Restitution #9
“On my way back,” Robson said, his deep voice making Mrs Kerridge start.
“I visited the merchants. Told them what I suspected. They blamed your record keeping, but then I told them I followed Mr Heaver to their doors when he came to collect his cut, and they became very helpful indeed. So helpful that they agreed to give Mr Bingley credit for the amount stolen and even throw in some of the goods not delivered. That’s how the wizard and I got the wine for the fountain, the tablecloths, and all those chickens. ”
“I regret to learn of Mr Heaver’s dishonesty,” Mrs Kerridge said to Jane. “Yet again, I ask, what has it to do with me?”
“You shared!” Sarah blurted out, then covered her mouth with her hand when all turned to her. Mrs Kerridge’s eyes were cold as flint.
“I’ve warned you about that girl, madam,” Mrs Kerridge said, languidly. “It’s not your fault. You are young and new to managing a household, and these London girls are trained up to be manipulators from the cradle. Have you proof I shared, girl?”
When Sarah didn’t answer, the housekeeper turned to Elizabeth, who flushed, though it would have been a mistake to believe it was with embarrassment.
“What of the wages, then? Jane, how much do you pay your maids?”
“Four shillings a week,” Jane said at once. Sarah gasped.
“You old baggage!” the maid cried, glaring at Mrs Kerridge. “We only get three and tenpence!”
“Well, Mrs Kerridge,” Jane asked, placidly, “the wage bill passes through no hands but yours. What have you to say?”
Mrs Kerridge’s iron composure showed its first cracks.
“If,” she said, carefully, “there has been any inadvertence in that regard, madam, I apologise. Perhaps it may have been resolved sooner if we had had more opportunity to talk on the matter. I know, however, that you have been very busy since your marriage.”
Jane frowned prettily. “I cannot but think Sarah is honest, Mrs Kerridge.”
“I understand it is difficult,” the housekeeper said, “to think the worst of one’s servants, people one comes to rely on, to trust. But never forget, they’re only here for money, madam. If we might speak privately for a moment, I’m afraid I must relay some troubling news regarding young Camberley.”
Jane smiled then. It was warm and wide and genuine, like all her smiles, but its slowness made it quite sinister.
“How intriguing, Mrs Kerridge,” she said. “Do tell me. Here. Now. Why drag this matter out?”
Mrs Kerridge began to object, but Jane raised a finger to cut her off.
“I do insist.”
“Very well. I regret to say that, during an inspection, I discovered an item of your jewellery, madam. In Camberley’s box, in her room.
Can you think, madam, of any time when she might have had the opportunity to take something?
Something perhaps left out, and not locked away, as it ought to have been? ”
Jane raised her eyebrows.
Mrs Kerridge moistened her thin lips. She spoke just a little faster.
“The night before last, I did happen to notice a piece left in plain view. It being a Thursday, it was Camberley who was to attend you at your bath, ma’am. I am guessing only, but might she have had an opportunity to take it? Perhaps you have not yet missed it, it was…”
“A red stone pendant.” Jane finished. She smiled again. “I left it out on purpose. But not as a temptation for Sarah, who was… Sarah, where were you on Thursday evening?”
“In the summerhouse, ma’am,” Sarah said quietly. “And then in my room all night.”
“No. I left it out as a temptation for you, Mrs Kerridge. Because ever since you took down the receipts I had posted, Sarah knew you were up to something. And I knew that you would not be able to resist trying to get rid of her. You only needed an excuse.”
The silence in the sitting room was complete but for the faint ticking of Mr Bingley’s silver watch. Then, Mr Bingley himself rose to his feet. He crossed the room to stand by his wife, his hand seeking hers.
“Well, that is enough for me,” he said. “For the sake of eighteen pounds, I would as soon avoid turning you over to the constable and just send you on your way. But, do you know, I do not think I will. Robson, Miss Camberley, speaking of the summerhouse, do you suppose you could escort Mrs Kerridge there and lock her in until the authorities arrive? And Mr Heaver can go in the carriage house. Let’s not give them a chance to get their stories straight.
Darcy’s cousin, the colonel, is still about somewhere.
Ask him if he’ll help, it’s just the kind of caper he enjoys. ”
“Robson was a poacher!” Mr Heaver cried as he was roused, none too gently, to be led away.
“Old Mr Jennings… covered it up, and I—” Heaver waved his hands “—for the sake of harmony and so on, kept the secret, too, but now, now, sir, I have to speak out! He’s a criminal, sir, the honour of the household—”
“That, Mr Heaver,” said Bingley earnestly, “is very interesting indeed.” He looked at Robson, who had turned very solemn. “Is that true, Mr Robson?”
Robson took a breath, let it out, and nodded. “Yes, sir, it is.”
Bingley smiled widely.
“Then I see we have even more to talk about than first I had thought! How fascinating!”
When Robson, Sarah, Heaver, and Kerridge had gone and the door closed once more, and having kissed his wife fondly and thanked his sister by marriage for her well-timed interference, Bingley returned to his chair beside Darcy with a sigh.
Darcy took a sip from his glass of brandy and set it down.
He looked over at Bingley, smiled, and gave that small, upward jerk of the chin that, among men, signals congratulation between equals. Then he said, “Well done, Bingley”.
“Ah, well… you know… a chap has to lay down the law. Order his house and so on…”
“No, not that,” said Darcy. “For marrying your wife”.
August had arrived at Bartestone. The morning room was bright and warm.
Mr Bingley sat at the escritoire, immersed in a book of political economy.
It was a recent passion, and much of the discourse and all the mathematics still passed before his eyes like a mirage, making little or no impression in his mind.
Yet his enjoyment persisted in some glimmers of understanding and, most of all, it pleased him greatly to be reading, quite willingly, a book his tutors had often pressed on him without success.
A book that his father would have been pleased to find him reading.
“My dear,” Jane said from the settee. She was holding a letter. “Sarah and Robson wish to marry. What do you think?”
Bingley turned to his wife and considered.
“Why, I believe it is generally advised against to allow one’s butler and housekeeper to marry and both retain their positions.” He smiled warmly. “And yet, since this is our house, my dear… I believe we may order it quite as we choose.”
Jane returned his smile, nodded, and set the letter to one side. Bingley returned to his reading as his wife opened her next letter. The sound of her laughter recalled his attention.
“What is it, my dear?”
“It is from Caroline,” Jane said. She looked up at him and tilted her head towards the letter she held. “She wishes to know what we plan for your birthday next year.”
~ The End ~