07| Never to be Found Again
"Break, break, break, / On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter / The thoughts that arise in me."
(Alfred Lord Tennyson, from 'Break, Break, Break')
As on the day before, Thornton was awake and about long before he ought to have been. Sitting alone in the library in the pale light of dawn, he startled Rosanna when the maid came in to lay the fire. For a moment he wondered if he should try to draw her into a conversation, in the faint hope of gaining some new information, but then he desisted. With his towering height, dark stern looks, and commanding demeanour he wasn't cut out to inspire confidentiality in his inferiors at the best of times, and—for all he could see in the dim light—Rosanna Spearman seemed distressed. Her eyes looked red and swollen from crying, and her gestures were nervous. The frequent clattering of the ashes bucket spoke quite for itself.
The girl remained silent for as long as she was busy with her task, and then she left without a word.
For a while he was on his own again.
Outside, the ground was covered by a thin layer of snow. The sky, as it slowly drew lighter, proved to be overcast by equally colourless clouds—clouds so low that they were almost like fog, wrapping the world into a pale eerie shroud. The trees in the distance raised their black braches into the sky like spindly fingers. Not even the caw of a single rook could be heard, and the wind had died down. It was one of those days when the countryside held no charms. Not for him, anyway.
And yet he felt trapped inside; he needed a breath of air.
On impulse he went in search of the house-steward; and, as it happened, Betteredge was just crossing the hall when he came out of the library.
"You're up early, sir," the elderly manservant remarked.
"Force of habit, I'm afraid," Thornton replied. "I wonder, is there a way for me to borrow some boots? I'd like to go outside, but—" He pointed at his evening footwear, far too fine a pair of black leather shoes to withstand a trudge across snow and boggy ground.
"Certainly, sir. If you'll be so good as to follow me."
They were about to enter the labyrinth of storage and utility rooms that made up large parts of the basement of every big house, when Thornton thought that he heard a faint argument upstairs between a man and woman, but as Betteredge didn't respond to the commotion, he came to the conclusion that it probably wasn't worth mentioning.
Rummaging through the boot room it took the steward a while to come up with a pair of sturdy boots that looked like the right size for their guest. Then he went off in search of an extra pair of socks.
He wasn't long gone when Blake came rushing along the narrow corridor. "Betteredge told me that I would find you here... Do you have a minute, Thornton?"
"Of course. How can I help?"
"Would you mind coming back with me to the library? There is something I should like to hear your opinion on."
Back in the library, and in real daylight, Thornton saw that the younger man looked harried. It wasn't just the dark circles underneath his eyes; his whole demeanour spoke of his being very much thrown off kilter.
Blake firmly shut the door behind them, and then joined Thornton by the fireplace.
"I believe I may have stolen the diamond," he said in a low voice.
"You believe you may have stolen it?" Thornton repeated slowly, to make sure he understood correctly. "But, if this were the case, wouldn't you—of all people—know for certain?"
"See, this is just it," Blake exclaimed, pacing up and down like a caged animal. "I have no memory of it!"
"I don't recall your being drunk that night—"
"I wasn't!" He smacked his temples with the balls of his thumbs as if this action would help him remember. "I was tired to the bone that evening, and for all I know I slept through the night."
"Then tell me, how have you come to the conclusion that you were the thief?" Thornton said, trying to instil a sense of reason.
"By every one of Rachel's actions ever since that morning we found that wretched diamond gone."
"Has she actually blamed you yet?"
"She doesn't need to; I know her well enough." He sighed deeply. "I was hoping to ask her to marry me ere long; and until the night of her birthday I was certain that she cared for me, too... But now she is mad at me all the time... and I haven't got a clue what I have done!—I'm only certain that I must have done something that night."
"And yet, unless Miss Verinder speaks up, that's all merely circumstantial—"
"Until recently I'd have been inclined to agree with you, trusting my own memory that I slept through the night... In the beginning I thought it was simply the loss of the Moonstone that affected my cousin Rachel so deeply—but then that servant approached me—"
"Who? The house-maid?" Thornton asked.
