The Moonstone Page 26

  CHAPTER XXIII

  I had kept the pony chaise ready, in case Mr. Franklin persisted inleaving us by the train that night. The appearance of the luggage,followed downstairs by Mr. Franklin himself, informed me plainly enoughthat he had held firm to a resolution for once in his life.

  "So you have really made up your mind, sir?" I said, as we met in thehall. "Why not wait a day or two longer, and give Miss Rachel anotherchance?"

  The foreign varnish appeared to have all worn off Mr. Franklin, nowthat the time had come for saying good-bye. Instead of replying to me inwords, he put the letter which her ladyship had addressed to him into myhand. The greater part of it said over again what had been said alreadyin the other communication received by me. But there was a bit aboutMiss Rachel added at the end, which will account for the steadiness ofMr. Franklin's determination, if it accounts for nothing else.

  "You will wonder, I dare say" (her ladyship wrote), "at my allowing myown daughter to keep me perfectly in the dark. A Diamond worth twentythousand pounds has been lost--and I am left to infer that themystery of its disappearance is no mystery to Rachel, and that someincomprehensible obligation of silence has been laid on her, by someperson or persons utterly unknown to me, with some object in view atwhich I cannot even guess. Is it conceivable that I should allow myselfto be trifled with in this way? It is quite conceivable, in Rachel'spresent state. She is in a condition of nervous agitation pitiable tosee. I dare not approach the subject of the Moonstone again until timehas done something to quiet her. To help this end, I have not hesitatedto dismiss the police-officer. The mystery which baffles us, baffles himtoo. This is not a matter in which any stranger can help us. He adds towhat I have to suffer; and he maddens Rachel if she only hears his name.

  "My plans for the future are as well settled as they can be. My presentidea is to take Rachel to London--partly to relieve her mind by acomplete change, partly to try what may be done by consulting the bestmedical advice. Can I ask you to meet us in town? My dear Franklin, you,in your way, must imitate my patience, and wait, as I do, for a fittertime. The valuable assistance which you rendered to the inquiry afterthe lost jewel is still an unpardoned offence, in the present dreadfulstate of Rachel's mind. Moving blindfold in this matter, you haveadded to the burden of anxiety which she has had to bear, by innocentlythreatening her secret with discovery, through your exertions. It isimpossible for me to excuse the perversity that holds you responsiblefor consequences which neither you nor I could imagine or foresee. Sheis not to be reasoned with--she can only be pitied. I am grieved to haveto say it, but for the present, you and Rachel are better apart. Theonly advice I can offer you is, to give her time."

  I handed the letter back, sincerely sorry for Mr. Franklin, for I knewhow fond he was of my young lady; and I saw that her mother's accountof her had cut him to the heart. "You know the proverb, sir," was all Isaid to him. "When things are at the worst, they're sure to mend. Thingscan't be much worse, Mr. Franklin, than they are now."

  Mr. Franklin folded up his aunt's letter, without appearing to be muchcomforted by the remark which I had ventured on addressing to him.

  "When I came here from London with that horrible Diamond," he said, "Idon't believe there was a happier household in England than this. Lookat the household now! Scattered, disunited--the very air of the placepoisoned with mystery and suspicion! Do you remember that morning atthe Shivering Sand, when we talked about my uncle Herncastle, andhis birthday gift? The Moonstone has served the Colonel's vengeance,Betteredge, by means which the Colonel himself never dreamt of!"

  With that he shook me by the hand, and went out to the pony chaise.

  I followed him down the steps. It was very miserable to see him leavingthe old place, where he had spent the happiest years of his life, inthis way. Penelope (sadly upset by all that had happened in the house)came round crying, to bid him good-bye. Mr. Franklin kissed her. I wavedmy hand as much as to say, "You're heartily welcome, sir." Some of theother female servants appeared, peeping after him round the corner.He was one of those men whom the women all like. At the last moment,I stopped the pony chaise, and begged as a favour that he would letus hear from him by letter. He didn't seem to heed what I said--he waslooking round from one thing to another, taking a sort of farewell ofthe old house and grounds. "Tell us where you are going to, sir!" Isaid, holding on by the chaise, and trying to get at his future plansin that way. Mr. Franklin pulled his hat down suddenly over his eyes."Going?" says he, echoing the word after me. "I am going to the devil!"The pony started at the word, as if he had felt a Christian horror ofit. "God bless you, sir, go where you may!" was all I had time to say,before he was out of sight and hearing. A sweet and pleasant gentleman!With all his faults and follies, a sweet and pleasant gentleman! He lefta sad gap behind him, when he left my lady's house.

