“Miss Crawley would be a bit cross if I had to tell her you’d been poisoned,” Flavia agrees, as soberly as she’s able. “And I think Ophelia would have your head if I was the one poisoned.” Watching him wrap the mushroom and stow it away brings a small, proud smile to her face; while it’s entirely possible he’s done it merely to be kind, it’s still a scientific contribution they’ve made—together—to the day.

“Speaking of poisons,” she says, looking at a stand of trees a few yards distant, “I think there’s a yew tree over there; shall we investigate?"