Blake looked up sharply. "Yes. Rosanna... The plain one with the bad shoulder," he confirmed. "Two days ago she came to me in the library and she said some obscure things, like, 'They will never find it, will they,' all the while shaking her head like someone who knew. Then she winked at me and said, 'I won't breathe a word'. I gave a harsh reply and she fled the room... I thought that was the end of it, but this morning she came to me again—"
"What did she say?"
"She said that I needn't worry about the London policeman, and that she had got rid of the evidence for me. I became impatient with her nonsense and berated her for her forward behaviour... I told her that there was no evidence because I had committed no crime, and that I was sick and tired of her folly. 'Folly?' she asked me in tears, 'You think me a fool, sir?—after all that I have done for you? I shall prove to you I'm not! I shall prove that you are ungrateful, and then you shall be sorry!' and with these words she ran away, sobbing." He shrugged, helplessly. "So, you see, Thornton, like lady, like servant; everyone thinks me guilty... and as the diamond is definitely gone, I may as well be the thief who took it—"
"Hang on, Blake," Thornton interrupted him. "Did Rosanna say that she wanted to go and retrieve the evidence?"
"As I said, she was rambling... but this might be what she meant."
"And when was this?" Thornton asked with a sudden feeling of foreboding.
"Fifteen... maybe twenty minutes ago—"
"Hurry!" Thornton said. "Fetch a rope while I change into boots, and then follow me!" He rushed off towards the boot room.
Outside, they rounded the house until they came across the footpath leading east into the fir plantation. There was a single set of footprints in the snow, heading out, but none came back.
"Run!" Thornton cried. "We need to catch up with her, before she puts herself in danger."
Inside the fir plantation the path was free of snow, but when they reached the other side, the single set of footprints once again showed on the freshly fallen snow, heading towards the rocky spit that protruded into the sea next to the quicksand, but not coming back.
"Has she gone out there?" Blake asked, aghast. "The rocks are covered with ice from the spray. This is madness!"
"Can you see her?" Thornton asked, uncoiling the rope and tying it around his waist.
Blake understood instantly what he intended to do. "Let me go," he said. "I did a spot of mountaineering in the French Alps... Besides, of the two of us you are the stronger man. You'll be able to pull me back; I'm not sure I could do the same for you."
With a curt nod Thornton complied.
"Don't leave me out of your sight, Thornton," he said. "All too soon there may come a day when I shall need you as my witness." Then he stepped onto the rocks and scrambled across, with the swiftness of a mountain goat. Every now and then he stopped to secure the rope around a boulder—so that it wouldn't give way by its entire length if he slipped—and then he headed on.
Thornton started to think that they were being overly careful and were losing precious time, when the younger man lost his footing and fell heavily. He helplessly slid towards the murky water until the tightening rope stopped him just before he went over the edge. Thornton felt the abrupt pull at his end. But soon Blake was on his feet again and moving on.
He reached the spot where Thornton had retrieved the nightshirt a few days previously, when he suddenly stooped down. He picked up something that looked like a bonnet, its long ribbons swaying softly. He straightened; he looked around; he called; he even clambered onto a taller rock—heavens knew how he contrived this!—but to no avail. At last he slowly made his way back.
"This is all that I've found," he panted, producing the bonnet, as soon as he was on solid ground again. It was a simple drab affair; the bonnet of a lowly servant. "I looked everywhere... there was no-one there," he said with quiet despair.
"I know," Thornton said. "I saw you; you did all you could under the circumstances." He looked at the spit, unseeing.
"Do you think she has fallen into the—" Blake swallowed hard, pointing at the quicksand which, during the present high tide, was invisible beneath the water.
"Either this or into the sea... Either way, her heavy winter clothes would have dragged her under within moments."
"I was annoyed with her," the younger man said quietly, "but I never wanted any harm to befall her—"
"I believe you," Thornton said, adding under his breath, "God knows, appearances speak against you, yet I do believe you... but how shall I prove it?"
"Come," he said at last, picking up the rope. "There is nothing we can do here any longer... We must return to the house and inform Sergeant Cuff. And then someone has to run into Frizinghall to notify the coroner."
