A Ring of Rubies
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“My dear,” said my mother, “that’s the right way; that’s as it should be. Though every one, I fear,” she added with a sigh, “cannot live up to it.”
“Hetty will,” I said quickly, for I did not want my mother to have time to make unhappy comparisons even in her heart.
“She has got an excellent husband,” proceeded my mother. “Rose, I did not know there was half as much in Jack as I find there is. He surprised me wonderfully during his illness; he really is a very fine fellow.”
I was silent.
“It was a great comfort to be alone with him,” proceeded my mother; “I got really to know my boy at last. Yes, his wife is a lucky woman. I trust she will prove worthy of him.” This time I was spared making any further remarks, for my father’s latch-key was heard in the front-door. The next moment he and George entered the little drawing-room together. “Bitterly cold night,” said my father, walking up to the fire, and monopolising the whole of it. “A sharp frost has set in already. Ha! is that you, Rosamund? Home again? How do you do? My dear,” turning to his wife, “did you register the thermometer as I told you to do this afternoon?”
“Yes, George. There were five degrees of frost then.”
“Ha! there’ll be fifteen by nine o’clock to-night. Why do you women keep such miserable fires? This thimbleful is enough to freeze any one.”
My father turned, and seizing the coal-scuttle, dashed a quantity of loose coal into the grate. It raised a dust, and almost extinguished the fire, but we none of us expostulated, for my father was unquestionably master in his own house.
George meanwhile flung himself into a deep easy-chair, crossed one muddy boot over the other, and seizing my mother’s favourite tabby cat, began to stroke it the wrong way, and otherwise to worry it. He laughed once or twice, when pussy resisted his endearments. He suddenly flung her on the ground almost roughly.
“Do turn that ugly thing out of the room, Rosamund,” he said.
I did not stir. I thought the time had come when I would cease to allow George to bully me.
“By the way,” said my father suddenly, in his harsh voice, “what’s this I hear, that Chillingfleet has given Jack the sack? You gave me the information, didn’t you, George?”
“Yes, sir, and it’s correct,” replied George. “I suppose Jack was playing the fool in some way, and Chillingfleet took advantage of his illness to get rid of him.”
“Monstrous, I call it,” interrupted my father; “an unprecedented sort of thing to do. I shall call on Chillingfleet to-morrow morning, and sift this matter to the very bottom.”
My mother looked up in alarm when my father spoke in this tone.
“I understand,” she said in her gentle voice, “that Jack has had a particularly kind letter from Mr Chillingfleet. He did not show it to me, but he told me of it.”
“Then you knew of this?” said my father, angrily.
“Yes, George, Jack told me that he was going about a fortnight ago.”
“H’m – ha! The young cub doesn’t choose to confide in me. Did he give you any reason for his dismissal?”
“No, I did not think any necessary. Jack has been ill for weeks, and unable to attend to his work. Mr Chillingfleet had naturally to get some one to take his place.”
“Naturally, indeed! That’s all you women know!”
My father began to pace the floor in his indignation.
“Much chance a poor young clerk would have, if just because he was unlucky enough to take fever, he was dismissed from his post. But, of course, people who know nothing jump to conclusions. Now if I had been consulted at the time, as I ought to have been, I might have talked Chillingfleet round, and shown him the enormity of his own proceeding.”
“I don’t think your talking would have had the least effect,” suddenly interrupted George. “If there is a hard old flint in this world, its Chillingfleet. Every one knows his character.” My father frowned at George’s presuming to doubt his powers of eloquence. After a pause, he said, emphatically:
“Your mother has acted in a very foolish way, keeping this affair to herself; but even now it is not too late, and notwithstanding your opinion, George, for which I am much obliged, I shall tackle Chillingfleet in the morning.”
With these last words my father left the room, banging the door noisily after him. My mother looked disturbed, George cross. How little they knew what revelations might reach them, what agony and distress might be theirs through my father’s untimely interference! I felt that I must prevent his having an interview with Mr Chillingfleet at any cost.
It was easier, however, to make this resolve than to act upon it.
“Rose, you don’t look at all well,” said my father, as we sat over our evening meal. “You have knocked yourself up nursing that common place young woman. I might have told you that would be the case. If you go on in this erratic fashion you will be old before your time.”
