The Moonstone

  CHAPTER II

  "Betteredge!" I said, pointing to the well-remembered book on his knee,"has ROBINSON CRUSOE informed you, this evening, that you might expectto see Franklin Blake?"

  "By the lord Harry, Mr. Franklin!" cried the old man, "that's exactlywhat ROBINSON CRUSOE has done!"

  He struggled to his feet with my assistance, and stood for a moment,looking backwards and forwards between ROBINSON CRUSOE and me,apparently at a loss to discover which of us had surprised him most. Theverdict ended in favour of the book. Holding it open before him in bothhands, he surveyed the wonderful volume with a stare of unutterableanticipation--as if he expected to see Robinson Crusoe himself walk outof the pages, and favour us with a personal interview.

  "Here's the bit, Mr. Franklin!" he said, as soon as he had recoveredthe use of his speech. "As I live by bread, sir, here's the bit I wasreading, the moment before you came in! Page one hundred and fifty-sixas follows:--'I stood like one Thunderstruck, or as if I had seenan Apparition.' If that isn't as much as to say: 'Expect the suddenappearance of Mr. Franklin Blake'--there's no meaning in the Englishlanguage!" said Betteredge, closing the book with a bang, and gettingone of his hands free at last to take the hand which I offered him.

  I had expected him, naturally enough under the circumstances, tooverwhelm me with questions. But no--the hospitable impulse was theuppermost impulse in the old servant's mind, when a member of the familyappeared (no matter how!) as a visitor at the house.

  "Walk in, Mr. Franklin," he said, opening the door behind him, with hisquaint old-fashioned bow. "I'll ask what brings you here afterwards--Imust make you comfortable first. There have been sad changes, since youwent away. The house is shut up, and the servants are gone. Never mindthat! I'll cook your dinner; and the gardener's wife will make yourbed--and if there's a bottle of our famous Latour claret left in thecellar, down your throat, Mr. Franklin, that bottle shall go. I bid youwelcome, sir! I bid you heartily welcome!" said the poor old fellow,fighting manfully against the gloom of the deserted house, and receivingme with the sociable and courteous attention of the bygone time.

  It vexed me to disappoint him. But the house was Rachel's house, now.Could I eat in it, or sleep in it, after what had happened in London?The commonest sense of self-respect forbade me--properly forbade me--tocross the threshold.

  I took Betteredge by the arm, and led him out into the garden. Therewas no help for it. I was obliged to tell him the truth. Between hisattachment to Rachel, and his attachment to me, he was sorely puzzledand distressed at the turn things had taken. His opinion, when heexpressed it, was given in his usual downright manner, and was agreeablyredolent of the most positive philosophy I know--the philosophy of theBetteredge school.

  "Miss Rachel has her faults--I've never denied it," he began. "Andriding the high horse, now and then, is one of them. She has been tryingto ride over you--and you have put up with it. Lord, Mr. Franklin, don'tyou know women by this time better than that? You have heard me talk ofthe late Mrs. Betteredge?"

  I had heard him talk of the late Mrs. Betteredge prettyoften--invariably producing her as his one undeniable example of theinbred frailty and perversity of the other sex. In that capacity heexhibited her now.

  "Very well, Mr. Franklin. Now listen to me. Different women havedifferent ways of riding the high horse. The late Mrs. Betteredge tookher exercise on that favourite female animal whenever I happened to denyher anything that she had set her heart on. So sure as I came home frommy work on these occasions, so sure was my wife to call to me up thekitchen stairs, and to say that, after my brutal treatment of her,she hadn't the heart to cook me my dinner. I put up with it for sometime--just as you are putting up with it now from Miss Rachel. Atlast my patience wore out. I went downstairs, and I took Mrs.Betteredge--affectionately, you understand--up in my arms, and carriedher, holus-bolus, into the best parlour where she received her company.I said 'That's the right place for you, my dear,' and so went back tothe kitchen. I locked myself in, and took off my coat, and turned up myshirt-sleeves, and cooked my own dinner. When it was done, I served itup in my best manner, and enjoyed it most heartily. I had my pipe andmy drop of grog afterwards; and then I cleared the table, and washed thecrockery, and cleaned the knives and forks, and put the things away,and swept up the hearth. When things were as bright and clean again, asbright and clean could be, I opened the door and let Mrs. Betteredge in.'I've had my dinner, my dear,' I said; 'and I hope you will find that Ihave left the kitchen all that your fondest wishes can desire.' For therest of that woman's life, Mr. Franklin, I never had to cook my dinneragain! Moral: You have put up with Miss Rachel in London; don't put upwith her in Yorkshire. Come back to the house!"