On their way back to the house Thornton told Blake about the nightshirt.
Sergeant Cuff—when Thornton saw him in person for the first time—turned out to be a grizzled, elderly man, so miserably lean that he looked as if he had not got an ounce of flesh on his bones in any part of him. He was dressed all in decent black, with a white cravat round his neck. His face was as sharp as a hatchet, and the skin of it was as yellow and dry and withered as an autumn leaf. His eyes, of a steely light grey, had a very disconcerting trick, when they encountered your eyes, of looking as if they expected something more from you than you were aware of yourself. His walk was soft; his voice was melancholy; his long lanky fingers were hooked like claws. He might have been a parson, or an undertaker—or anything else you like, except what he really was.
But, like Superintendent Seegrave, he was a man used to command, and with the help of Betteredge he had a search party, consisting of the gardeners, grooms, and the footman Samuel, up and ready in no time whatsoever. With proper equipment—ladders, ropes, and poles—they would be able to search the entire length of the spit, as well as the rest of the bay. When they were gone—making for the Shivering Sand at a trot—Cuff turned to Thornton and Blake.
"What made you believe she went to the bay in the first place?" the sergeant asked Blake. "Did you see her leave?"
"No. I did not."
"And why did you think she was in danger?"
"She was upset when I saw her this morning," Blake replied. "And I saw her at the bay before."
"So did I, the other day," Thornton observed.
"And Betteredge told me at the time that it was her favourite place," Blake added.
"I never understood why she liked to go there so much," Betteredge interjected. The fact that he spoke out of turn said volumes about how shaken he was. "It's a bleak place, and dangerous—especially in this weather—"
Meanwhile the maids were sent to search the house, just to cover all eventualities—and in the middle of all the confusion the ladies, having rushed through their morning toilettes after the maids had informed them, came down from their rooms.
"Is it true, Betteredge?" Lady Verinder asked, leading the flock down the stairs. "Rosanna has gone missing?"
"I am afraid so, ma'am," Betteredge replied, failing to conceal his own distress. "We believe she went out to the Shivering Sand, and that she had an accident there."
Margaret and Mrs Clack, following the lady of the manor on the heels, went pale and quiet from shock at the dreadful news.
"To the Shivering Sand?" Lady Verinder exclaimed, her face ashen. She fumbled for a chair and sat down heavily. "Has she been found?"
"No. There were only a woman's footsteps in the snow going there but not returning, and we found a bonnet that might be hers," Thornton said quietly. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of such bad tidings, Lady Verinder."
"To visit the beach in inclement weather... Stranger things have been heard of before," Cuff mused in his low, melancholy voice. "To each his own, is what I say... But to step onto slippery rocks above a treacherous sea?—Why would she do this?"
"I believe I can hazard a guess." Thornton ventured.
"By all means, sir," Cuff said.
Thornton gave Blake a look, but the younger man just nodded—after all, they had spoken about it on their way back to the house and had agreed that it was time to come clean. "I am certain that she went there to retrieve an item she had stored in the quicksand for safekeeping—"
"How would you store anything in a quicksand?" Mrs Clack exclaimed, baffled. "Doesn't it defy the object?"
"She attached it to a sturdy string and secured the string to a rock on solid ground," Thornton explained, looking at the sergeant.
"And what was so important that she went out to fetch it in such weather?" Cuff asked softly. Where Superintendent Seegrave had gone noisy and fierce when feeling that he was onto something, the London policeman went all calm and quiet.
"Proof that I entered Miss Verinders private parlour on the night the Moonstone went missing," Blake said loud and clear. Except for Margaret—who knew—and Cuff, who wouldn't let on that he was surprised even if he was, everyone in the room gasped.
"And for what reason did you enter Miss Verinder's sitting room, Mr Blake?" the sergeant asked.
"This I cannot tell you," Blake replied. "But the item retrieved from the Shivering Sand—retrieved by Mr Thornton, who happened to observe Rosanna Spearman hide it there, two days ago—is a nightshirt belonging to me, and a smear of fresh paint on it proves that I was there in the room at the time in question."
