Mrs. Pratt glared at him. 'Fine fer ye, Mudd. But fer me, Miss Ardleigh is guilty as Jaggers. Both of 'em deserves wotev'r they git. I only hope it kin be me wot dishes it out.'
36
'We must leave me tamily's skeletons to rattle in the dusty dark'
Kate never knew exactly what went on between Aunt Jag-gers and Aunt Sabrina in the library that morning. When Aunt Sabrina dismissed her, she went first to the kitchen to speak to Mrs. Pratt, who was sweeping the floor with an amazing energy.
'Don't know, 'm sure,' she said snappishly, when Kate had asked her about the brown felt hat.
'I felt,' Kate pressed, 'that I had seen the hat before. I recalled the young man who came visiting last evening-Tom Potter. He had such a hat.'
Mrs. Pratt stopped sweeping, her face pulled into a scowl. 'If yer thinkin' 'twas Tom Potter who came skulkin' roun' the libr'ry, miss, yer wrong.'
'But he has reason to dislike-'
'Aye, he has that,' Mrs. Pratt said firmly. 'But he ain't the sort t' descend t' skulkin'. Me word on't.'
And that, for the moment at least, seemed to be that. Although Kate sensed that there was a great deal more to be learned, she was not going to get it out of Mrs. Pratt. She took a basket and scissors and went out into the mild,
bright morning to cut flowers for the luncheon table's centerpiece.
After the night's rain, the asters and roses were bedraggled, but Kate had no difficulty finding more than enough. As she filled her basket, she was frankly glad that Aunt Sabrina had not asked her to attend the meeting with Aunt Jaggers. However Jaggers had managed to extort control of the household, it was an authority she valued and she would not easily yield it up. The confrontation between the two aunts was bound to be a painful one, embroidered with old bitterness and-Kate felt sure-laced with ancient secrets. Kate would have liked to know those secrets, but she was glad to be spared the pain of learning them.
And there was the earlier meeting with all the servants to mull over. While her aunt had talked, Kate had observed their faces and had been surprised to observe that not all were equally delighted with Aunt Sabrina's announcement. Amelia, Nettie, Harriet, and Pocket seemed quite pleased, especially at the prospect of gaining a few creature comforts and perhaps a bit more leisure. Mudd, however, had seemed perturbed at Aunt Sabrina's request that he bring her the household accounts. Why?
Kate frowned and clipped a pink rose, still heavy with raindrops. She dropped it into her basket. Was there something about the accounts that Mudd did not want to reveal? Kate's first thought, for Mudd's reaction fitted neatly into a scenario that Beryl Bardwell was considering for 'The Conspiracy of the Golden Scarab,' was that Mudd himself had been mishandling the household funds and feared to be found out. If true, Kate thought regretfully, it was a pity. In spite of their initial difficulties, she had come to like him.
And she liked Mrs. Pratt, too. But the cook had been even less pleased than the butler by Aunt Sabrina's announcement-which was very odd, Kate thought. She had expected Aunt Jaggers's downfall to bring a smile of triumphant vindication to Mrs. Pratt's face. But in actual fact, her expression had grown blacker and blacker while Aunt Sabrina was talking, until she looked like a summer thunderstorm. It was as if her anger was focused on both the sisters.
No, it was more than anger, Kate thought. It was hatred she had seen in Mrs. Pratt's eyes. It could only be because of Jenny Blyly-which brought up Tom Potter and the brown felt hat.
Kate shook her head, frowning. The belowstairs situation was clearly complicated, woven through with as much anger and bitterness as that upstairs. Aunt Sabrina would do what she could, but perhaps the problem could not be solved with the simple removal of Aunt Jaggers. She looked toward the French doors onto the terrace, open to the mild morning, and wondered what her aunts were saying to each other in the library. As she did, someone hurriedly pulled the doors shut. Whatever was being said, her aunts did not wish to be overheard.
37
'It the desire to kill and the opportunity to kill come always together, who would escape hanging?'
Sabrina turned from the doors. 'And that, sister,' she said with a bleak emphasis, 'is all there is to it. Now you must make of it what you will.'
Bernice felt as if she were choking on the rage that was
roaring like an inferno inside. 'How can you… how can you dare to insult me so?' she cried, struggling for words. 'How can you-'
'I can, because I have right on my side,' Sabrina said simply. 'You will no longer direct the servants, and you are to accept the presence of our niece without question.' She went to stand beside her desk.
'Right!' Bernice exclaimed. Her voice rose. 'After what you did?' She laughed bitterly. 'When society knows, you will be completely ostracized. Your name will be destroyed. And their names and their future-''
'I am quite prepared to confront my fate,' Sabrina said. Her voice was quiet, expressionless. 'And I am prepared to allow the others concerned to meet their own. But if society learns of this, it will only be because you have recklessly spread it abroad.' She reached down and picked up a letter opener in the shape of a dagger, turning it in her hand. 'When you do that, Bernice, you will no longer have a home at Bishop's Keep. For the rest of your days, you will live in a rented flat, subsisting on your widow's pension.'
Bernice stared at her sister. 'You would not turn me out penniless!' Her throat felt raw, lacerated with the pain of pent-up fury.
'I shall,' Sabrina replied, 'if you force me to do so.' Her face was a mask. Only her gray eyes held life, a suppressed, flashing energy-charged, it seemed to Bernice, with a malicious hatred. 'It appears, sister,' she added icily, 'that we have reached an impasse. If you destroy me and mine, I shall destroy you, quite utterly.'
The last words echoed in the silent room, in the empty hollow that had been Bernice's heart. Sabrina had gained the upper hand.
'It is the Irishwoman,' Bernice muttered blackly. 'She is the one who has turned you against me. Before she came-'
'Bernice!' Sabrina whirled around. 'It is absurd to cast recriminations on anyone but yourself.' Her voice vibrated,
only just in control. 'Or on me. If I had not allowed you to-'
'Spare me your self-pity,' Bernice cried, the taste of loathing acrid on her tongue. 'When you feel the full brunt of society's censure, then you can blame yourself. And pity him, whose career you will have-''
Her face suffused with furious color, Sabrina raised the hand that held the dagger. Bernice flinched. But she was maddened with anger. She could not stop her words.
'— Whose career in the church you will have utterly ruined.'
'No more,' Sabrina cried, knuckles white around the hilt of the dagger, forearm quivering with murderous violence. 'Get out of my sight, Bernice! And stay out, for I cannot promise that I will be able to control this arm!'
Bernice stared at her sister. She felt as if both she and Sabrina had been stripped to the skin and stood
