CHAPTER XX

von Wilkie Collins

The news had spread ahead of us, and we found the servants in a state of panic. As we passed my lady’s door, it swung open violently from the inside. My mistress emerged, with Mr. Franklin trailing behind, desperately trying to calm her down. She was beside herself with horror.

“You’re responsible for this!” she shouted, pointing a trembling hand at the Sergeant. “Gabriel! Give that wretch his money—and get me away from him!”

The Sergeant was the only one among us who could handle her—he was the only one who seemed to have his wits about him.

“I’m no more responsible for this tragic event than you are, my lady,” he replied. “If, in half an hour, you still insist on my leaving the house, I will accept your dismissal, but I will not take your money.”

His words were respectful yet firm, and they had an impact on both my mistress and me. She allowed Mr. Franklin to guide her back into the room. As the door closed behind them, the Sergeant scanned the women servants around him. While the others were merely frightened, Penelope was in tears. “When your father has changed out of his wet clothes,” he said to her, “come and talk to us in your father’s room.”

Before the half-hour was up, I had changed into dry clothes and lent Sergeant Cuff whatever he needed. Penelope came in to find out what the Sergeant wanted. In that moment, I felt an overwhelming sense of pride for my dutiful daughter. I picked her up and sat her on my knee, thanking God for her. She buried her head against my chest and wrapped her arms around my neck, and we sat in silence for a while. I couldn’t help but think that the tragedy of the poor dead girl was weighing heavily on both my daughter and me. The Sergeant moved to the window, gazing outside. I felt it was right to thank him for considering us, and I did.

People in high society enjoy all the luxuries, including the luxury of expressing their feelings. Those of us in lower classes don’t have that privilege. Necessity, which spares the wealthy, shows no mercy to us. We learn to bury our feelings and carry on with our duties as best we can. I don’t complain about this—I just observe it. Penelope and I were ready for the Sergeant as soon as he was ready for us. When he asked if she knew what had driven her fellow servant to take her own life, my daughter answered, as expected, that it was for love of Mr. Franklin Blake. When he asked if she had shared this thought with anyone else, Penelope replied, “I haven’t mentioned it, for Rosanna’s sake.” I felt it necessary to add a word. “And for Mr. Franklin’s sake too, my dear. If Rosanna has died for love of him, it’s not his fault or knowledge. Let him leave the house today, if he chooses, without the burden of knowing the truth.” The Sergeant nodded in agreement and fell silent again, seemingly comparing Penelope’s thoughts with some other idea of his own that he kept to himself.

At the end of the half-hour, my mistress’s bell rang.

On my way to answer it, I encountered Mr. Franklin coming out of his aunt’s sitting room. He mentioned that her ladyship was ready to see Sergeant Cuff—in my presence, just as before—and added that he wanted to say a couple of words to the Sergeant first. As we made our way back to my room, he paused to look at the railway timetable in the hall.

“Are you really going to leave us, sir?” I asked. “Miss Rachel will surely come around if you just give her some time?”

“She will come around,” Mr. Franklin replied, “when she hears that I’ve left and that she won’t see me again.”

I thought he spoke out of resentment for how my young lady had treated him. But that wasn’t the case. My mistress had noticed that ever since the police arrived, even the mention of him was enough to ignite Miss Rachel’s temper. He had cared too much for his cousin to admit this to himself until the truth became undeniable when she drove off to her aunt’s. Once he realized the painful truth, Mr. Franklin made his decision—the only decision a man of any spirit could make—to leave the house.

What he had to say to the Sergeant was spoken in my presence. He described her ladyship as willing to acknowledge that she had spoken too hastily. He asked if Sergeant Cuff would agree—in that case—to accept his fee and leave the matter of the Diamond as it stood. The Sergeant replied, “No, sir. My fee is for doing my duty. I won’t accept it until my duty is complete.”

“I don’t understand you,” Mr. Franklin said.

“I’ll explain myself, sir,” the Sergeant said. “When I came here, I promised to shed light on the mystery of the missing Diamond. I’m ready now to fulfill that promise. Once I’ve laid out the situation for Lady Verinder as it stands and clearly advised her on how to proceed with recovering the Moonstone, the responsibility will no longer rest on me. After that, it will be up to her to decide whether she wants me to continue. I’ll have done what I set out to do—and I’ll collect my fee.”

With those words, Sergeant Cuff reminded us that even in the Detective Police, a man has a reputation to protect.

His perspective was so evidently the correct one that there was nothing more to discuss. As I stood up to lead him to my lady’s room, he asked if Mr. Franklin wanted to be present. Mr. Franklin replied, “Not unless Lady Verinder wants me there.” He leaned closer to me and whispered as I followed the Sergeant out, “I know what that man is going to say about Rachel, and I care too much for her to hear it and keep my composure. Just leave me alone.”

I left him there, feeling miserable, leaning against the window sill with his face buried in his hands, while Penelope peeked through the door, eager to comfort him. If I were in Mr. Franklin’s position, I would have invited her in. When you feel wronged by one woman, it can be a relief to confide in another—because, more often than not, the other will take your side. Perhaps, when I turned my back, he did call her in? If so, it’s only fair to say that my daughter would stop at nothing to comfort Mr. Franklin Blake.

Meanwhile, Sergeant Cuff and I made our way to my lady’s room.

During our last meeting with her, she had seemed reluctant to lift her eyes from the book on the table. This time, however, there was a noticeable change. She met the Sergeant’s gaze with a steadiness that matched his own. The family spirit was evident in every feature of her face, and I knew that Sergeant Cuff would find a formidable opponent in my mistress, especially when she was prepared to hear the worst he had to say.