Kitabı oku: «A Ring of Rubies», sayfa 8
Chapter Fourteen
Keys and Locks
As the saying is, I had my task cut out for me. Never did any one go more nearly mad over the subject of keys than I. Cousin Geoffrey, with all his eccentricities, had in many respects a well-balanced mind. Nothing could have been neater than the queer arrangements of his house. Everywhere there were locked cupboards, locked bureaus, locked chests of drawers, boxes with locks to them, portfolios which could only be opened by fitting a key into a lock. In short, there never was a more thoroughly locked-up house. No wonder the bag which contained Cousin Geoffrey’s keys should prove heavy.
It was one thing, however, for the owner of the said keys to know where to apply each – it was quite another thing for me. To my horror when I unfastened the brown leather bag, I found that the great bunches of keys of all sorts and sizes were unlabelled. When I made this discovery I almost gave up my task in despair. I had to look twice at the ruby ring, and think of the voice which spoke so confidently within its secret chamber before I had the courage to commence my search.
I don’t believe, however, that my heart was a particularly faint one, and after girding myself to the fray, I toiled up-stairs, carrying the bag of keys with me.
I knew well that my search must be confined to the octagon room.
To reach this room I had to go up-stairs to the first landing of the house. I had then to turn to the left, and to descend some four or five steps; a narrow passage here led me to a spiral staircase which communicated directly with the Chamber of Myths.
This quaint and beautiful room was evidently an afterthought. It was built when the rest of the house was completed. It stood alone, and I found afterwards that it was supported from the ground by massive pillars. No pains and no money had been spared upon it. The middle of London, or at least the middle of Bloomsbury, could scarcely contain a lovely view. Geoffrey Rutherford had clearly apprehended this fact when he built the octagon chamber: he did the next best thing he could for it; he supplied it with painted glass, of modern workmanship it is true, but exquisite in colour and artistic in design. The eight windows which the room contained were narrow, high, and pointed; they were filled in with glass copied from the designs of masters. Geoffrey must have travelled over a great part of Europe to supply himself with these designs. He must have gone with an artist as his companion, for in no other way could these perfectly painted glass pictures from old Flemish Cathedrals and old Roman Council Chambers have been so exquisitely and perfectly reproduced.
“I wonder if he copied the designs himself,” I thought. “I remember that my mother told me what an accomplished artist Cousin Geoffrey was. Oh, what lovely glass! I could sit here and study. I will sit here and study. If I cannot acquire art in any other way, I will learn it from Cousin Geoffrey’s windows.”
The Chamber of Myths had always exercised a fascination over me, but never more so than to-day. I was so excited by what I saw that I forgot for a time the mission on which I had come. The subjects of the different windows represented Woman in various guises and forms: there was the mother with the baby in her arms: there was the maiden crowning herself with spring flowers, there was the wife tending the vines and watching for the return of her absent husband. One window was larger than the rest, and it contained what I supposed was a copy of a well-known masterpiece. The world’s greatest Friend sat in the centre of a group of children. Some had climbed into His arms, some leant against His knees, some knelt at His feet, the tender and gracious hands were raised in blessing, the eyes shone with the highest love. In the background a mother stood, worship in her face; adoration, humility, joy, thanksgiving in her smile. This picture of Christ blessing children made me weep.
“Oh, if I could but see the original,” I murmured.
I did not know then what I afterwards learnt that I was looking at the original; that this painted window was the work, the greatest work, of the eccentric owner of the house. Between each of the pointed windows hung valuable Gobelin tapestries, some the work of the great French artist, Noel Coypel; others by the splendid workman, Jans. I learned the value of these rare tapestries later on; now I scarcely noticed them, so absorbed was I in the fascination of the windows. Each window contained a deep seat, which was approached by oak steps, highly polished and black with age. The floor of the room was also of black oak. The roof was high and pointed, made of oak and exquisitely carved. Behind each of the tapestry curtains I discovered a small locked cupboard. There were four oak bureaus in the room, each of which contained ten separate locked drawers. A work-table of ivory, inlaid with lovely lapis lazuli, was also locked. There was an old-fashioned writing-table, and three or four oak chests. Everything that could be fitted with a key in this chamber had a lock which was securely fastened. I thought it highly probable that each lock would have to be fitted with a separate key. In this case, after making a careful calculation, I found that if I were to acquaint myself with all the secrets contained in the Chamber of Myths, I must be supplied with about sixty separate keys. No wonder the task before me seemed to increase in magnitude as I approached it.
Opening my brown leather bag, I laid the keys which Mr Gray had given me on a slender Queen Anne table, which stood near one of the tapestry recesses. My first task was to arrange them according to size. This occupied me until two o’clock, when a slow, somewhat heavy step on the stairs warned me that Mrs Drake was approaching. I did not want her to see me at my task, and hastened to meet her. She had provided a dainty little lunch for me; not in the kitchen, but in the queer and desolate sitting-room where I had first seen Cousin Geoffrey. I ate my chop off old Sèvres china, and drank a refreshing draught of water out of a tall, rose-coloured Flemish glass. I was far too excited to linger long over the meal. The moment I had satisfied my hunger, I ran back to the octagon room, and continued my task of arranging and sorting the keys. I had provided myself with paper and ink, and as I fitted each key to its lock I fastened a label to it. Night overtook me, however, before my work was a quarter done. I put the keys once more into the brown bag – the unsorted ones at the bottom, those with the labels at the top. I went down-stairs, desired Drake to fetch a cab for me, told him I should return to the house early the next day, and took the precious bag containing the keys back to the lawyer’s office. He was within, and evidently expecting me.