  Quite unanswerable! I could only assure my good friend that even HISpowers of persuasion were, in this case, thrown away on me.

  "It's a lovely evening," I said. "I shall walk to Frizinghall, and stayat the hotel, and you must come to-morrow morning and breakfast with me.I have something to say to you."

  Betteredge shook his head gravely.

  "I am heartily sorry for this," he said. "I had hoped, Mr. Franklin, tohear that things were all smooth and pleasant again between you andMiss Rachel. If you must have your own way, sir," he continued, after amoment's reflection, "there is no need to go to Frizinghall to-nightfor a bed. It's to be had nearer than that. There's Hotherstone'sFarm, barely two miles from here. You can hardly object to THAT on MissRachel's account," the old man added slily. "Hotherstone lives, Mr.Franklin, on his own freehold."

  I remembered the place the moment Betteredge mentioned it. Thefarm-house stood in a sheltered inland valley, on the banks of theprettiest stream in that part of Yorkshire: and the farmer had a sparebedroom and parlour, which he was accustomed to let to artists, anglers,and tourists in general. A more agreeable place of abode, during my stayin the neighbourhood, I could not have wished to find.

  "Are the rooms to let?" I inquired.

  "Mrs. Hotherstone herself, sir, asked for my good word to recommend therooms, yesterday."

  "I'll take them, Betteredge, with the greatest pleasure."

  We went back to the yard, in which I had left my travelling-bag. Afterputting a stick through the handle, and swinging the bag over hisshoulder, Betteredge appeared to relapse into the bewilderment which mysudden appearance had caused, when I surprised him in the beehive chair.He looked incredulously at the house, and then he wheeled about, andlooked more incredulously still at me.

  "I've lived a goodish long time in the world," said this best anddearest of all old servants--"but the like of this, I never did expectto see. There stands the house, and here stands Mr. Franklin Blake--and,Damme, if one of them isn't turning his back on the other, and going tosleep in a lodging!"

  He led the way out, wagging his head and growling ominously. "There'sonly one more miracle that CAN happen," he said to me, over hisshoulder. "The next thing you'll do, Mr. Franklin, will be to pay meback that seven-and-sixpence you borrowed of me when you were a boy."

  This stroke of sarcasm put him in a better humour with himself and withme. We left the house, and passed through the lodge gates. Once clear ofthe grounds, the duties of hospitality (in Betteredge's code of morals)ceased, and the privileges of curiosity began.

  He dropped back, so as to let me get on a level with him. "Fine eveningfor a walk, Mr. Franklin," he said, as if we had just accidentallyencountered each other at that moment. "Supposing you had gone to thehotel at Frizinghall, sir?"

  "Yes?"

  "I should have had the honour of breakfasting with you, to-morrowmorning."

  "Come and breakfast with me at Hotherstone's Farm, instead."

  "Much obliged to you for your kindness, Mr. Franklin. But it wasn'texactly breakfast that I was driving at. I think you mentioned that youhad something to say to me? If it's no secret, sir," said Betteredge,suddenly abandoning the crooked way, and taking the straight one, "I'mburning to know what's brought you down here, if you please, in thissudden way."

&n
bsp; "What brought me here before?" I asked.

  "The Moonstone, Mr. Franklin. But what brings you now, sir?"

  "The Moonstone again, Betteredge."

  The old man suddenly stood still, and looked at me in the grey twilightas if he suspected his own ears of deceiving him.

  "If that's a joke, sir," he said, "I'm afraid I'm getting a little dullin my old age. I don't take it."

  "It's no joke," I answered. "I have come here to take up the inquirywhich was dropped when I left England. I have come here to do whatnobody has done yet--to find out who took the Diamond."

  "Let the Diamond be, Mr. Franklin! Take my advice, and let the Diamondbe! That cursed Indian jewel has misguided everybody who has come nearit. Don't waste your money and your temper--in the fine spring timeof your life, sir--by meddling with the Moonstone. How can YOU hope tosucceed (saving your presence), when Sergeant Cuff himself made a messof it? Sergeant Cuff!" repeated Betteredge, shaking his forefinger at mesternly. "The greatest policeman in England!"

  "My mind is made up, my old friend. Even Sergeant Cuff doesn't daunt me.By-the-bye, I may want to speak to him, sooner or later. Have you heardanything of him lately?"

  "The Sergeant won't help you, Mr. Franklin."

  "Why not?"

  "There has been an event, sir, in the police-circles, since you wentaway. The great Cuff has retired from business. He has got a littlecottage at Dorking; and he's up to his eyes in the growing of roses.I have it in his own handwriting, Mr. Franklin. He has grown the whitemoss rose, without budding it on the dog-rose first. And Mr. Begbie thegardener is to go to Dorking, and own that the Sergeant has beaten himat last."

