A Ring of Rubies

“I don’t want to sell my ring,” I said. “But it is possible that I may lend it to you another evening. Even that I am not sure about. Give it back to me now, please.”

I held out my hand. Madame Leroy drew back.

“I am very sorry,” she said, reddening; “the fact is, I have not got the ring.”

“Not got my ring?”

“No. Lady Ursula Redmayne borrowed the ring last night. She sent me a messenger this morning with a letter, and no ring. Shall I read you her letter?”

“I do not care to hear it,” I said. “It is no matter to me what Lady Ursula Redmayne writes to you. I want my ring.”

“Well, miss,” – Madame Leroy’s tone was now decidedly angry, – “seeing how very anxious you were last night for the immediate loan of five pounds, you have a mighty independent way with you. Lady Ursula Redmayne, indeed! I can tell you it isn’t every one as has the privilege of getting letters from Lady Ursula.”

While Madame Leroy was speaking I had a great many flashes of thought. Her first words recalled me to myself. A girl who had come in desperation to hire out a family trinket for what she could get for it, was surely inconsistent when she disdained even the suggestion of a future patron. Lady Ursula, whoever she was, would buy the ring. Of course she must not have it, I must be a great deal harder pressed before I could consent to part with my Talisman, my “Open Sesame” into the Land of Romance. But I knew that I did want money. I wanted twenty pounds before Monday, if I would help Jack – I wanted further money if I would continue to assist his wife.

All these thoughts, as I say, flashed through me, and by the time Madame Leroy had finished speaking, I had quite altered my tone.

“I am sorry to appear rude,” I said. “I know you were very kind to help me last night. Will you please tell me what Lady Ursula says about my ring?”

“Candidly, my dear, she wants to buy it from you. Here is her letter. She says: —

”‘Dear Madame Leroy, – You must get me that lovely ruby ring at any price. I refuse to part from it. Name a price, and I will send you a cheque.’

“There’s a chance for you,” said Madame Leroy, flinging down her letter. “You can’t say I have not been a good friend to you after that letter. Name any price in reason for that old ring, and you shall have it – my commission being twenty per cent.”

“But I don’t wish to sell the ring, Madame Leroy.”

“I am sorry, Miss Lindley, I am afraid you have no help for yourself. Lady Ursula Redmayne intends to buy it.”

This was not at all the right kind of thing to say to me. I was very proud, and all my pride flashed into my face.

“You think because I am poor, and Lady Ursula is rich, that she is to have my property?” I said. “You must send a messenger for the ring at once. I will wait here until he returns.”

Poor Madame Leroy looked absolutely stupefied.

“I never met such a queer young lady,” she said. “How can I send a message of that sort? Why, it will offend my best, my very best customer. If you have no pity on yourself, Miss Lindley, you ought to have some on me.”

“What can I do for you, Madame Leroy? I cannot sell the ring.”

“Well, you might go yourself to Lady Ursula. She is eccentric. She might take a fancy to you. You might go to her, and explain your motives, which are more than I can understand. And above all things you might exonerate me; you might explain to her that I did my best to get the ring for her.”

“I could certainly do that.”

“Will you?”

“I will go to Lady Ursula, if it does not take up too much of my time.”

“She lives in Grosvenor Street, not five minutes’ drive from here. You shall go in a hansom at my expense at once.”

Chapter Six

The Aristocrat

The house in Grosvenor Street was the most splendid mansion I had ever seen. It was Cousin Geoffrey’s house over again, only there were no cobwebs, no neglect, no dirt anywhere. The household machinery was perfect, and well oiled. I suppose I ought to have felt timid when those ponderous doors were thrown open, and a powdered footman stared at me in the insolent manner which seems specially to belong to these servitors of the great. I had no feeling of abasement, however. The lady, be she young or old, who resided in this palace, wanted a boon from me; I required nothing at her hands except my own property back again.

I said to the footman:

“Is Lady Ursula Redmayne at home?”

He replied in the affirmative.

“I wish to see her,” I continued. “Will you have the goodness to let Lady Ursula know at once that I have called at the request of Madame Leroy to speak to her on the subject of a ring.”

A sudden flash of intelligence and interest swept over the man’s impassive features. Then he resumed his wooden style, and flinging the door yet wider open invited me to enter.

