Chapter 12

The next morning dawned dank and cold. There was a constant drizzle and a sharp wind from the east. Everybody seemed subdued after the events of the previous day.

I sent a message to Nurse to have Thomas ready for me soon after breakfast. Mr Uttridge was undoubtedly in the right when he said that we must continue the tenor of our lives, and Thomas had already missed one day of schooling.

Nurse brought him to my room at the appointed time. I smiled at him. “Good morning, Thomas!” I said.

“Good morning, Miss Catherine,” he replied, although without a returning smile. Perhaps, I thought, despite our efforts he too had been influenced by the tragedy.

“Today we are going to learn a little arithmetic. How high can you count?”

Tom looked confused so I held up three fingers. “How many fingers are here?” I asked him. He was able to tell me and we progressed from there. With a little prompting he was at last reliably able to count up to ten. I felt that was enough for a beginning, and also to be frank I was feeling a marked sense of tristesse and did not especially wish to continue. I took the child back to the nursery and returned to my room. With nothing particular to do, I stared out of the window at the dismal weather. The light drizzle continued and the land was grey and dirty green. My melancholy deepened. I had hoped to feel a love for my new place of residence, but I could not. The flatness of the land. The endless mud. The dreary expanses of drab brown reeds. How I longed for my home in the Lakes! I turned away from the scene and picking up a novel seated myself. I had no reason to regret my circumstances, I told myself firmly. I had a respectable and comfortable situation with a kind and generous employer. I would be here for years to come and must make the best of it. My resolutions were sage and unarguable, but still I could not settle to my book. Finally, I tossed it aside and went in search of Mrs Rawson. A cup of tea and light conversation with that sensible woman would undoubtedly make me feel better. Knocking on her door a short time later I was invited in with much warmth. After the matter of tea was arranged, we settled ourselves for a good gossip.

“A dreadful business, Miss,” ventured the housekeeper.

“Miss Jarvis, you mean? Yes, indeed. I would never have imagined such a thing in this quiet town.”

“Indeed not. Strangled in her own home! How can any of us sleep sound in our own beds?”

“I heard your evidence at the inquest. I considered you spoke very clearly and to the point. It seems that you were one of the last people to see her alive.”

“Oh, don’t say that Miss!” she said in sudden agitation. “I can’t bear the thought!”

I apologised immediately. “I am so sorry, Mrs Rawson, I have no wish to upset you. Let us talk of something else. Perhaps of the folklore of this country? Every area has its own tales and I would love to hear those of Norfolk.”

“Oh, yes indeed. Thank you Miss. Well, Norfolk was always famous for its smugglers and ever since I were a little girl I’ve liked to hear tales of their doings.” She sipped her tea contemplatively.

“The smugglers went by water whenever they could, that’s well known. The excise men on their horses could catch them easily if they were on the road with their cargo, but not on the water. They had ways of signalling as well. You’ve no doubt seen the pumping mills all along the rivers?”

“Well, I have seen many mills, more indeed than I would have expected since so little wheat is grown hereabouts. But perhaps I mistook them. You say their function is to pump water?” I replied.

“That’s right, Miss. This whole country is drained by ditches and has been since the Lord Protector’s time, and there’s a great need to pump the water out of the ditches and into the rivers and so out to sea. Now, the smugglers had an arrangement with the mills. On a certain night, when cargo was to be landed, the marshmen would be looking out for the revenue boat. And if they saw one, they would stop the mill with the sails in a St Andrew’s cross. Then the next mill would see the signal and stop their sails and so on, so the message might go from Perry’s Mill to Six Mile House Mill to Black Mill - a matter of ten mile - in a trice.

“Sometimes, when they knew the revenue men or the Light Dragoons were out, the smugglers would take care to have the casks weighed so they would sink and be ready to jettison them at a moment’s notice. But then they would mark the spot and come back some other night and grapple for them with creeping-irons.”

“What goods did they smuggle?”

“Well, anything where the duty was high. Tobacco of course; lace from Brussels or Bruges; geneva gin across from Holland. Not brandy usually, because that would have to come too far - that would be for the lads up Dorset way to traffic. Perhaps even a few dozen packs of playing cards - they’re taxed heavily as you may know.

“Of course,” she confided, taking another sip of tea, “the landing of the goods was a dangerous time. They needed to get it quickly to somewhere where it could be stored safely. An inn was good, if it was near the water, because folks could come and go without attracting attention.”

