52
'Ana thereby hangs a tale.'
Sarah Pratt leaned back in her chair, her slippered feet elevated to the warmth of the fire on a stool cushioned with a small pillow. She looked around, replete with satisfaction. All the comforts had been restored to the servants' hall, including tea and jam. Things were as they should be, although it was a sad day. Just this morning, they had buried Miss Ardleigh and her sister. The service had been read by the vicar and attended by almost every resident of the village and surrounding countryside. Sarah felt that everything had been quite in order, although the morning might have been a bit less wet.
It was teatime now, and the autumn rain was driving against the window. Pocket had brought in a bucket of chestnuts to roast in the fire. And as he had every meal since the event, Mudd was retelling with enormous relish the tale of his grand adventure with the young miss.
'We can't have th' gun afore we have th' cart,' Nettie objected, playing with the terrier's ears. On Jaggers's death, she had befriended the sad dog. 'How did yer get to Colchester, Mr. Mudd?'
Mudd obligingly shifted the focus of his story. 'As yer know, I drove th' young miss in th' pony cart,' he said with an understanding glance at Pocket, who always got sulky at this point in the narrative. When Pocket first learned what happened, he protested that Mudd had unfairly usurped his prerogative, for it was his job to drive. But he objected far less after he discovered that Mudd's assignment had involved not just driving the cart, but (upon instructions from the young miss) forcing open Mrs. Farasworth's kitchen door, stealing surreptitiously up the back stairs, and waiting outside the parlor with an ear to the door, until finally it opened and the lady with the derringer came out. Sarah noticed that Pocket always turned away when Mudd described the silvery gun with the walnut handle, so small it fitted into a lady's hand, yet so powerful the bullet blasted through a mirror and buried itself in the wall.
'I don't care t' 'ear about th' pony cart.' Amelia pouted. She gave Mudd a flirtatious sideways glance. 'That's too ordin'ry. I want t' 'ear about th' gun, Mr. Mudd. That's th' dang'rous part.'
Pocket's ears reddened and he became busy with the chestnuts.
'Well, then,' Mudd said, basking in Amelia's glance, 'th' young miss comes out o' th' parlor with th' lady, 'oo had th' gun.'
Nettie pushed the terrier out of her lap. 'How c'n she be a lady,' she asked tartly, ' 'f she had a gun?'
'Let that be, Nettie,' Sarah said, pouring herself another cup of tea. 'A lady c'n have any thin' she wants.'
'She 'ad th' gun,' Mudd repeated patiently. 'Which I already knew, for I 'card th' young miss say, quite loud an' pert, 'It is a rather small gun. Is it real?' '
'So brave, th' young miss,' Amelia sighed.
Sarah savored the image of her mistress fearlessly holding her ground in the face of a lady with a gun. Any ordinary woman would have fainted dead away, and the villain would have escaped.
'Brave,' Sarah confirmed, adding sugar to her tea, 'an' gen'rous, too.' Miss Ardleigh had planned to allow them tea,
but she had said nothing about sugar. It was the young miss who had instructed her to see liberally, but not wastefully, to the comforts of the servants-had instructed her, because Sarah was no longer simply Cook but Cook-Housekeeper, and a much enlarged ring of keys jangled at the waist of her apron.
In point of fact, Sarah had more to think about than the comforts of the fire and tea and jam, delightful as those things were, especially on a day like today. The young miss, who was very businesslike and efficient when it came to running the household, had set her to counting everything straightaway: all the kitchen stores, the linen, the silver, china, and crystal, even the furniture. Making an inventory, she called it. It was a demanding task that required all of Sarah's skills of observation, organization, and writing, and as she moved from room to room, noting each item in a book, along with its precise function, condition, and location, she began to think well of herself. Her estimation of her abilities rose farther when she consulted with Miss Ardleigh and Mudd, as now required, on the household accounts. If she could do these things, she could manage three subordinate house servants-yes, even four or five or six-with no difficulty at all.
