CHAPTER XI

von Wilkie Collins

Once the last of the guests had driven off, I returned to the inner hall and found Samuel at the side table, overseeing the brandy and soda water. My lady and Miss Rachel emerged from the drawing room, followed by the two gentlemen. Mr. Godfrey poured himself a drink, while Mr. Franklin declined anything. He sank into a chair, looking utterly exhausted; the chatter of the evening must have worn him out.

As my lady turned to bid them goodnight, she cast a sharp glance at the gleaming legacy of the wicked Colonel that adorned her daughter’s dress.

“Rachel,” she asked, “where are you going to keep your Diamond tonight?”

Miss Rachel was in high spirits, caught up in a playful mood that often strikes young girls at the end of an exciting day. She began by claiming she didn’t know where to put the Diamond. Then she suggested, “On my dressing table, of course, with my other things.” But then she remembered that the Diamond might start shining on its own, casting its eerie glow in the dark—and that thought frightened her.

She then considered an Indian cabinet in her sitting room and decided it would be perfect to place the Diamond there, allowing two beautiful treasures to admire each other. After letting her whimsical thoughts flow for a moment, her mother stepped in to interrupt her.

“My dear! Your Indian cabinet doesn’t have a lock,” my lady pointed out.

“Good heavens, Mama!” Miss Rachel exclaimed. “Is this an hotel? Are there thieves in the house?”

Ignoring her fanciful remarks, my lady wished the gentlemen goodnight. She turned to Miss Rachel and kissed her. “Why not let me keep the Diamond for you tonight?” she suggested.

Miss Rachel reacted to that proposal as if her mother had suggested taking away a cherished doll from her childhood. My lady realized there was no reasoning with her that night. “Come to my room first thing tomorrow morning,” she said. “I have something to discuss with you.” With that, she left us slowly, lost in her thoughts, and seemingly displeased with where they were leading her.

Miss Rachel was next to say goodnight. She shook hands with Mr. Godfrey, who was standing at the far end of the hall, admiring a painting. Then she turned back to Mr. Franklin, who remained seated, weary and silent in a corner.

I couldn’t hear their words, but standing near the old oak frame that held our large mirror, I caught her reflection as she slyly slipped the locket Mr. Franklin had given her out of her dress and showed it to him with a smile that definitely hinted at something more than friendship before she skipped off to bed. This moment made me question my earlier confidence in my judgment. Perhaps Penelope was right about Miss Rachel’s feelings after all.

As soon as Miss Rachel left him alone, Mr. Franklin noticed me. His mood, which had been shifting all evening, seemed to change again.

“Betteredge,” he said, “I’m starting to think I took Mr. Murthwaite too seriously during our talk in the shrubbery. I wonder if he’s been spinning us any tall tales? Are you really going to let the dogs loose?”

“I’ll take off their collars, sir,” I replied, “and let them roam if they sense a reason to.”

“All right,” Mr. Franklin said. “We’ll see what needs to be done tomorrow. I don’t want to alarm my aunt without a very good reason. Goodnight.”

He looked so pale and worn as he nodded to me and took his candle to head upstairs that I suggested he have a drop of brandy and water as a nightcap. Mr. Godfrey, walking toward us from the other end of the hall, supported my suggestion. He urged Mr. Franklin, in the friendliest way, to have something before going to bed.

I mention these small details because, after everything I had witnessed that day, it was comforting to see that our two gentlemen remained on good terms. Their verbal sparring, overheard by Penelope in the drawing room, and their rivalry for Miss Rachel’s affection seemed to have caused no serious rift between them. They were both good-natured and worldly men. There’s certainly something to be said for people of status; they tend to be less quarrelsome with one another than those without any rank at all.

Mr. Franklin turned down the brandy-and-water and headed upstairs with Mr. Godfrey, their rooms right next to each other. But on the landing, either his cousin convinced him, or he simply changed his mind, as he often did. “Maybe I’ll need it later,” he called down to me. “Send some brandy-and-water to my room.”