I was shown into a small room to the left of the great entrance hall, and had to consume my own impatience for the next ten minutes as best I might. At the end of that time the servant returned.

“Come this way, madam,” he said.

He ushered me up a flight of stairs, down another flight of stairs, along a dimly-lighted gallery hung with many Rembrandts and Gainsboroughs, and suddenly opening a door ushered me into a kind of rose-coloured bower. There was a subtle warmth and perfume about the room, and the coloured light gave me for a moment a giddy and unnerved feeling.

“Miss Lindley, your Ladyship,” announced the man. The door was softly closed, indeed it seemed to vanish into a wall of tapestry.

The rose-coloured light had for an instant confused my sight, and I did not see the girl, no older than myself, who was lying back in an easy-chair, and pulling the silken ears of a toy-terrier.

When the man left the room she sprang up, flung the dog on the ground, who gave a squeaking bark of indignation, and came to meet me as if I were a dear old friend.

“Sit down, Miss Lindley. How good of dear old Madame to send you to me! And so you are the owner of that heavenly ring?”

Lady Ursula was very pretty. Her voice was like a flute; her dress was perfection; her manner almost caressing. But even there, in that rose-coloured bower, I recognised her imperiousness, and I felt that if she were crossed her sweet tones would vanish, and I should be permitted to gaze at a new side of her character.

“You have come about the ring,” she said. “Now, what do you want for it? It is a treasure, but you won’t be too extravagant in your demands, will you?”

“I won’t be extravagant at all, Lady Ursula,” I cried. “I have no demand to make, except to ask you to let me have my property back.”

“The ring back? The ruby ring? Oh, my dear good creature you don’t understand. I wrote to Madame Leroy offering to buy it. I will give you a cheque for it, Miss Lindley – or gold, if you prefer it. You shall have a price for the ring. Your own price, if it is not beyond reason. Now do you understand?”

“I understand perfectly,” I replied – I am afraid my tone was nettled – I certainly felt very angry. “I understand,” I said. “You want me to sell the ring – I don’t intend to sell it. It was a legacy left to me by a cousin, and I – I won’t part with it.”

I said these words so decidedly that the fine young lady, who all her life had lived luxuriously, and, perhaps, now for the first time in her existence had her whim refused, stared at me in amazement. Her brows became contracted. Her pleasant, kindly, but insufferably condescending manner changed to one more natural although less amiable. Lady Ursula ceased to be the aristocrat, and became the woman.

“You won’t sell your ring?” she said. “But you did much the same last night. Last night you took money for the ring left to you by your – your cousin. I wore the ruby ring, and I paid you money for the loan.”

“I know you did,” I answered. “I wanted money last night. I was in despair for money. I heard through one of her apprentices that Madame Leroy now and then hired out jewels to some of her rich customers. You wore the ring and paid me for it. Now I want it back. I am in a hurry, so please let me have it at once.” I stood up as I spoke. Lady Ursula did not stir.

“Sit down,” she said. “No, not on that stiff little ottoman, but on the sofa, close to me. Now we can talk cosily. This seems an exciting story, Miss Lindley, and you have an exciting way of putting things. Fancy you, wanting money so badly as to have to hire out your ring. I always knew there were creatures in the world who would do anything to secure money, but I had not an idea that ladies were put to these straits.”

“You know very little indeed about the lives of some ladies,” I answered. “The need of money comes to some who are ladies, and it presses them sore.”

“It must be awfully interesting and exciting,” responded Lady Ursula.

“It is both. At the same time it is cruel; it stabs horribly.”

“Ah.”

Lady Ursula looked me all over from head to foot.

“Then you don’t want money to-day,” she said suddenly.

“Yes, I do.”

“As badly as you did last night?”

“I think so. Yes, I believe I want it quite as badly.”

“Then you will sell your ring; if the want of money stabs and is cruel, you will take what opportunity offers. For the sake of a sentiment you won’t refuse to enrich yourself, and remove the pain which you speak of as so bitter.”

“I won’t sell my ring,” I said. “I am sorry to disoblige you, Lady Ursula, but the question is not one which leaves any room for consideration. I want my ring back. Will you give it to me, please?”

I really don’t know how aristocratic girls are brought up. I suppose they have a totally different training from girls who live in cottages, and are very poor. There is compensation in all things, and no doubt if self-denial is a virtue the cottage girl has a chance of acquiring it which is denied to the maid who inhabits the palace.

