“Lady Ursula,” I said, “it is you now who are cruel. I have my own reasons for wishing to retain my own trinket, and surely the only right and honourable thing for you to do is to tell Captain Valentine of your loss. If he is the least worthy of your affection, he will, of course, overlook what was only an unfortunate accident.”
“No, he never will – he never, never will. You don’t know what he thought of that ring. I’d rather never see him again than tell him that his mother’s ruby ring was lost.”
“Well, I am truly sorry for you. But I don’t see my way to helping you.”
“Listen. Hire me the ring for a week – only for a week, and I will give you thirty pounds.”
I must admit that this proposal staggered me. I thought of Jack, and the stolen twenty pounds. I thought of Monday morning, when the discovery of the theft would be made known. I thought of the agony, the dishonour; I saw my mother’s face as it would look when the news was brought to her that her son was a thief. Yes, thirty pounds could do much good just then; it would save Jack, and it would give me funds to attend to Hetty’s wants.
Lady Ursula saw the hesitation in my face.
“Give me one week’s grace,” she said. “My own ruby ring may be found before the week is up.”
She opened a little exquisitely inlaid secretary, and began to pull out of a secret drawer notes and gold. She made a pile of them on the table – four five-pound notes, ten sovereigns. The yellow of the sovereigns seemed to mix with the rose-coloured tone of the room. I gazed at them as if they fascinated me. I half held out my hand to close over them, and then drew it back again.
“You will take the money – you want it, I know you do,” said Lady Ursula.
“But even if I do you will be no better off at the end of a week. In fact, you will be worse off, for you will have been all that time deliberately deceiving the man you intend to marry.”
“Oh, don’t begin to lecture me! Let the end of the week take care of itself! Here are thirty pounds! Give me the ring for a week!”
“I shall do very wrong.”
“Do wrong then! Take your money! You are looking greedily at it! Take it, you long for it!”
“I do long for it,” I answered. “If I take it, Lady Ursula, it will avert such a storm as girls like you can never even picture. It will save – Oh, have you a mother, Lady Ursula?”
“Of course I have. I don’t see her very often. She is at Cannes now.”
“If I take the money,” I said, “it will be only for a week, remember.”
“Very well. Of course you will take it. Out with your purse. Nay, though, you shall have a new purse, and one of mine. What do you say to this, made of red Russian leather? Here go the notes, and here the gold. Pop the purse into your pocket. Now, don’t you feel nice? We have both got what we want, and we can both be happy for a week.”
“I will come back in a week,” I said. I felt so mean when that thirty pounds lay in my pocket that I could scarcely raise my eyes. For the first time the difference of rank between Lady Ursula and myself oppressed me. For the first time I was conscious of my shabby dress, my rough boots, my worn gloves. “Good-bye, Lady Ursula,” I said.
“Good-bye, good-bye! I cannot tell you how grateful I am! You are not cruel, you are not selfish. By the way, what is your name?”
“Lindley.”
“Your Christian name?”
“I am called Rosamund.”
“How pretty! Good-bye, Rosamund!”
Chapter Seven
Mr Chillingfleet
I left the house, and took the next train home. Jack was very ill indeed. His fever had taken an acute form. My mother looked miserable about him. Even the doctor was anxious.
“I am so glad you have come back, Rose,” said my mother; “you had scarlet fever when you were a little child, so there is no fear for you, and it will be a great comfort having you in the house.”
I did not make any immediate response to this speech of my mother’s. I had Hetty under my charge, and could not stay, and yet how queer my mother would think my absence just then. I wondered if I dared confide to her Jack’s secret. It was told me in great confidence, but still – While I was hesitating, my mother began to speak again.
“Jack has been delirious all the morning. In his delirium he has spoken constantly of a girl called Hetty. Do we know any one of the name, Rose?”
“I know some one of the name,” I responded.
“You! – But what friend have you that I am not acquainted with? I don’t believe there is a single girl called Hetty in this place.”
“I know a girl of the name,” I repeated. “She does not live here. She is a girl who is ill at present, and in – in great trouble, and I think I ought to go and nurse her. She is without the friend who should be with her, and it is right for me to take his place.”
“What do you mean, Rosamund? Right for you to go away, and nurse a complete stranger, when your own brother is so ill?”
“But he has you, and Jane Fleming. Jack won’t suffer for lack of nursing, and the girl has no one.”