I sent Samuel up with the drink and then went outside to unbuckle the dogs’ collars. They were so surprised to be let loose at that hour that they jumped on me like excited puppies! But the rain quickly calmed them down. They each took a sip of water and then returned to their kennels. As I stepped back into the house, I noticed signs in the sky that hinted at a break in the weather. For now, though, it was still pouring, and the ground was completely soaked.

Samuel and I went through the house, locking everything up as usual. I checked everything myself, trusting no one else this time. By the time I settled into bed, it was between midnight and one in the morning.

The worries of the day had taken their toll on me, I suppose. I ended up with a touch of Mr. Franklin’s insomnia that night. It was sunrise before I finally drifted off to sleep. While I lay awake, the house was as quiet as a tomb. The only sounds were the rain splashing outside and the wind sighing through the trees as a gentle breeze picked up with the morning.

I woke around seven-thirty and opened my window to a bright, sunny day. The clock chimed eight, and I was just about to go out and chain up the dogs again when I heard the sound of petticoats rushing down the stairs behind me.

I turned around to see Penelope flying down after me, looking frantic. “Father!” she shouted. “Come upstairs, please! The Diamond is gone!”

“Have you lost your mind?” I asked her.

“It’s gone!” Penelope insisted. “Nobody knows how! Just come up and see!”

She pulled me into the sitting room that led to her bedroom. There, on the threshold of her bedroom door, stood Miss Rachel, her face as pale as the white dressing gown she wore. The doors of the Indian cabinet were wide open, and one of the drawers was pulled out as far as it could go.

“Look!” Penelope exclaimed. “I saw Miss Rachel put the Diamond in that drawer last night.” I approached the cabinet. The drawer was empty.

“Is this true, Miss?” I asked.

With a look that didn’t seem like her, and a voice that sounded foreign, Miss Rachel replied, echoing my daughter’s words: “The Diamond is gone!”

After saying that, she retreated into her bedroom and locked the door behind her.

Before we could figure out what to do next, my lady entered, having heard my voice in her daughter’s sitting room and wondering what was happening. The news of the Diamond’s disappearance seemed to paralyze her. She went straight to Miss Rachel’s bedroom and insisted on being let in. Miss Rachel allowed her inside.

The alarm spread through the house like wildfire, reaching the two gentlemen next.

Mr. Godfrey was the first to step out of his room. When he heard what had happened, he simply raised his hands in confusion, which didn’t speak well for his mental strength. Mr. Franklin, whose clear thinking I had hoped would guide us, appeared just as helpless when he learned the news. Surprisingly, he had actually slept well for once, and the unfamiliar luxury of rest had, as he put it, left him a bit dazed. However, after he drank his cup of coffee—which he always had hours before breakfast—his mind cleared, and he took charge of the situation with determination and intelligence.

He first called the servants and instructed them to leave all the lower doors and windows exactly as they had been when we locked up the night before, except for the front door, which I had already opened. Then he suggested to his cousin and me that we should make sure the Diamond hadn’t accidentally fallen out of sight—perhaps behind the cabinet or under the table it stood on. After searching both places and finding nothing, and after questioning Penelope without gaining any new information, Mr. Franklin proposed that we should check with Miss Rachel and sent Penelope to knock on her bedroom door.

My lady answered the knock and entered, but moments later, we heard the door lock behind her. She came back out looking deeply puzzled and distressed. “The loss of the Diamond seems to have completely overwhelmed Rachel,” she told Mr. Franklin. “She’s acting strangely, refusing to talk about it, even to me. I’m afraid you can’t see her right now.”

After hearing the troubling news about Miss Rachel, my lady took a moment to regain her usual composure and made decisions with her characteristic resolve.

“I suppose there’s no other option?” she said calmly. “I suppose I have to call the police?”

“And the first thing they need to do,” Mr. Franklin interjected, “is track down the Indian jugglers who performed here last night.”

Both my lady and Mr. Godfrey looked surprised, unaware of what Mr. Franklin and I knew.

