A Ring of Rubies
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“You must not delay,” she kept on saying. “You have told me how careless the landlady is, and that poor child has had no one to do anything for her since early morning. Rose, dear, how is she off for little comforts, and clothes and those sort of things?”
“I should say, very badly off, mother. Hetty is as poor as poor can be.”
“I have one or two night-dresses,” began my mother.
“Now, mother, you are not going to deprive yourself.”
“Don’t talk of it in that light, Rose. Hetty is my daughter, remember.”
I felt a fierce pang of jealousy at this. My mother left the room, and presently returned with a neatly-made-up parcel.
“You will find some small necessaries for the poor child here,” she said. “And now go, my darling, and God bless you. One word first, however. How are you off for money, Rose?”
“I have plenty, mother. Don’t worry yourself on that point.”
“I have a little pearl ring up-stairs, which I could sell, if necessary.”
The tears rushed to my eyes when my mother said this. The pearl ring was her sole adornment, and she had worn it on Sunday ever since we were children.
“You shall never sell your dear ring,” I said.
I rushed up to her, kissed her frantically, and left the house.
Hetty and I spent a quiet Sunday together. She was much better, and she looked very pretty in the warm, softly-coloured dressing-jacket which mother had sent her. She told me her little story, which was simple as story could be. She had no parents, nor any near relatives living. Even a distant cousin, who had paid for her education, had died two years previously. She thought herself very lucky when she secured the post of English teacher at Miss West’s Select Seminary for young ladies. She made Jack’s acquaintance early in the spring; no one else had ever been specially kind to her, and when he asked her to marry him, she said “Yes,” in a burst of delight and gratitude.
“I didn’t know he was so grand as he has turned out to be, miss,” said Hetty, in conclusion.
“Now, Hetty, what did I say about miss?”
“It seems so queer and forward to say Rose,” she answered. “I never had any one to love until Jack married me. Oh, don’t I love him just, and don’t I love you —Rose!”
“I know you do,” I said, “and when you see my mother you will love her. We will try to be good to you, poor little Hetty, and you will try to learn to be a real lady for my mother’s sake.”
“And for Jack’s sake,” she answered, an eager flush coming into her cheeks.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Will you show me how to be a lady, Rose?”
“Oh, Hetty, no one can show you. You must find out the way yourself. You will, too, if you are in earnest, and if you love my mother as she deserves to be loved. Hetty, my mother is the gentlest of women, and yet no queen could be more dignified, more ladylike.”
“Would she frighten me awfully?” whispered Hetty.
“Oh, you poor child! There, I won’t talk any more. Wait until you see her!”
Hetty was rather under than over educated for her station; but there was a certain sweetness, and even refined charm about her, which gave me a sense of almost pain as I looked at her. Was Jack worthy of this passionate, loving heart?
Sunday passed peacefully, but I did not forget what lay before me on Monday morning. The real crucial turn in Jack’s affairs would come then.
I went early to town, and saw Mr Chillingfleet, the head of Jack’s firm, about eleven o’clock. Jack had told me that twelve was the hour when the money was generally collected and sent to the bank. I don’t know how I managed to inveigle a young clerk to coax Mr Chillingfleet to see me, but I did, and at eleven o’clock I stood before him.
I looked into his face. I knew that a great deal hung upon that interview; I knew that my mother’s future happiness in life, that all poor Hetty’s bliss or undoing depended on what sort of face Mr Chillingfleet possessed. I was a good reader of physiognomy, and I studied his with an eager flash.
It was a firm face: the lips thin, the chin both long and square, the check-bones high; the eyes, however, were kind, honest, straightforward. I looked into Mr Chillingfleet’s eyes, and took courage.
“You want to see me, young lady?” said the chief of the great house.
“I do, sir,” I said, “I have come about my brother Jack.”
“Young Lindley – you are young Lindley’s sister? I am sorry he is ill.”
Mr Chillingfleet’s tone was kind, but not enthusiastic. The young clerk’s services were evidently not greatly missed.
“I have a story to tell you,” I said. And then I began to speak.
My tone was eager, but I saw at once that I did not make a deep impression. Mr Chillingfleet was only languidly attentive. I could read his face, and I was absolutely certain that the thought expressed on it was the earnest hope that my story would be brief. I felt certain that he considered me a worry, that he felt it truly unreasonable of the sisters of sick clerks to come to worry him before noon on Monday morning.
