Chapter 4
Clearing up after the fete was, as these things always are, monotonous and depressing. The food, apart from any which had been dropped and trampled, had gone. The decision to provide cut bread as plates, in the medieval fashion, had worked well, especially with hog roast. Some had been dropped, and those that had not been picked up by the gypsy children to take home had been devoured by local dogs. Shuri and Woodlock bore a hand in seeing things taken down, and stowed where needed, and Woodlock took drunken gypsies from the loose box they had been stowed in, whilst Adam Parkin, the village constable, bore off the rest. There appeared to have been a brawl between village and tribe, but honours looked to be even, so Cornelius shrugged.
“It’s entertainment for both sides I haven’t had to organise,” he said.
Parkin gave a rather creaky laugh.
“Now that’s philosophy, Mr. Corny,” he said. “Be it true your oldest brother tried to make trouble?”
“Yes, but I’m trying to keep it quiet,” said Cornelius.
“Mr. Theo is hot angry about it,” said Parkin. “Almost came roaring up to the rectory to take a swing at Mr. Seeby.”
“He’d better not; what an example for his pupils!” said Cornelius. The brother closest to him in age, Theophilus, ran a village school for the cleverer boys, and the odd girl, ready to move on from Mother Parkin, Adam’s wife, who ran a dame school. The village sent several of its youngsters every year into the artillery regiment, where Emilius, the brother between Eusebius and Theophilus, was a lieutenant, as well as a few lads who went to sea. As promotion was on merit in both, they did well for the extra education.
Eusebius had every intention of hoping that all would be forgotten if he lay low and said little; and perhaps he might have lived it down, and caused no more upset had not Theophilus come up to the rectory on the following Saturday, to see both his father, and say his piece.
“See here, Seeby,” said Theo, “You might get pleasure out of being a canting hypocrite and a spoilsport of all kinds, but it won’t do, it won’t do at all. It reflects on Papa, for one thing, as well as on me, in a responsibility as village dominie, and on Corny and hence his lordship. Now I don’t know how you get away with setting a bad example for your choir boys, but I won’t have you doing so for the village lads. I’ve just broken one of them of the bad habit of being a tattle-tale, and then what does my own brother do, but tell tales, and not just tales but wild conjectures which could have been verified. You might have checked these ‘girls’ beforehand, you know, but no, you must go running off to spread lies, calumnies and prurient whispers. And because you were taken down a peg or two, I have your example to teach the lads why tale-bearing is bad, but I am ashamed that my own brother should act in such a way, and I have to live it down.”
Eusebius was aghast.
“You surely did not spread the tale to the village brats?” he demanded.
“Too right, I did,” said Theo. “And a good salutary tale of how a tell-tale gets their long nose bitten right off it made too.”
“You little bastard!” hissed Eusebius. “I will never forgive you, either, you or Cornelius.”
“Oh, grow up,” said Theo. “You just have a down on the gypsies, and as several of them are coming to my school, I don’t want any trouble between them and the other scholars. And if you try to foment any by your usual method of sickly sweet hidden sneaking, I will find out and I will pound you. What, did you think we weren’t wise to you when you used to go to Papa and say things like, ‘Oh, Papa, I didn’t know Theo had a day off school to go fishing, do you think he’ll bring us a good catch?’ and ‘Oh, Papa, I forgive Theo for hitting me, of course, do you think something has upset him to be so bad-tempered?’ with pretended sympathy. So I will be listening out for you saying anything like, ‘Oh, of course, it’s not proven that any of those gypsies were responsible for... whatever trouble there has been,’ because I know how you are.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Eusebius, sulkily.
“You do, but so long as you keep yourself to yourself, I won’t have to pound you, will I?” said Theo. “You might as well keep yourself to yourself, anyway, as nobody else likes you enough to want to spend time in your company.”
He left Eusebius simmering. And unfortunately, Eusebius simmering was also Eusebius plotting. However, after he had taken himself for a brisk walk, he seemed to calm down, and the Reverend Reckitt heaved a sigh of relief.
oOoOo
“Have you seen my snuff box, cariad?” Evelyn asked Imogen.
