Free Plain Jane by MC Beaton Page A

pansy-brown where Jane’s were hazel.
    ‘What can we do for you, Miss Jane?’ asked Rainbird. He was feeling very tired. He and the others had been up most of the night, moving the furniture back into place and clearing up the mess. Although Mrs Hart did not get to bed until three in the morning – the bed that had to be carried back upstairs by Rainbird and Joseph – that sturdy matron had risen with the lark and had started to ring for attention and service instead of sleeping until two in the afternoon like any other respectable member of the
ton
.
    ‘I wanted to find out a bit more about Miss Clara,’ said Jane, feeling awkward under Mrs Middleton’s openly disapproving eye.
    ‘Come through to the servants’ hall,’ said Rainbird tolerantly. The dining-room bell began to jangle.
    ‘Answer that, Joseph,’ said Rainbird over his shoulder as he led Jane out of the kitchen.
    ‘Meh feet,’ moaned Joseph. He wore shoes two sizes two small for him because he considered small hands and feet aristocratic. Now his tortured toes looked like globe artichokes. He longed to escape to The Running Footman for a comfortable coze with Luke, the footman from next door. Never before had Joseph had such fascinating gossip to relate. Never before had he seen so many top members of the
ton
gathered under one roof and all of them behaving badly.
    ‘Sit down, Miss Jane,’ said Rainbird, pulling out a chair at the table in the servants’ hall. Jane sat down, and Rainbird, after some hesitation, decided he was too weary to observe the conventions and sat down as well.
    ‘The most marvellous thing has happened, Mr Rainbird,’ said Jane, wide-eyed. ‘Lord Tregarthan is to take me driving this very afternoon and he has agreed to help me find out what happened to Miss Clara.’
    ‘It was not anything sinister or mysterious as I have already told you,’ said Rainbird. ‘If Mr Gillespie, her physician, could find nothing the matter, then her death must have been caused by some rare disease. These rare diseases come and go. In my youth there was a plague of something the doctors called Whirligigitis, but you never hear of that these days. Besides, the crowner passed a verdict of accidental death.’
    Jane frowned. ‘Did she have a beau?’
    ‘Her parents wanted her to marry a Mr Bullfinch. Mr Bullfinch is extremely rich.’
    ‘Did she love him?’
    ‘I never considered the matter,’ said Rainbird. ‘Ladies do not often make marriages of affection. It was considered a fine match by her parents.’
    ‘After her death, did Mr Bullfinch marry anyone else?’
    ‘No. He was grief-stricken.’
    ‘He could have been tortured by a guilty conscience?’
    ‘Mr Bullfinch is a very respectable gentleman,’ said Rainbird repressively. ‘I have heard he is in London for the first time since Miss Clara’s death. No doubt you will meet him.’
    ‘Is he handsome?’
    ‘Miss Jane,’ said Rainbird with a sweet smile, ‘you should not be belowstairs. You will get me in bad odour with Mrs Hart.’
    ‘Meaning you want me to go away.’ Jane stood up with a sigh. ‘Wicked Mr Rainbird.
You
should be in bad odour with mama because you made all her guests tipsy.’
    ‘
I?
’ Rainbird opened his eyes to their fullest. He took five oranges from a bowl on the table and started to juggle them. Jane laughed and clapped as Rainbird stood up, and, still juggling, led the way out.
    Jane ran lightly up the stairs to her room. The very idea of going out in London was exciting, particularly as she had not seen very much of the city since her arrival.
    Her bedroom overlooked the street, Euphemia preferring the larger, quieter room at the back. A noise from the street below drew her to the window. A group of acrobats was performing in the street outside. There were two men in soiled pink tights and a girl in a tawdry spangled dress. Jane watched them idly while her mind drifted back to that bright, brave image of Beau Tregarthan, which was fading fast