A Ring of Rubies

“Yes, Jane, you certainly are.”

“I’ll be at Ivy Lodge in ten minutes, miss,” replied Jane Fleming.

I left the house without another word. Mr Ray lived a little farther off, but I was lucky in finding him also at home. I asked him to call to see Jack at once, and then I turned off in the direction of the railway station. I must be really wary now, for it would be fatal to Jack’s peace of mind were my father and George to see me going to town at that hour. I managed to elude them, however, and going into the ladies’ waiting-room scribbled a little note to my mother.

“Dear mother,” I said, “you must not be at all anxious. I am going to town on important business for Jack. Don’t on any account tell father and George, and expect me home some time to-morrow.”

I gave my note to a small boy who was lounging about outside the station. He was to deliver the little note into Jane Fleming’s hands. No one else was to get it. I knew Jane sufficiently well to be sure she would give it to my mother unobserved.

Shortly afterwards my train came up, and I found myself being whirled back to London in a second-class compartment. Fares were cheap on our line, and I was relieved to find that I had five shillings still untouched in my purse. I got to Paddington in a little over half an hour, – the train I travelled by was an express, – and then stepping into an omnibus I was carried slowly, and with many provoking delays, to Regent Circus. I had never been in London by night before, and the dazzling lights and pushing crowds would have nonplussed me considerably another time. Under ordinary circumstances I might have felt uncomfortable and even a little afraid. Every idea of strict propriety in which I had been brought up would have protested against the situation in which I had placed myself. I was a lady, a very young lady, and it was not correct for me to perambulate these gaslit streets alone.

As it turned out, however, I had no time for fear, nor was there the smallest cause for alarm. No one noticed the plainly, almost dowdily dressed girl, as with dull apprehension in her eyes, and a queer reserve fund of fortitude in her heart, she hurried along.

I soon reached the house I had visited early in the morning, and almost gave Buttons an electric shock by once more inquiring for Susan Ford. I knew that it was necessary to propitiate Buttons, and poor as I was I expended sixpence on that worthy.

“Go and tell Susan that I must see her without fail, and at once,” I said.

Buttons stuck his tongue into his cheek, very nearly winked at me, but refrained, and promising to do his best, vanished.

Susan was evidently busy at this hour. I sat for nearly a quarter of an hour in that cold stone-flagged hall waiting for her. She came down at last, looking perplexed and even cross.

“My missis is in a temper, Miss Rosamund. Of course I’m delighted to see you, miss, but I can’t stay; I really can’t. We’re all in no end of confusion up-stairs. Oh, Miss Rosamund, you do look cold and white! I wish I could take you up to my room, but I just daren’t. Is there anything I could do for you, miss? Please say it as quick as you can.”

I clutched hold of Susan’s shoulder.

“You know the ring,” I said.

“Oh yes, miss; you don’t want me to go back to Sam with it now, miss?”

“No, no, no! I am not going to sell my precious ruby ring; but, Susan, you said to-day that your mistress sometimes hired out jewels. Fine ladies, who wanted to look extra fine, borrowed jewels. Of course, when they borrowed, they paid. Look at my ring once again, Susan. See! Here under the gas-lamp, does it not sparkle? Would not the gems look well on a small, fair hand?”

While I was speaking Susan remained motionless, but I noticed that she began to breathe hard and quick.

“I do believe that this will set everything right,” she said, “I do most positively believe it. You give me the ring, miss, and stay here. I’ll be back in a minute; don’t you stir till I come back to you, Miss Rosamund.”

“Listen, Susan, I must have money for the ring, money down. The more you can get the better, and I’ll hire it out for one night only. Remember that, Susan, I only hire out the ring for one night.”

“All right, miss, give me the ring at once. This may set matters straight again. There ain’t no saying. I’ll attend to all you want, Miss Rosamund, never you fear.”

Susan almost snatched the old-fashioned little case out of my hand, sprang up the stairs three steps at a time, and vanished.

I waited in the great, cold, empty hall with no other companion than my fast-beating heart.

I had a curious sense of loneliness and even desolation, now that I had parted with the ring. It seemed to me that Cousin Geoffrey was near, and that he was looking at me reproachfully. I almost regretted what I had done; if I had known where to find Susan I would have rushed after her, and asked her for my ring back.

As it was, I had to restrain my impatience as best I could. Perhaps Susan would be unsuccessful; perhaps in a moment or two she would bring me back the ring. She did nothing of the kind. She kept me waiting for a quarter of an hour, then she came back with five pounds in her hand.

“My missis is awfully obliged to you, Miss Rosamund, and – and here’s five sovereigns, miss. I couldn’t get more, I couldn’t really.”

“And my ring, Susan, my ring?”

“You’ll have it back to-morrow, miss.”