“I have old-fashioned ideas,” said my mother. A pink flush covered her face. I had never seen her more disturbed. “I have old-fashioned ideas, and they tell me that charity begins at home.”
At this moment Jane Fleming softly opened the door and came in. She certainly was a model nurse; so quiet, so self-contained, so capable.
“Mr Jack is awake, and conscious,” she said. “He fancied he heard your voice, Miss Rose, and he wants to see you at once.”
I glanced at my mother. She was standing with that bewildered expression on her face which mothers wear when their children are absolutely beyond their control. I made my resolution on the spur of the moment.
“Come with me to Jack, mother,” I said.
I took her hand, and we went softly up-stairs to the attic bedroom. Jack’s great big feverish eyes lighted up with expectancy when he saw me; but when he perceived that my mother accompanied me, their expression changed to one of annoyance. I went up to him at once, and took his hand.
“Hetty is better,” I said, “she has had an excellent night and is doing well. Mother dear, please come here. I shall go back to Hetty, Jack, and take all possible care of her, and nurse her, and make her strong and well again, if you will tell our mother who she is.”
“Yes,” said Jack, at once. “Yes, oh yes; she is my wife.”
My mother uttered an exclamation.
“Tell mother all about her, Jack,” I continued. “I will leave you both together for five minutes, then I will return.”
I slipped out of the room, took Jane aside, and gave her a sovereign.
“Jane,” I said, “you are to make the beef-tea yourself, and you are always to have a supply, fresh and very strong, in the house. Whenever my mother seems tired or fagged you are to give her a cup of beef-tea, and see that she drinks it.”
“Bless you, Miss Rose, of course I will.”
“Buy anything else that is necessary,” I said. “I am going away immediately, but shall be back on Monday afternoon.”
My five minutes were up by this time, and I stole into Jack’s sick-room. He was stretched flat out in bed; his cheeks were wet as if tears had touched them, and one great muscular arm was flung round my mother’s neck. She was kneeling by him, and holding his hand.
The moment I entered she looked round at me.
“My dear love,” she said, “you are perfectly right; Hetty must not be left a moment longer than can be helped. Hush, Jack, you need have no anxiety for your wife. I – I will go to see her myself if it is necessary.”
“No, mother, you must stay with me. You are so pretty and so gentle, and your hand is so soft. Hetty’s hands aren’t as soft as yours.”
Here he began to wander again. My mother followed me out of the room, the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Oh, Rose,” she said, “the poor, poor boy. And you thought, both of you, to hide it from your mother?”
“No, mother, I longed for you to know; I am sure that telling you his story has given Jack the greatest relief. And weren’t you a bit angry with him, mother?”
“Angry, Rosamund? Was this a time to be angry? and do mothers as a rule turn away from repentant sons?”
“Not mothers such as you,” I replied. “Mothers worthy of the name would never do such a thing,” she replied. “Why, Rosamund, a mother – I say it in all reverence – stands something in the place of God. When we are truly repentant we never feel nearer to God, and so a boy is never truly nearer to his mother than when he has done something wrong, and is sorry for it. Come up-stairs with me at once, I must help you to make your preparations. You have not an hour to lose in going to Jack’s Hetty.” My mother was so excited, so enthusiastic, that she would scarcely give me breathing-time to put my things together.
“You must not delay,” she kept on saying. “You have told me how careless the landlady is, and that poor child has had no one to do anything for her since early morning. Rose, dear, how is she off for little comforts, and clothes and those sort of things?”
“I should say, very badly off, mother. Hetty is as poor as poor can be.”
“I have one or two night-dresses,” began my mother.
“Now, mother, you are not going to deprive yourself.”
“Don’t talk of it in that light, Rose. Hetty is my daughter, remember.”
I felt a fierce pang of jealousy at this. My mother left the room, and presently returned with a neatly-made-up parcel.
“You will find some small necessaries for the poor child here,” she said. “And now go, my darling, and God bless you. One word first, however. How are you off for money, Rose?”
“I have plenty, mother. Don’t worry yourself on that point.”
“I have a little pearl ring up-stairs, which I could sell, if necessary.”
The tears rushed to my eyes when my mother said this. The pearl ring was her sole adornment, and she had worn it on Sunday ever since we were children.
“You shall never sell your dear ring,” I said.
I rushed up to her, kissed her frantically, and left the house.
