Fowler saw Cecily out, and she said softly,
“Jackie will be around after dark.”
Fowler nodded.
Molly was being a little truculent, rattling the fire irons as she made up the fire. She had been promoted to chamber maid, with the girl, Hanny, assisted by the rather vacant Eliza, taking on the duties of tween-floor maids, since Jane had accepted their service after the scandalous business of the Attwood fire.[9]
“Molly, why don’t you tell me about it, instead of working yourself into more of a temper?” said Jane.
Molly scowled. Jane recalled she had been jealous of Dorothy and had been unkind to the girl, not seeing at first how Dorothy was to be pitied.
“It’s that girl. Miss Cecily,” said Molly. “I don’t see why Annie and me have to wait on a street brat and why she gets adopted.”
“For one thing, Molly, Cecily’s father is a gentleman, and she found herself in straitened circumstances when her stepfather was taken by the press,” said Jane. “She preferred to be a street brat to letting someone force her into prostitution; what would you have done in her circumstance?”
“I dunno,” said Molly.
“And that is why we have adopted her, because she can make plans,” said Jane. “As well as being gentry-born. She can also act as a street child, if we need her to do so, and she can help the master in his uncovering of crimes and criminals, like Master Simon. Somehow I don’t see you willing to live for a couple of nights on the streets, dressed in rags, spying on people who need spying on, dodging the missiles thrown at you by costermongers and servants.”
“Gawd, Missus Jane, is that what it takes to be gentry?”
“That’s what it takes to be a Bow Street Officer’s child,” said Jane. “The ability to be gentry at need, which Miss Cecily has to learn again, having had to lose the sort of accent which would have got her beaten and laughed at on the street, as well as being able to produce enough cant to make a highwayman blench. She is in danger of kidnap or death, as a means to force Sir Caleb not to pursue a criminal, as all our children are. We place a great deal of trust in your sister Annie, which is why she is paid accordingly, and why she is called ‘nurse’ not ‘nursery maid.’ I was considering permitting you to be Miss Cecily’s maid, and learning, as my dresser, Mrs. Fowler, has done, to help her, as well as learning another part of the craft towards rising to be a housekeeper one day. However, if you resent Miss Cecily, then I will merely promote you to chambermaid, and take on another ‘tween stairs maid, as you are more than ready for something more.”
Molly was struck dumb.
She had not considered that Miss Cecily was in danger.
“What danger would I be in as her maid?” she asked.
“Not much; people don’t consider servants as a threat,” said Jane. “You could learn the craft of crime detection as Mrs. Fowler has, or you could just be her maid. I was hoping a bright girl like you would like to learn more, but I will understand if a potential risk frightens you. And as you get older you would then have the choice to move sideways as upper maid, or stay as a dresser. You are, as I told you when you behaved so badly towards the unfortunate girl, Dorothy, a clever enough girl to make what you will of yourself. But you will not make much of yourself if you spend your whole life resenting others.”
Molly snuffled.
“I’m sorry, my lady. It just didn’t seem fair.”
Jane put her arms around the young girl.
“It was even less fair in a way when you and Annie were left, her at fourteen and you not twelve years old yet, with no other option but service. But I do value you both, and you have shown yourselves to be very able. And I did offer Annie the choice of being sent to school so that she could be a governess to our younger ones when Miss Adcock chose to stay with Miss Araminta. She turned it down. Now, if you wanted to go to school in her stead, I would certainly consider it.”
“Oh! Oh, but ... but I would not want to be a governess, so it’s no use,” said Molly.
“Molly, I would send you to school in order to be a better housekeeper, taking the position younger for being trained in accounting, or as a librarian,” said Jane. “If you have the urge for learning, I’ll not stifle that.”
“I ... I’d like it,” said Molly. “Annie’s assured her position, ain’t she?”
“She is,” said Jane. “And indeed, if you come out of schooling eager to work with Miss Cecily as a supposed maid, but actually working as a consulting thief-taker for Bow Street, then education never goes amiss.”
“Oh, thank you, Madam” cried Molly.
“I will write to Mrs. Goddard’s school immediately,” said Jane. “It is a school which teaches real subjects, rather than turning out silly, mincing little fools, and many of the girls there will be expecting to earn their livings. You should not look down on those unfortunate enough to be illegitimate, for it is the way of so many gentlemen to act most improperly, even with respectable girls.”
“Like Miss Cecily’s father?”
“Exactly,” said Jane. “And when I find out who he is, he will be paying for his slighting behaviour to her mother one way or another.”
“I believe you!” said Molly, emphatically.
Jane heaved a sigh of relief; trouble averted. And Molly was clever enough to make educating her worth the while and the twenty-five guineas a year, money well spent. She and Annie would not like being separated, but at that they had been lucky to have been sent out together as maids when they ended up on the parish when they were orphaned.
Jane took up her pen.
Cecily returned home when Jackie arrived in the street, and explained that Fowler had nothing much to report. He had passed her a message by throwing it out of a window, which explained that his real position was known to the old man, and that he had the lie of the land, so to speak, but there had, as yet, been no new man taken on save himself.
