A Ring of Rubies

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.