Hetty and I spent a quiet Sunday together. She was much better, and she looked very pretty in the warm, softly-coloured dressing-jacket which mother had sent her. She told me her little story, which was simple as story could be. She had no parents, nor any near relatives living. Even a distant cousin, who had paid for her education, had died two years previously. She thought herself very lucky when she secured the post of English teacher at Miss West’s Select Seminary for young ladies. She made Jack’s acquaintance early in the spring; no one else had ever been specially kind to her, and when he asked her to marry him, she said “Yes,” in a burst of delight and gratitude.
“I didn’t know he was so grand as he has turned out to be, miss,” said Hetty, in conclusion.
“Now, Hetty, what did I say about miss?”
“It seems so queer and forward to say Rose,” she answered. “I never had any one to love until Jack married me. Oh, don’t I love him just, and don’t I love you —Rose!”
“I know you do,” I said, “and when you see my mother you will love her. We will try to be good to you, poor little Hetty, and you will try to learn to be a real lady for my mother’s sake.”
“And for Jack’s sake,” she answered, an eager flush coming into her cheeks.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Will you show me how to be a lady, Rose?”
“Oh, Hetty, no one can show you. You must find out the way yourself. You will, too, if you are in earnest, and if you love my mother as she deserves to be loved. Hetty, my mother is the gentlest of women, and yet no queen could be more dignified, more ladylike.”
“Would she frighten me awfully?” whispered Hetty.
“Oh, you poor child! There, I won’t talk any more. Wait until you see her!”
Hetty was rather under than over educated for her station; but there was a certain sweetness, and even refined charm about her, which gave me a sense of almost pain as I looked at her. Was Jack worthy of this passionate, loving heart?
Sunday passed peacefully, but I did not forget what lay before me on Monday morning. The real crucial turn in Jack’s affairs would come then.
I went early to town, and saw Mr Chillingfleet, the head of Jack’s firm, about eleven o’clock. Jack had told me that twelve was the hour when the money was generally collected and sent to the bank. I don’t know how I managed to inveigle a young clerk to coax Mr Chillingfleet to see me, but I did, and at eleven o’clock I stood before him.
I looked into his face. I knew that a great deal hung upon that interview; I knew that my mother’s future happiness in life, that all poor Hetty’s bliss or undoing depended on what sort of face Mr Chillingfleet possessed. I was a good reader of physiognomy, and I studied his with an eager flash.
It was a firm face: the lips thin, the chin both long and square, the check-bones high; the eyes, however, were kind, honest, straightforward. I looked into Mr Chillingfleet’s eyes, and took courage.
“You want to see me, young lady?” said the chief of the great house.
“I do, sir,” I said, “I have come about my brother Jack.”
“Young Lindley – you are young Lindley’s sister? I am sorry he is ill.”
Mr Chillingfleet’s tone was kind, but not enthusiastic. The young clerk’s services were evidently not greatly missed.
“I have a story to tell you,” I said. And then I began to speak.
My tone was eager, but I saw at once that I did not make a deep impression. Mr Chillingfleet was only languidly attentive. I could read his face, and I was absolutely certain that the thought expressed on it was the earnest hope that my story would be brief. I felt certain that he considered me a worry, that he felt it truly unreasonable of the sisters of sick clerks to come to worry him before noon on Monday morning.
He was a true gentleman, however, and as such could not bring himself to be rude to a woman.
“I can give you ten minutes,” he said, in a courteous tone.
All this time I had been toying with my subject. I now looked in agony at a boy clerk who was perched on a high stool by a desk at the other end of the room.
“If I could see you by yourself,” I said, almost in a whisper.
“Dawson, you can go,” said Mr Chillingfleet.
The boy glided off the high stool, and vanished. The moment the door was shut I took out my purse, and removing four five-pound notes, laid them on the desk beside the chief of the great house.
“Good gracious, young lady, what do you mean by that?” said Mr Chillingfleet.
“Those four five-pound notes are yours,” I said. “I have brought them back to you.”
“Miss Lindley, you must explain yourself.”
Mr Chillingfleet’s tone was no longer languid in its interest.
Then I gulped down a great lump in my throat, and told the story. It does not matter how I told it. I cannot recall the words I used. I don’t know whether I spoke eloquently or badly. I know I did not cry, but I am firmly convinced that my face was ashy pale, for it felt so queer and stiff and cold.
At last I had finished. The story of the young clerk’s temptation and disgrace was known to his chief. Now I waited for the fiat to go forth. Suppose Mr Chillingfleet refused to receive back the twenty pounds I brought him? Suppose he thought it good for the interests of business that the young thief – the wicked, brazen young thief – should be made an example of?
