CHAPTER XVII

by Wilkie Collins

Nothing happened during the night, and I’m glad to report that there was no attempt at communication between Miss Rachel and Rosanna that would have rewarded Sergeant Cuff’s watchful eye.

I had expected the Sergeant to head off to Frizinghall first thing in the morning, but he lingered as if he had other business to attend to. I left him to his own devices and went into the grounds, where I soon encountered Mr. Franklin on his favorite path beside the shrubbery.

Before we could exchange more than a couple of words, the Sergeant unexpectedly joined us. He approached Mr. Franklin, who received him with a rather haughty demeanor. “Do you have something to say to me?” was all Mr. Franklin offered in response to the Sergeant’s polite greeting.

“I do have something to discuss with you, sir,” the Sergeant replied, “regarding the inquiry I’m conducting here. You recognized the direction this inquiry was taking yesterday. Naturally, in your position, you’re shocked and distressed. It’s only natural that you would project your anger about your family’s scandal onto me.”

“What do you want?” Mr. Franklin interrupted, his tone sharp.

“I want to remind you, sir, that I have not yet been proven wrong in this matter. With that in mind, please remember that I am an officer of the law, acting here with the authority of the mistress of the house. Given these circumstances, isn’t it your duty as a good citizen to assist me with any information you might have?”

“I have no special information,” Mr. Franklin replied.

The Sergeant dismissed that answer as if it hadn’t been said at all.

“You could save me time by being straightforward,” he continued. “If you choose to understand me, you might find it beneficial to speak up.”

“I don’t understand you,” Mr. Franklin said. “And I have nothing to say.”

“One of the female servants—though I won’t mention names—spoke to you privately last night.”

Once again, Mr. Franklin cut him off, responding, “I have nothing to say.”

I stood silently, recalling the movement I had seen in the swing-door the previous evening and the coat-tails that had disappeared down the passage. Sergeant Cuff must have caught enough of the conversation before I interrupted to suspect that Rosanna had confided something to Mr. Franklin Blake.

Just as that thought crossed my mind, who should appear at the end of the shrubbery walk but Rosanna Spearman herself! She was followed by Penelope, who was clearly trying to coax her back to the house. Upon seeing Mr. Franklin was not alone, Rosanna hesitated, clearly unsure of what to do next. Penelope lingered behind her. Mr. Franklin noticed the girls as soon as I did. Meanwhile, the Sergeant, with his sly cunning, pretended not to see them at all.

This all unfolded in an instant. Before either Mr. Franklin or I could speak, Sergeant Cuff smoothly interjected, as if continuing the previous conversation.

“You needn’t worry about harming the girl, sir,” he said to Mr. Franklin, speaking loudly enough for Rosanna to hear. “On the contrary, I encourage you to trust me if you have any interest in Rosanna Spearman.”

Mr. Franklin immediately pretended not to notice the girls either. He responded, raising his voice, “I take no interest whatsoever in Rosanna Spearman.”

I glanced toward the end of the walk and saw Rosanna suddenly turn around the moment Mr. Franklin spoke. Instead of resisting Penelope, as she had moments before, she now allowed my daughter to take her by the arm and lead her back to the house.

The breakfast bell rang just as the two girls disappeared, and even Sergeant Cuff had to concede defeat. He turned to me quietly and said, “I’ll go to Frizinghall, Mr. Betteredge, and I’ll be back before two.” He left without saying anything more, and for a few hours, we were free of him.

“You need to make things right with Rosanna,” Mr. Franklin said when we were alone. “It seems I’m doomed to say or do something awkward in front of that unfortunate girl. You must have seen for yourself that Sergeant Cuff set a trap for both of us. If he could confuse me or provoke her into speaking out, either she or I might have said something that would serve his purpose. In the moment, I thought the best way to handle it was to act as I did. It stopped the girl from saying anything and showed the Sergeant that I saw through his game. He was clearly listening, Betteredge, when I spoke to you last night.”

