Plain Jane Read Free Page A

the Green Park.’
    ‘The King’s deer,’ whispered Rainbird. ‘You great fool. They’ll hang us all.’
    ‘It was there for the asking,’ said the unrepentant cook. ‘I was that low in spirits for ah hud a great bag of firewood and I put it down to rest on the long road back and some blackguard stole it and ran off into the fog.’ Rainbird had carried in one tallow candle when he had heard Angus MacGregor’s arrival. In its dim circle of golden light, the faces of the servants were as white as paper. ‘Don’t look sae feart,’ went on the cook crossly. ‘I was coming through the park and there was this little deer with a broke leg and next to death wi’ the cold. I took out ma knife and slit its throat. I had a spare sack wi’ me so I hefted it up and ran here.’
    He cocked his head to one side and they all stiffened as the heavy tread of marching feet sounded up in Clarges Street outside.
    ‘And dripping blood all the way,’ said Rainbird, panic-stricken. ‘You’ve brought the whole militia down on us. The volunteers drill in the parks every day . . .’
    ‘Tie it on my back,’ said Dave. ‘Quick!’
    ‘Why . . . ?’ began Rainbird.
    ‘Tie it on,’ screamed Dave. Heavy steps began to descend outside. While Angus MacGregor quickly lashed the deer onto the pot boy’s back, while Alice and Jenny frantically scrubbed at the blood stains on the floor, there came a loud, imperative knock at the door.
    ‘Open in the King’s name!’ called a harsh voice.
    Dave scrambled into the empty kitchen grate with the deer on his back. He seized the first of the iron rungs that had been placed inside the chimney for the sweep’s climbing boys. ‘Push me up,’ he hissed to MacGregor.
    Mrs Middleton had often bemoaned the old-fashioned open range with its wide chimney, but now she thanked God feverishly for Jonas Palmer’s parsimony.
    Rainbird opened the door. A tall captain with snow glistening on his scarlet regimentals pushed his way into the kitchen. With him came a sergeant, a trooper, and a Bow Street Runner.
    ‘Stay outside, the rest of you, until you are called,’ shouted the captain over his shoulder.
    ‘What can I do for you?’ asked Rainbird.
    ‘Where is your master?’ demanded the captain.
    ‘My master,’ said Rainbird, ‘is the Duke of Pelham. He is at Oxford University. In the meantime, I am in charge here.’
    ‘Name?’
    ‘Mr John Rainbird.’
    The captain jerked his head, and his sergeant held up a lanthorn next to the butler’s face. The captain studied the butler from head to foot. Rainbird was wearing the livery bought for him by the previous tenant – black tail coat, white waistcoat, black silk knee breeches, white stockings, and buckled shoes.
    ‘It’s like this,’ said the captain, a reluctant tinge of respect creeping into his voice. ‘Some female reports she’s seen a man kill a deer in the Green Park. Sure enough, there was blood on the snow. We followed the trail o’ blood and it led right here. So we’re going to search this house from attic to cellar.’
    ‘Fustian,’ snorted Rainbird. ‘I am not a thief, sirrah.’
    ‘Mayhap. But one o’ you is. How do you explain that trail o’ blood?’
    ‘I have no idea,’ said Rainbird, very stiffly on his stiffs.
    There came a faint curse from inside the chimney.
    ‘Who’s there?’ called the captain sharply.
    ‘It’s only the climbing boy,’ said MacGregor.
    ‘Scotch, hey?’ said the captain suspiciously. The Scots unless they were of the upper class were still regarded with distrust and suspicion and often spat on in the street. Were they not savage foreigners who descended on the south in hordes and took jobs away from decent Englishmen? He glanced downward at MacGregor’s shoes, his eyes narrowing at the traces of mud and melting snow.
    ‘I’ll just take a look up that chimney,’ he said.
    ‘Help!’ came a wail from the scullery. ‘Oh . . . I am
dying
.’
    ‘It’s Lizzie!’ cried Rainbird.