A Ring of Rubies

“No more worries,” I repeated under my breath. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

“You are looking very ill yourself, my dear child,” said Dr Johnson.

“Never mind me,” I said, turning away impatiently.

“But I must and will mind you,” retorted our fussy little family doctor. “Dr Keith, there is not a more admirable girl in the land than Rosamund Lindley.”

Dr Keith bowed an acknowledgment of my merits. Then he took his watch out of his pocket.

“I really must catch the next train,” he said. “Good-bye, Miss Lindley. Johnson will go into the particulars of our proposed treatment with you; but remember above all things, no worry. As much cheerfulness as you can possibly manage; a generous diet, the best champagne – I have ordered a special brand – and – and – I think we’ll do. In all probability in about a fortnight Mrs Lindley will be well enough to be moved by easy stages to Cannes. Good-bye, Miss Lindley; keep up a brave heart.”

Dr Keith went cheerfully out of the room. Perhaps he imagined that he had given me excellent advice. Perhaps he had, if I could only have acted on it. I rushed away to my room, bathed my face and hands, put on slippers which made no sound, and my prettiest afternoon dress. Then on tip-toe I went across the landing to my mother’s room; on tip-toe my father was coming up the stairs.

“Well, Rosamund, you have seen the doctors?”

“Yes, father.”

“You know what they wish?”

“Yes, father.”

“You will do it?”

“Yes – I will do it.”

“Good girl. Kiss me. God bless you. George, George, – come here!”

George’s red face had been peeping round his bedroom door.

“George, your sister will do what is required. By God’s blessing we may keep your mother with us yet.”

“Thank you, Rosamund,” said George. He bent his big sulky head and kissed me lightly on my forehead. He, too, in his fashion, was blessing me. I felt as if my heart would break.

I turned the handle of my mother’s door and went in. There was no confusion in this room. A bright little fire burned in the grate. One of the windows was open about an inch. The room was sweet with the perfume of violets. Somebody – my father probably – had picked a few from the garden and brought them in. My mother herself was lying high up in bed supported by pillows. There was a faint pink on each of her cheeks, but the rest of her sweet and lovely face was white as death. Her gentle eyes looked too bright, her lips wore too sweet a smile.

The moment I saw her the whole attitude of my mind changed. I ceased to feel that I was about to do any sacrifice. I became eager – excited to set the seal to that which would open wide the fairy doors of peace and health and ease and luxury for my mother. I absolutely lived in her life at that moment. I was nothing – she was everything. I rejoiced; my heart even danced at the thought that it was in my power to bestow a great gift upon her. I went up and kissed her.

“You look well, Rose,” she whispered, reading the joy which filled my eyes.

“Oh, yes, I am very well,” I replied. “I am so glad to be back with you, mother. I am going to stay with you night and day until you are as strong as you ever were.”

While I spoke I held her hand, which I softly stroked. In a few minutes I stole out of the room. George was still lingering about on the landing.

“Well, well?” he whispered.

“Don’t whisper, George, but come down-stairs with me at once; I want to write a letter, and I want you to take it for me.”

I sat down at my mother’s desk in the drawing-room and scribbled a hasty line:

“Dear Mr Gray, —

“I will fulfil the conditions of Cousin Geoffrey’s will. Please give George a hundred pounds to bring back with him.

“Yours very truly, —

“Rosamund Lindley.”

George was looking over my shoulder as I wrote.

“You must get some of that money in small change,” I said, looking up at him. “And then you are to buy all the things I have mentioned in this list. Don’t forget one of them, and come back by the first possible train.”

While I was speaking to George my father came into the room.

“It’s all right,” I said; “and George is going to town to get the things we shall immediately require. Now go, George, and be quick. Father, I want to speak to you.”

“What is it, Rose?”

“Will you please go out and ascertain if the Priory is still to let?”

“The Priory! Are you mad, child?”

“No, I assure you I am quite sane. The Priory is a very pleasant sunny house, beautifully furnished. The Ashtons only left it a week ago. If it is still to let, please take it without a moment’s delay. It is not the least matter about the price. It faces due south, and has a lovely garden. I think we may be able to remove my mother there to-morrow.”

Chapter Twenty Two

Tell him to come to see me

The Priory was taken, and in less than twenty-four hours, my mother found herself the occupant of a large, luxuriously-furnished chamber. Her windows commanded an extensive and most lovely view. She had a glimpse of the winding river which made our little village a favourite summer resort for anglers. It meandered away like a narrow silver thread in the midst of the peaceful landscape. Already there was a faint tinge of soft, pale green on the trees, and an added brightness was making the grass beautiful with a fresh growth. The Priory had sloping lawns, flower-beds carefully tended and gay with all the early spring flowers. There were greenhouses in abundance; there were gravel-walks and tennis-courts; in short, the usual pleasure-grounds which surround a country home of some pretension.

Inside the appointments were perfect. An able staff of servants attended to our every want. There were suites of beautiful rooms, bright, and gay, and clean. Fresh air and sweetness pervaded everything. In short, there could scarcely have been found a greater contrast than Myrtle Cottage, where the Lindley family had resided for so many years, and the Priory, where that same family now enjoyed the pleasures of refined existence.

It is surprising how soon one gets accustomed to luxury. My father and brother, who began by accepting the good things of life with a humility almost painful to witness, before a week was out grumbled about the quality of the soup served at dinner, and expressed in plaintive tones their dislike to turbot appearing too often on the board.

“You must see to this, Rosamund,” George would say, shaking his head, and my father would descant on the menage of that West End club to which he belonged a great many years ago, before he married my mother.

Meanwhile I lived in a sort of dream. I was not unhappy, for my mother was better. The new life suited her. My father’s cheerful tones were more stimulating and strengthening than the best champagne or the strongest beef-tea.

At the end of the first week she expressed a desire to see Jack and his wife again.

“I will write and ask them to come here,” I said. I went down-stairs prepared to do this. I was thinking of the pleasure my letter would give to Hetty. How she would hurry her own and her husband’s departure – how pretty and surprised she would look when she came to our luxurious new home – how nice it would be to dress her suitably, and make life sweet and pleasant to her. I was thinking these thoughts and forgetting all about the conditions of Cousin Geoffrey’s will, when I went into the drawing-room to fetch my writing portfolio which I had left there on the previous evening.

“Hey-day!” said a voice. I raised my eyes and found myself face to face with Mr Gray. “How do you do, Miss Rosamund?” he said, shaking my hand. “I judge from your own blooming appearance that your mother is much better.”

“Yes, she is much better,” I replied.

“What a wise girl you are, and were! How much I respect you! Now can you give me a few moments of your time?”

“Yes,” I replied. My “Yes” was uttered in a meek voice. The gladness had gone out of my face and manner. “Yes,” I repeated, “my time is, of course, at your disposal, Mr Gray.”