A Ring of Rubies

I had now completely examined five of the cabinets. I approached the sixth, which stood exactly under the window which contained the representation of Christ blessing the children. I opened the top drawer of this cabinet with a renewed sense of great weariness, of fatigue of both mind and body. The first thing I saw lying by itself in the little shallow drawer was a thick envelope with my name on the cover – “Miss Rosamund Lindley.” I seized it with trembling fingers. I felt suddenly cold and faint – my heart seemed to stop – my brain to reel. I knew that my search was ended.

“What is the matter?” said Lady Ursula, coming up to me quickly.

“Nothing,” I replied, “except – except this – my search is over.”

I held up the thick packet to her. She half screamed, and called the two Valentines to look. “Read it, Rosamund, read it,” she said. “Read the contents of that letter quickly, dear Rosamund.”

“No,” I answered, “I could not take in the words now, my head aches, my hands shake, I am tired – I am very, very tired. I must read the words written to me inside this thick envelope when I am alone.”

“Oh, but that is too bad. We are consumed with curiosity. Won’t you open the envelope? Won’t you read just a few words to satisfy us that you are really the heir.”

“I may be as little the heir as you, Lady Ursula. The packet with my name on the cover proves nothing. But I am agitated – perhaps it is with hope. I should be glad to be Cousin Geoffrey’s heir, for I am tired of great poverty. I am not a bit ashamed to say this; but I cannot read the letter which either confirms or destroys my hopes in the presence of any one else.”

Lady Ursula looked annoyed. Captain Valentine also plainly expressed a sense of disappointment on his face, but my cousin Tom heartily approved my resolution.

“You are right,” he said; “we will all go away. You shall read your letter in peace.”

“You need not go away,” I said. “I am going myself. I will not read this letter until I get home. Now I must lock these drawers and return the keys to Mr Gray.”

“And you will be sure to write at once and tell us the news, Rosamund,” said Lady Ursula.

“Better still,” exclaimed Captain Valentine, “let us meet here to-morrow. Let Miss Lindley tell us the contents of Cousin Geoffrey’s letter in person.”

After a little consultation this plan was resolved upon. We four were to meet in the Chamber of Myths at noon on the following day.

After this I took my leave, ordered a hansom, and drove to Mr Gray’s.

He was in and disengaged. I entered his room without any delay. The moment he saw my face he jumped up, seized my two hands, shook them heartily, and exclaimed —

“You have succeeded, Miss Lindley. I know by your face that you have succeeded.”

“I have found this,” I answered, holding up the packet.

“Yes, yes; in finding that you have found everything. What a relief this is to me. That eccentric clause of the will was the last straw to try the temper of any man. Now let me congratulate you. I do so most heartily.”

“I don’t know what for; this solid packet may mean nothing to me.”

“Oh! but it does.”

“You know its contents then?”

“Perfectly. Sit down, read your letter; know for yourself what a fortunate – what a really fortunate girl you are.”

“I won’t read my letter now,” I answered. “I will take it home and read every word, study each sentence in my own room; but not now. You excite me. I am tired. I cannot bear any more.”

“Poor little girl,” said Mr Gray, in quite a tender voice. “There never was a more plucky creature than you, Rosamund Lindley; but you are a true woman after all. Well, my dear, go home. Early to-morrow I shall see you again.”

“I am to meet Lady Ursula Redmayne and Captain Valentine and his brother in Cousin Geoffrey’s house at twelve o’clock to-morrow,” I replied.

“What!” answered Mr Gray. “Has Tom Valentine returned? Do you know the Valentines – your cousins?”

“Are they really my cousins?”

“Yes, three or four times removed; but undoubtedly there was at one time a relationship. Well, Rosamund, what do you think of your cousin Tom Valentine?”

“I scarcely know that I think of him at all,” I replied.

“What! Have you not discovered that he is a traveller – a man who has met with remarkable adventures; a man of the world, a gentleman, a man of culture; also, and above all, an Englishman, with a true and honest heart?”

“I have had no time to find out these many excellent qualities,” I answered back.

“You will soon see them,” responded Mr Gray. “Your eyes will be opened. You will perceive what I mean; all, all that I mean. So you have already met Tom Valentine; and Tom has returned just in time. What an extraordinary coincidence! what a piece of luck!”

“I don’t pretend to understand you,” I answered.

“No, my dear; go home and read your letter. God bless you, Rosamund. Upon my word, this day’s work has taken a load off my mind.”

