Page 29 of The Case of the Curate

Lewis caught his breath. He knew the necklace she meant, of course, a pretty silver thing depicting a dancer. It was very fine work and Dinah always wore it on her days off.

“Of course I didn’t,” he said indignantly. “She was probably wearing it when she…” He trailed off, biting his lip.

Mrs. Thornfield dropped her hand. “She probably was. I know she hid it inside her dress when she was working.” She picked up one of the handkerchiefs and thrust it at Lewis. “Take this and don’t show it off. I’ll make sure her other friends have a keepsake too. The aunt doesn’t need her handkerchiefs.”

“No, Mrs. Thornfield. Thank you, ma’am.”

“Don’t make me regret it, Lewis. If I find you in here again, you’ll be dismissed.”

“I’d deserve it. Sorry, Mrs. Thornfield. Thank you.”

He stuffed the little piece of cloth in his pocket and fled, well aware of his luck, and the fact that he had, probably, used his whole year’s supply up in one moment. Which did not bode well…

*

The pleasant weather of the last couple of days vanished during the evening into cold gray skies and drizzling rain with intermittent torrents.

“You don’t want to go out in this, Miss Kate,” Grissy assured her, with more hope than expectation.

“I have to, though you don’t. If you just make sure I can get back in again…”

“Don’t be daft,” Grissy snapped. “As though I’d ever let you wander about strange countryside alone!”

“We won’t be wandering. It will be brisk and to the point. Or, at least, as brisk as muddy roads and puddles will allow us. Wear your old boots and dress.”

Grissy groaned again, but by midnight, when the house was quiet and even Chadbon and Newman had retired for the evening, allowing the last of the servants to go to bed too, she was ready in her traveling cloak and bonnet and had a lantern prepared by the side door.

She lit it from her own tinder box and flint, and they crept together out of the house.

Everything looked different in the dark, but at least the rain had let up to a harsh drizzle. Kate easily found the lane by which she had been brought home this afternoon. As they trudged along, they took turns holding the lantern, for they had to beware of branches sticking out to trip them or slash at their faces.

“So,” Grissy said at last, “why exactly are we going to the magistrate’s house?”

“To break in, of course.”

“We are not breaking into a magistrate’s house,” Grissy said firmly.

“Well, no, just into his prison cell, which has its own entrance. I know roughly where that is.”

“But it’ll be locked! Guarded, for all we know!”

“Actually, I’m hoping it is guarded,” Kate confided, “because then we can persuade the constable to let us in.”

She could imagine the fascinated, appalled look in the maid’s eyes as she turned her gaze to Kate’s profile.

“And how exactly do you plan to persuade him of that?” Grissy demanded. “In the middle of the night!”

“Maybe reason, maybe bribery,” Kate said vaguely. “I don’t know what kind of a man he will be.”

Grissy squeaked and grabbed Kate’s arm, causing the lantern to swing wildly.

“What?” Kate asked.

“Something moved! Didn’t you hear it?”

“Just some harmless animal in the hedgerows. Mind your feet, Grissy!”

“Yes, but why are we doing this? Are we springing the curate—who isn’t the curate—from prison?”