"Where is this piece of evidence now?—and why has Mr Thornton held it back until today?"
"It is in my hotel room in Frizinghall, and if Lady Verinder supplies me with a means of transport, I shall collect it directly," Thornton replied. "And as to your question regarding the withholding of presumed evidence... Technically, by the time said item came into my possession, no actual police officer was in charge of the investigation; and before I arrived to dinner yesterday I wasn't aware that you were in search of an item of clothing." He carefully avoided to mention that he had been quite aware of the significance of the nightshirt.
"Is this so," Sergeant Cuff said. "However, barring the significance of this discovery for a moment—and we shall come to that again directly—what were Rosanna Spearman's reasons to hide Mr Blake's nightshirt?" He turned to face Mr Blake and pinned him with a piercing look of his steely grey eyes. "Was the woman your accomplice, sir?"
"She was not!" Blake emphasised. "And whatever her motives were, she didn't act on my instigation—nor with my knowledge... But, by all means, Sergeant Cuff, you may have found your thief—in me. I do congratulate you."
"Franklin," Lady Verinder interfered. She appeared to have somewhat recovered at last, and stood to face her nephew. "If this is a prank, it has stopped being funny a long time ago... Now a poor servant girl is missing—and is presumed dead... Will you please return the stone to my daughter immediately, and then explain yourself—if you possibly can?" She drew herself up, her face inscrutable and without any obvious signs of dismay at her nephew's betrayal. "And, once you are done, I must ask you to leave this house."
"It wasn't him!" Miss Verinder's voice rang out from the first floor landing. She slowly descended the stairs, her face mask-like and defiant. "He didn't take the diamond—I did!"
"Rachel!" Lady Verinder cried, startled. "Are you mad?—what are you saying?"
"Don't do this, Rachel!" Blake exclaimed at the same time.
"I'm not talking to you," the young lady replied acerbically, patently ignoring her own mother, "and I have nothing to add." She stopped on the last step, unwilling to join the rest of the company. Yet she stood her ground.
Looking at the girl Thornton was vividly reminded of his darling Margaret. When he had first met her, she had been just as noble a creature, just as impulsive and ready to step into the breach—and just as misguided in her reasons to take action. He had fallen in love with her fierce nature then—and he easily understood why Blake had fallen in love with Miss Verinder—but he was happy for Margaret' sake that she had begun to learn from her previous mistakes.
He looked at Margaret; which was when he noticed Cuff's expression who stood right next of her. For just a moment the sergeant's sombre face lit up with sudden glee, and he appeared to murmur, "I knew it!"
Unhurried, as was his manner, Sergeant Cuff took centre stage again, addressing Lady Verinder, "We appear to have two confessions to the same crime, ma'am, and both of them from close family members...The diamond that went missing belonged to Miss Verinder, therefore she has been identified as the injured part, but now it appears that it may all have been a hoax, or—" He turned sharply to look at Blake. "—there is the other possibility that the gemstone was indeed taken... As your daughter is not of age it is for you to decide; will you press charges, Lady Verinder, against Mr Franklin Blake?"
"I will not, sergeant," Lady Verinder replied, "and I shall take it from here and resolve this unpleasant matter within the family... I am sorry that we have wasted your precious time. You will, of course be reimbursed for your troubles."
"Then I shall take my leave forthwith, and inform the coroner in Frizinghall about the disappearance of Rosanna Spearman." He donned his hat and, with a low bow—an awkward exercise if performed by such a lanky man—bid them goodbye. "I believe I ought not remind you that you may all be asked to give evidence at the inquest."
In the meantime Margaret had sidled up to Thornton. "He really enjoyed this final scene, didn't he?" she disgustedly whispered into his ear. "What a horrible man, and what a dreadful situation... Poor Lady Verinder!"
The lady of the house—her face still pasty, but her posture as regal as ever—addressed the remaining party. "Mr Thornton, Miss Hale... Cousin Drusilla. Will you be so kind and give me a moment alone with my nephew in the library... Rachel!" Her voice turned sharper by a few notches. "I wish to speak with you immediately afterwards." She beckoned her nephew to follow her. "Come, Franklin."