He was a true gentleman, however, and as such could not bring himself to be rude to a woman.
“I can give you ten minutes,” he said, in a courteous tone.
All this time I had been toying with my subject. I now looked in agony at a boy clerk who was perched on a high stool by a desk at the other end of the room.
“If I could see you by yourself,” I said, almost in a whisper.
“Dawson, you can go,” said Mr Chillingfleet.
The boy glided off the high stool, and vanished. The moment the door was shut I took out my purse, and removing four five-pound notes, laid them on the desk beside the chief of the great house.
“Good gracious, young lady, what do you mean by that?” said Mr Chillingfleet.
“Those four five-pound notes are yours,” I said. “I have brought them back to you.”
“Miss Lindley, you must explain yourself.”
Mr Chillingfleet’s tone was no longer languid in its interest.
Then I gulped down a great lump in my throat, and told the story. It does not matter how I told it. I cannot recall the words I used. I don’t know whether I spoke eloquently or badly. I know I did not cry, but I am firmly convinced that my face was ashy pale, for it felt so queer and stiff and cold.
At last I had finished. The story of the young clerk’s temptation and disgrace was known to his chief. Now I waited for the fiat to go forth. Suppose Mr Chillingfleet refused to receive back the twenty pounds I brought him? Suppose he thought it good for the interests of business that the young thief – the wicked, brazen young thief – should be made an example of?
I gazed into the kind and honourable eyes. I watched with agony the firm, the hard, the almost cruel mouth.
“Oh, sir,” I said, suddenly, “take back the money! Jack’s mother is alive, and perhaps your mother, too, lives, sir. Take back the money, and be merciful, for her sake.”
Mr Chillingfleet shut his eyes twice, very quickly. Then he spoke.
“You must not try to come over me with sentiment,” he said. “This is not the time. A principle is involved, and I must be guided by a sense of duty. I am particularly busy at this moment, but I will give you my decision before you go. Can you wait for half an hour?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr Chillingfleet sounded an office gong by his side.
“Dawson,” he said, when the boy appeared, “show this lady into the waiting-room.”
The boy preceded me into a dismal little back room, furnished me with a copy of the day’s Times, and left me. I could not read a word. I felt more and more hopeless as the moments went by.
It was nearly one o’clock before I was summoned back into Mr Chillingfleet’s presence.
“Sit down,” he said, in a much more kind tone than he had used when I left him. “You are a good girl, Miss Lindley,” he began. “You have acted in a very straightforward and honourable manner. Your mother must be a good woman, for she has brought up a worthy daughter. However, to the point. I will accept the notes you have just brought me in lieu of those stolen by your brother. I will not prosecute him for theft.”
“Oh, sir, God bless you?”
“Stay, you must hear me out. I don’t forgive absolutely; I should not think it right. Lindley has proved himself unworthy of trust, and he no longer holds a situation in this house. He may redeem his character some day, but the uphill path will be difficult for him, for the simple reason that I shall find it impossible to give him a recommendation which will enable him to obtain another situation.”
“Oh, sir – Mr Chillingfleet – his young wife!”
“Precisely so, Miss Lindley, but society must be protected. When a man does something which destroys his character, he must bear the consequences. There, I am sorry for you, but I can do no more. I must be just. Good-morning.”
Mr Chillingfleet touched my fingers, bowed to me, and I withdrew.
I pulled my veil down over my face; I did not look to right or left as I walked out of the office.
Chapter Eight
I cannot part with my Ring
Jack was going on well, and I spent most of the time with his wife. One day a letter from home was forwarded to me. I opened it, and saw to my astonishment that the signature was Albert Chillingfleet.
“My dear Miss Lindley,” the good man wrote, “your face has made a tolerably strong impression on me. I wish you were a lad; I would give you a berth in my business-house directly. But in the case of your brother, justice must be done, you know. He ought never to be a clerk in a business-house again. Still, there are other openings. When he has quite recovered, ask him to call to see me at my private address – Princes’ Gate. I am generally disengaged and at home between nine and ten in the evening. I enclose a trifle for that young wife.
“Yours sincerely, —
“Albert Chillingfleet.”
