Perhaps, though, the letter was not the real purpose of her errand. Perhaps it was Aunt Jaggers's wanton destruction of the Golden Dawn tarot deck that she was in such haste to communicate to Mrs. Farnsworth. Kate moved to the fireplace
and stood, watching her aunt. It was only conjecture that Aunt Sebrina was going to Mrs. Farnsworth's. Perhaps she was going to see someone else. Who could it be?
But Aunt Sabrina's white, thin-lipped face made it clear that there would be no answer to this question. Kate reluctantly bade her goodbye and went to the French doors to watch the carriage depart, Pocket giving an encouraging chirrup to the wet horse. When the drive was empty, she returned to her chair and resumed her typing. But while she tried very hard to focus on her task, she could not help worrying about Aunt Sabrina, driving through the rain to some unknown destination, to fulfill some unknown purpose. She could not help worrying about herself, too, and her mind kept returning to the question she had asked herself in the garden. Could Aunt Jaggers actually compel her to leave Bishop's Keep and return to America?
In spite of her troubled thoughts, Kate managed to finish the transcription of the cipher manuscript by teatime. She wasn't quite sure what use Mr. Yeats would make of it. The magical rituals were fragmentary, not very interesting, and actually rather silly. As far as she could see, its real value was not in its hocus-pocus, but in its history: it was, after all, supposed to be very old, written down by some long-ago secret society and passed from one adept to another, carefully safeguarded by its communication in cipher.
Well, Kate thought, putting the transcript aside, whatever the value of the document to Mr. Yeats, it was typed, and neatly, too. At least he would be able to read it clearly. Her next task- and by far the most important she had undertaken so far-was to translate the letters Fraulein Sprengel had written, in German, to Dr. Westcott, giving him the authority he needed to establish the Order of the Golden Dawn. She was looking forward to the work, for she enjoyed translating. While she was not expert in German, she felt she knew it well.
But as Kate began to work, she discovered something that both surprised and puzzled her. Fraulein Sprengel was supposed to be an educated German woman, but her letters contained several very elementary mistakes in grammar, not to mention numerous spelling errors, the sort usually committed
by English speakers with an imperfect knowledge of the language. For example, the word adressiert- address-was spelled with two d's when it should have had but one; the English word secretary appeared in place of the German Sek-retar, and 'Lodge' had been used instead of Loge. Kate pressed her lips together and shook her head. If she had not been told differently, she would have guessed that the letters-which were of vital importance to anyone concerned with the Order's legitimacy-had been written by an Englishman who was only superficially acquainted with German! This guess would have been further supported by the fact that Fraulein Sprengel's name and modern address were part of a document which purported to be quite ancient.
But the business of the cipher document seemed academic. Kate had a larger and more immediate problem to worry about-and, anyway, it was getting late and she was tired. She folded the letters and put them back in the box, her mind returning to her own dilemma. What would she do if Aunt Jaggers insisted that she leave and Aunt Sabrina had neither the will nor the strength to withstand her sister?
Kate stood up and went to the French doors to look out at the afternoon. The rain had stopped, the clouds were clearing away, and a pale, translucent light seemed to suffuse the landscape. She rested her cheek against the cool glass and stared out at the rain-wet trees.
What could she do to prevent Aunt Jaggers from sending her back to America? She had been at Bishop's Keep only a few weeks, but already she felt at home here, and the idea of leaving was surprisingly painful. She twisted a lock of hair around her finger, considering what she should do. Unfortunately, there did not seem to be many choices. She suspected that Aunt Sabrina might find it easier to let her go than to confront her sister, whose threat of revelation-revelation of what? — had almost seemed to annihilate her. And without Aunt Sabrina's protection, she would be, like Jenny Blyly, homeless.
But not, Kate thought, helpless. She straightened her shoulders and her lips firmed. Aunt Jaggers might be able to eject her from Bishop's Keep, but she could not force her onto the
boat. In the circumstances, Aunt Sabrina would probably be generous in the matter of severance pay. She would have what she had earned so far, and Beryl Bardwell was due a payment from Frank Leslie's Popular Monthly when she delivered 'The Conspiracy of the Golden Scarab.' She might be able to find a cottage to let in Dedham or in Colchester, where she could see Aunt Sabrina from time to time.
Kate stepped back from the window, already beginning to feel better. No, she could not prevent Aunt Jaggers from doing whatever she chose to do. But she was not by nature one who surrendered easily. If she were forced to leave, she was resourceful enough to fend for herself. Unlike Jenny Blyly, she knew she would survive.
31
'A prudent mistress disciplines without resort to the whip, for a servant violently dealt with will respond in kind.'
A half hour later, Kate finished her work, set her desk in order, and covered the Remington with its black oilcloth shroud. Aunt Sabrina had said she wouldn't be home for tea, and Kate, who was not yet accustomed to having people wait upon her, hated to put the servants to the bother of doing something she could do perfectly well for herself. She left the library to go down to the kitchen and find something to eat.
But the kitchen was the scene of chaos. Harriet was huddled in a heap on the floor, her apron pulled over her head. Aunt Jaggers, cap, hair, and face streaming water, was shrieking in fury at Mrs. Pratt. And Mrs. Pratt, her cheek and eye reddened as if from a smart blow, was holding the half-empty slops pail at the ready.
'Slut!' Aunt Jaggers cried. 'Fat, lazy-'
'Hold yer tongue!' Mrs. Pratt cautioned fiercely, raising the bucket. 'Or I'll douse yer again. Th' nerve o'yer, hittin' a pore child with yer fist!'
'You are dismissed, Cook!' Aunt Jaggers shrilled. She raised her hand and stepped forward as if to strike Mrs. Pratt another blow. 'Pack your bags and-'
'Stop, both of you!' Kate commanded sharply. 'What in heaven's name has happened?'
'She hit Harriet i' the face with her fist,' Mrs. Pratt said in a tone of outrage, 'an' then she hit me. The woman's out o' her bloody mind!'
'I won't have brazen insolence in my house!' Aunt Jaggers cried. 'The girl is impertinent.'
' 'Tis not yer house,' Mrs. Pratt retorted with great dignity. ' 'Tis yer sister's house, and none o' yers.'
Aunt Jaggers stamped her foot, her face livid. 'Send Pocket for the constable, Niece Ardleigh. I want this woman jailed for assault.'
Mrs. Pratt's eyes were narrowed, her glance steely. 'As to assault, 'twas Jaggers who struck th' first blow, against pore Harriet. All I did was-'
Aunt Jaggers pointed a trembling finger. 'You threw a bucket of slops on me!'
' 'Twere a half bucket,' Mrs. Pratt replied calmly. 'An' if need be, I'll use th' rest of it, an' th' bucket besides.' Her mouth tightened. 'An' as fer packin' me bags, it was a Ardleigh wot hired me an' it'll be a Ardleigh wot sacks me.'
'I think,' Kate said firmly, 'that we had all better calm ourselves.' She looked at her aunt. 'I do not believe this is a matter for the constable, Aunt Jaggers. My uncle O'Malley is a policeman, and I know that they are reluctant to intervene
in domestic matters. And there would be the embarrassment of-'
'Who asked you to intervene, miss?' Aunt Jaggers's face was wrathful. ' 'When the constable comes, I will order him to-'
But Kate did not discover what order her aunt intended to give the constable, for Mudd came into the kitchen at that moment, carrying a coal scuttle. Aunt Jaggers, apparently feeling outnumbered, choked off her threat, glared balefully at the three of them, and stamped out. Crooning words of comfort, Mrs. Pratt bent over the sobbing Harriet