Even this rather gruff notice from my father was so unusual that I quite blushed with pleasure.
“I will not let him be humiliated,” I said to myself. “After all he is my father. Hard he is – sometimes cruel – but always, always the very soul of honour. I must – I will save him from what would bring his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave.”
My eyes travelled slowly from my father’s face to George’s.
George was also hard. George could also be cruel, but he at least was young. George might share my burden. If George knew, it would be his interest to keep the thing quiet, and I felt sure that where I was powerless to keep my father from turning even a hair’s-breadth from his own way, George might have many means of influencing him.
After dinner I came up to where George was idly reading the newspaper.
“Can I speak to you before you go to bed?” I said, in a low voice.
“What about?” he asked, crossly.
“I can’t tell you in this room. Will you come to my bedroom before you go to sleep?”
“Very well,” he answered, still very gruffly.
“Now what is it?” he asked, when he came to my room between ten and eleven that night. “What girl’s confidence am I to be worried, with?”
“No girl’s confidence, as you are pleased to call it, George. Now listen. Our father must not see Mr Chillingfleet in the morning. He must not – he shall not. You, George, must prevent it.”
“I must prevent it! Is that what you have kept me out of my bed to say? Upon my word, Rose, you are unreasonable. Pray tell me how I am to keep my father from doing what he wishes.”
“Oh! George, you are very clever, and you can find a way when I – I can’t, although I’d give all the world to. George, George! he must not see Mr Chillingfleet, and this is the reason.”
Then I told my story. I told it quite calmly and without any outward show of shame. I found as I talked that I had grown accustomed to this tragedy, that the first edge of its agony was blunted to me.
I was not prepared, however, for the effect it had on my brother. As my story proceeded I saw all the colour leave George’s large, healthily-tinted face; drops of perspiration stood on his forehead. He took out his handkerchief and wiped the moisture from his lips and brow.
When I ceased speaking he sank down on the nearest chair. I had expected a perfect storm of angry and bitter words. George did not utter one.
“Well?” I could not help saying at last.
“Well,” he answered, “there’s an end of everything, that’s all. I meant to ask an honest girl with a nice little bit of money to be my wife. I thought I’d ask her next Sunday. I love her, too, ’tisn’t on account of the money; that’s at an end. She shan’t ever say she married the brother of a thief!”
“Oh! George, don’t be too hard on him. He was sorely tempted, and he is so young.”
“Am I hard on him, Rose? Am I saying anything?”
“George, dear brother, I wish I could help you.”
“You can’t; I’m off to bed now.”
“George, you will keep this from my father?”
“Rather!”
“You will manage that he shall not see Mr Chillingfleet?”
“I will manage that he never hears the story you have told me to-night. Good-night, Rose.”
“Kiss me, George. Oh! George, I’m bitterly sorry for you.”
I ran after him and flung my arms round his neck, and gave him what we used in the old childish days to call a bear’s hug.
When I pressed my lips to his cheek I saw tears in his eyes.
Chapter Twelve
My Brother’s Sin
When George left my room I sat down near my dressing-table, and to comfort myself after all the worries of the day, took out my ruby ring to feast my eyes on its beauty. I had a vision of George’s face with the queer pallor on it. I heard again his voice as he spoke of the girl who had a little money, and whom he loved – the girl, however, who would never now be asked to be his wife. My brother George was a hard man, but he was righteous, he was honourable. I respected him for his words; and at that moment I pitied the girl who would lose him because of Jack’s sin.
“Oh, Jack, Jack, what have you done to us all?” I cried aloud.
How pitiable is weakness; how mean is cowardice; and of all things, how dreadful is that moral cowardice which leads men into crooked ways. Oh, Jack, if only you had told us about Hetty, and not stooped to theft for her sake.
I wiped some slow tears from my eyes. I was determined that my regrets should not overmaster me. I looked down at the ruby ring on my finger; it had the usual effect upon me; banishing my anxieties, lifting my mind from the sordidness of my surroundings, and taking me with it into a land of dreams, loveliness, and hope.