He again wrung my hand. I had no time to think of his extraordinary rapture, nor of his queer uncalled-for words about Tom Valentine. Everything he said came back to me by and by; but I had no room in my mind to dwell upon his words at that moment. There was no doubt whatever that the packet held in my hand brought good fortune to me and mine. Ugly Poverty might take to himself wings and fly away – he and I – he and those I loved, would not have even a bowing acquaintance in future. This fact was quite sufficient to fill my mind to the exclusion of all other ideas. I went home early – had tea with my mother – said nothing at all about the packet which lay in my pocket, but listened to a long and miserable letter from Jack, while I held in my hand a little note from Hetty, which I knew must be sad, but which scarcely troubled me at that moment, for I also knew how soon I could relieve my dear little sister’s anxieties; how absolutely it now lay in my power to comfort and aid her, and to give to Jack all the good things which would make him a manly fellow once more.

I do not think in my whole life I ever felt happier than I did that evening. My fatigue had vanished – a feeling of absolute rest reigned in my heart; even the annoyances, the vexations, the penury of home brought to me a sense of rejoicing. It was sweet to know that with a touch of my magic wand I could sweep them once and for ever out of sight.

If I was happy, however, this could scarcely be said of any of the rest of the family. My mother had a headache; she had also caught cold, and the cough, which always more or less racked her slender frame, was worse than usual.

My father kept looking at her anxiously. He really did love my beautiful, gentle mother very much. George was disagreeable and morose; and my mother’s eyes kept straying in the direction where Jack’s photograph stood. She was thinking no doubt of that last letter from the poor fellow. Never mind, these were passing clouds, and knowing how soon I could chase them away, I felt scarcely any pain as I watched them.

At last, one by one, my family bade me good-night. I stayed down-stairs to put the little house in order, and then, going up to my room, locked my door, and prepared to acquaint myself with the contents of that letter, which was to turn all the dross of my life into pure and glittering gold.

Chapter Seventeen

Ugly Poverty and I

Cousin Geoffrey had sealed his letter with red wax. He had stamped the seal with his own signet-ring, which gave the impress of a coat-of-arms with a quaint device. That device became a household word with me by and by, but I was too impatient even to trouble myself to decipher it just then. I spread the thick sheets of paper before me, and gave myself up to the luxury of satisfying the most burning curiosity which surely ever besieged a girl.

Cousin Geoffrey’s letter – a letter addressed to myself, well and carefully written – was far too long to make it possible for me to quote it here. I read it once, twice, three times. Then I sat with my hands before me, the open sheets of paper lying on my lap, my eyes fixed on vacancy. Two or three candles were lighted in my room; one by one they burnt low in the socket, and expired. I was in the dark, not mentally but physically. There was no darkness in my mental vision that night; my mind was so active that my body was incapable of feeling either fatigue or cold, and my eyes were incapable of noticing the thick darkness which surrounded them.

This was my position: I was an heiress of Cousin Geoffrey’s wealth. On certain conditions I was to inherit exactly one-half of his houses and lands, of his money in stocks and shares, and in the English Funds. I could have for my own, exactly one-half of the marvellous treasures which filled the old house. I could divide those shawls from Cashmere, those sandal-wood boxes from China, those quaint embroideries from Persia. Even the half of those lovely painted windows in the Chamber of Myths would belong to me.

It was very funny. I could not help almost laughing, as I sat in the dark, with Cousin Geoffrey’s open letter on my lap, over the persistency with which I would think of the treasures which the Chamber of Myths contained. Which Cashmere shawl might I take? Which piece of embroidery might I clasp to my heart as my very, very own? Above all, which of the painted windows might in future be known as Rosamund Lindley’s window – hers and no one else’s?

I felt far, far more anxious about these comparatively minor matters than I did about the money in the Funds and the landed possessions, one-half of which also belonged to me.

Alack and alas! the news in the letter had nearly stunned me. I found that I was incapable of clear reasoning. What a fool I was – what an idiotic girl – to plan and consider, and think of Cashmere shawls and Indian embroideries and painted windows, and wonder which would fall to my share – which of the beautiful things I might claim as my own.

My own! Cousin Geoffrey gave me nothing, nothing whatever of all his wealth as my own absolutely.

On a certain condition I might have half. Half of the money, half of the treasures, should be settled on me and on my children for ever, if – ah, here was the rub, here was the astounding discovery which took my breath away and paralysed me, and made me incapable of any consecutive thought beyond a burning sense of shame and anger. I was to have these riches if I fulfilled a condition.

This was the condition. I was to marry the heir of all the other half of the wealth and the beauty. The other half of Cousin Geoffrey’s riches was left to my almost unknown cousin, Tom Valentine. He was to possess his half if he married me. I was to take possession of my half on the day I became his wife.