  It was dull and dreary enough, when the long summer evening closed in,on that Saturday night.

  I kept my spirits from sinking by sticking fast to my pipe and myROBINSON CRUSOE. The women (excepting Penelope) beguiled the time bytalking of Rosanna's suicide. They were all obstinately of opinionthat the poor girl had stolen the Moonstone, and that she had destroyedherself in terror of being found out. My daughter, of course, privatelyheld fast to what she had said all along. Her notion of the motive whichwas really at the bottom of the suicide failed, oddly enough, justwhere my young lady's assertion of her innocence failed also. It leftRosanna's secret journey to Frizinghall, and Rosanna's proceedings inthe matter of the nightgown entirely unaccounted for. There was nouse in pointing this out to Penelope; the objection made about as muchimpression on her as a shower of rain on a waterproof coat. The truthis, my daughter inherits my superiority to reason--and, in respect tothat accomplishment, has got a long way ahead of her own father.

  On the next day (Sunday), the close carriage, which had been kept at Mr.Ablewhite's, came back to us empty. The coachman brought a message forme, and written instructions for my lady's own maid and for Penelope.

  The message informed me that my mistress had determined to take MissRachel to her house in London, on the Monday. The written instructionsinformed the two maids of the clothing that was wanted, and directedthem to meet their mistresses in town at a given hour. Most of the otherservants were to follow. My lady had found Miss Rachel so unwilling toreturn to the house, after what had happened in it, that she had decidedon going to London direct from Frizinghall. I was to remain in thecountry, until further orders, to look after things indoors and out. Theservants left with me were to be put on board wages.

  Being reminded, by all this, of what Mr. Franklin had said about ourbeing a scattered and disunited household, my mind was led naturally toMr. Franklin himself. The more I thought of him, the more uneasy I feltabout his future proceedings. It ended in my writing, by the Sunday'spost, to his father's valet, Mr. Jeffco (whom I had known in formeryears) to beg he would let me know what Mr. Franklin had settled to do,on arriving in London.

  The Sunday evening was, if possible, duller even than the Saturdayevening. We ended the day of rest, as hundreds of thousands of peopleend it regularly, once a week, in these islands--that is to say, we allanticipated bedtime, and fell asleep in our chairs.

  How the Monday affected the rest of the household I don't know. TheMonday gave ME a good shake up. The first of Sergeant Cuff'sprophecies of what was to happen--namely, that I should hear from theYollands--came true on that day.

  I had seen Penelope and my lady's maid off in the railway with theluggage for London, and was pottering about the grounds, when I heardmy name called. Turning round, I found myself face to face with thefisherman's daughter, Limping Lucy. Bating her lame foot and herleanness (this last a horrid draw-back to a woman, in my opinion), thegirl had some pleasing qualities in the eye of a man. A dark, keen,clever face, and a nice clear voice, and a beautiful brown head ofhair counted among her merits. A crutch appeared in the list of hermisfortunes. And a temper reckoned high in the sum total of her defects.


  "Well, my dear," I said, "what do you want with me?"

  "Where's the man you call Franklin Blake?" says the girl, fixing me witha fierce look, as she rested herself on her crutch.

  "That's not a respectful way to speak of any gentleman," I answered. "Ifyou wish to inquire for my lady's nephew, you will please to mention himas MR. Franklin Blake."

  She limped a step nearer to me, and looked as if she could have eaten mealive. "MR. Franklin Blake?" she repeated after me. "Murderer FranklinBlake would be a fitter name for him."

  My practice with the late Mrs. Betteredge came in handy here. Whenevera woman tries to put you out of temper, turn the tables, and put HER outof temper instead. They are generally prepared for every effort youcan make in your own defence, but that. One word does it as well as ahundred; and one word did it with Limping Lucy. I looked her pleasantlyin the face; and I said--"Pooh!"

  The girl's temper flamed out directly. She poised herself on her soundfoot, and she took her crutch, and beat it furiously three times on theground. "He's a murderer! he's a murderer! he's a murderer! He has beenthe death of Rosanna Spearman!" She screamed that answer out at the topof her voice. One or two of the people at work in the grounds nearus looked up--saw it was Limping Lucy--knew what to expect from thatquarter--and looked away again.

  "He has been the death of Rosanna Spearman?" I repeated. "What makes yousay that, Lucy?"

  "What do you care? What does any man care? Oh! if she had only thoughtof the men as I think, she might have been living now!"

  "She always thought kindly of ME, poor soul," I said; "and, to the bestof my ability, I always tried to act kindly by HER."

