CHAPTER XVI

by Wilkie Collins

We found my lady in a dimly lit room, the only light coming from a reading lamp. The shade was adjusted to cast shadows over her face. Instead of looking up at us as she usually did, she sat close to the table, her eyes stubbornly fixed on an open book.

“Officer,” she said, “is it important for your investigation to know if anyone in this house wants to leave?”

“Very important, my lady.”

“Then I must inform you that Miss Verinder plans to go stay with her aunt, Mrs. Ablewhite, in Frizinghall. She intends to leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

Sergeant Cuff glanced at me. I took a step forward to speak to my mistress, but feeling my heart sink, I stepped back again and remained silent.

“May I ask when Miss Verinder told you about her plans?” the Sergeant inquired.

“About an hour ago,” my mistress replied.

Sergeant Cuff looked at me again. They say that older people's hearts are hard to move, but mine was pounding as if I were twenty-five again.

“I have no authority, my lady,” the Sergeant said, “to prevent Miss Verinder from leaving. All I can ask is that you postpone her departure, if possible, until later in the day. I need to go to Frizinghall myself tomorrow morning, and I’ll be back by two o’clock, if not sooner. If Miss Verinder can stay here until then, I would like to speak with her—unexpectedly—before she leaves.”

My lady instructed me to tell the coachman not to come for Miss Rachel until two o'clock. “Do you have anything else to say?” she asked the Sergeant once that was settled.

“Just one thing, your ladyship. If Miss Verinder is surprised by this change in plans, please don’t mention me as the reason for delaying her journey.”

My mistress suddenly lifted her head from her book as if she was about to say something, but she stopped herself with great effort. Looking back at the open page, she dismissed us with a wave of her hand.

“That’s a remarkable woman,” Sergeant Cuff said once we were back in the hall. “If it weren’t for her self-control, the mystery that puzzles you, Mr. Betteredge, would have been solved tonight.”

At those words, the truth finally hit me. For a moment, I think I lost my senses. I grabbed the Sergeant by the collar of his coat and pushed him against the wall.

“Damn you!” I shouted. “There’s something wrong with Miss Rachel, and you’ve been hiding it from me all this time!”

Sergeant Cuff looked up at me, pinned against the wall, without moving a muscle or showing any emotion on his solemn face.

“Ah,” he said, “you’ve figured it out at last.”

My hand fell from his collar, and my head dropped to my chest. Please understand that my outburst came from years of service to the family. Miss Rachel had climbed onto my lap and tugged at my whiskers countless times as a child. Despite her flaws, she had always been the dearest, prettiest, and best young mistress I had ever served and loved. I apologized to Sergeant Cuff, though I fear my eyes were watery and my apology was less than dignified.

“Don’t distress yourself, Mr. Betteredge,” the Sergeant said, showing more kindness than I expected. “In my line of work, if we took offense easily, we wouldn’t be worth our salt. If it helps, feel free to grab me again. You may not know how to do it properly, but I’ll overlook your awkwardness considering your feelings.”

He curled the corners of his lips, and in his own dreary way, seemed to think he had made a good joke.

I led him into my small sitting room and closed the door.

“Tell me the truth, Sergeant,” I said. “What do you suspect? It’s no kindness to keep it from me now.”

“I don’t suspect,” Sergeant Cuff replied. “I know.”

My temper flared again.

“Are you telling me, in plain English,” I said, “that Miss Rachel has stolen her own diamond?”

“Yes,” the Sergeant said. “That’s exactly what I mean. Miss Verinder has secretly possessed the Moonstone from the beginning, and she has confided in Rosanna Spearman because she anticipated that we would suspect Rosanna of the theft. That’s the whole case in a nutshell. Feel free to grab me again, Mr. Betteredge. If it helps you vent your feelings, go ahead.”

God help me! I couldn’t relieve my feelings that way. “Give me your reasons!” was all I could manage to say to him.