I gazed into the kind and honourable eyes. I watched with agony the firm, the hard, the almost cruel mouth.
“Oh, sir,” I said, suddenly, “take back the money! Jack’s mother is alive, and perhaps your mother, too, lives, sir. Take back the money, and be merciful, for her sake.”
Mr Chillingfleet shut his eyes twice, very quickly. Then he spoke.
“You must not try to come over me with sentiment,” he said. “This is not the time. A principle is involved, and I must be guided by a sense of duty. I am particularly busy at this moment, but I will give you my decision before you go. Can you wait for half an hour?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr Chillingfleet sounded an office gong by his side.
“Dawson,” he said, when the boy appeared, “show this lady into the waiting-room.”
The boy preceded me into a dismal little back room, furnished me with a copy of the day’s Times, and left me. I could not read a word. I felt more and more hopeless as the moments went by.
It was nearly one o’clock before I was summoned back into Mr Chillingfleet’s presence.
“Sit down,” he said, in a much more kind tone than he had used when I left him. “You are a good girl, Miss Lindley,” he began. “You have acted in a very straightforward and honourable manner. Your mother must be a good woman, for she has brought up a worthy daughter. However, to the point. I will accept the notes you have just brought me in lieu of those stolen by your brother. I will not prosecute him for theft.”
“Oh, sir, God bless you?”
“Stay, you must hear me out. I don’t forgive absolutely; I should not think it right. Lindley has proved himself unworthy of trust, and he no longer holds a situation in this house. He may redeem his character some day, but the uphill path will be difficult for him, for the simple reason that I shall find it impossible to give him a recommendation which will enable him to obtain another situation.”
“Oh, sir – Mr Chillingfleet – his young wife!”
“Precisely so, Miss Lindley, but society must be protected. When a man does something which destroys his character, he must bear the consequences. There, I am sorry for you, but I can do no more. I must be just. Good-morning.”
Mr Chillingfleet touched my fingers, bowed to me, and I withdrew.
I pulled my veil down over my face; I did not look to right or left as I walked out of the office.
Chapter Eight
I cannot part with my Ring
Jack was going on well, and I spent most of the time with his wife. One day a letter from home was forwarded to me. I opened it, and saw to my astonishment that the signature was Albert Chillingfleet.
“My dear Miss Lindley,” the good man wrote, “your face has made a tolerably strong impression on me. I wish you were a lad; I would give you a berth in my business-house directly. But in the case of your brother, justice must be done, you know. He ought never to be a clerk in a business-house again. Still, there are other openings. When he has quite recovered, ask him to call to see me at my private address – Princes’ Gate. I am generally disengaged and at home between nine and ten in the evening. I enclose a trifle for that young wife.
“Yours sincerely, —
“Albert Chillingfleet.”
The trifle was a ten-pound note. My fingers trembled as I unfolded it. I looked across the room at Hetty. She was better now, and was able to spend a certain portion of each day on a sofa which the landlady had brought into the room for her.
Hetty’s face wore the bright, innocent expression of a child. Her illness seemed to have brought back a kind of pathetic lost youth to her. She was young, undoubtedly, in years, very young, but I felt convinced that before she had been so ill she had not worn this child-expression – her lips could not have been so reposeful in the old days, nor her eyes so unanxious.
She was lying now gazing calmly out of the window. Her hands were folded on her lap. The knitting she had been trying to accomplish had tumbled unheeded to the floor. When the bank-note rustled in my hand Hetty turned and looked at me. I got up and gave it to her.
“This is for you,” I said. “I have had a letter from a friend of ours, and he has sent you this.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed. She clasped the note in both her hands. “Ten pounds!” she repeated. “Rosamund,” she continued, “I never had so much money as this in all my life before.”
“Well, make good use of it, dear child,” I said. “Put it away safely now. You’ll be sure to want it.”
“But ought not I to thank your friend?”
“I’ll do that for you. I’ll be sure to say something very pretty.”
Hetty looked at the ten-pound note as if she loved it. Then she stretched out her hand, and proffered it back to me.
“You had better have it, Rosamund. You buy everything that we want. Take it, and spend it, won’t you? You must need it very badly.”
“No, no, no! This is your own nest-egg, and no one else shall touch it. See, I will put it into your purse; I know where your little empty purse is, Hetty. I will put this nice crisp note into it. Is it not jolly to have so much laid by?”
