Restitution #3
“Firstly, I would warn against posting financial information in the servants’ quarters.
It was meant well, I am sure, but it is as well not to alert the servants to the value of the goods entrusted to them.
It is a shame, but the sight of pounds and shillings written down can only be a temptation to the lower orders, my lady.
As I know and you cannot, being gently bred.
I have removed the receipts and put them in the proper place in Mr Heaver’s office. ”
During this speech, Mrs Bingley had taken her plait over one shoulder and had begun to fiddle with the loose ends below the bow.
With some satisfaction, Mrs Kerridge interpreted this as a sulky, girlish response to admonishment that argued neither a strong spirit nor any great maturity, both of which served her purposes.
“The second matter is that… Forgive me, madam, it is sometimes the duty of the more seasoned to impart hard truths. It is good to see Camberley suits you so well, but, well… many ladies find it advisable to maintain a certain distance from their maids. The use of surnames, for example. No true friendship can exist in such circumstances, and the appearance of intimacy can therefore only lead to laziness and familiarity.”
In the silence that followed, Mrs Bingley ceased playing with her hair and smoothed the skirt of her nightgown before she met Mrs Kerridge’s gaze directly.
“Thank you, Mrs Kerridge, I will think on what you have said.”
Mrs Kerridge nodded and turned to go.
“I wish you another night of restful repose, madam.”
Mrs Kerridge entered the butler’s pantry without knocking and shut the door behind her with unnecessary force. Mr Heaver, who was polishing spoons, looked up.
“That Sarah girl is becoming a problem,” Mrs Kerridge said, darkly. She began to pace as far as the dimensions of the cupboard-like room allowed.
“Could we pin that watch on her? Tuck it in her things, take it to the master, have her thrown out?”
Heaver considered, but shook his head. “No. It just wouldn’t wash.
There was nobody there but me when it was lost. There can be no other place or occasion it could have gone missing.
He went out with it, tossed his jacket, and returned without it.
How would she be supposed to have found and taken it after two parties, combing the grass with rakes, had missed it?
And what would she have been doing out there?
She isn’t known to walk or anything. When would she have the time? ”
Mrs Kerridge ground her teeth.
“Well,” she muttered after brooding, “I’ll think on it. She’s getting too cosy with the mistress, and after that nonsense with the receipts…” Her mouth set into a grim line. “I’ll find something on her.”
She wrenched open the door and slammed it behind her.
Jane kissed her husband on the cheek as he adjusted his hat in the entrance hall. “I hope you have a good ride, my dear.”
“I’m sure I shall, it is not far after all. I’m sorry to leave you, my dear, even for a morning, but I really ought to make friends with the neighbours so that we can have some society when we desire it, though goodness knows I feel no inclination for it just now.” He gazed at her.
“You are quite right,” she said. “Oh, and if you see Robson before I do, send him to me in the morning room. I have a job for him. We can spare him, can we not?”
“How exciting! Yes, we can spare him. They come in pairs after all, footmen!”
“Splendid.” She kissed him again. “But it concerns your birthday, so you must not ask him about it. In fact, once you have sent him, please forget I even mentioned it.”
She retired to the morning room, and it was not long before Robson knocked respectfully on the door frame.
“You wanted to see me, madam?”
She set down her book and smiled at him.
“Yes, thank you, Robson. As you may know, it will be my husband’s birthday next month, and we shall be hosting something for him. I have warned Cook and Mrs Kerridge, but since it will be our first here, I would like to add something memorable.”
“Indeed, madam,” said Robson, looking slightly uneasy.
This was, Jane thought with some amusement, because footmen often suffered in their employers’ pursuit of novelty.
At one party she had attended, some poor soul had been required to dress up like a Pierrot, and Lady Lucas had once persuaded her long-suffering second footman to interpret the role of the back end of a horse while the head gardener had been the front.
“Indeed, Sarah thinks very highly of your powers, Mr Robson. She said to ask you if you knew of an entertainer, popular in London last decade, who goes by the name of Il Miraggio?”
Robson’s face cleared.
“Oh yes, ma’am, a famous conjurer! My uncle, he has The Bull at Aldgate, and once the fellow had stopped getting hired by the quality, like, he had him perform for the company.”
