CHAPTER XIII

von Wilkie Collins

I found my lady in her sitting room, and she jumped slightly, annoyance flashing across her face when I mentioned that Sergeant Cuff wanted to speak with her.

“Do I really have to see him?” she asked. “Can’t you handle it for me, Gabriel?”

I was taken aback by her reaction, and I must have shown it on my face. My lady, sensing my confusion, took a moment to explain.

“I’m afraid my nerves are a bit frayed,” she said. “There’s something about that police officer from London that makes me uneasy—I can’t quite put my finger on it. I have a feeling he’s bringing trouble and distress into our home. It sounds silly and not like me at all, but that’s how I feel.”

I didn’t know how to respond. The more I got to know Sergeant Cuff, the more I appreciated him. After sharing her feelings, my lady seemed to regain some of her composure—she was, after all, a woman of great courage, as I had mentioned before.

“If I have to see him, then I will,” she said. “But I can’t bring myself to meet him alone. Bring him in, Gabriel, and stay with us while he’s here.”

This was the first time I had seen my mistress so shaken since her youth. I returned to the “boudoir.” Mr. Franklin had wandered out into the garden to join Mr. Godfrey, who was preparing to leave. Sergeant Cuff and I headed straight to my lady’s room.

I swear, my lady turned a shade paler at the sight of him! She composed herself, though, and asked the Sergeant if he minded my presence. She kindly explained that I was not only her trusted adviser but also her longtime servant, and that in matters concerning the household, I was the best person to consult. The Sergeant politely accepted my presence as a favor, noting that he had already found my experience with the staff helpful. My lady gestured to two chairs, and we settled in to begin our discussion.

“I’ve formed an opinion on this case,” Sergeant Cuff said, “and I would like to keep it to myself for now. My purpose here is to share what I’ve discovered in Miss Verinder’s sitting room and what I plan to do next, with your permission.”

He then detailed the smear on the paint and the conclusions he had drawn from it—expressing them with more respect than he had to Superintendent Seegrave. “One thing is certain,” he concluded, “the Diamond is missing from the drawer in the cabinet. Another thing is almost certain: the marks from the smear on the door must be on some article of clothing belonging to someone in this house. We need to find that article of clothing before we can proceed.”

“And finding that item,” my mistress interjected, “implies finding the thief, I presume?”

“I beg your pardon, but I’m not saying the Diamond is stolen,” he clarified. “I’m only stating that it’s currently missing. Discovering the stained dress may lead us to the Diamond.”

My lady turned to me. “Do you understand this?” she asked.

“Sergeant Cuff understands it, my lady,” I replied.

“How do you plan to find the stained dress?” my mistress asked, turning back to the Sergeant. “My good servants, who have been with me for years, have already had their boxes and rooms searched by the other officer. I can’t and won’t allow them to be treated that way again!”

(What a mistress to serve! Truly a remarkable woman!)

“That’s exactly the issue I wanted to address with you, my lady,” the Sergeant said. “The other officer has done significant damage to this investigation by letting the servants know he suspected them. If I give them any reason to feel suspected again, there’s no telling what obstacles they might throw in my path—the women especially. However, their boxes must be searched again for a straightforward reason: the first search only looked for the Diamond, while the second must focus on the stained dress. I completely agree with you, my lady, that we should consider the servants’ feelings, but I also believe their wardrobes need to be examined.”

This seemed like a deadlock. My lady expressed her frustration in more refined terms than I could muster.

“I have a plan to address the issue,” said Sergeant Cuff, “if your ladyship will agree to it. I propose explaining the case to the servants.”

“The women will think they’re being suspected right away,” I interrupted.

“The women won’t mind, Mr. Betteredge,” the Sergeant replied, “if I tell them I’m going to check the wardrobes of everyone—right from her ladyship down to the staff—who stayed in the house on Wednesday night. It’s just a formality,” he added, glancing at my mistress, “but the servants will see it as fair treatment between them and their superiors. Instead of hindering the investigation, they’ll take it as a point of honor to help.”

I recognized the truth in his words. After her initial surprise faded, my lady understood it too.

“Are you sure this investigation is necessary?” she asked.

“It’s the quickest way I can see to reach our goal, my lady.”

My mistress stood up to ring for her maid. “You can speak to the servants,” she said, “with the keys to my wardrobe in your hand.”

Sergeant Cuff halted her with an unexpected question.

“Shouldn’t we first confirm that the other ladies and gentlemen in the house agree as well?” he asked.

“The only other lady here is Miss Verinder,” my mistress replied, looking surprised. “The only gentlemen are my nephews, Mr. Blake and Mr. Ablewhite. I doubt any of them would refuse.”