“You’ll hear my reasons tomorrow,” the Sergeant said firmly. “If Miss Verinder refuses to postpone her visit to her aunt—which I suspect she will—I’ll have no choice but to present the entire case to your mistress. Since I can’t predict what might come of it, I’d like you to be there to hear both sides. Let’s leave it for tonight. No, Mr. Betteredge, you won’t get another word about the Moonstone from me. Your supper is ready, and that’s one of the many human weaknesses I treat with kindness. If you’ll ring the bell, I’ll say grace. ‘For what we are about to receive—’”

“I wish you a good appetite, Sergeant,” I replied. “My appetite has vanished. I’ll wait to see you served, and then I hope you’ll excuse me if I slip away to deal with this on my own.”

I watched him enjoy the finest of everything—and I wouldn’t have minded if the finest had choked him. The head gardener, Mr. Begbie, entered at the same time with his weekly account. The Sergeant immediately launched into a discussion about roses and the merits of grass versus gravel paths. I left them to their conversation, my heart heavy. This was the first real trouble I’d faced in years that couldn’t be soothed by a puff of tobacco, and it was even beyond the comfort of _Robinson Crusoe_.

Feeling restless and miserable, with nowhere particular to go, I took a stroll on the terrace, hoping to find some peace in solitude. My thoughts didn’t matter much; I felt old, worn out, and unfit for my role—and for the first time in my life, I began to wonder when it might please God to take me. Despite all this, I clung firmly to my belief in Miss Rachel. Even if Sergeant Cuff had been as wise as Solomon and told me my young lady was involved in a mean and guilty plot, I would have had only one response for him: “You don’t know her; I do.”

My reflections were interrupted by Samuel, who brought me a written message from my mistress.

As I went into the house to find a light to read it by, Samuel mentioned that the weather seemed to be changing. My troubled mind had kept me from noticing it before, but now, as I paid attention, I could hear the dogs restless and the wind softly moaning. Looking up at the sky, I saw the clouds darkening and racing across a watery moon. Wild weather was coming—Samuel was right, wild weather was on the way.

The message from my lady informed me that the magistrate at Frizinghall had written to remind her about the three Indians. Early next week, the rogues would be released, free to pursue their own plans. If we had any more questions for them, we needed to act fast. Since she had forgotten to mention this during her last meeting with Sergeant Cuff, she now asked me to fill in the gap. The Indians had completely slipped my mind (as they probably have yours too). I didn’t see much point in reopening that topic. Still, I followed my orders without question.

I found Sergeant Cuff and the gardener deep in discussion, a bottle of Scotch whisky between them, passionately debating the best way to grow roses. The Sergeant was so engrossed that he raised a hand, signaling me not to interrupt when I entered. From what I gathered, they were arguing about whether the white moss rose needed to be budded on the dog-rose to thrive. Mr. Begbie said yes; Sergeant Cuff said no. They turned to me for judgment, as heated as two boys in a playground. Knowing nothing about roses, I took a diplomatic approach—just like judges do when the scales of justice hang evenly. “Gentlemen,” I said, “there’s a lot to consider on both sides.”

In the brief silence that followed my impartial statement, I placed my lady’s message on the table in front of Sergeant Cuff.

By this point, I had come to nearly hate the Sergeant. Yet, I had to admit that he was remarkably quick-witted.

Within half a minute of reading the message, he had rifled through his memory for Superintendent Seegrave’s report, pinpointed the section concerning the Indians, and was ready with his response. There had been a notable traveler who understood the Indians and their language mentioned in Mr. Seegrave’s report, hadn’t there? Very well. Did I know the gentleman’s name and address? Yes, indeed. Would I write them on the back of my lady’s message? Much obliged. Sergeant Cuff would look the gentleman up when he went to Frizinghall in the morning.

“Do you think anything will come of it?” I asked. “Superintendent Seegrave found the Indians as innocent as a newborn baby.”