Almost in the doorway, Blake turned back around to face Miss Verinder, and their eyes met across the width of the hall. "Just tell me what I have done!—Rachel, please, tell me—"
"How dare you feign ignorance!" Miss Verinder exclaimed, her voice thick with unshed tears. "I was there, remember?—You were looking at me!" She twisted, rushed up the stairs, and was gone in a moment. The slamming of a far-off door marked the completion of her dramatic exit.
Blake looked after her, thunderstruck.
Margaret, John, and Mrs Clack were in the breakfast room, although there was no food, and even if there had been any it would have been disputable if anyone had felt like eating. After a while Betteredge came in with a tea tray.
"The search party has just returned," he informed them. He was mainly addressing Thornton who, as a magistrate and in the absence of his mistress who was still in conversation with the delinquents, deemed him the most appropriate person in the house to inform. "They found not a trace of her... A search of the house confirmed that Rosanna Spearman's winter cloak is gone, and my daughter Penelope recognised the bonnet Mr Blake found at the bay as Rosanna's."
Thornton nodded his thanks. "I believe the coroner will be here shortly; you may want to inform him accordingly."
When the steward had left them, he said, "I will have to give evidence at the inquest, and depending on the date they set, I shall either stay in Frizinghall until then, or return to Milton and come back on the day. But there is no need for either of you to stay—not when the whole situation has become so disagreeable. You might want to think about returning to London."
Margaret turned to her companion. "What do you think, Mrs Clack?"
"I'm loathe to leave cousin Julia alone with all this unpleasantness... But I assume that she might prefer to deal with the outcome of this whole situation in private." She shrugged, a little helplessly. "Maybe we should indeed forward our return journey and try to reserve train seats for tomorrow, and then..."
"Someone help me!" Miss Verinder's voice called out in the hall. "Mamma has fainted in the upstairs corridor."
"Quick!—get the medicine from her work basket," Margaret told Mrs Clack. "And do you have smelling salts on you?"
"Here you are," Mrs Clack thrust a small bottle into Margaret's hand. "Go ahead! I'll follow—"
In the upstairs hallway Lady Verinder lay inert on the rug, with her daughter and Penelope kneeling on either side of her. Lady Verinder's own maid was just turning the far corner, stopping dead at the sight of her mistress on the floor.
"Let me help you take her to her room," Thornton said, stooping to gently lift up the elderly lady. Penelope lent a hand to prevent her head from lolling as he rose. Judging her rightly as the most level-headed person in the present company, he said, "Lead the way to your lady's bedroom."
He was gently lowering Lady Verinder on the counterpane when Mrs Clack arrived, carrying the small bottle of medicine and nodding at Margaret as a sign to apply the smelling salts. The acrid odour brought Lady Verinder back to semi-consciousness, and Mrs Clack took the opportunity to administer the tonic.
Miss Verinder, meanwhile, lay on her knees next to her mother's bed and was clutching her hand, with tears streaming down her face. "What have I done... Oh, what have I done to you, mamma!" she wept.
"Someone should fetch Dr Candy," Mrs Clack said to Margaret and John.
"I'll go," John replied. "However, the doctor was taken ill the other day, but I may send the apothecary instead... I presume, he knows about Lady Verinder's medication—"
"Medication?" Miss Verinder's voice rose shrilly. "Does Mamma need medication?—is she ill?"
"Drat!" John muttered under his breath. He thought he had spoken softly, but apparently not softly enough for the desperate and the keen of hearing.
"Don't worry," Margaret said, trying to calm the girl. "It is not unusual for a lady of your mother's age to take a fortifying tonic... It's probably nothing... Just the agitation—" She glanced at John, mouthing 'go now' in his direction.
"Of course!" Mrs Clack chimed in. "Let her rest quietly, and she will be right as rain in no time whatsoever."
However, in the light of recent disclosures concerning both her daughter and her nephew, it was debatable whether Lady Verinder would be feeling 'right as rain' anytime soon again.