“Yes,” said Hetty, “I feel delightfully rich.” She closed her eyes, smiling, wearied, happy. In the sleep which followed she smiled again, more than once. She was thinking of Jack, and of the good things she could buy for him out of this purse of Fortunatus.
On the following day I was to go back to Lady Ursula to receive my ruby ring. As I sat and worked by Hetty’s side, I planned how I would take the little excursion in the morning, bring back the ring, and amuse my sister in the afternoon by telling her the story of it.
I carried out the early part of this programme exactly as I had mapped it before my eyes on this peaceful afternoon. The next morning found me at an early hour ringing the ponderous bell under the heavy portico of the great house in Grosvenor Street. The liveried footman once more put in his appearance, and I was taken once again to Lady Ursula’s pretty rose-coloured bower.
It was empty when I entered.
“Her ladyship will be with you in a minute or two,” said the man, as he closed the door behind the tapestry.
I sat back in an easy-chair, and waited. It was very nice to wait in this pretty room. I felt quite easy in my mind, and not at all anxious. Circumstances had improved for me during the last fortnight. Hetty was getting well. Jack was better. Exposure and disgrace were averted. In short, the heavy pressure of expectant calamity was withdrawn, and life smiled at me with its every-day face. I thought how glad I should be to have my little ring again – my pretty romantic treasure should be more prized than ever. Nothing should induce me to part with it again.
As I lay back and reflected peacefully, footsteps approached. The tapestry was pushed aside, and a man entered.
He was tall, with a dark complexion. His appearance was aristocratic. I glanced at him, and recognised him in a flash. I knew him by his likeness to the excellent photograph Lady Ursula possessed – he was her lover.
I was seated rather in the shadow. At first when he came in he did not notice me. He went straight up to Lady Ursula’s table, and laid a small morocco case on it. He took up a photograph of the young lady, looked at it steadily – a half smile played round his somewhat austere mouth, his eyes softened. He held the photograph close to his lips, but he did not kiss it; with an almost reverent gesture he replaced it, then turned to leave the room. As he did so he caught sight of me. I had been looking on with a very red face. It was now Captain Valentine’s turn to get red. He grew scarlet; he looked intensely angry. I saw at a glance that he was the last man who could bear to be caught in a sentimental attitude, he was the last man who could bear even a shade of ridicule.
He bowed very stiffly to me and vanished.
The next instant Lady Ursula came in.
“Oh, here you are, Rosamund!” she said; “how do you do?”
“I am very well,” I answered. I did not want Lady Ursula to call me Rosamund. She sat down on the sofa with her hands crossed idly in her lap. Her face was full of interrogation; it said as plainly as face could:
“Now, what do you want, Rosamund? Have the goodness to say it, whatever it is, and go away.”
The look in her eyes was replied to steadily by mine. Then I said calmly: “I have come for my ring.”
When I said this Lady Ursula dropped her mask. War to the knife gleamed in her bright eyes.
“Oh! the ring,” she said; “well, you can’t have it, so there!”
At that instant Captain Valentine hastily re-entered the room. With a brief apology to me he turned to Lady Ursula and spoke:
“Here is your ring,” he said, taking up the morocco case, touching a spring and opening it. “I have had the central ruby properly fastened in; there is no fear of your losing it now.”
He was leaving the room again when an impulse, which I could not overcome, made me rush forward and lay my hand on the table.
“Don’t, Rosamund, I beseech of you,” said Lady Ursula.
There was entreaty, almost anguish in her bright blue eyes. I paused, the words arrested on my lips.
Captain Valentine stared from one to another of us with a puzzled, amazed glance. Lady Ursula slipped her hand through his arm. She led him towards the door. They passed out together; the door was a little ajar, and I heard him murmur something. Her gentle caressing reply reached my ears:
“My love, there is not the smallest fear, she is only a very excitable, eccentric young person, but I shall soon get rid of her.”
Those words decided me. Lady Ursula was coming back. I had not a second to lose. I was determined that she should see how the excitable, eccentric young person could act. I opened the morocco case, took the ring out, and slipped it on my finger.
The moment she returned to her table I held up my hand, and let her see the glittering treasure. She gave a cry of sharp pain.
“Oh, Rosamund, you are not really going to be so cruel!”
“I am very sorry,” I answered, “but I must have my ring. This is not a case of cruelty. It is simply a case of my requiring my own property back. Under great pressure I lent it to you for a week. Now I must have it back. Good-bye.”