“I can’t explain everything right now,” Mr. Franklin continued. “All I can tell you is that the Indians definitely stole the Diamond. Please give me a letter of introduction,” he said to my lady, “to one of the magistrates in Frizinghall—just stating that I represent your interests. I need to leave with it immediately. Our chances of catching the thieves depend on not wasting a single minute.”

It was clear that Mr. Franklin was determined, and the only question was how long he could maintain that focus.

He set pen, ink, and paper in front of his aunt, who, it seemed to me, wrote the letter with some reluctance. If it had been possible to overlook the loss of a jewel worth twenty thousand pounds, I believe my lady would have felt a private relief in letting the thieves escape with the Moonstone, given her opinion of her late brother and her distrust of his birthday gift.

I walked out with Mr. Franklin to the stables and took the chance to ask him how the Indians—whom I suspected just as keenly as he did—could have gotten into the house.

“One of them might have slipped into the hall during the confusion when the dinner guests were leaving,” Mr. Franklin explained. “He could have hidden under the sofa while my aunt and Rachel were discussing where to keep the Diamond for the night. Once the house was quiet, he could have taken it from the cabinet.” With that, he called to the groom to open the gate and rode off.

That seemed like the only logical explanation. But how had the thief managed to escape? I had locked and bolted the front door as I always did at night. The other doors and windows were secure as well. And the dogs? If the thief had dropped from an upper window, how had he avoided them? Had he brought drugged meat for them? As that thought crossed my mind, the dogs came bounding around a corner, tumbling over each other on the wet grass, full of energy. It took considerable effort to calm them down and chain them up again. The more I thought about it, the less convincing Mr. Franklin’s explanation became.

We had our breakfast—no matter what happens in a household, whether it’s a robbery or something worse, breakfast must go on. After we finished, my lady summoned me, and I found myself compelled to share everything I had kept hidden about the Indians and their scheme. Being a woman of strong character, she quickly moved past the initial shock of my revelations. Her thoughts seemed more troubled about her daughter than the thieves and their plot.

“You know how peculiar Rachel can be, how differently she sometimes acts compared to other girls,” my lady said to me. “But I’ve never seen her so strange and withdrawn as she is now. The loss of her jewel seems to have affected her deeply. Who would have thought that dreadful Diamond could have such a hold on her in such a short time?”

It was undeniably strange. When it came to toys and trinkets, Miss Rachel was never as obsessed as most young girls. Yet there she was, locked away in her bedroom, inconsolable. It’s only fair to mention that she wasn’t the only one in the house feeling out of sorts. Mr. Godfrey, for example—despite being a sort of general comforter by profession—seemed lost when it came to finding his own solace. With no company to entertain him and no opportunity to see if his experience with distressed women could help Miss Rachel, he wandered aimlessly around the house and gardens, clearly uneasy. He was torn between two thoughts: should he relieve the family of the burden of having him as a guest during such a difficult time, or should he stay in case his humble presence might offer some comfort? Ultimately, he decided that staying was the more customary and considerate choice, given the peculiar family distress we were all facing.

Circumstances reveal a person’s true character, and under pressure, Mr. Godfrey showed himself to be weaker than I had expected. As for the women in the household, aside from Rosanna Spearman, who kept to herself, they gathered in corners to whisper and cast suspicious glances, which is typical behavior for the fairer sex when something extraordinary happens. I, too, admit to feeling restless and irritable. The cursed Moonstone had turned our lives upside down.

Just before eleven, Mr. Franklin returned. The determined side of him seemed to have crumbled during his absence. He had left us in a rush, but now he walked back slowly. When he departed, he was as strong as iron; upon his return, he seemed deflated, like a stuffed toy gone limp.

“Well,” my lady asked, “are the police on their way?”

“Yes,” Mr. Franklin replied. “They said they would follow me in a cab. Superintendent Seegrave from the local police and two of his men. It’s just a formality! The case is hopeless.”

“What? Have the Indians escaped?” I inquired.

“The poor, wronged Indians have been unjustly imprisoned,” Mr. Franklin said. “They are as innocent as a newborn. My theory that one of them was hiding in the house has, like all my other theories, gone up in smoke. It’s been proven,” he added, relishing the irony of his own failure, “to be utterly impossible.”