The trifle was a ten-pound note. My fingers trembled as I unfolded it. I looked across the room at Hetty. She was better now, and was able to spend a certain portion of each day on a sofa which the landlady had brought into the room for her.
Hetty’s face wore the bright, innocent expression of a child. Her illness seemed to have brought back a kind of pathetic lost youth to her. She was young, undoubtedly, in years, very young, but I felt convinced that before she had been so ill she had not worn this child-expression – her lips could not have been so reposeful in the old days, nor her eyes so unanxious.
She was lying now gazing calmly out of the window. Her hands were folded on her lap. The knitting she had been trying to accomplish had tumbled unheeded to the floor. When the bank-note rustled in my hand Hetty turned and looked at me. I got up and gave it to her.
“This is for you,” I said. “I have had a letter from a friend of ours, and he has sent you this.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed. She clasped the note in both her hands. “Ten pounds!” she repeated. “Rosamund,” she continued, “I never had so much money as this in all my life before.”
“Well, make good use of it, dear child,” I said. “Put it away safely now. You’ll be sure to want it.”
“But ought not I to thank your friend?”
“I’ll do that for you. I’ll be sure to say something very pretty.”
Hetty looked at the ten-pound note as if she loved it. Then she stretched out her hand, and proffered it back to me.
“You had better have it, Rosamund. You buy everything that we want. Take it, and spend it, won’t you? You must need it very badly.”
“No, no, no! This is your own nest-egg, and no one else shall touch it. See, I will put it into your purse; I know where your little empty purse is, Hetty. I will put this nice crisp note into it. Is it not jolly to have so much laid by?”
“Yes,” said Hetty, “I feel delightfully rich.” She closed her eyes, smiling, wearied, happy. In the sleep which followed she smiled again, more than once. She was thinking of Jack, and of the good things she could buy for him out of this purse of Fortunatus.
On the following day I was to go back to Lady Ursula to receive my ruby ring. As I sat and worked by Hetty’s side, I planned how I would take the little excursion in the morning, bring back the ring, and amuse my sister in the afternoon by telling her the story of it.
I carried out the early part of this programme exactly as I had mapped it before my eyes on this peaceful afternoon. The next morning found me at an early hour ringing the ponderous bell under the heavy portico of the great house in Grosvenor Street. The liveried footman once more put in his appearance, and I was taken once again to Lady Ursula’s pretty rose-coloured bower.
It was empty when I entered.
“Her ladyship will be with you in a minute or two,” said the man, as he closed the door behind the tapestry.
I sat back in an easy-chair, and waited. It was very nice to wait in this pretty room. I felt quite easy in my mind, and not at all anxious. Circumstances had improved for me during the last fortnight. Hetty was getting well. Jack was better. Exposure and disgrace were averted. In short, the heavy pressure of expectant calamity was withdrawn, and life smiled at me with its every-day face. I thought how glad I should be to have my little ring again – my pretty romantic treasure should be more prized than ever. Nothing should induce me to part with it again.
As I lay back and reflected peacefully, footsteps approached. The tapestry was pushed aside, and a man entered.
He was tall, with a dark complexion. His appearance was aristocratic. I glanced at him, and recognised him in a flash. I knew him by his likeness to the excellent photograph Lady Ursula possessed – he was her lover.
I was seated rather in the shadow. At first when he came in he did not notice me. He went straight up to Lady Ursula’s table, and laid a small morocco case on it. He took up a photograph of the young lady, looked at it steadily – a half smile played round his somewhat austere mouth, his eyes softened. He held the photograph close to his lips, but he did not kiss it; with an almost reverent gesture he replaced it, then turned to leave the room. As he did so he caught sight of me. I had been looking on with a very red face. It was now Captain Valentine’s turn to get red. He grew scarlet; he looked intensely angry. I saw at a glance that he was the last man who could bear to be caught in a sentimental attitude, he was the last man who could bear even a shade of ridicule.
He bowed very stiffly to me and vanished.
The next instant Lady Ursula came in.
“Oh, here you are, Rosamund!” she said; “how do you do?”
“I am very well,” I answered. I did not want Lady Ursula to call me Rosamund. She sat down on the sofa with her hands crossed idly in her lap. Her face was full of interrogation; it said as plainly as face could:
“Now, what do you want, Rosamund? Have the goodness to say it, whatever it is, and go away.”
