I sat quiet in a corner, waiting to hear how the Sergeant would find his
way to the subject of Rosanna Spearman. His usual roundabout manner of
going to work proved, on this occasion, to be more roundabout than ever.
How he managed it is more than I could tell at the time, and more than
I can tell now. But this is certain, he began with the Royal Family, the
Primitive Methodists, and the price of fish; and he got from that
(in his dismal, underground way) to the loss of the Moonstone, the
spitefulness of our first house-maid, and the hard behaviour of the
women-servants generally towards Rosanna Spearman. Having reached his
subject in this fashion, he described himself as making his inquiries
about the lost Diamond, partly with a view to find it, and partly
for the purpose of clearing Rosanna from the unjust suspicions of her
enemies in the house. In about a quarter of an hour from the time when
we entered the kitchen, good Mrs. Yolland was persuaded that she was
talking to Rosanna's best friend, and was pressing Sergeant Cuff to
comfort his stomach and revive his spirits out of the Dutch bottle.
Being firmly persuaded that the Sergeant was wasting his breath to no
purpose on Mrs. Yolland, I sat enjoying the talk between them, much as
I have sat, in my time, enjoying a stage play. The great Cuff showed a
wonderful patience; trying his luck drearily this way and that way, and
firing shot after shot, as it were, at random, on the chance of
hitting the mark. Everything to Rosanna's credit, nothing to Rosanna's
prejudice--that was how it ended, try as he might; with Mrs. Yolland
talking nineteen to the dozen, and placing the most entire confidence
in him. His last effort was made, when we had looked at our watches, and
had got on our legs previous to taking leave.
"I shall now wish you good-night, ma'am," says the Sergeant. "And
I shall only say, at parting, that Rosanna Spearman has a sincere
well-wisher in myself, your obedient servant. But, oh dear me! she will
never get on in her present place; and my advice to her is--leave it."
"Bless your heart alive! she is GOING to leave it!" cries Mrs. Yolland.
(NOTA BENE--I translate Mrs. Yolland out of the Yorkshire language into
the English language. When I tell you that the all-accomplished Cuff
was every now and then puzzled to understand her until I helped him, you
will draw your own conclusions as to what your state of mind would be if
I reported her in her native tongue.) Rosanna Spearman going to leave us! I pricked up my ears at that. It
seemed strange, to say the least of it, that she should have given no
warning, in the first place, to my lady or to me. A certain doubt came
up in my mind whether Sergeant Cuff's last random shot might not have
hit the mark. I began to question whether my share in the proceedings
was quite as harmless a one as I had thought it. It might be all in the
way of the Sergeant's business to mystify an honest woman by wrapping
her round in a network of lies but it was my duty to have remembered,
as a good Protestant, that the father of lies is the Devil--and that
mischief and the Devil are never far apart. Beginning to smell mischief
in the air, I tried to take Sergeant Cuff out. He sat down again
instantly, and asked for a little drop of comfort out of the Dutch
bottle. Mrs Yolland sat down opposite to him, and gave him his nip. I
went on to the door, excessively uncomfortable, and said I thought I
must bid them good-night--and yet I didn't go.