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Updated: June 23, 2025
'Oh, do tell me who killed the poor thing, Mr Cargrim, gushed Daisy, childishly. 'No one knows, Miss Norsham. The jury brought in a verdict of wilful murder against some person or persons unknown. You must excuse me if I speak too technically, but those are the precise words of the verdict.
Into the gaol Mr Cargrim was admitted with certain solemnity by a sour-faced footman whose milk of human kindness had turned acid in the thunderstorms of Mrs Pansey's spite. This engaging Cerberus conducted the chaplain into a large and sepulchral drawing-room in which the good lady and Miss Norsham were partaking of afternoon tea.
'I should think so; he finishes a bottle of brandy every day. 'Oh, Miss Mosk, how very dreadful! cried Miss Whichello, quite in the style of Daisy Norsham. 'Why is he staying in Beorminster? 'I don't know, but it's for no good, you may be sure. If he isn't here he's hob-nobbing with those gipsy wretches who have a camp on Southberry Common. Mother Jael and he are always together.
Daisy Norsham had long ago seized upon Gabriel Pendle, and was chatting with him on the edge of the circle, quite heedless of her chaperon's monologue. When Mrs Pansey saw the bishop she swooped down on him before he could get out of the way, which he would have done had courtesy permitted it.
I am sorry to leave such charming company, but I have an engagement. Good-bye, Miss Norsham; your tea was worthy of the fair hands which made it. Good-bye, Mrs Pansey. Let us hope that the authorities will discover and punish this unknown Cain. 'Cain or Jezebel, said Mrs Pansey, darkly, 'it's one or the other of them.
She wore black silk mittens, and on either bony wrist a band of black velvet clasped with a large cameo set hideously in pale gold. Thus attired a veritable caricature by Leech this survival of a prehistoric age sat rigidly upright and mangled the reputations of all and sundry. Miss Norsham, in all but age, was very modern indeed. Her neck was lean; her arms were thin.
And yet Mrs Pansey considered that Anthony Trollope's celebrated Mrs Proudie was an overdrawn character. As to Miss Norsham, she was in the depths of despair, for, if Mrs Pansey was to be believed, there was no eligible husband for her in Beorminster.
'What is it? asked the chaplain, staring at her tragic face. 'That wicked old woman has taken all the money. Oh, poor Mrs Pansey's home! 'She has no doubt run off with the money, said Cargrim, in what was for him a savage tone. 'I must question the servants about her departure. Miss Norsham, I am afraid that your beautiful nature has been imposed upon by this deceitful vagrant.
But I am afraid you find this information dull, Miss Norsham! This last remark was occasioned by Daisy yawning. It is true that she held a fan, and had politely hidden her mouth when yawning; unfortunately, the fan was of transparent material, and Daisy quite forgot that Mr Dean could see the yawn, which he certainly did.
'All bishops are mitred, said Dr Alder, testily; 'a crozier and a mitre are the symbols of their high office. But the Romish abbots of Bëorhmynster were not bishops although they were mitred prelates. 'Oh, how very, very amusing, cried Daisy, suppressing a yawn. 'And the name of the river, dear Mr Dean? Does Beorflete mean the church of the hill too? 'Certainly not, Miss Norsham.
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