CHAPTER XIV

by Wilkie Collins

The quickest route to the garden, once I stepped out of my lady’s sitting room, was through the shrubbery path, which you’re already familiar with. For your better understanding of what’s about to unfold, I should mention that this path was Mr. Franklin’s favorite spot. Whenever he was outside and we couldn’t find him anywhere else, he was usually here.

I have to admit, I can be a rather stubborn old man. The more Sergeant Cuff kept his thoughts to himself, the more determined I became to pry them out of him. As we entered the shrubbery path, I tried to approach him from a different angle.

“Honestly, if I were in your position,” I said, “I’d be completely at a loss.”

“If you were in my position,” the Sergeant replied, “you would have formed an opinion. And given the current situation, any doubts you might have had about your conclusions would be completely resolved. But let’s not dwell on what those conclusions might be, Mr. Betteredge. I didn’t bring you out here to draw me out like a badger; I brought you out here to ask for some information. You could have given it to me inside, but doors and eavesdroppers have a way of coming together. In my line of work, we prefer the fresh air.”

Who could outsmart this man? I surrendered and waited as patiently as I could for what was next.

“We won’t get into your young lady’s motives,” the Sergeant continued. “Let’s just say it’s unfortunate she won’t help me, as her reluctance makes this investigation more challenging than it needs to be. We need to figure out the mystery of the smear on the door—which, trust me, is tied to the mystery of the Diamond—through other means. I’ve decided to speak with the servants and examine their thoughts and actions instead of rifling through their wardrobes. But before I begin, I have a couple of questions for you. You’re observant—did you notice anything odd about any of the servants after the Diamond was discovered missing? Any particular arguments among them? Did anyone seem out of sorts? Unexpectedly irritable, perhaps? Or suddenly unwell?”

I barely had time to think about Rosanna Spearman’s sudden illness at dinner yesterday, let alone respond, when I noticed Sergeant Cuff’s gaze shift toward the shrubbery, and I heard him murmur, “Hullo!”

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“A touch of rheumatism in my back,” he said loudly, as if he wanted someone else to overhear us. “We’ll have a change in the weather soon.”

A few steps later, we reached the corner of the house. Turning sharply to the right, we stepped onto the terrace and descended the middle steps into the garden below. Sergeant Cuff paused in the open space, where we could see in every direction.

“About that young woman, Rosanna Spearman?” he said. “It’s unlikely, given her looks, that she has a lover. But for her sake, I need to ask you right away if she’s found herself a sweetheart, poor thing, like the others?”

What on earth was he getting at with that question? I stared at him, speechless.

“I saw Rosanna Spearman hiding in the shrubbery as we walked by,” the Sergeant said.

“When you said ‘Hullo’?”

“Yes—when I said ‘Hullo!’ If there’s a sweetheart involved, the hiding doesn’t mean much. But if there isn’t—given the situation in this house—the hiding is quite suspicious, and it will be my unfortunate duty to act on it accordingly.”

What was I supposed to say? I knew the shrubbery was Mr. Franklin’s favorite walk; I knew he would likely head that way when he returned from the station; I knew that Penelope had repeatedly caught Rosanna lurking there, insisting that Rosanna was trying to get Mr. Franklin’s attention. If Penelope was right, Rosanna might have been waiting for Mr. Franklin’s return when the Sergeant spotted her. I found myself torn between mentioning Penelope’s fanciful theory as if it were my own or leaving Rosanna to face the serious consequences of arousing Sergeant Cuff’s suspicion. Out of pure pity for the girl—on my soul and my character, out of pure pity for her—I explained everything to the Sergeant and told him that Rosanna had foolishly set her heart on Mr. Franklin Blake.

Sergeant Cuff never laughed. On the rare occasions something amused him, he would curl the corners of his lips, nothing more. He curled them now.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit mad to say she’s just an ugly girl and a servant?” he asked. “Falling for a gentleman like Mr. Franklin Blake doesn’t seem to me to be the craziest thing she could do. Still, I’m glad we’ve cleared that up; it’s nice to have things sorted out. Yes, I’ll keep it to myself, Mr. Betteredge. I like to show a little compassion for human flaws, even if I don’t get many chances to do so in my line of work. You really think Mr. Franklin Blake hasn’t noticed the girl’s feelings for him? He would have figured it out quickly enough if she had been attractive. Ugly women have a tough time in this world; let’s hope they get some justice in the next one.

You have a lovely garden here, and the lawn is well-kept. Just look at how much better the flowers look with grass around them instead of gravel. No, thank you. I can’t bring myself to pick a rose; it pains me to break them off the stem. Just like it pains you when something’s wrong in the servants’ hall. Did you notice anything unusual among the staff when the Diamond went missing?”

