Posey's Gift

She turned white – dead white, and I found myself in a dilemma. I made the discovery by accident, and now I had to decide how to use it. I had her dead to rights, and she didn’t yet see a way out. If I used it in the right way it could make life better for most of us. But it could hurt someone we all cared very much about.

Mrs. Cotswold is the meanest woman I have ever known. She demands that everything be done her way. If you thought you had found a better way you learned quickly that you “don’t get paid to think.” If you didn’t catch on you came up short on payday and probably wouldn’t be around for the next one. She enjoys making lives miserable.

I have worked for Mrs. Cotswold since I was fifteen. Daddy had died of pneumonia, and Momma had two babies to take care of at home. My sister Margaret and I went to the Cotswold estate to find work because they always needed new housekeeping help. Mrs. Cotswold was hard to please, and several girls quit or were fired each week. Miss Hart, the head housekeeper, said she would begin training us the next morning. “We start at dawn. Don’t be late,” she warned. Margaret quit after only two weeks.


Mrs. Cotswold is known as “old Edna” behind her back. She is only in her sixties, but the permanent frown lines make her look eighty. She usually wears an expression that makes you think she smells something sour. She never smiles, and people in her presence don’t want to smile. Mr. Cotswold might have been a merry soul once, but after years of living under her thumb he is as much afraid to smile or joke as the rest of us. However, he does sneak little gifts to each of us on Christmas and birthdays. I dread to think what would happen if “old Edna” ever caught wind of that.

I wonder now if “old Edna” did catch onto Mr. Cotswold’s generosity. In her mean mindset it was probably as good a reason as any to do what she did.

Mr. Cotswold always doted on his wife no matter how mean and nasty she treated him. He is a person who needs to show kindness to others, it’s just his nature. Mrs. Cotswold never showed appreciation for his attentiveness. No one would have been surprised if Mr. Cotswold had found a mistress. Instead, he spent nearly all of his spare time with Posey, his two-year-old cocker spaniel.

Posey arrived at the door as a puppy. No one knew where she came from, but I suspect that Tom the gardener knows. His cocker spaniel was pregnant earlier that year. She had obviously been well cared for, but nobody responded to the ad in the lost and found section. Mr. Cotswold and Posey took to each other instantly. Mrs. Cotswold had no use for her.

Everyday, Posey and Mr. Cotswold would walk in the orchard and play games of fetch on the hill at the east end. When Mr. Cotswold drove into town, Posey would ride beside him with her head hanging out the window, her ears flopping in the wind, wearing the grin of all dogs enjoying the feeling of riding shotgun.

Posey was family to Mr. Cotswold. Mrs. Cotswold, however, didn’t see it that way. Posey wasn’t allowed in the house (except when Mrs. Cotswold was away and didn’t know about it) and had to sleep in a barn stall. This wasn’t so bad, Mr. Cotswold made sure she was quite comfortable and was even known to visit her in the middle of the night claiming that he couldn’t sleep.

Posey became very ill one afternoon, and Mr. Cotswold was almost sick himself with worry. He called Doc Williams to come to examine her. Doc determined that she was having a toxic reaction to something she ate; probably some plant or grass. There was nothing he could do. Posey did have a habit of “grazing.” Mr. Cotswold wouldn’t let Doc put Posey to sleep. He said if the time came he would do it himself. Mrs. Cotswold was unusually sympathetic but encouraged Mr. Cotswold to do the “courageous thing” and put Posey out of her misery. When he continued to refuse, she helped him take care of Posey. She even had Bessie, the cook, make a roast especially for Posey, and she hand fed it to Posey herself.

Posey lived for a week after Doc Williams visited, but finally Mr. Cotswold admitted that he was prolonging her suffering. He carried her into the orchard where he ended her misery. He buried her on the little hill where they had spent their time playing and enjoying each other’s company. He spends a lot of time at her grave.

It was a week after Posey’s burial when I discovered the rat poison under Mrs. Cotswold’s bathroom sink. It was concealed inside a bath salts box. If someone glanced under the sink, they wouldn’t notice anything unusual. I was clumsy that morning and tipped the box over, revealing the hidden poison. A chill overcame me as the knowledge sank in, and it all began to make sense. It is sad to have to admit that I wasn’t all that surprised. I took the bath salts box with the poison in it and stashed it under my bed in the servant’s quarters. I would need time to think about what to do next.

I deliberated most of that night. What if I did tell what she had done? Would she even care? It would probably hurt Mr. Cotswold terribly to learn what his wife had done. But perhaps he would finally find the strength to stand up to the mean old woman and grasp his chance at happiness before he was too old to enjoy his life. I made lists of the reasons to reveal what I knew, the reasons not to reveal it, and the reasons to use what I discovered as blackmail, so that I would never have to reveal the truth. Then I crumpled them up and started over. I must have fallen asleep just before the alarm went off, still undecided.

So there we were. She’d paled as soon as I had held up the box of bath salts. She didn’t feign ignorance or try to deny it; she just lowered her head and slumped down into the nearest chair, neither of us saying a word. I stood waiting, not sure what my next move should be.

At last she sighed, a sound of relief, and leaned back in her chair. She looked up at me and said, “Miss Franny, please do sit down. I don’t like it when people stand over me like that.” I obliged and sat on the edge of the green leather couch across from her. By then I had decided to let her speak first, in hopes that she would enable me to see options that I hadn’t seen before.

“Well, Franny, what are you doing with my box of bath salts -- from my private bathroom I might add? I never took you for a thief like those other girls. I thought you were above such petty things. That is why I have kept you on so long here,” she pouted, disappointed.