If I never performed any other mission, I shall always feel that I was the first person who did for Lady Ursula Redmayne the inestimable service of saying “No” to a strong desire.

It took this beautiful young woman several moments to realise that she absolutely could not have her way; that the humble and poor cottage girl would not part with her legitimate property.

When Lady Ursula realised this, which she did after a considerable and fatiguing discussion, she sat silent for a moment or two. Then she jumped up and looked out of the window. She pulled aside the soft rose-coloured silk curtains to take this peep into the outer world. Her eager dark eyes looked down the street and up the street. For all her languor she was now fully alive and even quick in her movements. With a pettish action she let the rose curtains cover the window again, and going to the fireplace pressed the button of an electric bell.

In a moment an elderly woman dressed in black silk, with a book-muslin apron, and a white cap with long streamers of lace, appeared.

“Nurse,” said Lady Ursula, “please give orders that I am not at home to any callers this morning.”

“I will attend to the matter, my lady,” answered the nurse. “But if Captain Valentine calls?”

“I am not at home – I make no exception.”

The nurse respectfully withdrew, and the door, which opened into the tapestry, was noiselessly closed.

“Now,” said Lady Ursula, turning to me, “I am going to confide in you, Miss Lindley.”

I felt quite cross. I was dying to be home with mother and Jack, and wondering if my poor new sister Hetty was being starved by Mrs Ashton.

Lady Ursula looked at me with an expression which seemed to say —

“Now you are having an honour conferred on you.”

In reply to it, I rose to my feet, and I think some of the crossness in my heart got into my face.

“Thank you,” I said, “but I have only a moment to give you. My brother is dangerously ill at home, and I must go back as soon as possible.”

Lady Ursula slightly raised her delicate brows.

I think she scarcely heard what I said about my brother.

“Do sit down,” she said, “I won’t keep you a moment. What a queer girl you are! but very refreshing to meet. Now do sit down. You can’t go, you know, until you get your ring. Miss Lindley, I must confide my story to you. I am engaged.”

I bowed my head very slightly.

“To Captain Rupert Valentine. He is in the Guards. Would you like to see his photograph?”

I murmured something. Lady Ursula stretched out her hand to a table which stood near, took up a morocco case, which she opened, and showed me the dark, slightly supercilious face of a handsome man of about thirty.

“Don’t you admire his expression?” she said. “Isn’t it firm? Doesn’t he look like the sort of hero a girl would be proud to obey?”

“That depends on the girl,” I answered.

“Good gracious, there isn’t a girl in the kingdom who would not be proud to be engaged to Rupert Valentine.”

“I hope you will be very happy, Lady Ursula.”

“There is not the least doubt on that point. We are to be married immediately after Christmas. Now comes the real point of my confidence. Rupert gave me an engagement ring exactly like yours, so like, that only the closest observer could detect a difference. The ring belonged to his mother, and he valued it above all other earthly things.”

“Yes,” I said; I was really interested at last.

“Yesterday I lost the ring. I don’t know how. I was out driving, and I may have pulled it off with my glove when I was shopping. I went to Madame Leroy’s among other places. When I came back my ruby ring was gone. I cannot conceive how it vanished. I went very nearly mad on the spot, I really did. I dared not face Rupert, and tell him his engagement ring was lost. All search was made for its recovery, but in vain. Nurse took the carriage round, and went from shop to shop to try and get some trace of it. In the end she visited Madame Leroy. I was to meet Rupert at a friend’s house last night. While nurse was at Madame Leroy’s your ring was brought in. Imagine her astonishment and rapture! Here was a mode of deliverance for me in case my own ring was never recovered. I wore your ruby ring last night, Miss Lindley, and Captain Valentine noticed it, and said that beautiful as he had always known his mother’s rubies to be, he had never seen them flash as they did on my finger last night. How relieved I felt, and how certain that you would let me buy the ring from you. You will, now that I have confided my trouble to you, won’t you?”

“I am sorry,” I said, “but I must repeat the words I have used already so often. I cannot part with the ruby ring. It was left to me by an old cousin of mine, and when I received it I was particularly requested never to part with it. I am sorry for you, Lady Ursula, but I must ask you to give me my ring, and let me go.”

