“I hope, then, you won’t screech out, for there is confusion and worry enough without that. For my part, I have no patience with people who have not got self-control. You get up, Hester, and come downstairs.”
“It is easy for you to speak, ma’am,” answered Hester; “your conscience lies light enough. It was not you who sent Master Murray to the Queen Anne wing.”
“Well, and if you did it, child,” answered the housekeeper, her voice slightly softening, “you did it, I know, with a good motive; you ain’t to blame for that. Now, cheer up, and come downstairs; it will do you good to eat a bit of supper with the rest of us.”
As Mrs. Ferguson said these last words, she laid her hand on Hester’s shoulder.
“There’s Jacob, too,” she continued. “Now, if there’s a man I do admire, it’s Jacob. He has self-control if you like; he has a head on his shoulders; he don’t think anything of himself. What has not he done this day? Why, everything for everybody. Helping the police to take an inventory of the missing plate, remembering all about it—wonderful, too—better even than Vickers, who has been here for years, and going off on his own accord for the police, and then seeing my master off to town. I never had a better servant in the house, and that I will say. When I told him about you, no one could speak nicer; he said to me at once, looking as concerned as you please:
“‘Mrs. Ferguson, maybe I could soothe her a bit. I have a soothing way, you might remark,’ says he.
“‘That you have,’ says I.
“‘Well, then, send her down to me and I’ll have a bit of a talk,’ says he.
“I answered that I would; so down you go now, Hester, and pour out your mind to him. You tell him how you feel about sending the poor little chap off to the Queen Anne wing. He’ll bring you to your senses if anyone will.”