I was about to defend myself when I realized what she was up to. I bit my lip. I would not give her ammunition to use against me. She was craftier than I had given her credit for. It would be dangerous to underestimate her.

“So, Franny, what have you been up to? Have you demanded my audience for your confession or your apology? Which is it, Franny?” she employed her best sarcastic smile.

I smiled back, as sweetly as a child. “I’ve come here to meet a murderer,” I said.

A voice from behind me startled us, and we jumped up from our seats. It wasn’t a deep voice for a man. It sounded kind, if a bit shaky. Mr. Cotswold came slowly into the room, addressing me but keeping his eyes on Mrs. Cotswold. “What’s this about a murderer, Franny?”

Taken aback, I began to stammer. Mrs. Cotswold was quicker than I. “Franny knows that I am on to her devious little scheme and has come here to beg forgiveness,” she said with authority, advancing toward him, “but, considering what she has done, my dear, I think we should report her to the Constable at once. I am sure you will agree.”

Mr. Cotswold motioned for us to sit down again. “Ok, dear. Why don’t you explain,” he said to his wife.

She refused to sit, but I welcomed the chance to sit so “old Edna” wouldn’t notice my knees shaking. What was going on here? Instinct told me to keep quiet and let things unfold. I tried to believe that everything would work out in the end.

Pacing back and forth like a well-rehearsed solicitor, Mrs. Cotswold began her fabrication of the way she wanted to believe events occurred. I think she didn’t want to face the fact that she was capable of doing what she had done. Maybe she felt guilty and remorseful, but she wasn’t going to take the blame or the responsibility. She was going to hide from it to keep her husband under her control.

“This girl, whom I have trusted for many years, has betrayed us. Darling, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this. I know it will hurt you deeply,” she said, her voice dripping with sympathy.

I wanted to shout my innocence, but I held my tongue and she continued.

“It seems that Franny was going to set me up to take the blame for the murder she committed. Oh, poor little Posey. I know what she meant to you, George,” she said.

“What ever are you talking about, Edna?” Mr. Cotswold said with a sharpness I had never before heard in his voice. I stared at him in surprise.

“I caught her upstairs putting a box of rat poison in my bath salts box to make it look like I had something to do with it; like I’d been hiding it there.”

“Edna, you are not making sense. What did you have something to do with?” he asked.

“I didn’t have anything to do with it! Just listen to me. That girl is ruthless,” her voice was beginning to rise. I smiled as her control began to falter.

“All right then, what did you not have anything to do with?” he continued with patience.

“She killed that sweet, helpless animal. She killed Posey!” she pointed accusingly at me. “She did it to destroy our marriage. She has had her eye on you and your money since the day she came here.”

He looked from her to me, and his expression was filled with disappointment. It made me feel shame, though I had done nothing wrong.

“I would never, I could never…” I shouted in my mind, but it came out in a whisper. I was astonished that he appeared to believe what she was saying. How could anyone think that of me?

“Franny,” he began, shaking his head. His disappointment made me look away. “Do you really think I am so dense?”

I remained speechless, wringing my hands in my lap. Edna folded her arms over her chest with a satisfied “harrumph.”

He turned suddenly to Edna. “Sit down old woman!” he roared. She sat, stunned. “Do you think I am so dense that I don’t know what you’ve done? You were so jealous of Posey that you couldn’t bear to have her around. You couldn’t stand to see me happy. No matter what I did for you, it was never enough. You haven’t shown me affection in years.”

“What?” she gasped, “What are you saying?” She began to pale again.

“Would you be surprised if Franny and I were having an affair?” he asked her.

My head spun toward him so fast it made me dizzy. “What?” Edna and I chorused.

“Did you expect me to be alone all these years? You haven’t been. I know about your many indiscretions, my dear. I’ve known all along,” he glared at her now, shaking. “I didn’t care about them, I still loved you. I wanted you to be happy. But now I see how foolish I have been all these years; all because of a sweet little dog who only knew how to love.”

“How dare you speak to me that way?” Edna sat up straighter. “I have been an ideal wife to you. I never complained that you weren’t able to make me happy, though you never tried very hard.”

I interrupted then; I had heard enough. “You are the meanest, most vile woman I have ever known. You are petty and jealous and it doesn’t surprise me that you killed Posey just for spite! You have never been able to see how lucky you are to have a husband like yours. I feel ashamed for you. I’m sure that you aren’t capable of feeling shame for yourself because your heart is too hardened to feel anything but hatred.” I had risen from my seat and was standing over her shaking my fist. I didn’t remember leaving the couch. A hand on my shoulder startled me.

Mr. Cotswold said gently, “It’s all right, Franny. I’m sorry that I haven’t stood up for you and the rest of the staff in the past, but things are about to change.” He turned to Edna, “I want you to leave here. I don’t care where you go as long as you go. I will send you a stipend every month, so you won’t lack money, but I will no longer tolerate you under this roof.” He turned and walked out the door before she could protest.

She didn’t protest.

She stood up slowly, walked unsteadily to the door, and didn’t glance at me. It was the last time I saw her. She left that same day and sent for her belongings.

Two weeks after Mrs. Cotswold’s departure, a basket with three cocker spaniel puppies in it arrived on the doorstep: Two females and one male. They became known as Lilly, Rosie, and Jake. The three of them were given the room connecting to Mr. Cotswold’s bedroom, where they were very happy.

Later that year Mr. Cotswold began breeding cocker spaniels to “spread the happiness around.” He visits Posey on the hill everyday, but now it is a happy occasion that he shares with his three companions. They will never replace Posey, but he knows she would be happy that he was no longer alone.

THE END