“Good day to you, Sally,” I said. “Have you heard that this house is cursed?”
A startled look passed over her features, and then she opened her mouth wide and laughed. “Many’s the time I’ve sat in Widow Seward’s kitchen, and had a biscuit of her Nancy, begging your pardon, ma’am,” she said. “This here house is no more cursed nor what I am. I daresay it could do with a good scrubbing, however.”
“Do you wish to live in, or out, Sally?”
“In,” she said succinctly, “if it’s all the same to you, ma’am.”
“Better and better! We have two bedrooms over the kitchen reserved for the purpose. You have heard, I suppose, that our parlour window was broken and some articles taken from the house last night?”
“Bertie Philmore,” she returned acidly, “what has a great lump for a brain. But he’s got what’s coming to ’im, so I’ve heard.”
“It would greatly relieve our minds to have you living above the kitchen, all the same. I shall consult my mother as to your wages; you shall receive your board as well — and probably be cooking it. We expect another lady to join us next month, a Miss Lloyd; and as she is a great one for meddling with pots and fires, I hope you shall not mind another pair of hands in your domain.”
“It’s not my place to mind.”
“We intend, moreover, to hire a manservant, if one can be found who shares your spirit of defiance. It is probable that he will be living out. ”
Her eyelids crinkled merrily. “That will suit me very well, ma’am.”
“You’ll do.”
Sally grinned at me again; and the thought occurred that I should often find the freedom of her good humour a welcome relief from the moods and oppressions of a household full of women.
“Pray go through the yard to the pump,” I told her. “You will see the kitchen door on your right. We should be greatly obliged if you would undertake a thorough cleansing of the scullery area, Sally — and then proceed to dusting the parlour.”
When she had bobbed in my direction once more, and made her way through the outbuildings towards the rear of the house, I turned to Catherine Prowting with a smile. “You are very good to think of us, my dear. I hope you will convey our deepest thanks to your excellent father.”
“I shall certainly do so,” she returned, in a voice of some trouble; “when next I see him. Father went very early to Alton, on this dreadful business of Bertie Philmore. Papa will not consider that the man may be innocent of murder.”
“A predisposition towards guilt is a definite flaw in a magistrate,” I observed.
“I own that I am of your opinion.” Catherine lifted her hands to her temples, as tho’ yet plagued by the head-ache. “Is it true that we are all invited to visit Stonings tomorrow, Miss Austen?”
“So Major Spence and Mr. Thrace informed me, when I encountered them this morning.”
“Mr. Thrace? I had not the pleasure of seeing the Great House party.” She lowered her head. “Do you know whether. whether Mr. Hinton is also invited to Stonings?”
“I do not,” I replied, “although from something Miss Beckford said, I believe he is otherwise engaged.”
“That is a relief, indeed!” she burst out. “I may now look forward to all the charms of a great estate, without the oppression of spirits under which I have laboured these several days!”
I frowned at her. “Catherine, has Mr. Hinton given you cause for uneasiness?”
She glanced at me, on the brink of confidence. “I hardly know what I should say. I fear my duty is to my father, first. But perhaps, Miss Austen — if you are free — we might walk in the direction of Alton together? I should like to unburden myself. I should feel clearer in my mind.”
“Of course,” I murmured. “Do but wait, while I fetch my bonnet.”
“Well, Jane,” my mother said as I nearly collided with her in the back passage, her face dewy with exertion and the hem of her old green gown six inches deep in mud, “I have made a fair start on the excavations. I cannot report that I have encountered success, however. It will require some days, perhaps.”
“You are planting potatoes, Mamma?”
“Potatoes?” She stared at me incredulously. “What do I care for potatoes, you silly girl, when there is a priceless necklace of rubies to be found? Mr. Thrace was most adamant. The booty of Chandernagar is ours for the taking, Jane! You might assist me, if you can but find another shovel—”
“Pray enlist Cassandra, Mamma,” I said firmly. “I am engaged to walk with Miss Prowting. Her father has hired a maidservant for us — one Sally, who is even now established in the kitchen.”
“That is excellent news!” she cried, brightening. “You might inform her, Jane, that I prefer a simple nuncheon of bread and cheese at eleven o’clock. She may bring it out to the field, so as not to interrupt the excavations. And if she has any ability with a trowel or hoe—”
I delivered the first part of this message to the scullery, my bonnet dangling from my hand.
“Sally,” I said as almost an afterthought, “you are acquainted with Bertie Philmore, I collect?”
“All my life, ma’am.”
“And also his wife — one Rosie Philmore?”
“Rosie’s sister to my elder brother’s Nell.”
“Where in Alton does she reside?”
“The Philmores live in Normandy Street. Rosie takes in washing — you can’t miss the linen and small clothes hanging in the yard.”
“Thank you, Sally.” The girl, I reflected, had already earned her day’s wages.
Catherine waited until we had passed through the village and put the Great House Lodge behind us — the Lodge, where even now Jack Hinton might be gazing out his sittingroom window, and observing our progress — before she undertook to speak.
“You said last evening that the path of duty must always be clear, Miss Austen. And that it is the path of the heart that descends into obscurity.”
“So I have found it.”
“I lay awake some hours in my bed, considering of your advice.”
“It was not intended as such. I could not undertake to advise you, knowing you so little. I merely made an observation, based upon my own experience of life.”
“But that has been considerably greater than my own,” she returned in a low voice, “and as such must command my respect. I have known for some time where my duty lay. It was the urgings of my heart that counselled otherwise.”
“Can you perhaps explain the circumstances?” I suggested.
“I have no right to force a confidence, of course; and if you believe the particulars are better left unsaid, I will certainly understand.”
“No, no—” she cried. “It was to make a full confession that I begged you to accompany me. I feel, Miss Austen, that I have been a reluctant party to a very great injury that has been done to you and your family!”
I had expected some flutterings of the heart over Mr. Hinton; had expected to be consulted in a painful affair of unrequited passion for Julian Thrace; but never had I considered myself as the object of Catherine’s avowal.
“In what manner?” I enquired cautiously.
“As regards the corpse of that poor man discovered in your home.” She came to a halt in the middle of the Alton road, the wide expanse of Robin Hood Butts stretching beyond her. “You see, Miss Austen — I know who placed him there.”
Chapter 15
Damning Evidence
7 July 1809, cont.
“I should explain, Miss Austen, that I have found it difficult to sleep of nights for some weeks past. The heat, perhaps, of July—”
Catherine broke off, and began to walk slowly once more in the direction of Alton. I studied her averted countenance, and recognised the marks of trouble; the girl had not been easy in her mind, I should judge, for too many days together. I had an image of her lying alone in her bedchamber, a picture of stillness beneath a white linen sheet, while a furious tide of thoughts swelled and resurged within her brain.