  I spoke those words in as comforting a manner as I could. The truth is,I hadn't the heart to irritate the girl by another of my smart replies.I had only noticed her temper at first. I noticed her wretchednessnow--and wretchedness is not uncommonly insolent, you will find, inhumble life. My answer melted Limping Lucy. She bent her head down, andlaid it on the top of her crutch.

  "I loved her," the girl said softly. "She had lived a miserable life,Mr. Betteredge--vile people had ill-treated her and led her wrong--andit hadn't spoiled her sweet temper. She was an angel. She might havebeen happy with me. I had a plan for our going to London together likesisters, and living by our needles. That man came here, and spoilt itall. He bewitched her. Don't tell me he didn't mean it, and didn't knowit. He ought to have known it. He ought to have taken pity on her.'I can't live without him--and, oh, Lucy, he never even looks at me.'That's what she said. Cruel, cruel, cruel. I said, 'No man is worthfretting for in that way.' And she said, 'There are men worth dyingfor, Lucy, and he is one of them.' I had saved up a little money. I hadsettled things with father and mother. I meant to take her away fromthe mortification she was suffering here. We should have had a littlelodging in London, and lived together like sisters. She had a goodeducation, sir, as you know, and she wrote a good hand. She was quick ather needle. I have a good education, and I write a good hand. I am notas quick at my needle as she was--but I could have done. We might havegot our living nicely. And, oh! what happens this morning? what happensthis morning? Her letter comes and tells me that she has done with theburden of her life. Her letter comes, and bids me good-bye for ever.Where is he?" cries the girl, lifting her head from the crutch, andflaming out again through her tears. "Where's this gentleman that Imustn't speak of, except with respect? Ha, Mr. Betteredge, the day isnot far off when the poor will rise against the rich. I pray Heaven theymay begin with HIM. I pray Heaven they may begin with HIM."

  Here was another of your average good Christians, and here was the usualbreak-down, consequent on that same average Christianity being pushedtoo far! The parson himself (though I own this is saying a great deal)could hardly have lectured the girl in the state she was in now. All Iventured to do was to keep her to the point--in the hope of somethingturning up which might be worth hearing.

  "What do you want with Mr. Franklin Blake?" I asked.

  "I want to see him."

  "For anything particular?"

  "I have got a letter to give him."

  "From Rosanna Spearman?"

  "Yes."

  "Sent to you in your own letter?"

  "Yes."

  Was the darkness going to lift? Were all the discoveries that I wasdying to make, coming and offering themselves to me of their own accord?I was obliged to wait a moment. Sergeant Cuff had left his infectionbehind him. Certain signs and tokens, personal to myself, warned me thatthe detective-fever was beginning to set in again.

  "You can't see Mr. Franklin," I said.

  "I must, and will, see him."

  "He went to London last night."

  Limping Lucy looked me hard in the face, and saw that I was speakingthe truth. Without a word more, she turned about again instantly towardsCobb's Hole.

  "Stop!" I said. "I expect news of Mr. Franklin Blake to-morrow. Give meyour letter, and I'll send it on to him by the post."

  Limping Lucy steadied herself on her crutch and looked back at me overher shoulder.

  "I am to give it from my hands into his hands," she said. "And I am togive it to him in no other way."

  "Shall I write, and tell him what you have said?"

  "Tell him I hate him. And you will tell him the truth."

  "Yes, yes. But about the letter?"

  "If he wants the letter, he must come back here, and get it from Me."

  With those words she limped off on the way to Cobb's Hole. Thedetective-fever burnt up all my dignity on the spot. I followed her,and tried to make her talk. All in vain. It was my misfortune to bea man--and Limping Lucy enjoyed disappointing me. Later in the day, Itried my luck with her mother. Good Mrs. Yolland could only cry,and recommend a drop of comfort out of the Dutch bottle. I found thefisherman on the beach. He said it was "a bad job," and went on mendinghis net. Neither father nor mother knew more than I knew. The oneway left to try was the chance, which might come with the morning, ofwriting to Mr. Franklin Blake.

  I leave you to imagine how I watched for the postman on Tuesday morning.He brought me two letters. One, from Penelope (which I had hardlypatience enough to read), announced that my lady and Miss Rachel weresafely established in London. The other, from Mr. Jeffco, informed methat his master's son had left England already.

  On reaching the metropolis, Mr. Franklin had, it appeared, gone straightto his father's residence. He arrived at an awkward time. Mr. Blake, theelder, was up to his eyes in the business of the House of Commons, andwas amusing himself at home that night with the favourite parliamentaryplaything which they call "a private bill." Mr. Jeffco himself showedMr. Franklin into his father's study. "My dear Franklin! why do yousurprise me in this way? Anything wrong?" "Yes; something wrong withRachel; I am dreadfully distressed about it." "Grieved to hear it. ButI can't listen to you now." "When can you listen?" "My dear boy! Iwon't deceive you. I can listen at the end of the session, not a momentbefore. Good-night." "Thank you, sir. Good-night."