Jane beamed at him.
“Do you suppose he might still be found? My husband was a boy when he was popular but never had the chance to see him. I would very much like to have him here, if he is still in business. Maybe you could write to your uncle for news of him?”
“An excellent idea, if I may say, ma’am,” said Robson, with at least as much real enthusiasm as relief that he himself was not to be called upon. “But, if I may, perhaps I could go down to London myself and fetch him?”
“Oh, Mr Robson, I had not liked to ask… It is so far, and also not without danger, I am sure, with —” Jane made vague gestures with her hands as she consulted her knowledge of terrestrial travel— “mud and cows crossing the way and even robbers, God forbid.”
“Don’t you concern yourself, ma’am. I often go down on my holidays. It won’t take but two days. If you’re willing to move my May leave forward—”
“Oh no, Mr Robson,” said Jane, “you shall have as long as you need now, and your May holiday unchanged. This is work, not a holiday! Do try to be back before the party, which will be on the fifteenth. The Saturday after next. But, if you cannot find him, it will have been a worthy attempt.”
She crossed to the bureau and returned with some coins. “This for the chaise,” she said, handing him the coins with something of the air of an apothecary with a recalcitrant patient, “and these are drawn on our bank at Hoare’s for negotiation in London,” handing over the banknotes.
Robson coughed nervously. “Ah… thank you, ma’am,” he managed. “I will… certainly try.”
“Excellent.” Jane returned to her seat and picked up her book. Then she paused, cocked her head slightly to one side, and, consulting some inner store of knowledge assembled in a distant schoolroom, she said “Buon viaggio,” extremely pleased with herself, and returned to her book.
It was therefore with a sense of adventure and purpose that Robson descended the servants’ stairs and, desiring a drink before he started to pack, took a mug to the pump outside.
He worked the handle, took a deep drink, filled again, then went to lean against the wall and look out at the park surrounding the house.
There was still a hint of morning freshness in the air, but the summer sun was warm on his face, and already the scent of herbs and flowers from the kitchen garden wafted over the wall into the service yard.
The trees in the park were in full leaf, barely stirred by the lightest breeze.
He was just about to go in when he heard the clatter of the gig from around by the portico.
He frowned. The gig was old, more for transporting household supplies than people; it was certainly no longer used by the master or his family.
He walked around to investigate, boots crunching as he passed from cobble to gravel.
Mr Heaver, bundled in an overcoat and muffler, struggled to haul himself into the driver’s seat, the old farm nag Bouncer standing listlessly in the traces.
Robson’s eye flicked to the bed of the carriage, his suspicion piqued by a tarpaulin bundled in the bottom.
That Mr Heaver was a greedy, unprincipled, ineffectual man, Robson had never doubted.
Before the Bingleys bought the house, one had only needed to keep one’s trunk locked and to ask relatives never to send anything of value in the post. But, as the house opened and the money started to flow, Robson had grown certain that Heaver was systematically stealing from his employers.
How, he didn’t yet know. Most purchases were made on credit, the orders made by Mrs Kerridge and receipts provided to the master, with the debt being settled quarterly by a draft on Mr Bingley’s banker.
There was abuse of the petty cash, of course, but that could seldom amount to much, and the most usual means of substantial embezzlement was therefore to buy too much and sell it.
This should stand little chance of success with a diligent master, and yet, fond though he was of him, Robson had to admit that Mr Bingley did not have the appearance of extreme diligence or exact care of his money.
More to the point, he and his new wife were currently very much preoccupied with one another.
Peculation of supplies, therefore, was what Robson suspected, yet he had never had any evidence of it.
This lack, in itself, tended to argue against his theory, since reselling goods was a bulky business and hard to conceal.
Why, one would need a vehicle even to move them…
“Mr Heaver!” Robson called, louder than necessary and exactly at the moment the man was taking his seat, startling him amusingly.
“Oh, it’s you. Haven’t you work to do?” said Mr Heaver, adjusting the hat which had fallen over his eyes in his shock.
“I certainly have, sir. The mistress is sending me on a confidential mission to London, sir,” said Robson.
Heaver squinted at him. “If you’re bunking off, I’ll have you out, Robson. I’ll be checking with her, you know.”