by Michael Cox
Thank you, my Lady, I said, bowing my head contritely, but feeling very much annoyed by the reprimand.
You might also black the patent boots I wore today, she went on. They have got rather dirtied in the rain.
Will that be all, my Lady?
Yes no, wait. I have noticed that the combs and hair-brushes I keep here are in a very bad state I never could get Miss Plumptre to understand the importance of cleanliness in such things. Wash them through, would you, Alice?
Such tasks are part and parcel of the duties of every ladys-maid; but it was plain that, in laying them on me that evening, Lady Tansor had wished to reassert her authority over me, and to remind me of my station. Although it went against Madames instructions, I had begun to grow a little fond of my mistress; but on occasions like this, when her mood would suddenly change from cordiality to high-handed disdain, the antipathy that Madame had encouraged me to feel towards her would begin to stir within me. Now, in the face of another display of haughtinesss, I felt it stirring again, even though I knew that I must go on playing the role of the acquiescent ladys-maid.
And please to make the bedroom fire ready before you go to supper, she was now saying. Miss Lucasta and Miss Serena Bligh will not stay late, and so I shall retire early, and leave the gentlemen to their cigars and brandy. Ah, theres the front door. Someone has arrived.
II
A Discovery
TIRED AND HUNGRY, having nearly completed my penance by blacking my Ladys boots and washing her combs and brushes, I was sitting before the fire in her richly furnished boudoir, mending the tear in her dress, and thinking over the events of the day.
Laying aside my needle and thread, I sat back, kicked off my shoes, and placed my stockinged feet on the fender to warm my toes.
The square outside was silent. Only the ticking of the long-case clock in the corner of the room, and the distant sound of occasional laughter from the guests downstairs, disturbed the stillness. As I luxuriated in the warm silence, my mind returned to Madames second letter.
My Ladys secrets like all secrets, or so I have read somewhere may long to be told; but they must also be searched out. I must turn spy. Cupboards and drawers must be opened; pockets rummaged through; bags and cases and purses turned out, and their contents examined. Why not start immediately, here in her town-house?
For half an hour, keeping my ears open, and with one eye on the door in case my mistress should return unexpectedly, I went about the room, examining each piece of furniture in turn. I then did the same in the bed-chamber, opening everything, searching with the greatest diligence; but I discovered nothing.
Overcome with fatigue and chagrin, I threw myself on my Ladys bed. How did Madame expect me to uncover proof of my Ladys crimes if she did not tell me what those crimes were? How could I find what was required if I did not know what I was seeking?
I remained in this baffled and impotent state for several minutes until my eye was caught by something protruding from beneath the pillow, not six inches from where I lay.
I reached forward and pulled it out.
It was a folded piece of paper, on which were a few lines of writing:
I am relieved that you will soon be returning to the country. London is a dangerous place. Only last Sunday (of all days), as I believe I mentioned to you this afternoon, a woman was found, with terrible injuries, in the Thames. Shocking. If you have not yet seen it, you may read an account of the outrage in yesterdays Times, page six. What a world it is!
As I read the note again, it seemed to take on the character of a cipher. There was another meaning here, skulking beneath the surface, which I was unable to discern. Replacing the note under the pillow, I returned to the sitting-room.
The newspaper that Mr Perseus had brought up for his mother still lay on the table by the window. It was of course the previous days edition of The Times, and was open at page six. Towards the bottom of the page, the following notice instantly caught my eye:
HORRIBLE MURDER
As briefly reported in yesterdays edition, on Sunday last, 17th September, the body of a woman was found in the Thames, near Nicholsons Wharf. She had been most fearfully mutilated about the throat. The woman has now been identified as Mrs Barbarina Kraus, aged sixty-four years, of Chalmers Street, Borough.
On the previous Friday, Mrs Kraus had been seen leaving the Antigallican public-house in the vicinity of Billingsgate, having gone out that morning in order, she told her son, to meet an old friend.
Her son, Conrad Kraus, became alarmed when she did not return that evening, and the next morning requested the landlady of the lodging-house in which they resided, Mrs Jessie Turripper, to alert the police.
The authorities have so far uncovered no clue as to the identity of the friend that the victim said she intended to visit, and robbery is not thought to have been the motive for the fatal assault. The victim had lived for some years in straitened circumstances with her son, and was carrying no money.
From the condition of the body, the opinion of the police surgeon is that it had been thrown into the water not more than a day before its discovery.
The investigation continues, under Inspector Alfred Gully, of the Detective Department.
Two things in the report immediately seized my attention. The first was the mention of the Antigallican, where I had lately witnessed Mr Armitage Vyse in close conference with Billy Yapp, a known killer. The second was that the victims initials had been B.K.
It seemed altogether too great a coincidence. Mrs Barbarina Kraus, last seen alive leaving the Antigallican public-house, had the same initials as the old woman my Lady had said was Bertha Kennedy, her former nurse-maid. If they proved to belong to the same person, then it followed that my mistress and Mr Vyse had been involved in her murder.