After surprising us with this unexpected twist in the Moonstone case, Mr. Franklin, at his aunt’s request, took a seat and explained further.

It turned out that his resolve had held up until he reached Frizinghall. He had laid the entire situation out for the magistrate, who immediately called for the police. Initial inquiries about the Indians revealed that they hadn’t even attempted to leave town. Further questioning confirmed that all three had been seen returning to Frizinghall with their little boy the previous night between ten and eleven—which, considering the timing and distances, meant they had walked straight back after their performance on our terrace. Later, at midnight, the police had searched the lodging house where they lived and found all three of them again, along with their boy, just as usual. I had locked up the house safely shortly after midnight. There couldn’t have been clearer evidence in favor of the Indians. The magistrate stated there was no suspicion against them at all. However, since it was possible that the police might uncover something related to the jugglers during their investigation, he decided to keep them in custody as rogues and vagabonds for a week. They had unknowingly done something—though I can’t recall what—that barely fell under the law’s jurisdiction. Every human institution, including justice, can be stretched a little if you know how to pull it. The magistrate was an old friend of my lady’s, and the Indians were committed for a week as soon as the court opened that morning.

That was Mr. Franklin’s account of what had happened in Frizinghall. The Indian connection to the mystery of the lost jewel now seemed to have slipped through our fingers. If the jugglers were innocent, then who, in the name of all that was wondrous, had taken the Moonstone from Miss Rachel’s drawer?

Ten minutes later, we felt an immense wave of relief wash over us as Superintendent Seegrave arrived at the house. He mentioned that he had seen Mr. Franklin lounging on the terrace, soaking up the sun—perhaps with his Italian side in full swing—warning the police as they passed that the investigation was pointless, even before it had begun.

For a family in our predicament, the Superintendent of the Frizinghall police was the most reassuring presence we could hope for. Mr. Seegrave was tall and stout, with a military demeanor that commanded respect. His voice was strong and authoritative, his gaze resolute, and he wore a grand frock coat that buttoned perfectly over his leather stock. His expression seemed to say, “I’m the man you need!” He directed his two subordinate officers with a sternness that made it clear he meant business.

He started by inspecting the premises, both inside and out. His investigation quickly revealed that no thieves had entered from outside, which meant the robbery must have been carried out by someone within the house. You can only imagine the panic that spread among the servants when they first heard this official announcement. The Superintendent decided to begin his inquiries in the boudoir and then move on to question the staff. He stationed one of his men at the staircase leading to the servants’ quarters, instructing him to allow no one to pass until further notice.

This latter action sent the more delicate members of the household into a frenzy. They rushed out of their corners and bolted upstairs to Miss Rachel’s room, with Rosanna Spearman swept along in their midst. They burst in on Superintendent Seegrave, all looking equally guilty, and demanded to know who he suspected.

Mr. Seegrave handled the situation with authority. He fixed them with his determined gaze and addressed them in his commanding voice.

“Now, ladies, go back downstairs, all of you. I won’t have you here. Look!” he said, suddenly pointing to a small smear of decorative paint on Miss Rachel’s door, just beneath the lock. “See what trouble some of you have caused already. Clear out! Clear out!” Rosanna, who was closest to him and nearest to the smear, took the lead and quickly returned to her duties. The others followed suit. The Superintendent continued his examination of the room, finding nothing of significance, and then asked me who had first discovered the robbery. I informed him that my daughter had been the one to find it out. He requested her presence.

Mr. Superintendent was perhaps a bit too brusque with Penelope at first. “Now, young lady, listen to me, and make sure you tell the truth.” Penelope immediately bristled. “I’ve never been taught to lie, Mr. Policeman! If my father can stand there and hear me accused of dishonesty and theft, and keep my own bedroom locked against me, taking away my character—which is all a poor girl has left—then he’s not the good father I believe him to be!” A timely word from me helped smooth things over between Justice and Penelope. The questions flowed easily after that, but ultimately led to nothing significant. My daughter had seen Miss Rachel place the Diamond in the cabinet drawer the night before. When she brought Miss Rachel her cup of tea the next morning, she found the drawer open and empty. That was when she raised the alarm—and that was the end of Penelope’s testimony.

