Maureen JENNINGS - Except the Dying

The housekeeper was poking at the fire, her back to Donalda.

“To tell the truth, madam, I don’t rightly know.”

She turned around and there was a strange expression on her face, a hint of pleasure curling at the side of her mouth. “She’s gone.”

Donalda stared at her. “I don’t understand. To church, you mean?”

“No, madam.” Edith took a piece of paper out of her apron pocket. “I went to her room first thing, seeing as she had not yet shown her face in the kitchen and I was concerned she might still be feeling poorly.” She handed Donalda the note. “This was on her bed.”

Donalda unfolded it. The message was written in pencil in childish big letters.

I HAVE GONE BACK HOME. I MISS EVERYBODY TO MUCH. YOUR OBEDIENT SERVANT, Therese Laporte.

“Good gracious. What does it mean?”

“Just what it says, I think, madam. She’s gone off back to Chatham, most like.”

“But why?”

“Like she says there. She was homesick.”

“I know she was at first, but not lately. She seemed to have settled down nicely.”

“Not really, madam. She put on a good face with you because she knew that it bothered you to see her carrying on so, but I heard her weeping away nights.”

“You should have told me.”

“I didn’t want to trouble you with such silly matters, madam. I kept expecting she’d get over it.”

“When did she leave?”

“I can’t rightly say. I was concerned about her last night and looked in, as was only right. The room was dark and I thought she was sleeping and didn’t disturb her. However, this morning I found that she’d put a bolster under the quilt to make it look like she was in bed. She didn’t want her getaway to be discovered too soon. Cunning child that she is. Not giving a care to those who would worry about her.”

“I find it so hard to believe that she wouldn’t say anything.”

“Ungrateful, if you ask me. She should have given notice at least. And you taking her under your wing the way you did, madam.”

Donalda wanted to snap at her housekeeper, speak out in the girl’s defence, but she knew that would be foolish. There was bad feeling enough. Donalda had taken to Therese from the start. She was sweet-tempered and eager to please, whereas Mrs. Foy, efficient though she was, often had an aggrieved put-upon sort of air that was unpleasant.

The housekeeper came over to the tea trolley and, unasked, poured more tea into Donalda’s cup.

“I haven’t wanted to say anything, madam, because I know you showed a fondness to the girl, but she was a sly one…”

“Why do you say that?”

“She looked like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but–”

“Yes, do go on.” Donalda couldn’t hide her irritation.

Edith tightened her lips. “Little Miss Laporte was a thief.”

“I don’t believe that!”

“It is quite true, madam. Last Thursday my silver brooch went missing from my room, and also my husband’s watch fob. A real gold piece it is, that he’s most fond of. I found them in the girl’s room. Tucked into the back of the wardrobe.”

“How do you know they were stolen?”

“Begging your pardon, madam, I don’t see as how they could have walked there.”

“Why would anyone steal jewellery only to leave it behind?”

“I can’t pretend to understand the mind of a thief, madam. I only tell you what I found … There was another thing, madam.”

Edith sounded as if she had something delicious in her mouth. Donalda was positive she actually smacked her lips.

“I found a box of handkerchiefs in her drawer. Untouched. I distinctly remember they were the ones Dr. Rhodes himself gave you yourself as a Christmas present. Lovely Irish linen they are. If that isn’t proof I don’t know what is.”

“Nonsense. I gave them to Theresa myself.”

“Oh, I see. I beg your pardon, madam, I didn’t realize–”

“I didn’t much care for them.”

“Of course, madam. You can do whatever you wish with your own belongings.”

“Thank you, Edith, I shall keep that in mind.”

“Yes, madam. Will there be anything else?”

“I assume you plan to inform the police about the thefts.”

Edith lowered her eyes quickly. “I don’t wish to be uncharitable. I have them back and as long as there’s nothing else missing I am willing to let the matter drop.”

“In that case we had better question the doctor and Mr. Owen. Neither has reported any loss so far, but perhaps they should check their cufflinks and pins.”

“Yes, madam. Will you be wanting me to advertise again?”

“I suppose so.”

“Perhaps this time we could request an orphan girl? They appreciate a good position more than most young women do these days. The Wrights got someone from the Barnardo Home in Peterborough and she has worked out most satisfactorily.”

“Very well.”

“I’ll see to it tomorrow.” Edith picked up the note from the tea trolley. “We don’t need this, do we?” Before Donalda could protest, she threw it into the fire. The flames devoured it in a moment.

“What dress would you wish me to lay out this morning, madam?”

Donalda was staring at the black fragments of paper as they floated up the chimney. “What did you say?”

“Your dress, madam? Which one today?”

“My wool plaid, I think. The church is never warm enough.”

“Perhaps your cashmere undervest, then, madam?”

Edith went into the adjacent dressing room. Donalda was glad to be out of her sight. She could feel tears stinging at the back of her eyes. Inappropriate tears, she knew, but the anguish of her dream was still close and she was hurt by Theresa’s callous behaviour. In spite of the inequality between them she thought there had been real affection. She was obviously wrong.

When Edith returned to the kitchen with the breakfast tray, her husband was sitting at the table with Joe, the stable lad. The boy was gulping down hot porridge and John Foy was sipping noisily from a mug of steaming tea.

“’Bout time you stuck your head out of the den,” she said.

Foy spooned more sugar into the mug, took another drink, smacked his lips and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I said it was about time you got down here,” she repeated.

“I heard you,” grunted Foy.

“It’s almost a quarter to ten. Master Owen needs his bath drawn and you should get the doctor’s breakfast going.”

Foy sipped his tea slowly. His wife glared. “What’s wrong with you? You look like something the cat brought in.”

“Don’t go at me, woman. I was up late last night.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, yourself. What do you know? You were whistling at the angels.”

“Why were you up late, then, Mr. Clever?”

“Because the doctor couldn’t get in.”

“What do you mean he couldn’t get in?”

Her husband was spinning out his tale, knowing it would irritate her to no end if he was privy to something she wasn’t.

“The door was bolted. Fortunately for him, I was awake.”

“What time was that?”

“Must have been at least two o’clock.”

“Where was he ’til that godforsaken hour in the morning?”

“At his consulting rooms. He enjoys it there. It’s quiet and peaceful.”

“How do you know?”

“How do you think? Because the doctor speaks English and I understand English. He told me.”

“Who bolted the door?”

“Must have been Mr. Owen. He took Miss Shepcote home. Poor thing was very poorly, sneezing all over the china the entire evening. I suppose when he come back he shot the bolt, not knowing Doctor was out.”

Edith took a pair of gloves out of her pocket and wriggled her fingers into them. They were a tight fit.