I reminded my lady that Mr. Godfrey was leaving. Just as I spoke, Mr. Godfrey knocked at the door to say goodbye, followed by Mr. Franklin, who was accompanying him to the station. My lady explained the situation. Mr. Godfrey quickly resolved it. He called to Samuel through the window to take his suitcase back upstairs, then handed the key to Sergeant Cuff himself. “My luggage can follow me to London once the inquiry is over,” he said. The Sergeant accepted the key with a polite apology. “I’m sorry to inconvenience you, sir, for a mere formality, but the example set by their betters will do wonders in getting the servants on board with this inquiry.” After taking his leave of my lady in a sympathetic manner, Mr. Godfrey left a farewell message for Miss Rachel, which made it clear to me that he hadn’t taken her refusal to heart and intended to propose again at the next opportunity. As Mr. Franklin followed his cousin out, he informed the Sergeant that all his clothes were open for inspection and that nothing he owned was locked away. Sergeant Cuff expressed his gratitude. You’ll notice that my lady, Mr. Godfrey, and Mr. Franklin had all readily agreed to his approach. Now, all we needed was Miss Rachel to follow their lead before we gathered the servants and began searching for the stained dress.

My lady’s inexplicable objection to the Sergeant seemed to make our conversation even more uncomfortable for her once we were alone again. “If I send you Miss Verinder’s keys,” she said to him, “I assume I will have done everything you need from me for now?”

“I beg your pardon, your ladyship,” Sergeant Cuff replied. “Before we start, I’d like to have the washing book, if it’s convenient. The stained item might be a piece of linen. If our search yields nothing, I want to be able to account for all the linen in the house and what’s been sent to the wash. If something is missing, it would suggest that it has the paint stain on it and that it was deliberately disposed of yesterday or today by its owner. Superintendent Seegrave,” he added, turning to me, “pointed out the smear to the women servants when they all crowded into the room on Thursday morning. That may turn out, Mr. Betteredge, to be another one of Superintendent Seegrave’s many mistakes.”

My lady instructed me to ring the bell and request the washing book. She stayed with us until it was brought in, in case Sergeant Cuff had any further requests after reviewing it.

The washing book was delivered by Rosanna Spearman. The girl had come down for breakfast that morning looking pale and worn, but she had recovered enough from her illness the day before to do her usual work. Sergeant Cuff observed our second housemaid closely—watching her face as she entered and her crooked shoulder as she left.

“Do you have anything else to say to me?” my lady asked, still eager to escape the Sergeant’s company.

Cuff opened the washing book, understood it in half a minute, and closed it again. “I have one last question for your ladyship,” he said. “Has the young woman who brought us this book been employed by you as long as the other servants?”

“Why do you ask?” my lady replied.

“The last time I saw her,” the Sergeant answered, “she was in prison for theft.”

After that, there was no choice but to tell him the truth. My mistress emphasized Rosanna’s good behavior during her time in service and the high regard the matron at the Reformatory had for her. “You don’t suspect her, do you?” my lady added earnestly.

“I’ve already told you, my lady, that I don’t suspect anyone in the house of stealing—so far.”

With that, my lady stood up to go upstairs and ask for Miss Rachel’s keys. The Sergeant was ahead of me, opening the door for her. He bowed deeply, and my lady shuddered as she passed him.

We waited, and waited, but no keys came. The Sergeant didn’t say a word. He turned his gloomy face toward the window, shoved his long hands into his pockets, and began to whistle “The Last Rose of Summer” softly to himself.

Finally, Samuel entered, not with the keys, but with a small piece of paper for me. I fumbled for my spectacles, feeling the Sergeant’s dismal gaze on me the whole time. The paper had a few lines written in pencil by my lady. It informed me that Miss Rachel had flatly refused to let her wardrobe be examined. When asked why, she had burst into tears. When pressed again, she simply said, “I won’t, because I won’t. You can force me if you want, but I won’t yield to anything else.” I understood my lady’s reluctance to confront Sergeant Cuff with such an answer from her daughter. If I weren’t too old for the foolishness of youth, I might have blushed at the thought of facing him myself.

“Any news about Miss Verinder’s keys?” the Sergeant asked.

“My young lady refuses to let anyone examine her wardrobe.”

“Ah!” the Sergeant replied.

His voice didn’t quite match the discipline of his expression. When he said “Ah!” it was in the tone of someone who had anticipated this news. It both irritated and frightened me—though I couldn’t say why.

“Does that mean we have to give up the search?” I asked.

“Yes,” the Sergeant said. “The search must be abandoned because your young lady refuses to comply like everyone else. We can’t examine some wardrobes and not others. Send Mr. Ablewhite’s portmanteau to London on the next train, and return the washing-book, with my compliments and thanks, to the young woman who brought it in.”

He placed the washing-book on the table and took out his penknife to trim his nails.

“You don’t seem very disappointed,” I remarked.

“No,” he replied. “I’m not very disappointed.”

I tried to get him to elaborate.

“Why would Miss Rachel put up an obstacle for you?” I asked. “Isn’t it in her best interest to help?”

“Just wait a little, Mr. Betteredge—just wait a little.”

Smarter minds than mine might have picked up on his meaning. Or someone less fond of Miss Rachel than I was might have caught on. My lady’s fear of him might have indicated that she saw his intentions more clearly than I did. But I didn’t see it yet—that’s all I know.

“What’s our next step?” I asked.

The Sergeant finished the nail he was working on, examined it with a melancholy interest, and then put away his penknife.

“Let’s go out into the garden,” he said. “I’d like to take a look at the roses.”