A Ring of Rubies

“Will you kindly return me my ring, Madame Leroy?” I said brusquely.

Madame favoured me with a sweeping curtsey.

“I presume I am addressing Miss Lindley?” she said. “Pray take a seat, Miss Lindley – I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The moment she spoke I perceived that she was not French. She was an English or an Irish woman, probably the latter. Her name was doubtless an assumed one. I did not take the chair she proffered me.

“I have come for my ring,” I said, in a voice which I really managed to make very firm and business-like. “I brought it to you last night, and you very kindly paid me five pounds for the loan of it. I want it back now. Your servant said that if I called at twelve o’clock I should have the ring back.”

“I wish you would take a chair, Miss Lindley; I want particularly to speak to you about the ring. I am pleased to be able to impart to you some good news. I – ” Madame Leroy paused, and slightly smacked her lips. “I have found a purchaser for your ruby ring, Miss Lindley.”

I felt my cheeks turning very red.

“You are kind,” I replied; “I dare say you mean to be good to me when you say you have a purchaser for the ring. But I don’t want to sell it.”

“Not want to sell it!” Madame Leroy looked me all over from the crown of my hat to the tips of my shabby boots. Then putting on her pince-nez she scrutinised my face. I knew perfectly well the thoughts that were filling her mind. She was saying to herself: – “You are a poor specimen of humanity, but if I, the great artiste, had the dressing of you, I might make you at least presentable. The idea of a chit like you presuming to refuse to sell a trinket!”

“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.