“But is my precious ring safe? Is it in the house? Where is it?”

“Where is your ring, Miss Rosamund?” Susan stared at me, and spoke almost pettishly. “Didn’t you say you wanted to hire the ring out, miss? Well, and haven’t I done it? The ring is out – it’s seeing company to-night, that ruby ring; it’s having a fine time; it belongs to grand folk for the night, and it’s seeing life, that’s what it is. Oh, I wish I was it! I think, Miss Rosamund, that ring is going to have a lovely time.”

“And you’re sure I shall have it back by to-morrow?”

“Why, of course, miss. You come here about twelve o’clock. I shouldn’t be surprised if Madame wanted to do another hire with it; she seemed mighty taken with the big ruby, and I dare say the young lady who wears it to-night may want it again. But of course that’s as you please, miss.”

“Of course, Susan. Well, I am very much obliged to you, and I will call to-morrow at noon.” I slipped the five sovereigns into my purse, shook hands with Susan, and left the house. I felt wonderfully independent; the touch of the gold had done this. It was marvellous with what a sense of power I now looked around me. I felt at that instant what a gulf there was between the rich and the poor. With five shillings I could be timid; with five pounds I could be wonderfully calm, collected, and brave.

I walked as composedly down the gaslit streets as if I had done so every evening of my life. I entered a grocer’s shop and bought half a pound of tea, very good tea. I also bought sugar, Brand’s meat jelly, and a pound of paraffin candles. As I was leaving the shop I thought how fond mother was of rusks when she was ill. I turned back and got some. I was now quite laden with parcels, and as I knew I must purchase several more, and could not possibly carry them all in my hands, the next thing was to secure a basket. I was not long in discovering a sort of bazaar, where miscellaneous articles of every description were to be had. I chose a serviceable basket, paid for it, popped my groceries in, and went out. I soon added to the store a chicken, two pounds of beef for beef-tea, a loaf of bread, and some fresh butter. Finally I placed on the top of the basket a bunch of fine hothouse grapes, two or three lemons, some oranges, and, lastly, a great lovely bunch of chrysanthemums.

Now, I felt that I was ready for Putney.

I retraced my steps to Regent Circus, and after a little delay found myself in an omnibus which would finally land me at Victoria.

I need not describe my brief journey to Putney; I had no adventures on the road. No one spoke rudely to me, or stared at me, or molested me in any fashion. The train was punctual, and my fellow-passengers civil.

When I got out at Putney station I did not lose my way, for Jack’s directions were explicit, and my head felt wonderfully clear.

It was, however, between nine and ten o’clock at night when I arrived at the lodging-house where my brother’s poor young wife lay ill.

I knocked at the door, and the landlady, who had watery eyes and an ugly sodden sort of face, presently answered the summons.

She opened the door about six inches, and stared at me suspiciously from head to foot.

“Does Mrs Lindley live here?” I asked.

“No, there’s no one of that name in the house.” She prepared to shut the door in my face.

“Stay,” I exclaimed, pressing my hand against the panel of the door, “there is a young lady here who is very ill. I am her husband’s sister, and I have come with a message from him, and I have brought several things that she wants. I must see her at once.”

The landlady looked at the heavy basket in my hand. She glanced at my face, which I am sure was resolved in expression. She listened to my voice, which was firm.

“Oh, you mean Mrs Gray,” she exclaimed. “Yes, poor thing, she’s as bad as bad can be. I suppose you had better come up and see her, if you have any message from her husband. It’s a perfect worry to hear her calling out for him all the time, and maybe you can quiet her down a bit.”

The landlady mounted the narrow stairs slowly. They were dirty, as stairs in all such houses are; there were many gaps in the banisters, and many sad rents and signs of wear on the greasy carpets. I could have moralised, as I walked up the stairs behind the broad-backed landlady. I could have stored up materials for an excellent little essay on the shady side of lodging-house life. But my heart was too full just then to think of anything but the girl whom I was about to visit, the girl whom my brother had married without even giving her his rightful name.

Poor people are often the proudest, and we Lindleys had what is commonly called “honest pride.” That simply means that we were honest; we had no double dealings; we paid our way not only with coin of the realm, but with promises which were kept, with endeavours which terminated in results. It could not enter into our heads to cheat our brothers; we could do without luxuries, but we could not part with even a hair’s-breadth of honour.

The first scapegrace in a family like ours causes, therefore, those anguished blushes, those shrinkings of the soul which are about the worst forms of pain. I felt as if I were being roasted at a slow fire of public condemnation as I followed Mrs Ashton up-stairs. I was almost sorry at that moment that my conscience was so tender.

The landlady did not stop until she reached the attic floor; then she turned and pointed to the door of a room which was slightly open.

“Mrs Gray’s in there,” she said; “you can go in.”