So far, I had been managing quite well with Sergeant Cuff. But the sly way he slipped in that last question made me wary. To put it plainly, I didn’t like the idea of helping him with his inquiries, especially when those inquiries meant snooping around among my fellow servants.

“I didn’t notice anything,” I replied, “except that we all lost our heads, myself included.”

“Oh,” the Sergeant said, “that’s all you have to tell me?”

I maintained what I hoped was an impassive expression. “That’s all.”

Sergeant Cuff’s gloomy eyes bore into mine.

“Mr. Betteredge,” he said, “would you mind shaking hands? I’ve taken quite a liking to you.”

Why he chose that exact moment, when I was deceiving him, to express his fondness is beyond me. I felt a bit proud—I really did feel a little proud to have outsmarted the famous Cuff, even if just for a moment!

We returned to the house, with the Sergeant asking for a room to himself and then for the indoor servants to come in one by one, in order of their rank.

I led Sergeant Cuff into my room and then gathered the servants in the hall. Rosanna Spearman was among them, looking much like she always did. She was as quick-witted as the Sergeant, and I suspected she had overheard his comments about the staff just before he spotted her. There she was, acting as if she had never heard of the shrubbery in her life.

I sent them in one by one as he requested. The cook was the first to enter my room, which I jokingly referred to as the Court of Justice. She didn’t stay long. When she came out, she reported, “Sergeant Cuff seems down, but he’s a perfect gentleman.”

Next was my lady’s maid, who took much longer. When she emerged, she said, “If Sergeant Cuff doesn’t believe a respectable woman, he could at least keep his thoughts to himself!”

Then Penelope went in. She was only in there for a moment. When she returned, she reported, “Sergeant Cuff is to be pitied. He must have had his heart broken when he was young.”

The first housemaid followed Penelope and stayed a while, too. When she came out, she said, “I didn’t join her ladyship’s service to be doubted to my face by a low police officer!”

Finally, it was Rosanna Spearman’s turn. She remained longer than any of the others. When she came out, there was no report—just silence and lips as pale as ashes.

Samuel, the footman, went in next. He was in there for a minute or two. When he came out, he said, “Whoever polishes Sergeant Cuff’s boots should be ashamed of themselves.”

Nancy, the kitchen maid, was last. She stayed for a minute or two as well. When she came out, she said, “Sergeant Cuff has a heart; he doesn’t make jokes about a poor hard-working girl.”

After it was all over, I went back into the Court of Justice to see if there were any further instructions for me. I found the Sergeant doing his usual thing—looking out the window and whistling “The Last Rose of Summer” to himself.

“Any discoveries, sir?” I asked.

“If Rosanna Spearman asks to go out,” the Sergeant replied, “let her go, but let me know first.”

I might as well have kept quiet about Rosanna and Mr. Franklin! It was clear enough; the poor girl had fallen under Sergeant Cuff’s suspicions, despite all my efforts to prevent it.

“I hope you don’t think Rosanna is involved in the loss of the Diamond?” I ventured to ask.

The corners of the Sergeant’s sad mouth turned up slightly, and he looked at me intently, just as he had in the garden.

“I think it’s best if I don’t tell you, Mr. Betteredge,” he said. “You might lose your head again, you know.”

For a moment, I wondered if I had been too much for the famous Cuff after all. It was a relief when a knock at the door interrupted us, bringing a message from the cook. Rosanna Spearman had asked to go out, claiming she had a headache and needed some fresh air. At a nod from the Sergeant, I agreed.

“Which way do the servants go out?” he asked once the messenger had left. I showed him the way. “Lock your room door,” the Sergeant instructed. “And if anyone asks for me, tell them I’m in there, composing my thoughts.” He smirked slightly and vanished.

Left alone, my curiosity burned within me, compelling me to uncover the truth for myself.

It was clear that Sergeant Cuff’s suspicions about Rosanna had been sparked by something he had discovered during his questioning of the servants in my room. The only two servants who had been under scrutiny for any length of time, aside from Rosanna, were my lady’s maid and the first housemaid. They were also the ones who had led the charge against their unfortunate colleague from the very beginning.

With this in mind, I casually dropped in on them in the servants’ hall. Finding tea being served, I invited myself to join them. (Just so you know, a cup of tea can work wonders for a woman’s tongue, much like oil for a flickering lamp.)

My faith in the tea pot paid off. In less than half an hour, I had gathered as much information as Sergeant Cuff himself.

