Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scargrave - Stephanie Barron [84]
“Mrs. Scratch,” I said.
“And who would you be?* She wiped a broad arm across her forehead and peered at me narrowly. “Washin's three shillings the week, less a shilling if you iron it yourself. Leave it on washday—that's Monday—and you can ‘ave the fetchin’ of it by Thursday morn.”
“I have not come about the washing,” I said, “but about Marguerite Dumas.”
She stuck her chin forward, the better to make out my face—I fear she is much in need of spectacles—and her expression abruptly turned belligerent.
“Yore from up t'a big house. I saw you in the thick of ‘em at the Cock and Bull.”
“I am a guest at Scargrave Manor; assuredly,” I said, “and it is for that reason I have come. The family is desirous of returning the maid Marguerite's possessions to her family in the Barbadoes, and I am here to fetch them.”
“You be wantin’ ‘er things,” the laundress said, in a tone of high hilarity.
“I do.”
“For to have the sendin’ of ‘em?”
“It appears the least that one could do.”
Lizzy Scratch threw back her head and laughed uproariously. “Pore Margie,” she said, wiping her eyes, “if she'd a knowed folk set such ‘igh store by ‘er few bits, she'd a took ‘em with ‘er!”
“Have others enquired after the maid's things?” I asked curiously.
“Let's jist say as yore not the first,” she replied. “That magistrate fellow ‘us by, after the inquest, with Mr. Bott alongside o’ him; right put out they was, to find as ‘er things was gone. Made as if to say I'd stolen ‘em, they did, which they'd no right to, no right a'tall. Margie put ‘er bit in the pot while she ‘us ‘ere, she did, and I'll not be robbin’ ‘er after she's cold in the ground.”
“But who could have taken them?” I asked, bewildered.
“Fellah from up t'a big house.”
“A gentleman?”
“Not ‘im as did the murdering of ‘er, if that's what yore askin’,” she said shrewdly. “Twas the servin’ man of that soldier as lives betimes at t'a cottage.”
“I had not known Lieutenant Hearst considered the welfare of the maid,” I said, “but, of course, it is properly the duty of a gentleman of the household.” That it was more properly Isobel's concern, I did not feel it right to impart to the laundress; but I wondered at the Lieutenant's swiftness of action. “When did his man call for the things, did you say?”
“I didn't,” Lizzy retorted, “but I don't mind sayin’. ‘Twas the day Margie met ‘er Maker, that it was; and if I'd a knowed who killed ‘er then, I'd never ‘ave sent ‘er things back to that place.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Scratch,” I said; “you have been more than helpful, and in the midst of your duties as well.” I reached into my purse and retrieved a shilling, which she quickly palmed, eyeing the remaining coins hungrily. My purse is ever slim, and my finances scrupulous—but in such a cause, I felt an added expense well worth my trouble. I drew out another shilling, and held it with an idle air.
“I wonder, Mrs. Scratch, if you recall a pendant locket among the items turned over to the servant.”
“Margie's locket? What you want with that?”
“I understood she prized it highly, and so should especially wish her family to have it. In the jumble of handing her things to the Lieutenant's man, such a small treasure might easily be lost.” I reached for Lizzy's palm and dropped the coin in her hand; in the blink of an eye her fleshy fingers closed over it, and she shrugged.
“‘Tweren't worth much, far as I could see,” she said. “If'n ‘twere, I'd probably a kept it. But since she'd ‘ad it of a man in the ‘ousehold, I figured ‘twas wise to send it back. He might've come lookin’ for it, and the questions ‘ave turned nasty.”
“Assuredly,” I replied, though scarcely recovered from this added revelation. “You knew, then, the identity of the giver?”