“But, Rosamund, Rosamund!” She caught hold of my dress. “I gave you thirty pounds for the ring last week. You found the money useful; you know you did.”
“Yes,” I said. I blushed as the memory of all that that money meant rushed over me. With some of that thirty pounds I had saved Jack and our family honour. The money had been undoubtedly useful, but I held the glittering ring on my finger, and I loved it better than gold.
“I will give you forty pounds this week,” said Lady Ursula.
“No, no, I cannot accept it,” I replied. I walked towards the door.
“Fifty pounds,” she said, following me. “Oh, Rosamund, Rosamund, you are not going to be so cruel!”
“I must have my ring,” I said. “You have many treasures, and this is my one ewe-lamb. Why should you seek to deprive me of it?”
“Rosamund, please sit down.” She took my hand.
“Come and sit by me on the sofa, dear Rosamund. You know why I want this ruby ring; Captain Valentine knows nothing of the terrible loss I have sustained. If he hears of it – if he knows that his ring is gone, he will break off his engagement.”
“Then I have only one thing to say, Lady Ursula,” I replied; “if that is the nature of the man you are about to marry, you had better find it out before marriage than afterwards. Do you think I would marry a man who loved a trinket more than me? No! I am a poor girl, but I should be too proud for that. Lady Ursula, take your courage in your hands, and tell Captain Valentine the truth. He is not what you think; even I know better than that.”
“You don’t. You don’t know him a bit.”
“I know what a brave and good man ought to be; surely you could marry no one else.”
Lady Ursula got up and stamped her foot.
“Child,” she said, “you sit there and dare to argue with me. You are the cruellest creature I ever came across, the cruellest, the hardest. I hate you! I wish I had never met you.”
Her voice rose high in its petulance and passion. Once more the door was opened, and Captain Rupert Valentine came in.
“What is the matter?” he asked in some alarm. His indignant eyes flashed angry fire at me; I am sure he considered me a young person deprived of the use of her intellect, who was seeking to terrify Lady Ursula, perhaps even to lay violent hands on her.
His glance stung me to the quick. “There is nothing the matter,” I said, taking the words out of Lady Ursula’s mouth. “Lady Ursula Redmayne and I are unfortunate enough to differ on a certain point, but there is really nothing the matter. May I wish you good-morning now, Lady Ursula?”
I bowed to the young lady, bestowed upon the gentleman the faintest possible shade of acknowledgment, and covering the precious ruby ring with a terribly worn silk glove, walked towards the door.
Lady Ursula flung herself back on the sofa, and covered her face with her hands. Captain Valentine seemed to struggle for a moment with his desire to comfort her, and his sense of what his duties as a gentleman required. Finally the latter feeling triumphed, and he reached the door in time to open it, and so assisted my exit.
A moment later I was in the street. I was absolutely outside that detestable mansion, with the beloved little ring pressed in my warm hand.
I felt an almost childish sense of triumph and exultation; the possession of a large sum of money could not have gratified me to anything like the same extent as did this recovery of my rightful legacy. I felt enormously rich; I felt giddy with delight; it seemed to me impossible to walk, I must ride; the owner of such a ruby ring could not pace with draggled skirts those muddy streets. I hailed a hansom and desired the man to drive me to Mr Gray’s chambers. I did not exactly know what I wanted to say to the old lawyer, but I was possessed by a sudden intense desire to see him, and I knew when I got into his presence I should have something special to talk about.
Mr Gray had rooms in Bloomsbury, not a great way off from Cousin Geoffrey’s old house. He was in, and almost immediately on my arrival I was ushered into his presence.
“Miss Lindley!” he said. He came up and shook hands with me warmly. “Pray sit down,” he added. “Sit here, near the fire. What a cold, miserable day we are having. You are all quite well at home, I hope; how is your mother?”
“My mother is well, thank you, Mr Gray. My brother Jack has been ill, but he is better now.”
“I am glad of that,” replied Mr Gray. “And now, can I do anything for you, Miss Rosamund? You know I shall be delighted.”
When Mr Gray said this I suddenly knew what I had come to see him for.
“I want to go over Cousin Geoffrey’s house,” I said. “Have you the key, and if so, will you entrust it to me? I will promise not to injure anything.”
The moment I made this request Mr Gray’s face brightened, and an almost eager look came into his eyes.
“Have you any – any particular reason for wishing to see the house?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” I replied. “No very special reason. Just a desire, to see the old place once again.”