Lady Ursula put her hands behind her.

“You are a cruel, selfish girl,” she said angrily.

“No, Lady Ursula, I am not cruel. The world, which has been so gentle to you, has blown many hard rough winds on my face, but they have never made me cruel. And as to being selfish, why should I part with my one ewe-lamb?”

“Oh, dear!” said Lady Ursula.

She rose from her seat, and began to pace up and down the room. I noticed that she was a tall, largely-made girl, and could be as vigorous and energetic as any one when she chose. She clenched her dainty hands now and spoke with passion. “I repeat that you are cruel and selfish,” she said. “I know that you can plead your cause well; for I suppose you are clever, and have doubtless been educated at one of those detestable High Schools. But let me tell you that however you argue the point you are actuated by cruel motives. What can that ring matter to you? and if I don’t get it, most likely my engagement will be broken off. Thus, you see, you will have ruined my life.”

“Lady Ursula,” I said, “it is you now who are cruel. I have my own reasons for wishing to retain my own trinket, and surely the only right and honourable thing for you to do is to tell Captain Valentine of your loss. If he is the least worthy of your affection, he will, of course, overlook what was only an unfortunate accident.”

“No, he never will – he never, never will. You don’t know what he thought of that ring. I’d rather never see him again than tell him that his mother’s ruby ring was lost.”

“Well, I am truly sorry for you. But I don’t see my way to helping you.”

“Listen. Hire me the ring for a week – only for a week, and I will give you thirty pounds.”

I must admit that this proposal staggered me. I thought of Jack, and the stolen twenty pounds. I thought of Monday morning, when the discovery of the theft would be made known. I thought of the agony, the dishonour; I saw my mother’s face as it would look when the news was brought to her that her son was a thief. Yes, thirty pounds could do much good just then; it would save Jack, and it would give me funds to attend to Hetty’s wants.

Lady Ursula saw the hesitation in my face.

“Give me one week’s grace,” she said. “My own ruby ring may be found before the week is up.”

She opened a little exquisitely inlaid secretary, and began to pull out of a secret drawer notes and gold. She made a pile of them on the table – four five-pound notes, ten sovereigns. The yellow of the sovereigns seemed to mix with the rose-coloured tone of the room. I gazed at them as if they fascinated me. I half held out my hand to close over them, and then drew it back again.

“You will take the money – you want it, I know you do,” said Lady Ursula.

“But even if I do you will be no better off at the end of a week. In fact, you will be worse off, for you will have been all that time deliberately deceiving the man you intend to marry.”

“Oh, don’t begin to lecture me! Let the end of the week take care of itself! Here are thirty pounds! Give me the ring for a week!”

“I shall do very wrong.”

“Do wrong then! Take your money! You are looking greedily at it! Take it, you long for it!”

“I do long for it,” I answered. “If I take it, Lady Ursula, it will avert such a storm as girls like you can never even picture. It will save – Oh, have you a mother, Lady Ursula?”

“Of course I have. I don’t see her very often. She is at Cannes now.”

“If I take the money,” I said, “it will be only for a week, remember.”

“Very well. Of course you will take it. Out with your purse. Nay, though, you shall have a new purse, and one of mine. What do you say to this, made of red Russian leather? Here go the notes, and here the gold. Pop the purse into your pocket. Now, don’t you feel nice? We have both got what we want, and we can both be happy for a week.”

“I will come back in a week,” I said. I felt so mean when that thirty pounds lay in my pocket that I could scarcely raise my eyes. For the first time the difference of rank between Lady Ursula and myself oppressed me. For the first time I was conscious of my shabby dress, my rough boots, my worn gloves. “Good-bye, Lady Ursula,” I said.

“Good-bye, good-bye! I cannot tell you how grateful I am! You are not cruel, you are not selfish. By the way, what is your name?”

“Lindley.”

“Your Christian name?”

“I am called Rosamund.”

“How pretty! Good-bye, Rosamund!”

Chapter Seven

Mr Chillingfleet

I left the house, and took the next train home. Jack was very ill indeed. His fever had taken an acute form. My mother looked miserable about him. Even the doctor was anxious.

“I am so glad you have come back, Rose,” said my mother; “you had scarlet fever when you were a little child, so there is no fear for you, and it will be a great comfort having you in the house.”

