious banter was intended more to
discourage John Paul than to encourage him, he still blushed. So the girl liked theatrical types, did
she? He supposed he could come to the solstice disguised as a detective from Scotland Yard.
****
“Good God, man, what is that?”
“You evidently do not recognize great art.”
“Evidently I do not,” said Trevor, glancing at Dorinda’s canvas as he claimed the room’s only chair.
“But I must say that one there in the corner seems a proper painting.”
“What have you been doing all morning?” Rayley asked.
“Picking roses,” Trevor said, indicating a white flower he had tucked into his lapel. “Christmas
roses, to be precise. I hate this place.”
“They may call them roses, but they really are a totally different flower,” Rayley said. “From an
entirely different plant family, which is why they can continue to thrive even after the weather has
turned too cold for real roses. Hellebore, I believe, or something very like it.”
Trevor raised an eyebrow. “And you mention this, because?”
“They’re highly toxic.”
Now Trevor’s other eyebrow shot up to join the first. “I say, Abrams, you do manage to come up
with the most unlikely pieces of information.”
“I’ve been studying some with Tom. He knows he will need a complete knowledge of poisons,
especially local ones, if he is ever to be taken on as an official Scotland Yard coroner, and he has
been kind enough to pass a bit of his knowledge on to me.”