Next, the Superintendent asked to see Miss Rachel herself. Penelope relayed his request through the door, and we received her response the same way: “I have nothing to tell the policeman—I can’t see anyone.” Our experienced officer looked both surprised and offended by her reply. I explained that my young lady was unwell and asked him to wait a bit before seeing her. We then made our way back downstairs, where we encountered Mr. Godfrey and Mr. Franklin crossing the hall.

The two gentlemen, being residents of the house, were called upon to see if they could shed any light on the situation. Neither of them had any information to offer. Had they heard any suspicious noises during the previous night? They had heard nothing but the sound of rain. Had I, who had been awake longer than either of them, heard anything? Nothing at all! Once released from questioning, Mr. Franklin leaned in to whisper to me, “That man will be of no use to us. Superintendent Seegrave is an idiot.” After he was released, Mr. Godfrey whispered to me, “Clearly a very competent individual. Betteredge, I have the utmost faith in him!” As the saying goes, many men, many opinions.

Mr. Superintendent led us back to the "boudoir," my daughter and I following closely behind. He was determined to see if any of the furniture had been moved during the night. His earlier investigation hadn’t quite satisfied him.

As we rummaged through the chairs and tables, the bedroom door swung open unexpectedly. To our surprise, Miss Rachel, who had been avoiding everyone, walked in as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She picked up her garden hat from a chair and turned to Penelope.

“Mr. Franklin Blake sent you with a message for me this morning?” she asked.

“Yes, miss,” Penelope replied.

“He wanted to speak to me, didn’t he?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Where is he now?”

I glanced out the window and spotted the two gentlemen strolling on the terrace below. “Mr. Franklin is on the terrace, miss,” I answered for my daughter.

Without acknowledging Mr. Superintendent, who tried to speak to her, she left the room, her face pale and lost in her own thoughts, and headed down to her cousins.

I knew it was rude, but I couldn’t help but peek out the window as Miss Rachel approached the gentlemen outside. She walked straight up to Mr. Franklin, ignoring Mr. Godfrey, who stepped back to give them space. Their conversation seemed intense, and though it was brief, Mr. Franklin’s expression revealed that he was utterly taken aback. Just then, my lady appeared on the terrace. Miss Rachel noticed her, exchanged a few last words with Mr. Franklin, and then abruptly returned to the house before her mother could reach her. My lady, surprised and noticing Mr. Franklin’s astonishment, spoke to him. Mr. Godfrey joined in, and as they walked a little further, they paused, struck by something.

I had just witnessed this when the sitting-room door flew open. Miss Rachel stormed through to her bedroom, her eyes wild and her cheeks flushed with anger. Mr. Superintendent attempted to question her again, but she turned sharply at her bedroom door. “I didn’t send for you!” she shouted. “I don’t want you. My Diamond is lost. Neither you nor anyone else will ever find it!” With that, she slammed the door in our faces. Penelope, standing closest, heard her break down in tears the moment she was alone.

One moment she was furious, the next she was crying. What was going on?

I told the Superintendent it was just Miss Rachel’s temper flaring up over the loss of her jewel. I was worried about the family’s reputation and felt distressed to see her lose control, even in front of a police officer, so I made the best excuse I could. But in truth, I was more confused than ever by her strange words and actions. From what she had shouted at the door, I could only guess that she was deeply offended by our decision to call the police. Mr. Franklin’s shock on the terrace must have stemmed from her expressing that displeasure to him, as he was the one who had brought the police into the situation. If that was the case, why would she object to the presence of the very people whose job it was to help her find her lost Diamond? And how could she possibly know that it would never be found again?

