Chapter 18 #2
Popsby slung a leg over the bench to join the other staff waiting for their dinner. Bailey was helping Mr. Kinsle serve an after-dinner tea for Their Graces, Sir Winfred, Ben, Oliver, and the colonel.
“Did you hear?” the other footman asked the table at large as Mrs. Bettleton delivered them a tureen of steaming fish stew. “We weren’t the only ones robbed.”
“What’s this?” their cook asked, hand on the ladle. “Never tell me something else has gone missing!”
“Not in the manor,” he clarified. “In the village. Things nicked from shops. I heard the thief even stole from the church!”
“It’s that boy,” Dorcus said. “The one so friendly with young Oliver. It must be. We never had any trouble before he arrived.”
This needed to stop. Morrigan liked Pip, and she could see how hard he was trying to fit in.
“How would Pip know about the jar of money in Mr. Kinsle’s room?” she asked. “He’s quick, but we’d all have noticed if he was running about the kitchen with his pockets stuffed with coin.”
“Some in the village also think it was him,” Popsby said with a shrug. “Some think it’s one of us.”
Cries of indignation rang out around the table. Morrigan had to fight to keep from sinking in her seat. Not again! She couldn’t bear the finger-pointing, the narrowed-eyed looks.
Mrs. Bettleton rapped her ladle against the side of the tureen with a clang. “That’s enough! There are no thieves in Tyneham Manor. And that’s all there is to say about the matter.”
Mrs. Carmichael swept into the kitchen. The darkness Morrigan had noticed under her eyes seemed heavier, as if she felt the weight of these accusations personally. Still, her hair was as perfectly combed as always, her shoulders unbowed.
“I concur,” she said, pinning them each in place with a look. “We have enough work without adding the burden of suspicion. Mr. Kinsle and I are agreed that the staff at Tyneham Manor are without peer. Now, prove it by finishing your dinner and returning to your duties.”
Things must be bad indeed if the housekeeper felt the need to be so firm. Morrigan swallowed. For all their sakes, it would be best if she ended this.
Accordingly, she left for services the next morning earlier than anyone else.
She and Bailey had Monday afternoon off this week in the rotation, but every staff member was expected to attend church with the rest of the house.
She hurried down the road into the village and knocked at the door of the cottage.
Sally answered, then frowned. She leaned to look around Morrigan. “Where’s Tom? Has something happened?”
“Tom’s fine,” Morrigan assured her. “He’ll be at services. I needed to talk to you.”
The girl’s frown deepened, but she held the door wider. “Come in, then.”
Morrigan shook her head. “Out here.”
Sally glanced back as if to make sure her mother didn’t notice, then stepped out, shut the door, and followed Morrigan into the garden. “What’s this about?”
“Someone’s been stealing,” Morrigan said. Her arms crossed over her chest, and she forced them down. “From the shops, the vicarage, the church, and now the manor. People are saying it’s one of the staff.”
Sally nodded, though her face had paled. “Perhaps it was.”
“It most certainly was not!” Morrigan protested. “These are our livelihoods, Sally, and many of us send money home to family, same as Tom does. A rumor that you’re a thief, and you’re never working in a great house again.”
The girl shivered but said nothing.
Morrigan leaned closer. “Worse, some are blaming the little boy the vicar took in, a child lost in this world. What do you think will happen to him if someone decides he really is a thief?”
Sally dropped her gaze. “The vicar wouldn’t let them do anything.”
“The vicar may not have a choice if the duke involves himself as magistrate.”
Bailey’s sister fiddled with the sleeve of her green wool dress. “Perhaps the thief has reason to steal.”
Why was she justifying this? “But allowing others to take the blame only compounds the crime,” Morrigan said. “The thief should come forward. I haven’t lived here long, but I can see it’s a friendly village, with people who want to do right by each other.”
To her surprise, Sally snorted. “Not as much as you might think. Every family is expected to bear its own burdens, even if they get impossible to carry.”
“Then let us help,” Morrigan urged. “Bailey and I can pitch in.”
She glanced up, then, and tears glimmered in her eyes. “You can’t. You’re working. And you don’t know what it’s like not to have enough.”
The accusation couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Despite her best intentions, Morrigan felt her shoulders rising.
“Don’t I?” she challenged. “Eight people living on the wages of one? Squeezed into a two-room flat in a building about to be condemned?” She waved a hand at the cottage and village. “This all looks pretty fine to me.”
Sally’s breath came fast. “It’s not fine. Not at all.”
Morrigan dug in her pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. “Then let me help. That’s all I have now, but I’ll bring more on my next pay period. Most of what I get goes to my family, but whatever extra I have is yours.”
Sally’s gaze searched hers. “And you’ll not tell Tom I failed?”
“I won’t tell anyone,” Morrigan said. “It’s not my place. It’s yours.”
The girl nodded. “I understand.”
Morrigan stepped back. “Good. You aren’t alone, Sally. People will help if you give them a chance.” A lesson she was still learning herself.