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Cupboard Love · The Lady of the Barge and other Stort Stories

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  Section five of the Lady of the Barge. This is a LibriVox recording.
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  All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer,
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  please visit LibriVox dot org. Read by Leslie Langston, The Lady of
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  the Barge by W. W. Jacobs, Cupboard Love. In the comfortable
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  living room at Negget's farm, half parlor and half kitchen, three people sat
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  at tea in the waning light of a November afternoon. Conversation which had been
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  brisk, had languished somewhat owing to Missus Negget, glancing at frequent intervals towards
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  the door, behind which she was convinced the servant was listening and checking the
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  finest periods and the most startling suggestions with a warning sh go on, uncle,
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  she said. After one of these interruptions, I forget where I was,
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  said mister Martin Bodfish, shortly under our bed. Mister Negget reminded him,
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  yes, watching, said Missus Negget eagerly. It was an odd place
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  for an ex policeman, especially as a small legacy added to his pension had
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  considerably improved his social position. But mister Bodfish had himself suggested it in the
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  professional hope that the person who had taken Missus Negget's gold brooch might try for
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  further loot. He had indeed suggested baiting the dressing table with the farmer's watch,
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  an idea which mister Negget had promptly vetoed. I can't help thinking that
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  missus Poddle knows something about it, said Missus Negget, with an indignant glance
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  at her husband. Missus Poddle said, the farmer, rising slowly and taking
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  a seat on the oak settle built in the fireplace, has been away from
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  the village for near a fortnight. I didn't say she took it, snapped
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  his wife. I believe I said she knows something about it, and so
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  I do. She's a horrid woman. Look at the way she encouraged her
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  girl Louis to run after that young traveler from Smithson's. The whole fact of
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  the matter is it isn't your brooch, So you don't care, I said,
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  began mister Nuggett. I know what you said, retorted his wife sharply,
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  And I wish you'd be quiet and not interrupt. Uncle. Here's my
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  uncle Ben in the police twenty five years, and you won't let him put
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  in a word edgeways. My way of looking at it, said the ex
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  policeman slowly, is different to that of the law. My idea is an
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  always has been, that everybody is guilty until they've proved their innocence. It's
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  a wonderful thing to me, said mister Nugget, in a low voice to
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  his pipe. As they should come to a house with a retired policeman living
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  in it looks to me like somebody that ain't got much respect for the police.
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  The ex policeman got up from the table, and taking a seat on
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  the settle opposite the speaker, slowly filled a long clay and took a spill
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  from the fireplace. His pipe lit. He turned to his niece and slowly
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  bade her go over the account of her loss once more. I missed it
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  this morning, said missus Negget, rapidly, at ten minutes past twelve o'clock
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  by the clock, and half past five by my watch, which once looking
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  to I'd just put the batch of bread into the oven and gone upstairs and
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  opened the box that stands on my drawers to get a lozenge and I missed
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  the brooch. Do you always keep it in that box? Asked the ex
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  Policeman slowly, always, replied his niece. I at once came downstairs and
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  told Emma that the brooch had been stolen. I said that I named no
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  names, and I didn't wish to think bad of anybody, and that if
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  I found the brooch back in the box when I went upstairs again, I
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  should forgive whoever took it. And what did Emma say, inquired mister Bodfish.
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  Emma said a lot of things, replied Missus Negget angrily. I'm sure
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  by the lot she had to say, you'd thought she was the missus and
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  me the servant. I gave her a month's notice at once, and she
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  went straight upstairs and sat on her box and cried. Sat on her box,
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  repeated the ex Constable impressively. Oh that's what I thought, said his
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  niece. But it wasn't, because I got her off at last and searched
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  it through and through. I never saw anything like her clothes in all my
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  life. There was hardly a button or tape on. And as for her
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  stockings, she don't get much time, said mister Nuggot, slowly. That's
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  right, I thought you'd speak up for her, cried his wife, shrilly.
