"Dressed up like a gypsy!" Harriet crowed, clapping her
hands. "An' that's why Cook went t' jail! Because o' th' gypsy's mushrooms, what got in th' puddin'!"
Nettie looked respectfully at Cook. 'C'n ye tell agin 'bout ridin' t' jail in th' carriage, Mrs. Pratt?"
Sarah smiled, benignly (for the moment) ignoring the fact that Amelia was leaning ever so slightly toward Mudd. Riding in the carriage-to and from the jail-was a subject she loved to talk about; indeed, she dwelled on it in her waking hours and dreamed about it in her sleep. And not just the breathtaking speed and smoothness of the ride or the feel of the fine leather seats, but the astonishment on the faces of her friends as she rattled along High Street, going in glory. Since Miss Kate had given her such a generous gift, Sarah had felt quite differently about herself..She had even begun to believe it possible, as Rachel Elam's dairyman brother claimed in his letters home, that a person might actually rise above the station of her birth. Might even aspire to something like (she thought with a catch of her breath) a shop of her own.
She shook the thought out of her head and smiled again at Nettie. "Later, child," she said in a kindly tone. "There's somethirr' I need t' hear from Mr. Mudd." She bowed to Mudd with some deference. One had to feel a certain regard for a man who had so bravely stepped in to save the young miss from being taken to the cellar and done away with- although Sarah suggested that, given the necessity, the young miss could have taken perfect care of herself.
"Yer've no doubt told it, Mudd," she said, "but I've never quite got th' straight. How was it th' constable come so prompt-like, just as th' gun went off?"
"I didn't get th' straight o' it meself till this mornin'," Mudd replied, "when I read it in th' newspaper. It 'pears that th' lady had already murdered somebody else."
"No!" Amelia squealed, her hands going to her mouth.
"Yes," Mudd said, lowering his voice and making it dreadful. "A Frenchie with a gold ring. She made 'im tipsy an' drove 'im in 'is 'ired rig out to th' excavation. Then she stuck a dagger in 'is 'eart an' shoved him into a pit."
Harriet's eyes grew large and she gave a faint moan.
"She cud'na bin no lady," Nettie said firmly. She began
to count on her fingers. "I make it three she murdered, an' she would've murdered th' young miss, which is four, if she 'adn't been stopped. No lady wud've murdered so many, not even fer sport."
Cook looked at Mudd. "How did th' police know t' come?"
"Accordin* t' the newspaper," Mudd said, "Sir Charles deduced 'oo killed th' Frenchie, or near 'nough. 'E was brin-gin' th' police t' talk t' th' lady. They were on th' stoop at th' very selfsame instant th' gun went off."
"An' then they arrested th' lady," Harriet said.
"Yer see?" Nettie declared triumphantly. " 'f she were a lady, she wud'n've bin arrested!"
"T'were a great piece o' luck that yer was there, Mr. Mudd," Sarah said. "T'wud've bin a awful pity t'have lost th' young miss so soon after losin' Miss Ardleigh, God rest 'er. An' Jaggers, th' devil take 'er," she added factually. "If th' young miss had gone, we'd've all bin out o' a place, instead of warmin' ourselves by th' fire wi' tea an' chestnuts."
Mudd spoke sternly, imbued with a sense of new authority. "Don't speak ill o' th' dead, Mrs. P."
But Sarah did not reply. She was gazing into the fire, warm, contented, and full of chestnuts. And she was wondering, if ever she should have her own shop, what kind of shop it would be.
The comfortable silence was broken by the tinkle of the drawing room bell. "I'm wanted," Amelia said, and rose.
"I'll go with yer," Mudd said with alacrity, and rose as well. "Pocket, p'rhaps yer'd better see t' that lame horse." Pocket grudgingly acquiesced, and the three of them left the room.
Mrs. Pratt glanced up at the clock on the mantel. "Time fer lessons," she said.
Nettie clapped her hands, her face glowing. "Come on, Bandit," she said to the terrier. "Time fer lessons."
Harriet, who thought of herself as older and wiser, twisted rebelliously. "When I got my place, I thought I was through wi' lessons."
"Well, yer was wrong, wasn't yer?" Cook said. "Miss Kate wants you two tippity-twitchits t' get on i' th' world, so yer'd best be at it. Yer don't want t' make fools o' yerselves when yer recite fer her in th' mornin'."
She reached under her chair and pulled out the copy of the London Times that Miss Kate had given her, with the explicit but inexplicable instruction that the girls were to practice reading the entire first page aloud until they could read it smoothly and well. Handing the newspaper to an eager Nettie, she warned, "An' don't fritter th' time. Fifteen minutes o' lessons, an' then I'll see yer i' th' kitchen. There's work t' be done."
"Yes, Mrs. Pratt," the girls chorused dutifully.
Mrs. Pratt swung her feet off her stool and stood up. When she thought about the changes at Bishop's Keep, it all seemed rather queer. But still, none of the alterations-with the exception of the sad loss of Miss Ardleigh-were excessively hard to bear. As she went off to the kitchen, Mrs. Pratt was humming a tune under her breath.
53
"The truth is rarely pure, and never simple."
Thank you for bringing tea, Amelia," Kate said. "You may go now." The maid curtsied and left the room. "I am glad to have this time alone with you, my dear Kathryn," the vicar said, taking the cup she offered. "The
past two weeks have been sad for both of us."
"They have," Kate said, thinking that today was the fortnight anniversary of her aunts' deaths. She sat down, straightening the skirt of her mauve dress. She had worn black to the funeral, as was customary, but she had decided not to keep the heavy mourning that English people seemed to expect. Aunt Sabrina would not have wanted it, and to wear it for Aunt Jaggers would be hypocritical.
The two of them sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the clacking of Aunt Jaggers's parrot, whom Kate had pitied and moved out of the lonely bedroom and into the library. At last the vicar put down his cup and leaned forward. "Since tomorrow is the reading of your aunt's will, Kath-ryn, I thought it might be well to discuss it with you." "The solicitor, I understand, is coming here." "Yes. The will is very simple. It leaves the bulk of the estate to you, with the exception of certain bequests to the church, to charities she favored, and to the servants. The solicitor will no doubt wish to review the situation in some detail, but I can tell you that the estate included a substantial financial holding that will enable you to live off the rents and the interest without diminishing the principal or liquidating any of the properties. You should be able to live as you wish." He gave her an oblique look. "Perhaps you will also wish to carry on with some of your aunt's charities. Sabrina Ardleigh was a great power for good in this parish."
Kate looked down at her hands. When she had first learned of her inheritance, she had not wanted to think about it. Her great good fortune had been gained through the loss of someone she held very dear. But with the Ardleigh estate came many responsibilities, and she was determined to meet them competently. And more: she was committed to using the Ardleigh fortune, if fortune it proved to be, for good ends. What those might be, she as yet had no clear idea, although she had a few disorganized notions, and was willing to listen to the vicar's suggestions. But she did know one thing: fortune or no fortune, she would continue to write. While Beryl Bard-well might no longer be required to live by her pen, the pen remained Kate's way of encountering the world. Kate needed