The look in her eyes was replied to steadily by mine. Then I said calmly: “I have come for my ring.”
When I said this Lady Ursula dropped her mask. War to the knife gleamed in her bright eyes.
“Oh! the ring,” she said; “well, you can’t have it, so there!”
At that instant Captain Valentine hastily re-entered the room. With a brief apology to me he turned to Lady Ursula and spoke:
“Here is your ring,” he said, taking up the morocco case, touching a spring and opening it. “I have had the central ruby properly fastened in; there is no fear of your losing it now.”
He was leaving the room again when an impulse, which I could not overcome, made me rush forward and lay my hand on the table.
“Don’t, Rosamund, I beseech of you,” said Lady Ursula.
There was entreaty, almost anguish in her bright blue eyes. I paused, the words arrested on my lips.
Captain Valentine stared from one to another of us with a puzzled, amazed glance. Lady Ursula slipped her hand through his arm. She led him towards the door. They passed out together; the door was a little ajar, and I heard him murmur something. Her gentle caressing reply reached my ears:
“My love, there is not the smallest fear, she is only a very excitable, eccentric young person, but I shall soon get rid of her.”
Those words decided me. Lady Ursula was coming back. I had not a second to lose. I was determined that she should see how the excitable, eccentric young person could act. I opened the morocco case, took the ring out, and slipped it on my finger.
The moment she returned to her table I held up my hand, and let her see the glittering treasure. She gave a cry of sharp pain.
“Oh, Rosamund, you are not really going to be so cruel!”
“I am very sorry,” I answered, “but I must have my ring. This is not a case of cruelty. It is simply a case of my requiring my own property back. Under great pressure I lent it to you for a week. Now I must have it back. Good-bye.”
“But, Rosamund, Rosamund!” She caught hold of my dress. “I gave you thirty pounds for the ring last week. You found the money useful; you know you did.”
“Yes,” I said. I blushed as the memory of all that that money meant rushed over me. With some of that thirty pounds I had saved Jack and our family honour. The money had been undoubtedly useful, but I held the glittering ring on my finger, and I loved it better than gold.
“I will give you forty pounds this week,” said Lady Ursula.
“No, no, I cannot accept it,” I replied. I walked towards the door.
“Fifty pounds,” she said, following me. “Oh, Rosamund, Rosamund, you are not going to be so cruel!”
“I must have my ring,” I said. “You have many treasures, and this is my one ewe-lamb. Why should you seek to deprive me of it?”
“Rosamund, please sit down.” She took my hand.
“Come and sit by me on the sofa, dear Rosamund. You know why I want this ruby ring; Captain Valentine knows nothing of the terrible loss I have sustained. If he hears of it – if he knows that his ring is gone, he will break off his engagement.”
“Then I have only one thing to say, Lady Ursula,” I replied; “if that is the nature of the man you are about to marry, you had better find it out before marriage than afterwards. Do you think I would marry a man who loved a trinket more than me? No! I am a poor girl, but I should be too proud for that. Lady Ursula, take your courage in your hands, and tell Captain Valentine the truth. He is not what you think; even I know better than that.”
“You don’t. You don’t know him a bit.”
“I know what a brave and good man ought to be; surely you could marry no one else.”
Lady Ursula got up and stamped her foot.
“Child,” she said, “you sit there and dare to argue with me. You are the cruellest creature I ever came across, the cruellest, the hardest. I hate you! I wish I had never met you.”
Her voice rose high in its petulance and passion. Once more the door was opened, and Captain Rupert Valentine came in.
“What is the matter?” he asked in some alarm. His indignant eyes flashed angry fire at me; I am sure he considered me a young person deprived of the use of her intellect, who was seeking to terrify Lady Ursula, perhaps even to lay violent hands on her.
His glance stung me to the quick. “There is nothing the matter,” I said, taking the words out of Lady Ursula’s mouth. “Lady Ursula Redmayne and I are unfortunate enough to differ on a certain point, but there is really nothing the matter. May I wish you good-morning now, Lady Ursula?”
I bowed to the young lady, bestowed upon the gentleman the faintest possible shade of acknowledgment, and covering the precious ruby ring with a terribly worn silk glove, walked towards the door.