“Which one, the gold one with dogs on the china lid, or the silver one with classical scenes?”
“The gold one. I don’t use it as often but I had a fancy t o use it to judge the shepherds’ dogs for their show,” said Evelyn. “They all swear each has the best dog, who herds sheep to a series of whistles, and do everything but get up on their hind legs to demand a cut of mutton and eat it with knife and fork.”
Imogen laughed.
“Oh, to any man, his dog is the best.” She frowned. “It was on your commode, last time I saw it.” She rang the bell, which was answered by George Dobson, the enthusiastic footman.
“George, ask Larkin... no, actually, you’ve taken on most of the butler’s duties, haven’t you?”
“Yes m’lady, I’m learning the ropes, so to speak,” said George. “Larkin won’t let his lordship pension him off. Not until he’s seen the next generation into the world.”
“And he doesn’t count Jasper and Phebe, I suppose,” sighed Imogen. “His lordship’s gold snuffbox has gone missing, and now I come to think of it, I missed a pair of sapphire earrings. I wish you will ask around, and see if anyone seems to know more than they ought. I don’t want to make unfounded accusations and there may be a reasonable explanation, but I want to know.”
“Yes, m’lady, I’ll see if I can find anything out,” said George. “What it isn’t is gypsies, as none of them have been in the house.”
“I never supposed it might be,” said Imogen. “A snuff-box is a little large to start suspecting magpies. I’ll ask Phebe if she took it to play with; it would make a pretty trunk for a doll in a dolls’ house to have.”
“I didn’t take it, Mama,” said Phebe, who had come into the room. “And I wouldn’t, without asking.”
“I didn’t think you would,” said Imogen. “I suspect it most likely that a maid knocked it off the stand and broke the painted china lid, and is afraid to own up; and if so, it might be that Jasper is handling it and seeing to having it mended.”
“I’ll go and ask him,” said Phebe.
She was soon back with Jasper.
“I haven’t had anything to do with it, Ma, Pa,” said Jasper. “George is asking the servants; if any of them did break it, it would be reasonable to ask Woodlock or Shuri whether any of the tinkers could mend it. I can pop over and find out?”
“Yes, do, and make it clear that nobody is suggesting wrongdoing,” said Evelyn. “It’s no very great deal, just annoying.”
More items went missing, including Imogen’s silver thimble, over which she cried, as it had been a gift from Evelyn’s mother, Enid.
Woodlock came up to the hall.
“I come to swear an oath none of the gypsies have been stealing, my lord,” he said to Evelyn. “I’d beat seven bells out of anyone who tried it.”
“Thank you, Woodlock; but I am already certain it is none of your people,” said Evelyn. “I trust you all. You are my family, after a manner of speaking. And you have eaten at my wedding table. I know the customs.”
“Aye, and we appreciate that you understand it,” said Woodlock. “Some of us think it might be someone in your household who may have taken against us, and is doing it to cast blame.”
“The thought had occurred to me,” said Evelyn, grimly. “But I don’t want to upset my staff by searching their meagre belongings. It’s something I hope to solve without a collective search.”
“Well, I wish you luck. You’re welcome to send Cornelius and a bailiff to search our things; in fact, I wish you would.”
“If you ask it to clear you, then I shall, and put it to the servants that it might be as well if something of the sort is in order for their protection, too,” said Evelyn.
Imogen insisted on being part of the party to search the women’s belongings, which was only fitting, and a duty not to be passed to a servant.
“And thanks to Woodlock and Shuri for insisting on this search to clear everyone,” said Imogen.
“What if stuff is found here?” asked one brawny woman.
“Then we will listen to any reasonable explanation, including a member of the hall staff having been suspiciously friendly to have planted it,” said Imogen. “And if anyone was acrobatic enough to climb into those places from which items disappeared, then he or she could make more performing acrobatics for people not stealing,” she added. “If it is an individual stealing, then I leave it to the tribe to enact punishment for stealing from family, for the marquis and I consider you extended family as you are also related through one of my relatives to me.”