In the hall Thornton came across Franklin Blake who, in hat and coat, was at that moment heading for the door.
The young man gave him a bleak smile. "What was the commotion just now?" he said, but he was obviously far away with his thoughts.
"Never mind that for the present," Thornton brusquely interrupted him. "Is there a coach waiting for you outside?"
"Yes."
"Then let's be off into Frizinghall, quickly." He grabbed Blake's arm and drew him to the exit.
In the coach on their way to town, Thornton acquainted the other man with Lady Verinder's fainting fit, and that he was going to fetch the apothecary. This latest turn of events proved to be the straw that broke the camel's back. Blake hunched over with his face hidden in his hands, and his shoulders shook, all the while he tried to suppress his sobs. Thornton awkwardly padded his shoulder; he had little practice in consoling another man—and even though he felt with the younger man's pain, he was at a loss for something to say.
Eventually Blake raised his head; his eyes were red but dry. "I spent many a summer at my aunt's home when I was a child. This used to be a happy place, and this was how I found it when I first arrived at the beginning of December. It was an enchanted month—right until the day I brought that cursed diamond into my aunt's house at Rachel's birthday. Ever since then everything has gone as wrong as could be... and now that poor peculiar servant girl is dead."
"What will you do now?" Thornton asked quietly after a short silence.
"My aunt sent me away—not to return until I came back with the diamond and an apology... But how can I apologise when I have retained no memory of my deeds that night?—and how can I return the diamond when I haven't got a clue where it is? It is utterly hopeless!" he moaned. "I should like to return to London and forget about it all if I could—maybe return to the Continent in spring... But."
"But what?"
"In another few days the Indians will be released from custody—and if they believe that the diamond is still somewhere inside my aunt's house, neither she nor Rachel might be safe... So, for the time being, I will book into the hotel at Frizinghall and keep an eye on the Indians once they are out of prison... but heaven knows how I alone shall watch the three of them!"
The Indians. With everything that had happened in the previous days, Thornton had totally forgotten about them. But Blake was right, they would be set free shortly and might pose a possible threat. The Indian traveller, Murthwaite, at least, had been convinced of that...
An idea occurred to Thornton. "Have you ever been known to sleepwalk?" he asked.
"Not since I was a child," Blake said dismissively, but then the penny dropped. "Do you think that I may have gone into Rachel's room while sleepwalking, and taken the Moonstone in a trance?... This would explain why I don't have any memory of it! Whenever I would sleepwalk as a child, I'd find myself somewhere else in the house—often in the kitchen—without any knowledge how I had got there... While sleepwalking, I may even have hidden the diamond in a safe place... If only I could remember it now!"
They were driving into Frizinghall, and—on their way to the apothecary—they were at that very moment passing the tearoom where Margaret and John had met on the day before.
Looking out of the window Thornton's face brightened with sudden realisation. "I think I may have a plan," he exclaimed. "Let's send the apothecary on his way to Lady Verinder's, and then go and set my scheme in motion!"
"Will it work?" Blake asked, a little doubtfully.
"To be honest, I don't know," Thornton admitted. "But, on the other hand, what do you still have to lose at this point?" He hesitated. "Mind you, it may cost you a goodly sum—"
A/N:
... and another chapter already! The weather over here is so abysmal this weekend that there's nothing much to do outdoors ... My loss, your gain ;)
Why a crossover with The Moonstone in the first place?—some of you may wonder. Well, it's not because I'm such a great fan of that story. In fact, I find it rather so-so, for reasons I'll explain when my story here is complete... and yet, when I came across the novel on my bookshelf once again (after having read it many years ago), it suddenly struck me that Margaret and John might fit into it quite snugly—and that they might be a means of actually improving the story!
I arrived at N&S fan fiction rather late in the day, in 2014; and by that time—I felt—all the good and obvious plots were 'taken' already, and by writers far more accomplished than me. So, I started by looking at secondary characters and plots/genres generally little associated with Margaret & John fan fics—and I've had lots of fun with them ever since (although, strictly speaking, most of my stories don't include any obvious humorous elements)...
As always, thank you all for your encouragement!