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  Look here, began mister Nugget, laying his pipe on the seat by
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  his side and rising slowly. Keep to the case in hand, said the
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  ex constable, waving him back to his seat again. Now, Lizzy,
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  I searched her box through and through, said his niece. But it wasn't
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  there. Then I came down again and had a rare good cry all to
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  myself. That's the best way for you to have it, remarked mister Nugget.
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  Feelingly, missus Negget's uncle instinctively motioned his niece to silence, and,
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  holding his chin in his hand, scowled frightfully in the intensity of thought.
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  See a clue, inquired mister Nugget. Affably, you ought to be ashamed
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  of yourself, George, his wife said, angrily, speaking to uncle when
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  he's looking like that, Mister Bodfish said nothing. It is doubtful whether he
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  even heard these remarks. But he drew a huge notebook from his pocket,
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  and, after vainly trying to point his pencil by suction, took a knife
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  from the table and hastily sharpened it was the brooch there last night, he
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  inquired it were, said mister Nugget promptly. Lizzie made me get up just
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  asy o'clock were striking twelve to get her a lozenge. It seems pretty certain
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  that the brooch went missing since then, used mister Bodfish. It would seem
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  like it to a plain man, said mister Nugget guardedly. I should like
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  to see the box, said mister Bodfish. Missus Nugget went up and fetched
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  it, and stood eyeing him eagerly as he raised the lid and inspected the
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  contents. It contained only a few lozenges and some bone studs. Mister Nugget
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  helped himself to a lozenge, and, going back to a seat, breathed
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  peppermint. Properly speaking. That ought not to have been touched, said the
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  ex Constable, regarding him with some severity. Eh, said the startled farmer,
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  putting his finger to his lips. Never mind, said the other,
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  shaking his head. It's too late now. He doesn't care a bit,
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  said missus Nuggot, somewhat sadly. He used to keep buttons in that box
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  with the lozenges, until one night he gave me one by mistake. Yes,
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  you may laugh. I'm glad you can laugh. Mister Nggot, feeling
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  that his much earth was certainly ill timed, shook for some time in a
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  noble effort to control himself, and, despairing, at length, went into
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  the back place to recover. Sounds of blows indicative of Emma slapping him on
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  the back did not add to Missus Niggott's serenity. The point is, said
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  the ex constable. Could anybody have come into your room while you was asleep
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  and taken it? No, said Missus Niggott decisively. I'm a very poor
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  sleeper, and I'd have woke at once. But if a flock of elephants
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  was to come in the room, they wouldn't wake George. He'd sleep through
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  anything except her feeling under my pillar for her handkerchief, corroborated mister Naggot.
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  Returning to the sitting room, mister Bodfish waved them to silence, and again
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  gave way to deep thought three times. He took up his pencil, and,
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  laying it down again, sat and drummed on the table with his fingers.
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  Then he arose and with bent head, walked slowly around and round the
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  room until he stumbled over a stool. Nobody came to the house this morning,
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  I suppose, he said, at length, resuming his seat. Only
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  missus Driver, said his niece. What time did she come? Inquired mister
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  Bodfish here look here, interposed mister Negget. I've known missus driver thirty year,
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  amost? What time did she come, repeated the ex constable pitilessly.
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  His niece shook her head. It might have been eleven, and again it
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  might have been earlier, she replied. I was out when she came out,
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  almost shouted the other. Missus Negget nodded. She was sitting in here
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  when I came back. Her uncle looked up and glanced at the door,
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  behind which a small staircase led to the room above. What was to prevent
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  missus Driver going up there while you were away, he demanded. I shouldn't
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  like to think that of missus Driver, said his niece, shaking her head.