“Superintendent Seegrave has been wrong about everything so far,” the Sergeant replied. “It might be worth checking tomorrow to see if he’s wrong about the Indians too.” With that, he turned back to Mr. Begbie and picked up the argument right where it had left off. “This disagreement between us is really about soil and seasons, patience and effort, Mr. Gardener. Let me approach it from a different angle. You take your white moss rose—”

By then, I had closed the door on them and stepped out of earshot of the rest of their debate.

In the hallway, I ran into Penelope, who was lingering around. I asked what she was waiting for.

She was waiting for her young lady’s bell, which would summon her back to continue packing for the next day’s journey. Further questioning revealed that Miss Rachel had claimed she needed to go to her aunt at Frizinghall because she could no longer stand the unbearable atmosphere of the house, especially with a policeman living under the same roof. When she learned that her departure would be delayed until two in the afternoon, she had flown into a rage. My lady, who was present at the time, had scolded her severely and then, seemingly wanting to say something privately, had sent Penelope out of the room. My girl was in a terrible mood about the changes in the house. “Nothing is going right, Father; nothing is like it used to be. I feel like some terrible misfortune is looming over us all.”

I felt the same way. But I put on a brave face for my daughter. Just then, Miss Rachel’s bell rang. Penelope dashed up the back stairs to continue packing, while I headed the other way to the hall to check the weather.

As I approached the swing door leading into the hall from the servants’ quarters, it swung open violently from the other side, and Rosanna Spearman rushed past me, her face twisted in pain, one hand pressed hard against her heart, as if she were suffering a sharp pang. “What’s wrong, my girl?” I asked, stopping her. “Are you feeling ill?”

“For God’s sake, don’t talk to me,” she replied, twisting away from my grasp and hurrying toward the servants’ staircase. I called out to the cook, who was within earshot, to keep an eye on the poor girl. Two other people were also nearby. Sergeant Cuff slipped out of my room and asked what was happening. I told him, “Nothing.” Meanwhile, Mr. Franklin pulled open the swing door from the other side and beckoned me into the hall, asking if I had seen Rosanna Spearman.

“She just passed by me, looking very upset and acting strangely,” I said.

“I’m afraid I might be the innocent cause of that disturbance, Betteredge.”

“You?”

“I can’t explain it,” Mr. Franklin said. “But if she is involved in the loss of the Diamond, I truly believe she was about to confess everything to me—of all people—not two minutes ago.”

As he spoke those last words, I glanced toward the swing door and thought I saw it crack open slightly from the inside.

Was someone listening? The door closed before I could reach it. A moment later, I thought I caught a glimpse of Sergeant Cuff’s respectable black coat disappearing around the corner of the passage. He knew, just as well as I did, that he could expect no further assistance from me now that I had realized the direction his investigation was taking. Given the circumstances, it was entirely in his character to take matters into his own hands and do so discreetly.

Unsure if I had truly seen the Sergeant—and not wanting to stir up unnecessary trouble, especially since there was already enough chaos—I told Mr. Franklin that I thought one of the dogs had gotten into the house. Then I asked him to describe what had happened between Rosanna and himself.

“Were you passing through the hall, sir?” I inquired. “Did you run into her by chance when she spoke to you?”

Mr. Franklin pointed toward the billiard table.