As things stood, I didn’t expect any answers from anyone in the house. Mr. Franklin seemed to think it was a matter of honor not to share what Miss Rachel had said to him, even with someone as long-serving as I was. Mr. Godfrey, who was likely in on the secret, respected that confidence as he should. My lady, who also knew what was going on and was the only one with access to Miss Rachel, openly admitted that she couldn’t make sense of her daughter’s behavior. “You drive me crazy when you talk about the Diamond!” was all she could get out of her.

So here we were, stuck with Miss Rachel and stuck with the Moonstone. My lady couldn’t help us with the first issue, and as you’ll soon see, Mr. Seegrave was rapidly reaching the limits of his patience regarding the second.

After searching every corner of the “boudoir” without finding anything, the experienced officer turned to me and asked if the servants knew where the Diamond had been kept for the night.

“I know where it was, sir,” I replied. “Samuel, the footman, was also aware—he was in the hall when they discussed where to store the Diamond. My daughter knows too, as she has already mentioned. Either she or Samuel might have let the other servants in on the secret, or they could have overheard the conversation through the side door of the hall, which might have been open to the back staircase. For all I know, everyone in the house could have known where the jewel was last night.”

My answer opened up a wide range of possibilities for Mr. Superintendent’s suspicions, so he tried to narrow it down by asking about the servants’ characters.

I immediately thought of Rosanna Spearman. However, it wasn’t my place to cast suspicion on a girl whose honesty had never been in doubt during my time knowing her. The matron at the Reformatory had reported her to my lady as genuinely penitent and completely trustworthy. It was the Superintendent’s job to find a reason to suspect her first, and only then would it be my duty to explain how she came to serve my lady. “All our staff have excellent characters,” I said. “They’ve all earned the trust their mistress has placed in them.” After that, there was nothing left for Mr. Seegrave to do but investigate the servants’ characters himself.

One by one, they were questioned. One by one, they had nothing to say—and they expressed this (especially the women) at great length, with a strong sense of indignation about the restrictions placed on their bedrooms. Once the others were sent back downstairs, Penelope was called in for a second round of questioning.

My daughter’s little outburst in the “boudoir” and her quickness to feel accused seemed to leave a negative impression on Superintendent Seegrave. He also seemed to linger on the fact that she was the last person to see the Diamond that night. When the second round of questioning was over, my girl returned to me in a state of distress. There was no doubt about it—the police officer had practically accused her of being the thief! I could hardly believe he was as foolish as Mr. Franklin suggested. But even without saying anything, the look he gave my daughter was unsettling. I tried to brush it off with Penelope, insisting it was too ridiculous to take seriously—which it was. Yet, I must admit, I was secretly angry too. It was a bit much to handle. My girl sat in a corner, her apron over her head, utterly heartbroken. You might think it was foolish of her. She could have waited until he openly accused her. I acknowledge that. Still, Mr. Superintendent could have been more considerate—never mind what he could have remembered. Curse him!

The next and final step in the investigation brought everything to a head. The officer had a meeting (which I attended) with my lady. After informing her that the Diamond must have been taken by someone in the house, he requested permission to search the servants’ rooms and belongings right then and there. My good mistress, being the generous and noble woman she was, refused to allow us to be treated like criminals. “I will never agree to such a thing,” she said, “for all I owe to the loyal servants in my house.”

Mr. Superintendent bowed, casting a look in my direction that clearly said, “Why hire me if you’re going to tie my hands like this?” As the head of the servants, I felt it was our duty, for the sake of fairness, not to benefit from our mistress’s kindness. “We are grateful for your ladyship’s generosity,” I said, “but we believe it’s right to give up our keys. When Gabriel Betteredge sets the example,” I added, stopping Superintendent Seegrave at the door, “the rest of the servants will follow, I promise you. Here are my keys to start with!” My lady took my hand and thanked me, tears in her eyes. Oh, how I wished at that moment that I could knock Superintendent Seegrave down!

As I had promised, the other servants reluctantly followed my lead, but they all shared my perspective. The women were a sight to behold as the police officers rummaged through their belongings. The cook looked as if she could roast Mr. Superintendent alive, and the other women appeared ready to devour him once he was done.