“I can’t bowl a hoop all the time, may I have money for a whipping top, and some knucklebones and marbles?” she asked Jane.
“Yes, of course,” said Jane. “And a good idea to have marbles on you at all times, to throw behind you if pursued by anyone. It’s hard to run on marbles without going over.”
Cecily giggled. Jane gave her a goodly amount of money in small coins.
“You should be able to find something to eat as well, if you stay out all day, tomorrow” she said. “And your father was right, you’re far less likely to be run out of the street if you are an annoying, but respectable child playing, than if you looked like a beggar. I’d send Nat with you, if I weren’t afraid someone might steal a valuable-looking pug. And Toby isn’t well enough yet.”
Toby cocked his ears at the sound of his name and his tail thumped on the floor.
“He’ll be a bene helper when he’s well, if I have a barrel-organ or a proper hurdy-gurdy to play,” said Cecily.
“What’s the difference?” said Jane.
“Well, lots of people call a barrel-organ a hurdy-gurdy, but a proper hurdy-gurdy has strings, and as well as turning the handle, you actually have to play it by pressing the keys. It’s a gypsy instrument often as not. A barrel-organ has the music in holes on a sheet, and you just turn the handle, you don’t have to be able to play no better nor what Toby can. Simmy – Simon – and me could work tergiver, him on a barrel-organ an’ me on a real instrument, and Toby dancing. I wouldn’t mind learning guitar properly, and violin.”
“Either are good instruments to have as a street performer,” said Jane, “As well as for a lady. I will see about getting you a proper music teacher.”
Next morning, after Cecily had gone skipping off to wait around for messages, Caleb received a letter, with an elaborate seal, and franked with the careless scrawl, ‘Braxtrode’.
“Wonder what the duke wants,” said Caleb.
“Open it, and you might find out,” said Jane.
“Really, Jane, the simple solution?” laughed Caleb. “I should make deductions first, sin
ce it is an anomaly to receive a missive from a relatively chance acquaintance.”
“He wrote it in a hurry for his pen has splashed on the frank, and he has addressed it in some anger and determination, for the positive way he has ground his nib into the paper,” said Jane. “I suspect the anger is over finding more proof or suggestion that his son was, indeed, murdered. Unless someone has convinced him that it is nonsense and he is angry with you.”
“I’m opening it, I’m opening it,” said Caleb.
“Braxstrode Hall
Braxstrode,Herts,
March 23rd
My dear Armitage,
Your warning seemed at first to be risible, but I am glad I have taken your advice. I decided to stay entirely within the house, the inclement weather not being an inducement to go out in any case. My bailiff has reported that a stranger turned up in the village some two days after I repaired here, and he has been run off my lands a few times. I have warned my butler, housekeeper and chief groom as well as my bailiff that they are under no account to take on a new man, who solicits them for a job.
Meanwhile, I have spoken seriously to Miss Peterson, who is a sensible and down-to-earth woman. She was willing to accept a marriage of mutual convenience, making only the proviso that my daughters should be willing to accept this. Georgiana squealed with delight, Lydia embraced me, and Jessica jumped up and down, which expressions of glee I took as a willingness to embrace Petie, or Lucilla as I must learn to call her, as a mother.
Lucilla is a most superior sort of woman, rather after the manner of your own excellent wife, I fancy, in that she has a mind well above the normal foolishness one may see with gentlewomen, but she is capable of appreciating fashion as well, to be sure that my daughters are dressed appropriately. Georgiana will be making her come-out before much longer, as I have to acknowledge, and needs to be treated as a young lady, despite the odd girlish squeal of delight. Lucilla has reminded me of this, and I have had to accept that I will have to lose my girls as they grow. It is hard to recollect that Lucilla has been with us for ten years, shortly after my dear late wife died. Georgiana was six, and Jessica hardly more than a baby. Lydia was four, and Stephen unbreeched at three. He had barely left Lucilla’s care for that of a tutor when he died.
Anyway, I bought a common licence, since I am a resident of the parish of my own house, even if not always in residence, and Lucilla had been there for much more time than the required residency, and we were married the day after I got back, the vicar being sent for so I would not expose my body to accidental shooting by a supposed poacher. You see, I am taking your recommendations very seriously! I have not even ventured near a window unless the curtains are drawn. It is a little irksome, but being dead would be more irksome. Lucilla told me she never believed that Stephen’s death was an accident, but had not mentioned it to me, since I knew how much she holds my nephew, Paul, in aversion, since he behaved inappropriately towards her, when he was visiting the Hall some years ago, when he was first at Oxford.
I fear Paul is as much of a womaniser as his father, my late younger brother, who was married to Paul’s mother in something of a hurry, having seduced a young lady of quality when he was only sixteen. The scandal is old news, but I imagine you have wondered about my having a nephew some years older than my own children. I cannot disown him unless he is shown to be guilty of a crime, so I hope that you are able to show conclusive proof of what Paul has done, for I no longer doubt that his intention is to kill me. I will happily provide any out-of-pocket expenses for such an endeavour, and though one hesitates to suggest the same to any gentleman, a substantial reward for saving my life and preserving my precious daughters. I have little doubt but that Paul would force Georgiana to marry him, to get the portion I have left to her, and would give Lucilla her conge, and pack Lydia and Jessica off to a school of the sort which does not have adequate provision for the health of growing girls, in the hopes that they might die before he has to provide a dowry for them. Indeed, I could quite see him marrying them off to anyone willing to pay him for a gently-born girl, and filling the Hall with Paphians, regardless of the feelings of Georgiana.