I thanked her for her stories, which indeed were fascinating, although I thought with some amusement that perhaps she was a little too well informed for someone who was entirely innocent of any involvement. No doubt I would find out more as we became better acquainted.

We talked of this and that for perhaps another half an hour, but then a maid came in with a question for her and I felt I should not keep her from her duties any longer. I said my farewells and walked back to my own room.

My hand was on the lock of the door, when I came to myself. I had made the same mistake as on the last occasion and turned the wrong way along the passage. Once again I was standing outside Mrs Uttridge’s dressing room. I stiffened, knowing and dreading what was to happen. Sure enough, the urging to enter the room came upon me. I stood there rigid and trembling, my hand still on the lock. I breathed deeply and forced myself to be calm. I considered the matter as dispassionately as I could and deliberately decided to yield to the impulse. I could not bear for this to happen again and again. Perhaps if I entered the compulsion would be satisfied and not recur.

I edged into the room slowly, and carefully closed the door behind me. I looked around: nothing had changed from my last visit, although I saw that the door of the robe-cupboard was a trifle ajar. I walked towards it and found myself opening the door. Once more I pulled out the primrose gown delicately embroidered in pink and green. Once more I held it against me and again, inevitably, the strong desire to don it gripped me.

I began taking great gulps of air from fear and bewilderment. Again I tried desperately to think reasonably. There could be no real hurt in dressing myself in the gown, I convinced myself. It was unseemly and disrespectful but surely not an egregious offence. I yielded. Swiftly, I stripped off my own dress and pulled Mrs Uttridge’s gown over my head. I twitched it into position. It fitted perfectly.

I felt calmer now, and looked about me. The dressing-table was as it had been, but on this occasion my attention was drawn more clearly to the large wooden jewel box. I walked over to it and lifted it in my hands. It was a weighty piece, of a light-brown wood - perhaps walnut, I thought. Deeply carved into the top was a tree of many branches, the foliage well defined. I turned it and saw that around the sides was carved a number of bosses each showing a single fruit surrounded by leaves. I opened the lid and found a few small pieces of jewellery; mainly rings but some fine gold bracelets and some pairs of earrings. My curiosity satisfied, I shut the box and returned it to its former place. At least, I thought I had done so but I found that I had actually set it down on its front edge. Apparently of their own volition the fingers of each of my hands pressed against two of the uppermost bosses and forced them towards each other. They slid smoothly and as they did so the entire back of the box came away. I peered into the cavity thus exposed and saw the gleam of gold and the glint of precious stones. Into my ears rose the triumphant buzzing of many flies, although none of those insects were in the room.

I began to tremble again. What was happening to me? My fear turned to anger that I was being used as a puppet and I abruptly up-ended the box, spilling its secret contents onto the dressing table. Amongst the items before me I saw a necklace of magnificent rubies set in gold, of fine and elaborate workmanship. There were several rings, each set with a great central diamond. I lifted one of a pair of pendulous earrings. It consisted of a shower of sapphires on fine silver wires, from larger stones at the top to many small ones at the bottom. All seemed to me from my reading to be of Indian manufacture. The diamonds were perhaps from the fabled mines of Golconda, while the sapphires had no doubt been brought from Ceylon.

I looked at the hoard in bemusement. These jewels must have been gifts from Mr Uttridge to his bride, I thought. The ingenious casket might also have been from curios he had brought home with him. But then I bethought me: why were they still here? Why had the woman abandoned this very valuable and easily portable wealth, which would have ensured comfort for her and her paramour in the coming years? Surely, even in a contemptuous and sudden leaving of her husband, no female, and most especially no French female, would have been so impractical as to abandon her jewels?

Now that I had made the discovery, the influence over my conscious mind left me. The buzzing in my ears stopped as quickly. Abruptly, I felt drained and weak in the extreme, and also most vulnerable to discovery. I piled the jewels back into the cavity and replaced the secret cover. Tearing off the primrose gown I resumed my own. I had enough command over myself to force myself to take the time to hang up Mrs Uttridge’s garment in its old place before I left so that no disturbance would be noticed. Then I hurried from that accursed room back to my own. It was fortunate that I met no-one in the passageway: my drawn looks would have brought many unwanted expressions of enquiry and concern.