  "It doesn't much matter," I said. "I must do without Sergeant Cuff'shelp. And I must trust to you, at starting."

  It is likely enough that I spoke rather carelessly.

  At any rate, Betteredge seemed to be piqued by something in the replywhich I had just made to him. "You might trust to worse than me, Mr.Franklin--I can tell you that," he said a little sharply.

  The tone in which he retorted, and a certain disturbance, after he hadspoken, which I detected in his manner, suggested to me that he waspossessed of some information which he hesitated to communicate.

  "I expect you to help me," I said, "in picking up the fragments ofevidence which Sergeant Cuff has left behind him. I know you can dothat. Can you do no more?"

  "What more can you expect from me, sir?" asked Betteredge, with anappearance of the utmost humility.

  "I expect more--from what you said just now."

  "Mere boasting, Mr. Franklin," returned the old man obstinately. "Somepeople are born boasters, and they never get over it to their dying day.I'm one of them."

  There was only one way to take with him. I appealed to his interest inRachel, and his interest in me.

  "Betteredge, would you be glad to hear that Rachel and I were goodfriends again?"

  "I have served your family, sir, to mighty little purpose, if you doubtit!"

  "Do you remember how Rachel treated me, before I left England?"

  "As well as if it was yesterday! My lady herself wrote you a letterabout it; and you were so good as to show the letter to me. It said thatMiss Rachel was mortally offended with you, for the part you had takenin trying to recover her jewel. And neither my lady, nor you, noranybody else could guess why.

  "Quite true, Betteredge! And I come back from my travels, and find hermortally offended with me still. I knew that the Diamond was at thebottom of it, last year, and I know that the Diamond is at the bottom ofit now. I have tried to speak to her, and she won't see me. I have triedto write to her, and she won't answer me. How, in Heaven's name, am Ito clear the matter up? The chance of searching into the loss of theMoonstone, is the one chance of inquiry that Rachel herself has leftme."

  Those words evidently put the case before him, as he had not seen ityet. He asked a question which satisfied me that I had shaken him.

  "There is no ill-feeling in this, Mr. Franklin, on your side--is there?"

  "There was some anger," I answered, "when I left London. But that isall worn out now. I want to make Rachel come to an understanding withme--and I want nothing more."

  "You don't feel any fear, sir--supposing you make any discoveries--inregard to what you may find out about Miss Rachel?"

  I understood the jealous belief in his young mistress which promptedthose words.

  "I am as certain of her as you are," I answered. "The fullest disclosureof her secret will reveal nothing that can alter her place in yourestimation, or in mine."

  Betteredge's last-left scruples vanished at that.

  "If I am doing wrong to help you, Mr. Franklin," he exclaimed, "all Ican say is--I am as innocent of seeing it as the babe unborn! I can putyou on the road to discovery, if you can only go on by yourself. Youremember that poor girl of ours--Rosanna Spearman?"

  "Of course!"

  "You always thought she had some sort of confession in regard to thismatter of the Moonstone, which she wanted to make to you?"

  "I certainly couldn't account for her strange conduct in any other way."

  "You may set that doubt at rest, Mr. Franklin, whenever you please."

  It was my turn to come to a standstill now. I tried vainly, in thegathering darkness, to see his face. In the surprise of the moment, Iasked a little impatiently what he meant.

  "Steady, sir!" proceeded Betteredge. "I mean what I say. RosannaSpearman left a sealed letter behind her--a letter addressed to YOU."

  "Where is it?"

  "In the possession of a friend of hers, at Cobb's Hole. You must haveheard tell, when you were here last, sir, of Limping Lucy--a lame girlwith a crutch."

  "The fisherman's daughter?"

  "The same, Mr. Franklin."

  "Why wasn't the letter forwarded to me?"

  "Limping Lucy has a will of her own, sir. She wouldn't give it into anyhands but yours. And you had left England before I could write to you."

  "Let's go back, Betteredge, and get it at once!"

  "Too late, sir, to-night. They're great savers of candles along ourcoast; and they go to bed early at Cobb's Hole."

  "Nonsense! We might get there in half an hour."

  "You might, sir. And when you did get there, you would find the doorlocked. He pointed to a light, glimmering below us; and, at the samemoment, I heard through the stillness of the evening the bubbling of astream. 'There's the Farm, Mr. Franklin! Make yourself comfortable forto-night, and come to me to-morrow morning if you'll be so kind?'"

  "You will go with me to the fisherman's cottage?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Early?"

  "As early, Mr. Franklin, as you like."

  We descended the path that led to the Farm.