I had no time to consider this dreadful conclusion further, for just then a noise on the landing sent me running back to my chair by the fire. Picking up my work, I had only just assumed an attitude of innocent industry when in walked Mr Perseus Duport.
III
An Instance of Wounded Pride
HE CLOSES THE door quietly behind him and stands, for several moments, regarding me with that unsettling inscrutability that reminds me so much of his mother.
Ah, Miss Gorst! Ive come for that copy of The Times I brought up earlier.
Then, observing the needle and thread in my hand, he remarks: My mother is a hard task-master, I fear.
What a sweet picture I must have made in my sober black, my work in my hands, compliant to the utmost degree! He could not have guessed the true character and ambition of the dutiful Miss Gorst, the ladys-maid, nor the suspicions of the most atrocious kind that she now has of his mother.
In the brief silence that ensues, it is borne in on me once again what an uncommonly handsome gentleman he is: tall, slim, straight-backed, his clipped black beard and long hair making him look like some Assyrian potentate transported through time to the mundane nineteenth century.
Undeniably handsome, then; and I suppose, with his literary disposition to supplement his manly beauty, that I ought to have considered him a match for all the heroes of legend and fiction that I had ever read or dreamed of. Perhaps I did secretly harbour such a thought, although I was careful not to show it, and determined not to swoon before him, as many young ladies of my age might have done. Yet he fascinated me; and, in spite of his undemonstrative, and often high-handed, manner, I flattered myself that he regarded me with an unaccustomed degree of favour.
Do you remember, he is now saying, when we spoke about the Cretan Labyrinth?
Yes, sir, I reply, puzzled by the question. I remember it very well, and also your kind offer to guide me through the labyrinth of Evenwood.
You are right. I did!
He falls silent again, then looks frowningly at me with his piercing black eyes his mothers eyes.
But
you didnt come to find me, so that I could fulfil my offer.
Im afraid, sir, I felt that it was not my place to trespass on your time.
You seem very conscious of your place, Miss Gorst.
That is as it must be, sir, I reply. A ladys-maid must always keep in mind that she has only one duty, and that is to do her mistresss bidding. Beyond that, she has no individuality, as long as she remains in her mistresss service.
That is a rather severe philosophy, Miss Gorst, and one that I suspect you dont really hold.
Oh, I assure you I do, sir, having no other aim than to serve your mother. My own inclinations are of no account.
And what were your inclinations with respect to my offer to show you Evenwood?
He has now seated himself on the sofa and is resting his index finger against the side of his nose, tilting his head to one side in a gesture of anticipation at my reply.
It would have been very pleasant Im sure, sir, to have explored the house in your company; but it would not have been proper. I am certain that, on reflection, you must agree.
Proper! he exclaims, with a humourless laugh. No, it would not have been at all proper for me to escort the new ladys-maid around my mothers house. But then I did not make the offer to a common domestic servant, did I? I made it to you, Miss Gorst, in propria persona. Do you know what that means?
Yes, sir.
But of course you do. Tell me.
It means in ones own person.
Precisely. And by answering that question correctly, just as you did when I asked you about the Labyrinth of the Minotaur, you reveal a little more of your true self. Ladys-maid, indeed!
It is what I am, sir.
It is what you pretend to be.
His words momentarily alarm me; then I see that he is only expressing what his mother, as well as his brother and Mr Wraxall, have thought was the truth: that I am a ladys-maid only through necessity.
You say nothing, Miss Gorst, he continues. Come now, admit it. You are not showing us your true self, even though it peeps out most tantalizingly from time to time. What we see is not what you truly are.
It matters not a rush, sir, I return, determined not to let my characters mask slip. The life I lived formerly has gone for ever, and I am perfectly content in my new one. And now, if you will excuse me, sir, I have work to do before my Lady returns.
It is several moments before he speaks again. When he does, it is on a completely different subject.
You have not asked me about my poem, he says. Wouldnt you like to know how we fared with Mr Freeth? And do not say that it is not your place to ask. That will only vex me, for I know youre curious.
I believe my Lady said that you will be seeing Mr Freeth again tomorrow, to conclude the arrangements. I assume, therefore, that your meeting today must have had a satisfactory outcome.
Satisfactory is the word. Mr Freeth believes that Merlin and Nimue will be a great success, and that it will instantly make my reputation. What do you think of that?
Is Mr Freeth a competent judge?
I see in his eyes disbelief at what he plainly considers to be the effrontery of my question, although I intend neither presumption nor offence.
Competent? Freeth? Of course hes competent. What a question!
But I think my Lady said that Freeth & Hoare was a new concern. I suppose, however, that Mr Freeth and Mr Hoare must have had previous experience of the publishing business before establishing their own firm.
His face darkens.
Perhaps you consider yourself to be proficient in these matters, Miss Gorst, he says, getting up from the sofa and moving across to pick up the copy of The Times from the table, being as my mother informs me such a great connoisseur of poetry.