It turned out that my lady’s maid and the housemaid didn’t believe Rosanna’s claims of illness the day before. Those two spiteful women—I apologize for the harshness, but how else can you describe such maliciousness?—had sneaked upstairs at various times on Thursday afternoon, tried Rosanna’s door, and found it locked. They had knocked, received no answer, listened closely, and heard nothing. When Rosanna finally came down for tea, still feeling unwell, they sent her back to bed. Afterward, they tried her door again, found it locked, peered through the keyhole, and saw that it was blocked. They noticed a light under the door at midnight and heard the crackling of a fire—unusual for a servant’s room in June—at four in the morning. They shared all this with Sergeant Cuff, who had regarded them with a sour, suspicious expression, making it clear he didn’t trust either of them. This led to their unfavorable impressions of him after the examination, and, fueled by the tea, they were eager to gossip about his ungracious behavior.

Having experienced Cuff’s indirect methods before, and knowing he had been intent on following Rosanna when she went out for her walk, it was evident to me that he had decided it was best not to let the lady’s maid and the housemaid know how much they had aided him. They were exactly the type of women who, if treated as reliable witnesses, would have become arrogant and potentially alerted Rosanna.

I stepped outside into the warm summer afternoon, feeling sympathy for the poor girl and unease about the situation. As I wandered toward the shrubbery, I encountered Mr. Franklin. After seeing his cousin off at the station, he had been with my lady, engaged in a lengthy conversation. She had shared Miss Rachel’s inexplicable refusal to allow her wardrobe to be examined, leaving him in such low spirits that he seemed reluctant to discuss it further. For the first time, I noticed the family’s temper reflected in his expression.

“Well, Betteredge,” he said, “how do you feel about the atmosphere of mystery and suspicion surrounding us now? Do you remember that morning I first arrived with the Moonstone? I wish to God we had thrown it into the quicksand!”

After that outburst, he fell silent, taking a moment to compose himself. We walked side by side in silence for a minute or two before he asked what had happened to Sergeant Cuff. I couldn’t brush Mr. Franklin off with the excuse that the Sergeant was in my room, composing his thoughts. I recounted the events, particularly what my lady’s maid and the housemaid had said about Rosanna Spearman.

Mr. Franklin’s sharp mind quickly grasped the direction of the Sergeant’s suspicions.

“Didn’t you tell me this morning,” he said, “that one of the local shopkeepers claimed he saw Rosanna yesterday on the way to Frizinghall, while we thought she was sick in her room?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If my aunt’s maid and the other woman are telling the truth, you can be sure the shopkeeper really did see her. The girl’s illness was just a cover to mislead us. She had some secret reason for sneaking into town. That paint-stained dress belongs to her, and the crackling fire we heard in her room at four in the morning was lit to destroy it. Rosanna Spearman has stolen the Diamond. I’m going to tell my aunt what’s happened.”

“Not just yet, if you please, sir,” came a somber voice from behind us.

We both turned to find Sergeant Cuff standing there.

“Why not just yet?” Mr. Franklin asked.

“Because, sir, if you tell her ladyship, she will tell Miss Verinder.”

“Suppose she does. What’s the problem with that?” Mr. Franklin’s voice was suddenly sharp, as if the Sergeant had deeply offended him.

“Do you think it’s wise, sir,” Sergeant Cuff replied calmly, “to ask me that—at a time like this?”

A tense silence hung between them as Mr. Franklin stepped closer to the Sergeant. They locked eyes, and Mr. Franklin spoke first, lowering his voice as abruptly as he had raised it.

“I assume you know, Mr. Cuff,” he said, “that you’re treading on sensitive ground?”

“It’s not the first time I’ve found myself on delicate ground,” the Sergeant replied, as unyielding as ever.

“Are you telling me I can’t inform my aunt about what’s happened?”

“You are to understand, if you please, sir, that I will withdraw from the case if you tell Lady Verinder or anyone else what has occurred until I give you permission.”

That settled it. Mr. Franklin had no choice but to comply. He turned away in frustration and left us.

I stood there, trembling, unsure of whom to suspect or what to think. Amid my confusion, two things became clear. First, my young lady was somehow at the center of the heated exchange between them. Second, they seemed to understand each other perfectly without needing any prior explanation.

“Mr. Betteredge,” the Sergeant said, “you’ve made a foolish mistake while I was away. You’ve tried your hand at detective work on your own. From now on, I’d appreciate it if you could do your detective work alongside me.”

He took my arm and led me down the road he had come from. I might have deserved his reprimand, but I wasn’t going to help him set traps for Rosanna Spearman, regardless of whether she was a thief or not. I felt sorry for her.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, shaking him off and stopping in my tracks.

“Just a bit of information about the area,” the Sergeant replied.

I couldn’t really refuse to help him with his geography.

“Is there a path leading to the beach from this house?” he asked, pointing toward the fir plantation that led to the Shivering Sand.

“Yes,” I said, “there is a path.”

“Show it to me.”

Side by side, in the dusk of the summer evening, Sergeant Cuff and I set off for the Shivering Sand.