One of the older men stepped forward.
“I picked up a good spade off of your gardener, lady; I didn’t think of it being about family. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll deal with you later, Tasso,” said Woodlock. “Give the spade back.”
“If your people need a good spade, for Tasso’s honesty in speaking up, consider it a gift to the tribe; we have replaced the gardener’s spade,” said Imogen. “I acknowledge the temptation, and that Tasso will suffer some retribution.”
“He’ll take a blow from each of the men for damaging our reputation,” said Woodlock. “He’s a good forager, places where we aren’t welcome, but it’s a habit which dies hard.”
“Thank you,” said Imogen.
The search did not take long, and a few items turned up which must have come from the gentry. Woodlock himself had a fine hunter watch in chased silver. He winked at Cornelius.
“It might have fallen out of the pocket of a farmer who threatened one of the kiddies with a pitchfork, after he accidentally fell on his arse in a puddle and knocked himself out by banging his head on my fist,” he said.
“Keep it out of sight,” said Cornelius. “I have no time for those who threaten children with deadly weapons, even if they were stealing chickens.”
“Only eggs,” said Woodlock.
“Well, here, they will trade chores for eggs,” said Cornelius. “I know it’s less fun, but then, it’s also less nervous.”
Woodlock grinned.
“I do like you, my brother,” he said.
“And I like you, but I’d like to see your children learn that they don’t have to steal,” said Cornelius.
“The village, even your brother, is under my sworn protection,” said Woodlock.
“He’s a sanctimonious idiot,” said Cornelius. “He used to make a habit of getting us younger ones into trouble with Papa, in such a way that it did not sound like sneaking.”
“Isn’t bearing false witness one of the ten commandments?” said Woodlock.
“It is; and in a way, it also breaks ‘Honour thy father and thy mother,’ for it disrespected papa’s discipline,” said Cornelius. “And I swear he hates Evelyn because he covets his position.”
“Some churchman,” said Woodlock, dryly. “At least as he has not been at the hall, you cannot suspect him of stealing to throw a bad light on us.”
“Indeed, for it would be the sort of thing he might do, to manufacture ‘proof’ of something he is convinced he knows,” said Cornelius. “I am grateful that he cannot have done it; I fear it would destroy Papa.”
At the hall, Evelyn assembled the servants.
“The gypsies asked if my people would search them to clear them of theft. Do you, as my staff, wish to be cleared in like manner?”
His man, Spalding spoke up.
“We do feel that it would be good for us to be cleared,” he said. “At least, I feel so, as I am one of the people most able to be in a position to steal from his lordship and her ladyship. It feels like being under suspicion all the time, even though his lordship assures me that he trusts me absolutely.”
“It must be them gypsies; they do steal,” said one of the chambermaids.
“Gypsies steal when they have no other choice,” said Evelyn. “But this tribe considers us as family, and to steal from family is something they account a serious sin. Besides, how would they steal things from our private bedrooms? I think anyone would notice them, don’t you, Mary?” he hoped he had her name right.
Mary looked down.
“If you say so, my lord,” she said, colourlessly.
“I do say so,” said Evelyn. “Someone would have to be able to perform miracles to get into this rambling pile and creep up to bedrooms, including figuring out which bedrooms her ladyship and I occupy since we don’t use the master bedroom. And to find her ladyship’s sewing kit and to know how it would upset her to lose the thimble my mother bought her. Though I do wonder if that theft was just an act of spite from someone told off for not wearing a fresh clean apron on Sunday, as it is expected that clean clothes will be worn on the Sabbath. Wasn’t that you, Mary?”
Mary mumbled something about forgetting which day it was.
“Funny,” said Imogen. “Your excuse when I rebuked you was that you had nothing clean back from the laundry, which was proved to be untrue, for I rebuked the laundress and had to apologise to her when she showed your clean clothing in the basket with your name on it which you had not bothered to collect. However, if you took my thimble in a fit of spite and own up to it, or indeed have anything else to say, I appreciate honesty.”
“I still think it was the gypsies,” said Mary.
No comments:
Post a Comment