Stephanie Barron - Jane and the Stillroom Maid

“Fishing!” Mr. Cooper cried indignantly. “You would have me to fish, when the whole world is run mad? I should rather spend an interval on my knees in the parish church. I am sure that someone should consider of his God.”

“Very well,” returned Sir James briskly, “then I may recommend most highly the offices of Mr. Dean, the rector of All Saints, should you desire a companion in your spiritual ablutions. But I am most anxious for Miss Austen — she appears in danger of swooning” — this was purest fabrication on the Justice’s part, although the closeness of the crowded room at such a season was considerable — “and I cannot think it wise for her to forgo a nuncheon. You will find Mr. Dean at The Elms, Mr. Cooper — a lovely little stone cottage directly across from the churchyard. He is sure to be at home, and happy to welcome a fellow man of the cloth. Do not neglect the Vernon Chapel in the South Transept. The tombs are quite fine. Come along, Miss Austen!”

And so I was led, without chance of argument, towards the neat front parlour of Jacob Patter, publican, while my cousin stared after, open-mouthed.

THE TABLE HAD BEEN LAID WITH A CLEAN WHITE cloth and a tray of victuals — cold roasted capon, fresh Derbyshire cheese of the blue-veined variety, and the cherished Bakewell puddings of my sister’s preference. Next to these stood a pitcher of ale and one that proved to be filled with ginger beer. Sir James drew forth my chair and I settled myself with a sigh.

“You are very good to think of my comfort, Sir James,” I told him. “I am afraid my cousin is not at present equal to consideration of anything but his own misery. He must be overwhelmed by present events, and cannot offer an accurate picture of his true character.”

“We are not all the masters of every circumstance that life presents,” Sir James replied equably. “I am sure that Mr. Cooper is a very good sort of man, in his own neighbourhood and his own church particularly.”

“Among the people of Hamstall Ridware I believe my cousin is esteemed and valued,” I replied. “His character is unblemished and his conduct entirely respectable. If he is unequal to the present horror, so much the better. I should not like to meet a man who could view Tess Arnold’s corpse with equanimity.”

“Could I despatch him to his rectory without comment tomorrow, I should do so,” the Justice declared, “and all his party with him. But I fear the kindness would not be worth the talk it should occasion in the town. I must beg you to remain a little in Derbyshire, Miss Austen, until the present affair is concluded.”

“Would this necessity have arisen, Sir James, if Mr. George Hemming had not disappeared? You spoke just now as though you had sought the gentleman, and found him from home.”

“He was certainly not in evidence at the Inquest,” Sir James replied, “and having sent a messenger to his establishment in Carding Street, and having found Mr. Hemming away — I am not entirely certain what to think. He might have chosen a more suitable hour for his absence.”

“You do not know any real ill of him, however?”

“As to that — I do not think I should open my mind even to you, Miss Austen. I have a dangerous tendency to disclose far more than is safe, under the influence of so subtle a lady.”

“Flattery, Sir James, must satisfy me for the present,” I told him archly. “Mr. Hemming’s nature — his power for good or ill — shall remain a mystery, and my cousin shall bear all the weight of his disgrace, by standing firm in Mr. Hemming’s stead. Mr. Cooper must endure his purgatory, whatever the just horror his noble patron may feel; and offer up his suffering to God.” As my cousin had yet to cast his suffering in lyrics, I saw no reason to dread the event. “I am sure that upon reflection, Mr. Cooper will comprehend the necessity of your prohibition.”

“I fear that he has arrived at a very unnatural conclusion — that he is himself under present suspicion of effecting Tess Arnold’s death.”

“And so should he be.” I accepted a serving of capon from the Justice and met his gaze unflinchingly. “So must we all. From your particular acquaintance with events, Sir James, you may determine only this: that the maidservant, Tess Arnold, met her death at midnight in a place peculiarly remote from her home, and in clothes that are determined to have belonged to her employer. She died as the result of a prodigious shot, fired at some remove from her corpse’s resting place. You never met my cousin before Tuesday; and as he and some part of his party were the first to discover the dreadful scene, we might reasonably have done so to appear in innocence before your eyes. You know nothing whatsoever of Mr. Cooper — or if it comes to that, myself. He might be a desperate cutthroat in the guise of a clergyman, and I his paramour. We might have quitted The Rutland Arms in stealth at ten o’clock of a Monday evening, with the intention of seeing murder done. I leave it to your considerable understanding to devise a motive for our doing so.”

“And as a sporting fellow, I should accept the challenge,” Sir James cried, “but for the excellent report of both your characters I received from George Hemming, whom I have known these three decades and more.”

“Mr. Hemming I never met before Monday evening,” I declared, “and my cousin has not seen him this age. Besides, Mr. Hemming may stand in testament to nobody; his own actions at present will not bear scrutiny. No, no, Sir James — you must preserve the cold judicial eye of the Law. We are none of us above suspicion, and I for one am glad of it. Only the most discerning and impartial mind shall discover the truth in this sad tangle.”

“Well said.” He poured out a tankard of ale for himself and quaffed it deeply before replying. In the silence I could hear a slight noise in the passage beyond the parlour’s closed door, and wondered if Jacob Patter or his serving girl was lingering there, in respect of Sir James’s conversation.

“Have you an idea where Mr. Hemming could have got to?” I enquired.

The Justice shook his head. “I may say that I am most uneasy in my mind, that he should have neglected of his duty. Indeed, his conduct throughout this affair must lay him open to the most uncomfortable scrutiny; it is unlike anything I have witnessed in George Hemming before. He certainly does not serve Charles Danforth as I should like.”

“Not at all! The gentleman seemed astonished at the tenor of the Coroner’s questioning, and that anyone in Bakewell should remain so in ignorance of the facts, or of his own peril, is in everyway remarkable.”

“Except, perhaps, when his solicitor conspires to keep him so,” Sir James observed. “Though Danforth summoned Mr. Hemming to Penfolds yesterday, to my knowledge the solicitor did not appear; and so poor Charles went forward to the Inquest without the slightest sensation of danger.”

“Mr. Hemming did not appear? But surely—” I stopped short, uncertain of what should be said. Might Mr. Hemming’s sudden disappearance creditably be laid to my own account? I had bullied the man unmercifully, and it seemed that he had fled.

Sir James smiled grimly. “I could wish Mr. Danforth greater fortune in his movements that night; he possesses not a single person who may testify to his presence at the house, or about the fields. But still he may claim some friends. His housekeeper is surely one of these. Had Augusta Haskell not fainted dead away, we must have seen her master charged with murder.”

“Given the direction of Mr. Tivey’s questions, the panel may be excused for believing no other course left open to them,” I agreed. “But what do you know of Mr. Danforth’s brother, Sir James? For he was also abroad that night. Is he a man to be trusted?”