  Such was the conversation, inside the study, as reported to me by Mr.Jeffco. The conversation outside the study, was shorter still. "Jeffco,see what time the tidal train starts to-morrow morning." "At six-forty,Mr. Franklin." "Have me called at five." "Going abroad, sir?" "Going,Jeffco, wherever the railway chooses to take me." "Shall I tell yourfather, sir?" "Yes; tell him at the end of the session."

  The next morning Mr. Franklin had started for foreign parts. To whatparticular place he was bound, nobody (himself included) could presumeto guess. We might hear of him next in Europe, Asia, Africa, or America.The chances were as equally divided as possible, in Mr. Jeffco'sopinion, among the four quarters of the globe.

  This news--by closing up all prospects of my bringing Limping Lucy andMr. Franklin together--at once stopped any further progress of mineon the way to discovery. Penelope's belief that her fellow-servant haddestroyed herself through unrequited love for Mr. Franklin Blake, wasconfirmed--and that was all. Whether the letter which Rosanna hadleft to be given to him
after her death did, or did not, contain theconfession which Mr. Franklin had suspected her of trying to make to himin her life-time, it was impossible to say. It might be only a farewellword, telling nothing but the secret of her unhappy fancy for a personbeyond her reach. Or it might own the whole truth about the strangeproceedings in which Sergeant Cuff had detected her, from the timewhen the Moonstone was lost, to the time when she rushed to her owndestruction at the Shivering Sand. A sealed letter it had been placed inLimping Lucy's hand, and a sealed letter it remained to me and to everyone about the girl, her own parents included. We all suspected her ofhaving been in the dead woman's confidence; we all tried to make herspeak; we all failed. Now one, and now another, of the servants--stillholding to the belief that Rosanna had stolen the Diamond and had hiddenit--peered and poked about the rocks to which she had been traced,and peered and poked in vain. The tide ebbed, and the tide flowed; thesummer went on, and the autumn came. And the Quicksand, which hid herbody, hid her secret too.

  The news of Mr. Franklin's departure from England on the Sunday morning,and the news of my lady's arrival in London with Miss Rachel on theMonday afternoon, had reached me, as you are aware, by the Tuesday'spost. The Wednesday came, and brought nothing. The Thursday produced asecond budget of news from Penelope.

  My girl's letter informed me that some great London doctor had beenconsulted about her young lady, and had earned a guinea by remarkingthat she had better be amused. Flower-shows, operas, balls--there wasa whole round of gaieties in prospect; and Miss Rachel, to her mother'sastonishment, eagerly took to it all. Mr. Godfrey had called; evidentlyas sweet as ever on his cousin, in spite of the reception he hadmet with, when he tried his luck on the occasion of the birthday. ToPenelope's great regret, he had been most graciously received, and hadadded Miss Rachel's name to one of his Ladies' Charities on the spot.My mistress was reported to be out of spirits, and to have held two longinterviews with her lawyer. Certain speculations followed, referring toa poor relation of the family--one Miss Clack, whom I have mentioned inmy account of the birthday dinner, as sitting next to Mr. Godfrey, andhaving a pretty taste in champagne. Penelope was astonished to find thatMiss Clack had not called yet. She would surely not be long before shefastened herself on my lady as usual--and so forth, and so forth, in theway women have of girding at each other, on and off paper. This wouldnot have been worth mentioning, I admit, but for one reason. I hear youare likely to be turned over to Miss Clack, after parting with me. Inthat case, just do me the favour of not believing a word she says, ifshe speaks of your humble servant.

  On Friday, nothing happened--except that one of the dogs showed signs ofa breaking out behind the ears. I gave him a dose of syrup of buckthorn,and put him on a diet of pot-liquor and vegetables till further orders.Excuse my mentioning this. It has slipped in somehow. Pass it overplease. I am fast coming to the end of my offences against yourcultivated modern taste. Besides, the dog was a good creature, anddeserved a good physicking; he did indeed.

  Saturday, the last day of the week, is also the last day in mynarrative.

  The morning's post brought me a surprise in the shape of a Londonnewspaper. The handwriting on the direction puzzled me. I compared itwith the money-lender's name and address as recorded in my pocket-book,and identified it at once as the writing of Sergeant Cuff.

