Joseph was of the opinion that the mistress had got more upon her mind than her mind could well bear. It was useless to send for Mr. Null; he had already mentioned that he would not be home until seven o’clock.. There was no superior person in the house to consult. It was not for the servants to take responsibility on themselves. “Fetch the nearest doctor, and let him be answerable, if anything serious happens.” Such was Joseph’s advice.
The women (angrily remembering that Mrs. Gallilee had spoken of sending for the police) ridiculed the footman’s cautious proposal—with one exception. When the others ironically asked him if he was not accustomed to the mistress’s temper yet, Mrs. Gallilee’s own maid (Marceline) said, “What do we know about it? Joseph is the only one of us who has seen her, since the morning.”
This perfectly sensible remark had the effect of a breath of wind on a smouldering fire. The female servants, all equally suspected of having assisted Mr. Gallilee in making up his parcels, were all equally assured that there was a traitress among them—and that Marceline was the woman. Hitherto suppressed, this feeling now openly found its way to expression. Marceline lost her temper; and betrayed herself as her master’s guilty confederate.
“I’m a mean mongrel—am I?” cried the angry maid, repeating the cook’s allusion to her birthplace in the Channel Islands. “The mistress shall know, this minute, that I’m the woman who did it!”
“Why didn’t you say so before?” the cook retorted.
“Because I promised my master not to tell on him, till he got to his journey’s end.”
“Who’ll lay a wager?” asked the cook. “I bet half-a-crown she changes her mind, before she gets to the top of the stairs.”
“Perhaps she thinks the mistress will forgive her,” the parlour-maid suggested ironically.
“Or perhaps,” the housemaid added, “she means to give the mistress notice to leave.”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do!” said Marceline.