Lady Ursula flung herself back on the sofa, and covered her face with her hands. Captain Valentine seemed to struggle for a moment with his desire to comfort her, and his sense of what his duties as a gentleman required. Finally the latter feeling triumphed, and he reached the door in time to open it, and so assisted my exit.
A moment later I was in the street. I was absolutely outside that detestable mansion, with the beloved little ring pressed in my warm hand.
I felt an almost childish sense of triumph and exultation; the possession of a large sum of money could not have gratified me to anything like the same extent as did this recovery of my rightful legacy. I felt enormously rich; I felt giddy with delight; it seemed to me impossible to walk, I must ride; the owner of such a ruby ring could not pace with draggled skirts those muddy streets. I hailed a hansom and desired the man to drive me to Mr Gray’s chambers. I did not exactly know what I wanted to say to the old lawyer, but I was possessed by a sudden intense desire to see him, and I knew when I got into his presence I should have something special to talk about.
Mr Gray had rooms in Bloomsbury, not a great way off from Cousin Geoffrey’s old house. He was in, and almost immediately on my arrival I was ushered into his presence.
“Miss Lindley!” he said. He came up and shook hands with me warmly. “Pray sit down,” he added. “Sit here, near the fire. What a cold, miserable day we are having. You are all quite well at home, I hope; how is your mother?”
“My mother is well, thank you, Mr Gray. My brother Jack has been ill, but he is better now.”
“I am glad of that,” replied Mr Gray. “And now, can I do anything for you, Miss Rosamund? You know I shall be delighted.”
When Mr Gray said this I suddenly knew what I had come to see him for.
“I want to go over Cousin Geoffrey’s house,” I said. “Have you the key, and if so, will you entrust it to me? I will promise not to injure anything.”
The moment I made this request Mr Gray’s face brightened, and an almost eager look came into his eyes.
“Have you any – any particular reason for wishing to see the house?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” I replied. “No very special reason. Just a desire, to see the old place once again.”
The lawyer had deep-set and piercing eyes. They darted a quick glance at me. He sighed impatiently.
“My late client was very eccentric,” said Mr Gray. “Eccentric in life, more eccentric, perhaps, with regard to his last will and testament. Miss Lindley – you have no – no clue for instance – with regard to the heirs?”
“Oh no,” I answered. “How could I possibly have?”
“It is my opinion,” said Mr Gray, with another short, almost angry sigh, “that the heirs in question will never be found. I told my client so. I said as much repeatedly. All that fine fortune will go to endow the hospitals. Well, well, he would not listen to me.”
“May I have the key?” I inquired in a gentle voice.
“Oh, of course, of course! But stay, you won’t want it. You don’t suppose a valuable house like that is left without caretakers. Two policemen take care of it, and one of them is always on the premises. I will give you my card, and whichever of them is in will show you over the place.”
“Oh, please, may I not go over it by myself.”
“Well, child, well! I don’t suppose it makes much matter what you do. I’ll have to write a special letter to Dawson or Drake, whichever of them happens to be in. I’ll write the letter, and you shall take it, and then you can moon about the old place as much as you please. By the way, my dear Miss Rosamund, I hope you have got my client’s valuable ring safe?” For answer I pulled off my shabby silk glove, and flashed the gem in the old lawyer’s face.
“Good gracious, you don’t mean to say you wear that valuable ring every day?”
“Not every day – by any means.”
“But it is very unsafe to wear a ring like that on your finger when you are out alone. My dear child, you have not the faintest idea what that centre ruby is worth.”
“I have some little idea,” I said.
“You had much better leave it at home. Look at it constantly of course, but leave it in a safe place at home.”
“Oh no, I like to wear it on my finger.”
“Well, well!” The lawyer sighed, then sat down and wrote his letter.
Chapter Nine
A Telegram
I took the letter in my hand, and walked to Cousin Geoffrey’s house. Drake was the name of the policeman who replied to my summons. He read the contents of Mr Gray’s letter with almost lightning speed, then moved aside to let me pass in.
“You would rather I did not show you round, Miss Lindley?” said Drake.
“Yes,” I answered, “I know the old house, I have been here before; I should just like to walk quietly over it by myself.”
“Very well, miss; but you’ll allow the wife to prepare you a cup of tea? We can get it quite handy, in the housekeeper’s room next the kitchen, if so be as you object to taking it in the kitchen itself, miss.”