He had done more than just listen, I thought to myself. He had recalled my mentioning that the girl was in love with Mr. Franklin, and he had counted on that when he appealed to Mr. Franklin’s interest in Rosanna—right in front of her.

“I have to say, sir,” I began, keeping some thoughts to myself, “if this keeps up, we’ll all be in the same boat. Prying, peeping, and listening are just what people do when they’re in our situation. In a day or two, Mr. Franklin, we’ll all be left speechless—because we’ll be trying to uncover each other’s secrets, and we’ll all know it. I apologize for my outburst, sir. The dreadful mystery hanging over us feels like a poison in my mind, driving me to distraction. I won’t forget what you’ve told me. I’ll make it right with Rosanna Spearman at the first chance I get.”

“You haven’t said anything to her about last night, have you?” Mr. Franklin asked.

“No, sir.”

“Then don’t say anything now. It’s best not to invite her trust while the Sergeant is watching for us. My behavior is hardly consistent, is it, Betteredge? I can’t see a way out of this mess, which is terrifying to think about, unless we can trace the Diamond back to Rosanna. Yet I can’t and won’t help Sergeant Cuff find her.”

It might seem unreasonable, but I understood his state of mind completely. If you can, for once, remember that you’re human, you might understand him too.

The situation, both inside and outside the house, while Sergeant Cuff was heading to Frizinghall, was this:

Miss Rachel remained locked in her room, waiting for the carriage to take her to her aunt’s. My lady and Mr. Franklin had breakfast together. Afterward, Mr. Franklin made one of his impulsive decisions and rushed out for a long walk to clear his mind. I was the only one who saw him leave, and he told me he’d be back before the Sergeant returned. The weather had changed as predicted overnight. Heavy rain had given way to strong winds after dawn. As the day progressed, the wind picked up. Although the clouds threatened rain, it held off. It was a decent day for a walk if you were young and strong enough to face the gusts sweeping in from the sea.

After breakfast, I attended to my lady and helped her sort out our household accounts. She only mentioned the Moonstone once, and that was to insist we avoid discussing it until the Sergeant returned. “Let’s wait until he’s back,” she said. “We must talk about it then, but we don’t have to now.”

Once I finished with my mistress, I found Penelope waiting for me in my room.

“Father, I wish you would go talk to Rosanna,” she said. “I’m really worried about her.”

I quickly guessed what was troubling her. But I have a rule: men, being superior beings, should try to improve women—if they can. When a woman asks me to do something (whether it’s my daughter or not), I always want to know why. The more you make them think through their reasons, the easier they are to manage in life. It’s not their fault (poor things!) that they act first and think later; it’s the fault of those who indulge them.

Penelope’s reason for her concern came out in her own words. “I’m afraid, father,” she said, “that Mr. Franklin has hurt Rosanna deeply, without meaning to.”

“What made Rosanna go into the shrubbery walk?” I asked.

“Her own madness,” Penelope replied. “I can’t call it anything else. She was determined to speak to Mr. Franklin this morning, no matter what. I tried to stop her; you saw that. If only I could have gotten her away before she heard those awful words—”

“Now, now,” I said, “don’t lose your head. I can’t recall anything that would have alarmed Rosanna.”

“Nothing to alarm her, father. But Mr. Franklin said he had no interest in her at all—and he said it in such a cruel way!”

“He said that to silence the Sergeant,” I explained.

“I told her that,” Penelope said. “But you see, father, even though Mr. Franklin isn’t to blame, he’s been disappointing her for weeks. And now this on top of it all! She shouldn’t expect him to take any interest in her. It’s ridiculous for her to forget her place like that. But she seems to have lost her pride and sense of self. She scared me, father, when Mr. Franklin said those words. It was like they turned her to stone. A sudden stillness came over her, and she’s gone about her work ever since like a woman in a dream.”