Oh no, sir, I reply, feeling sorry indeed, rather distraught that I appear to have angered him. I read only for my own pleasure, and I know that my taste is both conventional and unformed. In any case, I am sure that the opinion of a mere ladys-maid is of no interest to anyone.
My words are sincerely intended to placate him. I am distressed, however, that he seems to have taken offence at them, and at my apparent denigration of his poem.
Well, then, Miss Gorst he says, tetchily, folding up the newspaper, I shall detain you no longer.
When he reaches the door, he turns.
Oh, I have just remembered. I have several engagements tomorrow, and so would have been unable to show you the pictures at the National Gallery after all. I am sorry to have kept you from your darning.
12
Mrs Prout Remembers
I
Mr Thornhaugh Considers Possibilities
ON THE morning that we were due to return to Evenwood, my Lady went out early in the carriage, informing me that before we left Town she must pay a brief visit to an old friend who was unwell. This, I was sure, was not the true reason, but as I had to pack up her boxes and tidy her rooms, there was no opportunity to follow her, which I was burning to do.
When she returned, she was visibly out of sorts; and during the journey home remained irritable and uncommunicative by turns, complaining now that the carriage was too hot, or too cold, now that the motion of the train was making her ill, and then relapsing into sulky, fidgety silence, when she would try to read her book, or look listlessly out of the window, but being unable to settle to either.
As we approached Peterborough, however, her face suddenly lightened.
Nearly home! she cried, throwing aside her book, and the rug that had covered her lap.
I shall not go to London again unless it is absolutely necessary, she then declared. Perseus shall go in my stead from now on, if there are matters of business that must be attended to. Or people shall have to come to me.
But do you not find London fascinating, my Lady? I asked.
Fascinating?
She took off her spectacles, and looked out of the carriage window.
Perhaps once, but no longer. It is dirty, and dangerous; and of course it holds memories for me that are far from pleasant. There are beauties and marvels, no doubt, that will always captivate, but I have seen them, and have no wish to see them again. Evenwood is my world now. I shall never tire of Evenwood.
Then she turned her face towards me once more.
Oh, Alice, did I tell you? Mr Freeth was captivated simply captivated by Perseuss poem. He read the first six pages of the manuscript and said that he did not need to read any more in order for him to declare categorically that it was a work of indisputable genius, which the house simply had to publish on its inaugural list. A contract was sent round this morning. He has consulted his partner, Mr Hoare, and they propose publishing the work in December, in a de luxe edition of two hundred and fifty copies. Alas, its being a new venture, they are unable to underwrite the costs themselves, the market for poetic works of this scale and ambition, according to Mr Freeth, being a somewhat difficult one just at present. But he has every confidence that a great many more copies will be instantly called for, once the reviewers have informed the public of its singular merits. Ah, here we are at last! We shall soon be home now.
I HAD MUCH to tell Madame regarding my adventure in Dark House Lane, and the note I had found under my Ladys pillow, obliging me to sit up until well past midnight composing a long letter to her. I had expected to receive an immediate reply, and began to feel both annoyed and anxious when none came. A week went by, then ten days. At last, a letter arrived but it was from Mr Thornhaugh, informing me that Madames sister had been taken gravely ill, and that she had been obliged to go to Poitiers to be with her. Mr Thornhaugh, it appeared, had also been absent from the Avenue dUhrich, although he did not say why.
Your information concerning Mr Armitage Vyse, & his visit to the public-house in Billingsgate, he wrote, was of t
he greatest interest to Madame.
What a marvellous detective you have become, Little Queen! And what courage & resourcefulness you showed in following Mr V. But you must not take unnecessary risks. That must be strictly understood. I add the stern admonition of your old tutor to the advice of your new acquaintance, Mr Pilgrim (whom I desire very much to shake warmly by the hand) that you must never again go to such a place as the Antigallican alone.
Returning to Mr V, Madame thinks as you do: that there is some new mystery here, concerning this gentleman & Lady T, which may be helpful to our cause, if it can be solved.
Madame knows nothing yet of this Mrs Kraus, having only read, as you have, the report in The Times, & so cannot be certain of identifying her with B.K. But she agrees with you that the coincidence of the initials appears too great to fall back on any other conclusion.
This being so, it would seem that a woman has been murdered, in the most violent manner, who is connected in some way with yr mistress. Can it be deduced from these few, though eloquent, clues that Lady T and Mr V were directly responsible for instigating the death of the Kraus woman, through the agency of Sweeney Yapp? Madame and I think it can but why it was necessary for this apparently insignificant person to suffer such a fate is, I confess, beyond both of us for the moment.
Madame tells me to say that she is conscious that you remain anxious to receive her third, and final, Letter of Instruction, in which the true cause of yr being sent to Evenwood will be laid before you at last. She wishes me to assure you, once again, that this will be in yr hands, as she promised, by the close of the year.
