I did not know how far I could trust the man; but then I thought how he had taken it upon himself to go to London, on Mary Baker’s behalf, to search for news concerning her sister, the doomed Mrs Agnes Pluckrose. That action spoke of a generous and courageous spirit, and, with Mr Carteret dead, there might be a question as to how he would earn his daily bread; and so, having already recognized the need to find a means of informing myself on the doings of Evenwood and its residents, I decided to risk taking Brine into my confidence a little.
‘Brine, I believe you to be an honest man, and a faithful servant to your former master. But you have no master now, and Miss Carteret’s future, I venture to say, is far from certain. My acquaintance with your late master was short, but I know him to have been an excellent gentleman who did not deserve his fate. More than this, his death has thrown the outcome of our business together into jeopardy, and that must be rectified. I cannot say more on this point. But will you now trust me and help me, as you are able, to seek out those responsible for this dreadful act, and in so doing assist me to conclude the matter that brought me here?’
Brine said nothing in reply, but I could see a glint of interest in his eyes at the question.
‘Our arrangement must be on a strictly confidential basis,’ I continued. ‘I’m sure you understand me. And it would involve no risk to yourself. I simply wish to be informed on what happens here, who comes, who goes, what is said amongst the servants concerning the late Mr Carteret, that sort of thing. I shall pay you well for your loyalty and discretion, and shall ensure that it will never be a matter of regret to you that you assisted me in this matter. And so here’s my hand, John Brine. Will you take it?’
He hesitated, as I expected he would, and looked me square in the eye, without speaking, for some seconds. But whatever he saw therein appeared to decide him. He gripped my hand, like the sturdy fellow he was, and shook it hard.
But then he appeared to hold back a little, and I thought at first that he had repented of his decision.
‘What is it, Brine?’
‘Well, sir, I was thinking …’
‘Yes?’
‘My sister Lizzie, sir, who is maid to Miss Carteret. She’s a canny girl, my sister, and a deal smarter than me in knowing what’s what, if you take my meaning. And so I was thinking, sir, if I can put this to you straight, whether you might feel your interests would be even better served if you was to extend the arrangement you have so kindly offered me to her as well. You won’t find better than her for the work. She’s with her mistress privily every day, and comes and goes as she pleases to Miss’s room. Yes, sir, she knows what’s what round here, and she’ll keep it all as tight as you’d ever want. If you’d like to meet her for yourself, sir, she’s but a step or two down the road.’
I considered the proposition for a moment. Through my employment at Tredgolds, I had acquired long experience of recruiting such as Brine to serve my purposes; but it was often the case that a certain sort of woman proved more adept, and more subtle, at the work than the men.
‘I will see your sister,’ I said at last. ‘Lead on.’
We walked a little way into the village, to a cottage on the corner of the lane that led down to the church.
‘I’ll go in first, sir,’ said Brine at the door, ‘if you don’t mind.’
I nodded and he entered through the low doorway, leaving me in the roadway to walk up and down. At length, the door opened again, and he ushered me inside.
His sister was standing by the blazing hearth, a book in her hand, which she placed on a table as I walked in. I saw that it was a volume of poems by Mrs Hemans,* and, on looking round the simply furnished room, I noted a set of Miss Austen’s works, a recent novel by Mr Kingsley, and a volume or two by Miss Martineau,† together with a number of other modern works, which indicated that Miss Brine possessed literary tastes far superior to those of most people of her class and occupation.
She appeared to be in her late twenties, and had her brother’s sandy hair and pale freckly skin, but was shorter and slighter, with darting green eyes, and having – as her brother had accurately described her – the unmistakable look of someone who knew what was what. Yes, she was a sharp one all right. I thought she might do very well.
‘Your brother has explained to you the nature of the proposed arrangement, Miss Brine?’
‘He has, sir.’
‘And what do you say to it?’
‘I’m very happy to oblige you, sir.’
‘And do neither of you feel disquiet at what I am asking you to do?’
They looked at each other. Then the sister spoke.
‘If I may speak for my brother, sir, I will say that no such arrangement would have been possible, or considered by us, if our dear master was alive. But now he is gone, God bless his soul, we are somewhat anxious concerning our future prospects here. Who knows but that my mistress will not take it in her head to flit back to France, where she always says she was so happy. If she does, she won’t take me, that’s for sure. She’s told me as much in the past. And maybe she’d stay there, and then what would we do?’
‘Perhaps she might marry and still live here, though,’ I said.
‘She might,’ she replied. ‘But it would suit us, sir, to prepare for the former eventuality. To put a little money by against the day, if it should come, would be a great comfort to us. And we would give good service.’
‘I’m sure you would.’
I plainly saw that Lizzie would be the more useful member of the partnership, and that she would also keep her brother in line.
‘So you do not feel the same loyalty to your mistress as you did to her father?’
She shrugged.
‘You might say that, sir, though I would not,’ Lizzie replied. ‘But it is true that, circumstances having changed so suddenly, we must look to ourselves a little more than we used.’