Unease settled in my stomach as I reflected on Penelope's words. There was something in her tone that silenced my usual sense of reason. My mind wandered back to the conversation between Mr. Franklin and Rosanna from the night before. She had looked heartbroken then, and now, as fate would have it, she had been hurt again, poor girl, in a place so sensitive. It was tragic—especially since she had no justification for her feelings and no right to be so affected.

I had promised Mr. Franklin I would talk to Rosanna, and this seemed like the perfect moment to keep that promise.

We found her sweeping the corridor outside the bedrooms, looking pale yet composed, dressed neatly in her simple print dress. There was a strange dullness in her eyes—not from tears, but as if she had been staring at something for too long. Perhaps it was a fog created by her own thoughts. There was nothing around her that she hadn’t seen countless times before.

“Cheer up, Rosanna!” I said, trying to lift her spirits. “You shouldn’t dwell on your own worries. I have a message for you from Mr. Franklin.”

I did my best to present the situation in a positive light, using the friendliest and most comforting words I could find. You might have noticed that I usually hold strict principles regarding women, but when I faced them, my actions often didn’t align with my beliefs.

“Mr. Franklin is very kind and considerate. Please thank him,” was all she replied.

My daughter had already pointed out that Rosanna moved through her tasks like someone lost in a dream. I noticed now that she also listened and spoke as if she were in a trance. I doubted whether she was truly processing what I had said.

“Are you sure you understand me, Rosanna?” I asked.

“Quite sure,” she replied.

Her response echoed mechanically, as if she were a puppet on strings. She continued sweeping, and I gently took the broom from her hands.

“Come on, my girl,” I said. “This isn’t like you. Something’s bothering you. I’m your friend, and I’ll stand by you, even if you’ve made mistakes. Just be honest with me—make a clean breast of it!”

In the past, my words would have brought tears to her eyes. Now, they seemed to leave her unchanged.

“Yes,” she said, “I’ll make a clean breast of it.”

“To my lady?” I asked.

“No.”

“To Mr. Franklin?”

“Yes; to Mr. Franklin.”

I was taken aback. She was in no state to grasp the warning Mr. Franklin had asked me to give her about speaking to him privately. I decided to tread carefully, telling her only that Mr. Franklin had gone out for a walk.

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied. “I won’t trouble Mr. Franklin today.”

“Why not talk to my lady?” I suggested. “The best way to ease your mind is to speak with the kind mistress who has always been good to you.”

She looked at me with a serious, steady gaze, as if trying to absorb my words. Then she took the broom back and moved slowly down the corridor.

“No,” she said, continuing her sweeping and speaking to herself. “I know a better way to relieve my mind than that.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Please let me continue my work.”

Penelope followed her, offering to help.

“No. I want to do my work. Thank you, Penelope.” She glanced at me. “Thank you, Mr. Betteredge.”

There was no changing her mind—nothing more could be said. I gestured for Penelope to follow me, and we left her there, sweeping the corridor like someone lost in thought.

“This is something for the doctor to handle,” I said. “It’s beyond me.”

My daughter reminded me of Mr. Candy’s illness, which, as you may recall, had stemmed from the chill he caught during the dinner party. His assistant, Mr. Ezra Jennings, was available, but we didn’t know much about him. He had been hired under unusual circumstances, and, rightly or wrongly, none of us felt comfortable with him. There were other doctors in Frizinghall, but they were strangers to us, and Penelope worried that they might do more harm than good in Rosanna’s current state.

I considered speaking to my lady. However, remembering the heavy burden of anxiety she already carried, I hesitated to add this new worry to her list of troubles. Still, I felt compelled to do something. Rosanna’s condition was alarming, and my mistress needed to know. Reluctantly, I made my way to her sitting room. No one was there. My lady was closed up with Miss Rachel. I couldn’t see her until she emerged again.

I waited in vain until the clock on the front staircase chimed a quarter to two. Just five minutes later, I heard my name being called from the driveway outside. I recognized the voice immediately. Sergeant Cuff was back from Frizinghall.