'So I'm waitin' by th' door,' Mudd continued, 'primed, yer might say, fer action. An' when they come out I grab th' lady right round th' waist.' At this point, he always leaned suggestively toward Amelia and offered to demonstrate, which, of course, Sarah could not allow. She frowned to remind both Mudd and Amelia that such playacting was not necessary to the authenticity of the tale.
'So then th' gun goes off, BANG!' Harriet said happily.
'An' th' bullet breaks th' mirror into th' tiniest pieces,' Nettie added, 'like lit'le diamonds.'
'An' then th' policemen come,' Amelia put in.
'Yes, an' Sir Charles too,' Mudd said, pretending not to notice that his arm was slipping along the top of the sofa, in the direction of Amelia's shoulder. 'Th' one 'oo took th' photograph of this selfsame lady sellin' poisonous mushrooms t' Mrs. P-'
'Dressed up like a gypsy!' Harriet crowed, clapping her
hands. 'An' that's why Cook went t' jail! Because o' th' gypsy's mushrooms, what got in th' puddin'!'
Nettie looked respectfully at Cook. 'C'n ye tell agin 'bout ridin' t' jail in th' carriage, Mrs. Pratt?'
Sarah smiled, benignly (for the moment) ignoring the fact that Amelia was leaning ever so slightly toward Mudd. Riding in the carriage-to and from the jail-was a subject she loved to talk about; indeed, she dwelled on it in her waking hours and dreamed about it in her sleep. And not just the breathtaking speed and smoothness of the ride or the feel of the fine leather seats, but the astonishment on the faces of her friends as she rattled along High Street, going in glory. Since Miss Kate had given her such a generous gift, Sarah had felt quite differently about herself..She had even begun to believe it possible, as Rachel Elam's dairyman brother claimed in his letters home, that a person might actually rise above the station of her birth. Might even aspire to something like (she thought with a catch of her breath) a shop of her own.
She shook the thought out of her head and smiled again at Nettie. 'Later, child,' she said in a kindly tone. 'There's somethirr' I need t' hear from Mr. Mudd.' She bowed to Mudd with some deference. One had to feel a certain regard for a man who had so bravely stepped in to save the young miss from being taken to the cellar and done away with- although Sarah suggested that, given the necessity, the young miss could have taken perfect care of herself.
'Yer've no doubt told it, Mudd,' she said, 'but I've never quite got th' straight. How was it th' constable come so prompt-like, just as th' gun went off?'
'I didn't get th' straight o' it meself till this mornin',' Mudd replied, 'when I read it in th' newspaper. It 'pears that th' lady had already murdered somebody else.'
'No!' Amelia squealed, her hands going to her mouth.
'Yes,' Mudd said, lowering his voice and making it dreadful. 'A Frenchie with a gold ring. She made 'im tipsy an' drove 'im in 'is 'ired rig out to th' excavation. Then she stuck a dagger in 'is 'eart an' shoved him into a pit.'
Harriet's eyes grew large and she gave a faint moan.
'She cud'na bin no lady,' Nettie said firmly. She began
to count on her fingers. 'I make it three she murdered, an' she would've murdered th' young miss, which is four, if she 'adn't been stopped. No lady wud've murdered so many, not even fer sport.'
Cook looked at Mudd. 'How did th' police know t' come?'
'Accordin* t' the newspaper,' Mudd said, 'Sir Charles deduced 'oo killed th' Frenchie, or near 'nough. 'E was brin-gin' th' police t' talk t' th' lady. They were on th' stoop at th' very selfsame instant th' gun went off.'
'An' then they arrested th' lady,' Harriet said.
'Yer see?' Nettie declared triumphantly. ' 'f she were a lady, she wud'n've bin arrested!'
'T'were a great piece o' luck that yer was there, Mr. Mudd,' Sarah said. 'T'wud've bin a awful pity t'have lost th' young miss so soon after losin' Miss Ardleigh, God rest 'er. An' Jaggers, th' devil take 'er,' she added factually. 'If th' young miss had gone, we'd've all bin out o' a place, instead of warmin' ourselves by th' fire wi' tea an'