I said to myself, “Now I will touch the secret spring. Now, little ring, you shall open your heart and show me the very depths of your secret life. First, however, I shall make an illumination in your honour.” I opened my trunk; took out my bits of candles and lighted them; turned the key in the lock of my door, and sat down again by the dressing-table. It did not take me long to discover the slight nick by the serpent’s eye. I pressed my finger lightly on the spring, and to my joy the central splendid ruby revolved aside on its hidden hinge, and the serpents with their brilliant flashing eyes moved apart like doors. The inner mechanism of the ring was bare; the tiny, hidden chamber was open.
“What a secret I could put in here!” I said to myself. “Some hairs from a beloved head might be buried here along with thousands of brilliant hopes. Love itself could lie hidden here to leap into life and fulness when the right moment came.” I wondered if love, with his thousand hopes and fears, could ever in such a sense come to me. Scarcely likely. I was one of the women who, in all probability, would never marry. I should have a strong life and plenty to do. I should have a courageous life and many battles to fight; but it was scarcely likely that my portion in the book of fate could also include the passionate lover, the tender and devoted husband, and the clinging, soft love which would come from baby lips, and enter into my heart through sweet child voices.
I expected none of these things, and yet the trembling desire to grasp them all, to claim them all, to cry to fortune, “Give, give, give fully, give abundantly; don’t starve me, but feed me until my whole nature is satisfied,” swept over me as I looked into the heart of the ruby ring.
As I did so I noticed for the first time that the little recess, which appeared at the first glance to be quite empty, contained a tiny piece of paper, which might have been placed there as a bed on which to lay a treasure. The paper was white, of the finest texture, exquisitely cut to fit the exact shape of the chamber. There was nothing whatever written on the paper. I touched it with the point of my small finger, it did not move; I pressed it, it did not stir.
I was about to close the ring, but something induced me to look again more narrowly at the paper. Why was it put there? Why did it take up space so minute, so valuable?
I put my hand into my pocket, and taking out a penknife, opened the smallest blade and inserted the point delicately under the paper. After a very slight resistance, I detached it from the base of the little secret chamber. I took it out of the ring, and laid it on the palm of my hand. There was no writing on the upper surface of the paper. I looked underneath and saw, to my amazement, that something was faintly ciphered there. The writing was perfect, but so minute that I could not possibly read it with my naked eye. My mother possessed amongst her treasures an old microscope.
I guessed shrewdly, although she never told me so, that this microscope had been given to her by Cousin Geoffrey. My mother kept her microscope on her own little work-table in the drawing-room.
The house was quiet now; all its inhabitants, with the exception of myself, asleep and in bed. I knew there was little chance of sleep for me that night.
Placing the treasured morsel of paper under a glass on my dressing-table, I slipped off my shoes, softly unlocked my door, and ran down-stairs. I felt provoked with the small and poor cottage stairs for creaking so desperately. I reached the drawing-room, however, without disturbing any one, found the microscope, and brought it back in triumph to my room.
Again I locked my door, and opening the microscope, took out the strongest lens it possessed. I arranged the lens as I had seen my mother do; steadied the candles until I managed to secure a powerful ray of direct light; placed the morsel of paper under the magnifier, and applied my eye to the glass.
The minute writing was now magnified some hundreds of times. So largely was it increased that I could not see the whole of the writing at once. In large type I read, however, the following words:
“Look in the – ”
I felt myself trembling all over. Where was I to look? Why was I to look? Was the ruby ring going to tell me a secret? Was it going to confide to me – to me, the mystery of Cousin Geoffrey’s unknown heir?
With great difficulty, and with fingers that trembled, I moved the morsel of paper until I got the microscope to bear on the remaining words of the sentence. They came out clear at last. Clear and large they flashed upon my vision.
The conclusion of the sentence was as follows:
“Chamber of Myths.”
The ruby ring had given up its secret; it had brought me a message.
“Look in the Chamber of Myths.”
“Yes,” I said, “I will look there to-morrow.”
Chapter Thirteen
Geoffrey Rutherford’s Keys
It is scarcely to be wondered at when I say that I did not close my eyes that night. I arose early the following morning, determined to lose no time in seeking Mr Gray, and receiving a renewed order to visit Cousin Geoffrey’s house. I rose long before dawn, dressed myself neatly, and went down-stairs. I felt far too excited to remain in bed any longer. It was still dark when I entered our tiny drawing-room, but I busied myself in helping our one servant to clean and tidy the little sitting-room. She polished the grate and laid the fire, and I put a match to it and caused it to blaze up merrily.