The search was over, and there was still no sign of the Diamond anywhere. Superintendent Seegrave retreated to my small room to think about what to do next. He and his team had spent hours in the house, yet they hadn’t made any progress in figuring out how the Moonstone had been taken or who might be the thief.

While the police officer pondered in silence, I was called to see Mr. Franklin in the library. To my utter shock, just as I reached for the door, it swung open from the inside, and out stepped Rosanna Spearman!

After the library had been cleaned that morning, neither the first nor second housemaid was supposed to enter that room again that day. I stopped Rosanna and confronted her about breaking the rules.

“What were you doing in the library at this time?” I asked.

“Mr. Franklin Blake dropped one of his rings upstairs,” Rosanna replied, her face flushed. “I went into the library to give it back to him.” She tossed her head and walked away with an air of self-importance that left me puzzled. The chaos in the house had clearly unsettled the women servants, but none had strayed so far from their usual behavior as Rosanna seemed to have.

I found Mr. Franklin at the library table, writing. The moment I entered, he asked for a ride to the railway station. His voice revealed that the determined side of him had returned. The man who had seemed so fragile was gone, replaced by someone resolute and strong.

“Going to London, sir?” I inquired.

“Going to send a telegram to London,” Mr. Franklin said. “I’ve convinced my aunt that we need someone sharper than Superintendent Seegrave to help us. She’s given me permission to contact my father. He knows the Chief Commissioner of Police, and the Commissioner can find the right person to solve the mystery of the Diamond. Speaking of mysteries,” he lowered his voice, “I need to tell you something before you head to the stables. Don’t mention this to anyone yet, but either Rosanna Spearman isn’t quite right in the head, or she knows more about the Moonstone than she should.”

I was taken aback, unsure whether to feel alarmed or distressed. If I had been younger, I might have admitted my concerns to Mr. Franklin. But as you grow older, you learn to keep quiet when things aren’t clear.

“She came in here with a ring I dropped in my bedroom,” Mr. Franklin continued. “After I thanked her, I expected her to leave. Instead, she stood there at the table, looking at me in the strangest way—half scared, half familiar. I couldn’t figure it out. ‘This is a strange thing about the Diamond, sir,’ she said suddenly. I agreed, wondering what she was getting at. Honestly, Betteredge, I think she must be a bit off. She said, ‘They will never find the Diamond, sir, will they? No! Nor the person who took it—I’ll answer for that.’ She actually nodded and smiled at me! Before I could ask her what she meant, we heard your footsteps outside. I guess she got scared of being caught here. At any rate, she turned pale and left the room. What does it all mean?”

I couldn’t bring myself to share Rosanna’s story with him, even then. It would have been almost the same as accusing her of being the thief. Besides, even if I had revealed everything, it still wouldn’t explain why she would confide in Mr. Franklin of all people.

“I can’t stand the thought of getting the poor girl in trouble just because she acts a bit strange,” Mr. Franklin said. “But if she had said what she said to me to the Superintendent, fool though he is, I’m afraid—” He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.

“The best approach, sir,” I suggested, “would be for me to have a private word with my mistress at the first chance. My lady cares for Rosanna, and the girl might just be a bit forward and foolish. When there’s a mess in a house, the women servants tend to focus on the worst-case scenario—it gives them a sense of importance. If someone’s ill, they’ll predict the worst. If a jewel goes missing, they’ll insist it will never be found.”

The perspective I had considered likely, upon reflection, seemed to ease Mr. Franklin significantly. He folded his telegram and moved on from the topic. As I made my way to the stables to order the pony-chaise, I glanced into the servants’ hall, where dinner was in full swing. Rosanna Spearman was absent. When I inquired, I learned she had suddenly fallen ill and retreated to her room to rest.

"That's odd! She seemed perfectly fine when I last saw her," I commented.

Penelope followed me outside. "Please don’t say things like that in front of the others, Father," she replied. "You’re only making it harder for Rosanna. The poor girl is heartbroken over Mr. Franklin Blake."