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  But then in these days, one never knows what might happen. Never,
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  I've given up thinking about it. However, when I came back,
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  missus Driver was here, sitting in that very chair you are sitting in now,
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  mister Bodfish pursed his lips and made another note. Then he took a
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  spill from the fireplace, and, lighting a candle, went slowly and carefully
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  up the stairs. He found nothing on them but two caked rims of mud,
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  and, being too busy to notice mister Nugget's frantic signaling, called his
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  niece's attention to them. What do you think of that, he demanded,
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  triumphantly. Somebody's been up there, said his niece. It isn't Emma,
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  because she hasn't been outside all day, and it can't be George, because
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  he promised me faithful he'd never go up there in his dirty boots. Mister
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  Nugget coughed, and, approaching the stairs, gazed with the eye of a
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  stranger at the relics as mister Bodfish hotly rebuked a suggestion of his nie to
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  sweep them up. Seems to me, said the conscience stricken mister Ngget feebly,
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  as they're rather large for a woman, mudcakes, said mister Bodfish,
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  with his most professional manner. A small boot would pick up a lot this
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  weather, so it would, said mister Negget, and with a brazen effrontery,
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  not only met his wife's eye without quailing, but actually glanced down at
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  her boots. Mister Bodfish came back to his chair and ruminated. Then he
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  looked up and spoke. It was missed this morning at ten minutes past twelve,
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  he said, slowly. It was there last night at eleven o'clock.
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  You came in and found missus Driver sitting in that chair. No, the
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  one you're in, interrupted his niece. It don't signify, said her uncle.
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  Nobody else has been near the place, and Emma's box has been searched
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  thoroughly, search testified missus Naggot. Now the point is what did missus driver
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  come for this morning, resumed the ex constable. Did she come? He
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  broke off and eyed, with dignified surprise a fine piece of wireless telegraphy between
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  husband and wife. It appeared that mister Nagget sent off a humorous message with
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  his left eye, the right being for some reason closed, to which Missus
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  Naggot replied with a series of frowns and staccato shakes of the head, which
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  her husband found easily translatable under the austere stare of mister Bodfish. Their faces
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  at once regained their wonted calm, and the ex Constable, in a somewhat
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  offended manner, resumed his inquiries. Missus driver has been here a good bit
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  lately, he remarked slowly. Mister Naggot's eyes watered and his mouth worked piteously.
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  If you can't behave yourself, George began his wife fear. What is
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  the matter, demanded mister Bodfish. I'm not aware that I've said anything to
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  be laughed at. No more you have, uncle, retorted his niece.
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  Only George is such as stupid. He's got an idea in his silly head,
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  that missus driver. But it's all nonsense. Of course, I've merely
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  got a bit of an idea that it's a wedding ring, not a brooch.
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  Missus driver is, after, said the farmer to the perplexed constable.
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  Mister Bodfish looked from one to the other. But you always keep yours on,
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  Lizzie, don't you, he asked. Yes, of course, replied
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  his niece hurriedly. But George has always got such strange ideas. Don't take
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  no notice of him. Her uncle sat back in his chair, his face
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  still wrinkled perplexedly. Then the wrinkles vanished, suddenly chased away by a huge
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  glow, and he rose wrathfully and towered over the match making mister Negget,
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  how dare you, he gasped. Mister Naggett made no reply, but in
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  a cowardly fashion, jerked his thumb toward his wife. Oh, George,
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  how can you say so, said the latter. I should never have thought
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  of it by myself, said the farmer. But I think they'd make a
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  very nice couple, and I'm sure missus Driver thinks so. The ex Constable
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  sat down in wrathful confusion, and taking up his note book again, watched
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  over the top of it the silent charges and counter charges of his niece and
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  her husband. If I put my finger on the culprit, he asked at
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  length, Turning to his niece, what do you wish done to her?
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  Missus Negget regarded him with an expression which contained all the Christian virtues rolled into
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  one nothing. She said, softly, I only want my brooch back.
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  The ex Constable shook his head at this leniency. Well, do as you
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  please, he said, slowly. In the first place, I want you
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  to ask missus Driver here to tea tomorrow. Oh, I don't mind Naggot's
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  ridiculous ideas. Pity he hasn't got something better to think of. If she's
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  guilty, I'll soon find it out. I'll play with her like a cat
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  with a mouse. I'll make her convict herself. Look here, said mister
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  Naggot with sudden vigor. I won't have it. I won't have no woman
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  asked here to tea to be got like that. There's only my friends comes
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  here to tea an If any friend stole anything of mine, I'd be one
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  of the first to hush it up. If they were all like you,
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  George, his wife said angrily. Where would the law be or the police,
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  demanded mister Bodfish, staring at him. I won't have it, repeated
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  the farmer loudly. I'm the law here, and I'm the police here.