“Oh, Miss Rosamund, you are wasteful,” exclaimed Sally. “And there ain’t any too much coal left in the cellar,” she continued. “My missus, she never has the fire lit in the droring-room afore dinner-time, and you knows that well, Miss Rosamund.”
“Never mind, Sally, I must have a fire this morning,” I replied.
I felt reckless and extravagant. What if we never needed to economise more! What if – ? My brain seemed to reel; I almost shook myself in my anger. “How silly you are, Rosamund Lindley!” I said under my breath. “What if you have got the secret which will lead to the discovery of Cousin Geoffrey’s will? is it likely that that will can affect you? Oh, what a conceited, foolish girl you are!”
Nevertheless, I toasted myself before a warm fire, and dreamed my dreams until breakfast time.
At that meal I called forth angry words both from my father and George. I calmly announced my intention of going up to town with them. When I said this, George’s face grew red with indignation. His eyes looked full at me. They said as plainly as eyes could speak: “Now what whim have you taken into your head? Are you going to interfere still further in this wretched, disgraceful affair of Jack’s?”
My own eyes danced as they replied to him with a gay and confident smile. He almost turned his back on me, and upset half a cup of coffee in disgust.
I jumped up to fetch a cloth to wipe up the mess he had made. My father said:
“Rosamund, it is out of my power to gratify all your restless whims; you are scarcely at home when you are off again. You will turn into one of those gadding women, those busy-bodies who are a disgrace to their sex. Mary,” turning to my mother, “I wonder you allow it.”
“Could not you stay at home to-day, Rose, dear?” she asked, gently, looking at me with a sweet piteous sort of smile.
“I’ll stay at home to-morrow, mother darling,” I answered. “I am ever so sorry to leave you to-day, but it is absolutely necessary for me to go to town.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” said my father. “I shan’t pay for your ticket, miss.”
“I’ve enough money to do that for myself,” I replied.
The sorrow in my mother’s eyes deepened. She could never bear any of us to oppose our father. I followed her into the little drawing-room.
“A fire already!” she exclaimed. “What can Sally have been thinking of?”
“It was my fault, mother. I lit the fire.”
“Rosamund, dear, how very wasteful! And we have scarcely any coal in the cellar, and your father says he will not be able to order a fresh supply before Monday.”
“Mother darling, sit down in your easy-chair and warm yourself by the fire; you look so white and shivery. Mammie dear,” I continued, kneeling down and rubbing my cheek affectionately against hers, “I feel full of hope to-day – I cannot economise to-day – don’t ask me.”
My mother smoothed back my hair, kissed me on my forehead, and gave herself up to the enjoyment of the fire.
“Do you know why I am going to town?” I whispered.
“I wish you would not go at all, Rose. Your father is vexed.”
“I fear I must vex him to-day, mother. I am going to Cousin Geoffrey’s house.”
Two pink roses stole into my mother’s pretty cheeks. She looked at me inquiringly.
“Last night,” I continued, “the ruby ring brought me a message.”
“Rosamund, my darling, what do you mean?”
“What I say. I will explain everything when I return from town. I am going now on the business which the ring told me of.” I sprang to my feet as I spoke, kissed my mother again, and ran out of the room to get ready.
I had a silent journey up to Paddington; neither my father nor George would say a word to me.
When I arrived at the terminus I coolly desired George to hail a hansom for me.
“I think you must be mad,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“Will you get me a hansom?” I repeated, in a quiet voice. He stared at me again; but the steady look in my eyes quelled him. He held up his umbrella to a hansom driver, and walked unwillingly across the platform with me. My father had long ago left us to our own devices.
“Shall I give you a lift, George?” I said. “I am going towards the City.”
“No, thank you,” he replied. “I at least am too honest to ride in a vehicle I cannot afford.”
“George,” I said, looking earnestly at him, “believe me, I am doing nothing rashly. I am upheld by a hope to-day – a hope which may turn out a mere chimera, but which is yet sufficiently real to induce me to take steps to see Mr Gray with as little delay as possible.”
“Who is Mr Gray?”
“Cousin Geoffrey Rutherford’s lawyer.”
“That crazed old man who died in the autumn?”