This offered a different perspective on Rosanna’s behavior. If Penelope was right, perhaps Rosanna’s strange words and actions stemmed from her desperation to get Mr. Franklin’s attention. If that was the case, it explained her erratic, self-absorbed demeanor when she passed me in the hall. Even though he had only spoken three words, she had succeeded in getting Mr. Franklin to acknowledge her.

I watched as the pony was harnessed. In the midst of all the chaos and uncertainty surrounding us, it was oddly comforting to see how effortlessly the buckles and straps came together. Once the pony was secured in the shafts of the chaise, it was a moment of clarity—something we desperately needed in our household.

As I brought the chaise around to the front door, I found Mr. Franklin, Mr. Godfrey, and Superintendent Seegrave waiting for me on the steps.

After failing to locate the Diamond in the servants’ quarters or their belongings, Superintendent Seegrave had come to a new conclusion. Sticking to his original belief that someone in the house had stolen the jewel, he now suspected that the thief was working with the Indians. He proposed shifting his focus to the jugglers imprisoned in Frizinghall. Upon hearing this, Mr. Franklin offered to take the Superintendent back to town, where he could send a telegram to London just as easily as from our station. Mr. Godfrey, still firmly believing in Mr. Seegrave and eager to witness the interrogation of the Indians, requested to accompany the officer to Frizinghall. One of the two junior policemen would remain at the house in case anything happened, while the other would return to town with the Superintendent. Thus, all four seats in the pony-chaise were filled.

Before taking the reins, Mr. Franklin stepped aside with me, out of earshot from the others.

"I’ll wait to send the telegram to London until after we see what comes from the examination of the Indians," he said. "I’m convinced that this muddled local officer is just stalling. The idea that any of the servants are in league with the Indians is utterly ridiculous. Stay around the house, Betteredge, until I return, and see what you can find out about Rosanna Spearman. I’m not asking you to do anything that would compromise your self-respect or be cruel to her. Just observe her more closely than usual. We’ll downplay it in front of my aunt, but this is more important than you might realize."

"It’s a matter of twenty thousand pounds, sir," I replied, thinking of the Diamond’s worth.

"It’s about calming Rachel’s mind," Mr. Franklin said gravely. "I’m very worried about her."

He abruptly left, as if he wanted to end our conversation. I sensed the reason why; further discussion might have revealed what Miss Rachel had confided to him on the terrace.

So they drove off to Frizinghall. I was eager to have a private conversation with Rosanna for her own sake, but the chance never came. She only came downstairs again at tea time. When she did, she was restless and agitated, had what they call a hysterical episode, took a dose of sal-volatile at my lady’s request, and was sent back to her room.

The day dragged on, dreary and miserable, I can tell you. Miss Rachel remained in her room, insisting she was too unwell to join us for dinner. My lady was so worried about her daughter that I couldn’t bring myself to add to her anxiety by mentioning what Rosanna Spearman had said to Mr. Franklin. Penelope continued to believe she would soon be tried, sentenced, and transported for theft. The other women buried themselves in their Bibles and hymn-books, looking as sour as vinegar over their reading—a reaction I’ve noticed often follows acts of piety performed at unusual times of the day. As for me, I didn’t even have the heart to open my copy of *Robinson Crusoe*. Instead, I went out to the yard, and, craving a bit of cheerful company, I set my chair by the kennels and talked to the dogs.

About half an hour before dinner, the two gentlemen returned from Frizinghall, having arranged for Superintendent Seegrave to come back to us the next day. They had visited Mr. Murthwaite, the Indian traveler, at his current residence near the town. At Mr. Franklin’s request, he had generously shared his knowledge of the language to help them communicate with two of the three Indians who didn’t speak any English. The examination was thorough and lengthy but ultimately led to nothing; not a single reason was found to suspect the jugglers of having influenced any of our servants. Once they reached that conclusion, Mr. Franklin sent a telegraphic message to London, and now we would have to wait until tomorrow for any further developments.

That was the story of the day following the birthday. So far, not a glimmer of hope had come our way. However, a day or two later, the darkness began to lift a little. How it happened and what came of it, you’ll see shortly.