I know I am worrying about what has not happened, but I cannot express too deeply my fears on this matter. I would do anything to ensure the safety of my children, and only can blame myself that I did not realise that Paul might have attacked Stephen, or rather, had him attacked. He was a solitary little boy, much as I was, and I was accustomed, with the agreement of his tutor, to permit him to go fishing when he wished, so long as he made up his lessons.
Hoping this finds you in good health,
Braxstrode.”
Caleb read the letter out to Jane.
“Poor man,” said Jane, softly. “To lose a child is bad enough, to do so by a malicious agency must have been worse. He has, of course, no real reason to reproach himself, for nobody could have foreseen it; but it will not stop him wracking his brains to see if there was anything he might have done to preserve his son’s life. I would write back to him if I was you, and tell him to apprise his nephew as soon as possible that he may expect another cousin soon. It will mean the nephew will have to hold off in case of over-reaching himself if he tries to interfere with the Duchess. After all, he can hope that she and the child die in childbed, like Princess Charlotte, or that it is another girl. And we shall surely have enough evidence within the next nine months.”
“Yes, and Braxstrode knows well enough to dissemble if there is no immediate pregnancy. I do feel a trifle sorry for his superior sort of governess, it is a cold sort of marriage.”
Jane smiled.
“If the daughters were that enthusiastic, I have no doubt that they have a suspicion that their Petie is not entirely indifferent to their papa, and if she loves the girls, he will come to love her, or at least feel a sufficiency of affection which is not always seen in society marriages.”
“You know people very well, my Jane-girl.”
“I think it is because they interest me, Caleb. Oh, and when you write back, tell him not to send for some fancy accoucheur, but to use a local midwife. I am convinced a man with book learning cannot know as much as someone with experience, usually from both sides of the matter, as most are married women with their own offspring.”
“You are probably correct, my dear, and you note that I acceded fully to your wishes regarding the birth of Susanna. And Joseph’s arrival in the world was rather irregular, and I am sure Aunt Hetty made a better job of assisting than any doctor with their high-blown ideas. Mind, in an emergency, I’d not necessarily turn down a good army horse doctor.”
“Indeed; a cavalryman’s doctor would have to be good. The cavalry care more for their horses than the army cares for its men,” said Jane, dryly.
“Naturally; but then, it’s the horses that have all the brains in the cavalry,” said Caleb.
Being from a line regiment, the calumny on the cavalry had to be made.
Chapter 21
“How long do you suppose it’s going to be?” said John Radcliffe to Fowler. Fowler looked up from the note he was reading, brought by Cecily, folded in a paper like a powder from an apothecary.
“Didn’t he say within two weeks, sir?” said Fowler.
“Well, yes, but does that mean we have to be hung about for two weeks?”
“Possibly, sir, yes. Our killer has hit a small snag.”
“What?”
“Well, he took on three jobs at once, as you might say. One was completed, and yours was the third, which is why he said two weeks instead of one. The second job he has been unable to complete.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Sir Caleb has communicated this to me,” said Fowler.
“But ... but he has never been here, and you have not been out!”
“Good grief, sir, did you really think we did not have methods of communication outside of visiting each other? What sort of law officer would he be if he had to run around carrying his own messages
all day long, without other, often coded, ways to let his people know facts they need, and collect facts from them?” said Fowler. John Radcliffe stared.
“You people are amazing!” he declared.
“Well organised,” said Fowler.
“So, what is the problem he is having?”
Fowler interpreted the ‘he’ as referring to the killer, not to Caleb.
“His last victim left town before he could be killed, and is immured in his country seat, refusing to make a target of himself,” said Fowler. “I presume cully will continue to attempt to get at him until his time limit is up, and therefore his bet still valid. Once over that time, he loses that bet. I wonder what would happen if the one who made it demanded to be paid as a debt of honour?”
“A whimsical idea. Who is the man who made the wager?”
Fowler considered, and decided to answer.
“Paul Strode, Viscount Ashall, who had already wagered that his twelve-year-old cousin would never die,” he said, softly.
Radcliffe pulled a handkerchief, and mopped his brow.
“How could anyone murder a child?” he demanded.
“Because Ashall saw the child as in the way, and in need of being removed so he might be the viscount,” he said. “Now he’s after the duke before he can breed another heir.”
“I see,” said Radcliffe. “Braxstrode has other children, girls.”
“Yes, I don’t think much for their chances not to be sold off as soon as they bleed if Ashall inherits,” said Fowler, who had few illusions.
Radcliffe mopped his brow again.
“I remember Strode being at a soirée where He was, too,” he said. “The week is up tomorrow.”
“I’ll let Sir Caleb know,” said Fowler. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to have a better knowledge of what sort of time we are working under.”
Jane and the Sins of Society Page 17