I did not make any immediate response to this speech of my mother’s. I had Hetty under my charge, and could not stay, and yet how queer my mother would think my absence just then. I wondered if I dared confide to her Jack’s secret. It was told me in great confidence, but still – While I was hesitating, my mother began to speak again.

“Jack has been delirious all the morning. In his delirium he has spoken constantly of a girl called Hetty. Do we know any one of the name, Rose?”

“I know some one of the name,” I responded.

“You! – But what friend have you that I am not acquainted with? I don’t believe there is a single girl called Hetty in this place.”

“I know a girl of the name,” I repeated. “She does not live here. She is a girl who is ill at present, and in – in great trouble, and I think I ought to go and nurse her. She is without the friend who should be with her, and it is right for me to take his place.”

“What do you mean, Rosamund? Right for you to go away, and nurse a complete stranger, when your own brother is so ill?”

“But he has you, and Jane Fleming. Jack won’t suffer for lack of nursing, and the girl has no one.”

“I have old-fashioned ideas,” said my mother. A pink flush covered her face. I had never seen her more disturbed. “I have old-fashioned ideas, and they tell me that charity begins at home.”

At this moment Jane Fleming softly opened the door and came in. She certainly was a model nurse; so quiet, so self-contained, so capable.

“Mr Jack is awake, and conscious,” she said. “He fancied he heard your voice, Miss Rose, and he wants to see you at once.”

I glanced at my mother. She was standing with that bewildered expression on her face which mothers wear when their children are absolutely beyond their control. I made my resolution on the spur of the moment.

“Come with me to Jack, mother,” I said.

I took her hand, and we went softly up-stairs to the attic bedroom. Jack’s great big feverish eyes lighted up with expectancy when he saw me; but when he perceived that my mother accompanied me, their expression changed to one of annoyance. I went up to him at once, and took his hand.

“Hetty is better,” I said, “she has had an excellent night and is doing well. Mother dear, please come here. I shall go back to Hetty, Jack, and take all possible care of her, and nurse her, and make her strong and well again, if you will tell our mother who she is.”

“Yes,” said Jack, at once. “Yes, oh yes; she is my wife.”

My mother uttered an exclamation.

“Tell mother all about her, Jack,” I continued. “I will leave you both together for five minutes, then I will return.”

I slipped out of the room, took Jane aside, and gave her a sovereign.

“Jane,” I said, “you are to make the beef-tea yourself, and you are always to have a supply, fresh and very strong, in the house. Whenever my mother seems tired or fagged you are to give her a cup of beef-tea, and see that she drinks it.”

“Bless you, Miss Rose, of course I will.”

“Buy anything else that is necessary,” I said. “I am going away immediately, but shall be back on Monday afternoon.”

My five minutes were up by this time, and I stole into Jack’s sick-room. He was stretched flat out in bed; his cheeks were wet as if tears had touched them, and one great muscular arm was flung round my mother’s neck. She was kneeling by him, and holding his hand.

The moment I entered she looked round at me.

“My dear love,” she said, “you are perfectly right; Hetty must not be left a moment longer than can be helped. Hush, Jack, you need have no anxiety for your wife. I – I will go to see her myself if it is necessary.”

“No, mother, you must stay with me. You are so pretty and so gentle, and your hand is so soft. Hetty’s hands aren’t as soft as yours.”

Here he began to wander again. My mother followed me out of the room, the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Oh, Rose,” she said, “the poor, poor boy. And you thought, both of you, to hide it from your mother?”

“No, mother, I longed for you to know; I am sure that telling you his story has given Jack the greatest relief. And weren’t you a bit angry with him, mother?”

“Angry, Rosamund? Was this a time to be angry? and do mothers as a rule turn away from repentant sons?”

“Not mothers such as you,” I replied. “Mothers worthy of the name would never do such a thing,” she replied. “Why, Rosamund, a mother – I say it in all reverence – stands something in the place of God. When we are truly repentant we never feel nearer to God, and so a boy is never truly nearer to his mother than when he has done something wrong, and is sorry for it. Come up-stairs with me at once, I must help you to make your preparations. You have not an hour to lose in going to Jack’s Hetty.” My mother was so excited, so enthusiastic, that she would scarcely give me breathing-time to put my things together.