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  That little tiny bit of dirt was off my boots. I dare say.
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  I don't care if it was very good, said mister Bodfish, turning to
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  his indignant niece. If he likes to look at it that way, there's
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  nothing more to be said. I only wanted to get your brooch back for
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  you, that's all. But if he's against it. I'm against your asking
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  missus driver here to my house to be got at, said the farmer.
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  Of course, if you can find out who took the brooch and get it
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  back anyway, that's another matter. Mister Bodfish leaned over the table toward his
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  niece. If I get an opportunity, I'll search her cottage, he said,
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  in a low voice. Strictly speaking. It ain't quite a legal thing
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  to do, of course, but many of the finest pieces of detective work
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  have been done by breaking the law. If she's a kleptomaniac, it's very
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  likely lying about somewhere in the house. He eyed mister Nugget closely, as
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  though half expecting another outburst, but none being forthcoming, sat back in his
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  chair again and smoked in silence, while Missus Nagget, with a carpet brush
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  which almost spoke, swept the pieces of dried mud from the stairs. Mister
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  Negget was the last to go to bed that night, and, finishing his
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  pipe over the dying fire, sat for some time in deep thought. He
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  had from the first raised objections to the presence of mister Bodfish at the farm,
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  but family affection coupled with an idea of testamentary benefits, had so wrought
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  with his wife that he had allowed her to have her own way. Now
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  he half fancied that he saw a chance of getting rid of him if he
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  could only enable the widow to catch him searching her house. It was highly
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  probable that the ex Constable would find the village somewhat too hot to hold him.
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  He gave his right leg a congratulatory slap as he thought of it,
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  and, knocking the ashes from his pipe, went slowly up to bed.
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  He was so amiable the next morning that mister Bodfish, who was trying to
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  explain to missus Negget the difference between theft and kleptomania, spoke before him freely.
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  The ex Constable defined kleptomania as a sort of amiable weakness found chiefly among
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  the upper circles, and cited the case of a lady of title whose love
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  of diamonds, combined with great hospitality, was a source of much embarrassment to
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  her guests. For the whole of that day, mister Bodfish hung about in
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  the neighborhood of the widow's cottage, but in vain and it would be hard
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  to say whether he or mister Negget, who had been discreetly shadowing him,
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  felt the disappointment. Most On the day following, however, the ex Constable,
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  from a distant hedge, saw a friend of the widows enter the cottage,
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  and a little later both ladies emerged and walked up the road. He
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  watched them turn the corner, and then, with a cautious glance round,
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  which failed, however, to discover mister Negget. The ex Constable strolled casually
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  in the direction of the cottage, and, approaching it from the rear,
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  turned the handle of the door and slipped in. He searched the parlor hastily,
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  and then, after a glance from the window, ventured upstairs. And
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  he was in the thick of his self imposed task when his graceless nephew by
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  marriage, who had met missus driver and referred to a raging thirst which he
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  had hoped to have quenched with some of her home brood, brought the ladies
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  hastily back again. I'll go round the back way, said the wily Negget,
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  as they approached the cottage. I just want to have a look at
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  that pig of yours. He reached the back door at the same time as
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  mister Bodfish, and placing his legs apart, held it firmly against the frantic
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  efforts of the ex constable. The struggle ceased suddenly, and the door opened
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  easily, just as missus Driver and her friend appeared in the front room,
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  and the farmer, with a keen glance at the door of the larder,
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  which had just closed, took a chair while his hostess drew a glass of
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  beer from the barrel in the kitchen. Mister Negget drank gratefully and praised the
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  brew from beer. The conversation turned naturally to the police, and from the
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  police to the listening mister Bodfish, who was economizing space by sitting on the
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  bread pan and trembling with agitation. He's a lonely man, said Naggot,
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  shaking his head and glancing from the corner of his eye at the door of
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  the larder. In his wildest dreams, he had not imagined so choice a
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  position, and he resolved to give full play to an idea which suddenly occurred
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  to him. I dare say, said missus Driver, carelessly, conscious that
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  her friend was watching her and the heart of a little child, said Naggot.