“I was just hitting the balls around,” he said, “trying to distract myself from the mess with the Diamond. Then I looked up and there was Rosanna Spearman standing next to me, like a ghost! The way she crept up on me was so odd that I didn’t know how to react at first. When I saw the worried look on her face, I asked if she wanted to talk. She replied, ‘Yes, if I dare.’ Knowing the suspicions surrounding her, I could only interpret her words in one way. Honestly, it made me uneasy. I didn’t want to pry into the girl’s thoughts, but given the troubles we were facing, I felt I couldn’t just ignore her if she really wanted to speak. It was an awkward situation, and I probably handled it awkwardly. I said, ‘I don’t quite understand you. Is there something you need me to do?’ Just so you know, Betteredge, I didn’t mean to be unkind! The poor girl can’t help how she looks—I was aware of that at the time. I kept hitting the balls to ease the tension, but I only made things worse. I think I embarrassed her without meaning to! She suddenly turned away and said, ‘He looks at the billiard balls. Anything but look at _me!_’ Before I could say anything, she had left the hall. I’m not feeling great about it, Betteredge. Could you let Rosanna know I didn’t mean any harm? I’ve been a bit hard on her in my thoughts—I even found myself hoping that the loss of the Diamond could somehow be traced back to _her_. Not out of malice toward the poor girl, but—” He trailed off, returning to the billiard table to hit the balls again.

After my conversation with the Sergeant, I understood what he hadn’t said as clearly as he did.

Only tracing the Moonstone back to our second housemaid could lift Miss Rachel from the terrible suspicion that Sergeant Cuff had cast upon her. It was no longer just about calming my young lady’s nerves; it was about proving her innocence. If Rosanna hadn’t done anything to compromise herself, the hope that Mr. Franklin had expressed would have been hard enough on her. But that wasn’t the case. She had pretended to be sick and had sneaked off to Frizinghall. She had stayed up all night, either making something or destroying something in secret. And she had been at the Shivering Sand that evening under highly suspicious circumstances. For all these reasons, as much as I felt for Rosanna, I couldn’t help but think that Mr. Franklin’s perspective was neither unnatural nor unreasonable, given his position. I mentioned this to him.

“Yes, yes!” he replied. “But there’s a slim chance—a very slim one, to be honest—that Rosanna’s actions might have an explanation we don’t see right now. I hate hurting a woman’s feelings, Betteredge! Please tell the poor girl what I asked you to tell her. And if she wants to talk to me—I don’t care if it gets me into trouble—send her to me in the library.” With those kind words, he set down the cue and left.

When I checked with the servants, I found out that Rosanna had gone to her room. She had turned down all offers of help, asking only to be left alone to rest. So that was the end of any potential confession from her for the night. I reported back to Mr. Franklin, who then left the library and went upstairs to bed.

I was about to turn off the lights and secure the windows when Samuel came in with news about the two guests I had left in my room.

The argument about the white moss rose seemed to have finally ended. The gardener had gone home, and Sergeant Cuff was nowhere to be found in the lower part of the house.

I peeked into my room. Sure enough, all I found were a couple of empty glasses and a strong smell of hot grog. Had the Sergeant gone to the bedroom that was prepared for him? I decided to check upstairs.

As I reached the second landing, I thought I heard quiet, steady breathing to my left. That direction led to the corridor connecting to Miss Rachel’s room. I looked in, and there, sprawled across three chairs blocking the passage—wearing a red handkerchief tied around his grizzled head and using his respectable black coat as a pillow—was Sergeant Cuff, fast asleep!

He woke up instantly and quietly, like a dog, as soon as I approached.

“Good night, Mr. Betteredge,” he said. “And remember, if you ever decide to grow roses, the white moss rose is better off _not_ being budded on the dog-rose, no matter what the gardener says!”

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Why aren’t you in your bed?”

“I’m not in my bed,” the Sergeant replied, “because I’m one of those unfortunate souls who can’t make an honest living without a struggle. Tonight, there was a strange coincidence: Rosanna Spearman returned from the Sands just as Miss Verinder decided to leave the house. Whatever secrets Rosanna might be keeping, it’s clear to me that your young lady wouldn’t leave until she knew what they were. They must have already spoken in private tonight. If they try to communicate again when the house is quiet, I want to be there to stop it. Don’t blame me for messing up your sleep, Mr. Betteredge—blame the Diamond.”

“I wish to God the Diamond had never come into this house!” I exclaimed.

Sergeant Cuff looked at the three chairs he had resigned himself to for the night, a wry expression on his face.

“So do I,” he said solemnly.