“Good-bye, George,” I said, springing into the hansom and waving my hand to him. I shouted Mr Gray’s address to the driver through the little window in the roof. George was so angry that he did not even vouchsafe to take off his hat to me as I drove away.
I arrived at Mr Gray’s in good time. He was within, and I was shown almost directly into his presence.
“How do you do, Miss Lindley?” he said; “please be seated.”
His manner was calm and pleasant, but his eyes said plainly, “Now, what’s up? Have you got any news for me?”
I answered Mr Gray’s eyes, not his voice. I did not sit down, but stood close to him, as if I was in haste to be gone.
“I want an order to view Cousin Geoffrey’s house,” I said.
“What, again?” he asked.
“Yes, and I am in a great hurry.”
Mr Gray’s eyes grew absolutely eager and hurried in their speech, but his voice was as cool as ever.
“You had better take a chair,” he said.
Still replying to his eyes, I continued to stand.
“I want an order to view the house,” I said. “I want you to give me a letter to the caretakers asking them to allow me to go where I please alone; and I want you to give me all Cousin Geoffrey’s keys.”
“All Mr Rutherford’s keys! What do you mean?”
“I cannot tell you. Will you trust me? May I have them?”
“You are making a bold and extraordinary request.”
“I know it.”
“And you won’t explain?”
“I can’t explain. Oh! Mr Gray, please let me have the keys.”
The lawyer looked me all over from head to foot; his searching eyes travelled over my person.
“At least, Rosamund Lindley, you are honest,” he said. “If you open drawers, you won’t steal.”
“No,” I said, proudly.
“If you peer into secret places, you won’t disturb? I see order written across your forehead, Rosamund, and determination sits comfortably on those firm lips of yours, and courage and honesty dwell in your eyes. There! I’m an old fool, I suppose; but chit of a girl as you are, I am going to trust you. If you want those keys, you may have them.”
“Thank you, Mr Gray; they shall be all safely returned to you to-night.”
“I should rather think so, indeed. I only meant you to have them for an hour or two.”
“I shall probably want them for the whole of to-day; and if I do not come across what I am looking for, I shall be obliged to ask you to let me have the keys again to-morrow, again the next day, again every day until my search is ended.”
“Pooh, pooh!” he said. “You are intent on a search for the hidden will, I suppose. May you find it! you have my best wishes.”
“Thank you.”
“By the way, Miss Lindley, you have got that ruby ring of yours safe, I hope?”
“Quite safe; it is on my finger.”
“How often have I warned you not to wear a valuable ring of that kind in so careless a manner! Good heavens! it may slip off when you are washing your hands.”
“I will take care of that,” I answered.
The lawyer sighed, favoured me with another keen glance, and then rose deliberately from his chair.
“I had better get you the keys,” he said. “Shall I come with you to the house?”
“No, thank you.”
“But the keys are heavy. I must send a messenger with you to carry them.”
“I will take them myself, please.”
“I warn you that they are heavy.”
“And I am strong.”
Mr Gray smiled.
“Wilful girl,” he said. He ceased to combat any more of my objections, and, walking across his office, opened an iron safe which was let into the wall. He pushed his hand far into the safe and took out a leather bag. There was a label on the bag which I could read.
“Geoffrey Rutherford’s keys” was written in clear type on the white label.
Mr Gray untied the label, placed it in the safe, and brought me over the bag.
“Here they are,” he said, “the precious keys! here they are, one and all – some bright, some rusty; some large, some small. You will have to take pains with these keys, Miss Rosamund. They were made specially for their owner by a skilled locksmith; they are full of curious tricks; some must turn twice before they open, some must lock and unlock and lock again and yet again; some remain immovable until they find the secret spring. Don’t break any of them, for it would be difficult to replace them. Now take the bag; its contents are heavy and more precious than gold.”
Mr Gray placed the leather bag in my hand. Its weight surprised me. I would not show dismay, however, but girding up my courage and all the muscles of my strong right arm, went out into the street.
I had to walk the whole length of this long street before I came across an empty hansom. Both arms ached by this time. From right hand to left I changed that bag; from left hand back again to right. I never carried anything so heavy before. I wished more than once that I had accepted Mr Gray’s offer of sending a trusty messenger with me.