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  You wouldn't believe how simple he is. Missus Klows said that it did
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  him credit, but speaking for herself, she hadn't noticed it. He was
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  talking about you night before last, said Naggot, turning to his hostess.
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  Not that that's anything fresh. He always is talking about you nowadays. The
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  widow coughed confusedly and told him not to be foolish. Ask my wife,
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  said the farmer, impressively. They were talking about you for hours. He's
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  a very shy man, is my wife's uncle. But you should see his
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  face change when your name's mentioned. As a matter of fact, mister Bodfish's
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  face was at that very moment taking on a deeper shap of crimson. Everything
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  you do seems to interest him, continued the farmer, disregarding missus Driver's manifest
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  distress. He was asking Lizzie about your calling on Monday, how long you
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  stayed and where you sat, And after she'd told him, I'm blessed if
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  he didn't go sit in that same chair. This romantic setting to a perfectly
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  casual action on the part of mister Bodfish affected the widow visibly, but its
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  effect on the ex constable nearly upset the bread pan. But here, continued
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  mister Nugget, with another glance at the larder, he might go on like
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  that for years. He's a wonderful shy man, big and gentle and shy.
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  He wanted Lizzie to ask you to tea yesterday. Now, mister Nagget,
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  said the blushing widow. Do be quiet, fact, replied the farmer,
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  solemn fact, I assure you, And he asked her whether you were
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  fond of jewelry. I met him twice on the road near her yesterday,
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  said missus klows. Suddenly. Perhaps he was waiting for you to come out.
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  I dare say, replied the farmer. I shouldn't wonder, but what
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  he's hanging about somewhere near now. Unable to tear himself away, mister Bodfish
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  wrung his hands, and his thoughts reverted instinctively to instances in his memory in
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  which charges of murder had been altered by the direction of a sensible judge to
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  manslaughter. He held his breath for next words. Mister Negget drank a little
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  more ale and looked at missus driver. I wonder whether you've got a morsel
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  of bread and cheese, he said, slowly, I've come over that hungry.
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  The widow and mister Bodfish rose simultaneously. It required not the brain of
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  a trained detective to know that the cheese was in the larder. The unconscious
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  missus Driver opened the door, and then, with a wild scream, fell
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  back before the emerging form of mister Bodfish into the arms of missus Klaus.
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  The glass of mister Negget smashed on the floor, and the farmer himself,
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  with every appearance of astonishment, stared at the apparition, open mouthed, mister
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  Bodfish, he said at length, slowly, mister Bodfish, incapable of speech,
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  glared at him ferociously. Leave him alone, said Missus Klaus, who
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  was ministering to her friend. Can't you see the man's upset at frightening her?
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  She's coming round, mister Bodfish. Don't be alarmed. Very good,
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  said the farmer, who found his injured relative's gaze somewhat trying. I'll go
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  and leave him to explain to missus Driver why he was hidden in her larder.
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  It don't seem a proper thing to me. Why you silly man,
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  said missus Klaus gleefully as she paused at the door. That don't want any
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  explanation now, mister Bodfish, were giving you your chance. Mind you make
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  the most of it, and don't be too shy. She walked excitedly up
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  the road with the farmer, and bidding him goodbye at the corner, went
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  off hastily to read the news. Mister Naggett walked home soberly and hardly,
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  staying long enough to listen to his wife's account of the finding of the brooch
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  between the chest of drawers and the wall, went off to spend the evening
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  with a friend, and ended by making a night of it. End of
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  Section five.