  Looking through the paper eagerly enough, after this discovery, I foundan ink-mark drawn round one of the police reports. Here it is, at yourservice. Read it as I read it, and you will set the right value on theSergeant's polite attention in sending me the news of the day:

  "LAMBETH--Shortly before the closing of the court, Mr. Septimus Luker,the well-known dealer in ancient gems, carvings, intagli, &c., &c.,applied to the sitting magistrate for advice. The applicant stated thathe had been annoyed, at intervals throughout the day, by the proceedingsof some of those strolling Indians who infest the streets. The personscomplained of were three in number. After having been sent away by thepolice, they had returned again and again, and had attempted to enterthe house on pretence of asking for charity. Warned off in the front,they had been discovered again at the back of the premises. Besides theannoyance complained of, Mr. Luker expressed himself as being undersome apprehension that robbery might be contemplated. His collectioncontained many unique gems, both classical and Oriental, of the highestvalue. He had only the day before been compelled to dismiss a skilledworkman in ivory carving from his employment (a native of India, as weunderstood), on suspicion of attempted theft; and he felt by no meanssure that this man and the street jugglers of whom he complained, mightnot be acting in concert. It might be their object to collect a crowd,and create a disturbance in the street, and, in the confusion thuscaused, to obtain access to the house. In reply to the magistrate, Mr.Luker admitted that he had no evidence to produce of any attemptat robbery being in contemplation. He could speak positively to theannoyance and interruption caused by the Indians, but not to anythingelse. The magistrate remarked that, if the annoyance were repeated,the applicant could summon the Indians to that court, where they mighteasily be dealt with under the Act. As to the valuables in Mr. Luker'spossession, Mr. Luker himself must take the best measures for their safecustody. He would do well perhaps to communicate with the police, and toadopt such additional precautions as their experience might suggest. Theapplicant thanked his worship, and withdrew."

  One of the wise ancients is reported (I forget on what occasion) ashaving recommended his fellow-creatures to "look to the end." Looking tothe end of these pages of mine, and wondering for some days past how Ishould manage to write it, I find my plain statement of facts coming toa conclusion, most appropriately, of its own self. We have gone on, inthis matter of the Moonstone, from one marvel to another; and here we endwith the greatest marvel of all--namely, the accomplishment of SergeantCuff's three predictions in less than a week from the time when he hadmade them.

  After hearing from the Yollands on the Monday, I had now heard of theIndians, and heard of the money-lender, in the news from London--MissRachel herself remember, being also in London at the time. You see, Iput things at their worst, even when they tell dead against my own view.If you desert me, and side with the Sergeant, on the evidence beforeyou--if the only rational explanation you can see is, that Miss Racheland Mr. Luker must have got together, and that the Moonstone must benow in pledge in the money-lender's house--I own, I can't blame you forarriving at that conclusion. In the dark, I have brought you thus far.In the dark I am compelled to leave you, with my best respects.

  Why compelled? it may be asked. Why not take the persons who have gonealong with me, so far, up into those regions of superior enlightenmentin which I sit myself?

  In answer to this, I can only state that I am acting under orders,and that those orders have been given to me (as I understand) in theinterests of truth. I am forbidden to tell more in this narrative thanI knew myself at the time. Or, to put it plainer, I am to keep strictlywithin the limits of my own experience, and am not to inform you of whatother persons told me--for the very sufficient reason that you are tohave the information from those other persons themselves, at first hand.In this matter of the Moonstone the plan is, not to present reports, butto produce witnesses. I picture to myself a member of the family readingthese pages fifty years hence. Lord! what a compliment he will feelit, to be asked to take nothing on hear-say, and to be treated in allrespects like a Judge on the bench.

  At this place, then, we part--for the present, at least--after longjourneying together, with a companionable feeling, I hope, on bothsides. The devil's dance of the Indian Diamond has threaded its wayto London; and to London you must go after it, leaving me at thecountry-house. Please to excuse the faults of this composition--mytalking so much of myself, and being too familiar, I am afraid, withyou. I mean no harm; and I drink most respectfully (having just donedinner) to your health and prosperity, in a tankard of her ladyship'sale. May you find in these leaves of my writing, what ROBINSON CRUSOEfound in his experience on the
desert island--namely, "something tocomfort yourselves from, and to set in the Description of Good and Evil,on the Credit Side of the Account."--Farewell.

  THE END OF THE FIRST PERIOD.

  SECOND PERIOD

  THE DISCOVERY OF THE TRUTH (1848-1849)

  The events related in several narratives.

  FIRST NARRATIVE

  Contributed by MISS CLACK; niece of the late SIR JOHN VERINDER