“Well, Miss Rosamund,” he said, “and what luck have you had?”
“None up to the present,” I replied. Then I continued: “There must have been a sad want of order in some person’s brain not to have had these keys labelled.”
“Ah, you have found that out, have you?”
“Yes, and I am rectifying the omission.”
“Good girl – clever, methodical girl.”
“Here is the bag, Mr Gray; I will come to fetch it early to-morrow.”
“Oh, you will, will you?”
“Certainly; expect me before eleven o’clock.” I bade Mr Gray good-night, and took an omnibus which presently conducted me to the neighbourhood of Paddington Station.
In course of time I got home. My father and George had arrived before me. It was quite contrary to the doctrines of our house for a woman to assert her independence in the way I was doing. My conduct in staying out in this unwarrantable fashion called forth contemptuous glances from my father, sighs of regret from my gentle mother, and sharp speeches from my brother George. I bore all with wonderful patience, and ran up-stairs to take off my things.
As I was arranging my thick hair before the glass, and giving a passing thought to my dear little sister Hetty’s curling brown locks, and remembering how deftly she had tried to arrange mine according to modern fashion, a knock came to my door, and George stood outside.
“You don’t deserve me to treat you with any confidence. You are the most curious mixture of childishness, folly, and obstinacy that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting,” he said in his cold voice; “but, nevertheless, as you were good enough to confide in me last night, and as your communication was of importance, you will be pleased to learn that I was able to persuade my father not to see Chillingfleet.”
“I am delighted,” I said, running up to George, and kissing him, very much against his will. “How did you manage it, George? Do tell me.”
“Dear me, Rosamund, how impulsive you are! What does it matter how I managed the thing, provided it was done? I think it due to you to let you know that I have taken steps to prevent our father ever becoming acquainted with Jack’s wickedness; and now let us drop this revolting subject at once and for ever.”
“I am more than willing,” I replied, “provided we do not drop Jack as well.”
“What do you mean? Do you suppose I am going to have anything further to say to the fellow?”
“I cannot say whether you are or not, George, but I am. Jack must live; Hetty must be cared for.”
“Hetty! How dare you speak to me of that low-born girl?”
“I know nothing about her birth,” I retorted. “I only know that she Is a lady at heart; that she is a sweet little thing, and that I love her tenderly.”
“I don’t want to stand here any longer, Rosamund, to listen to your childishness.”
“Just as you please, George.”
“One word, however, before I go,” continued my brother. “You will have the goodness to give up this gadding into town in future, and will arrange to stay quietly at home with our mother.”
“I am sorry I cannot oblige you,” I replied. “It will be necessary for me to go back to town early to-morrow, and to continue to do so for several days.”
“I shall ask my father to forbid you.”
“Very well, George; you can please yourself, only I warn you, you had better not.”
“What do I care for your warnings?” He slammed the door behind him, and went down-stairs in the worst possible humour.
I wondered if George had quite made up his mind to give up the girl whom he loved, and who possessed a little money, and if this was the reason he was even crosser than his wont.
This thought helped me to be patient with him; and I went down-stairs to supper, resolved to show no ill-temper, but to make myself as agreeable as I possibly could.
I had never in my whole life wilfully disobeyed a direct command of my father’s, and I did not want to begin to do so now. I took it upon me, therefore, to make myself agreeable to him. I put his worsted-work slippers before the fire to warm. I pulled forward his favourite arm-chair, and cut the pages of a new magazine and laid it by his side. George was not in the room. My father received these attentions without any outward show of thanks; but when I came close to him for a moment, he bent forward and patted my head.
“It’s a good thing to have you at home again, Rose,” he said.
“Father,” I said, suddenly, “I should always like to do what you wish, of course; but I need not obey George, need I?”
“Obey George!” echoed my father. “I should think not, indeed. The fellow is growing much too hectoring. Obey George! What next, I wonder?”
“He wants me not to go to town to-morrow,” I said; “but if you give me leave, I may, may I not?”
“Of course, child, of course.”
“Then I’ll tell George that I have your leave. It isn’t as if I were a little girl, is it? I shall always wish to please you and mother.”
My father muttered something which might have signified approval or the reverse; but when George came into the room and began, according to my father’s verdict, to hector me once again, he received a sudden and unlooked-for check.
I could not help feeling myself quite double, and even deceitful, when I discovered that I had so easily gained my point.
Chapter Fifteen
Method in this Madness
I came down-stairs the next morning dressed in my best brown cashmere. I had a neat white frill round my throat, and my hair was dressed with attention. I looked smart for me, and I felt certain that George would notice this fact, and begin to make himself disagreeable. The meal that morning was particularly appetising. I myself had seen to this. I had supplemented our inefficient maid-of-all-work’s efforts. I had boiled the porridge myself, and took care that it was thick, but not too thick, and that it was smooth in substance and admirably done. I had also made the toast; and that delicate brown toast, crisp and thin, was certain to meet with my somewhat fastidious father’s approval. The coffee, too, was strong, and the milk which was to add to its flavour was thoroughly well boiled. While my father drank his fragrant coffee, and munched that thin crisp toast, good humour sat upon his brow, his deep-set and somewhat fierce eyes glanced at me complacently. He made a remark which I was almost certain he would make —
“It is a good thing to have you back again, Rose. I do not need you to tell me, but I am quite certain that we do not owe this breakfast to Bridget.”
“Yes,” suddenly responded George; “it’s always well to have a capable woman in the house. You are staying at home of course to-day, Rosamund – the right place for you too. I am sure, sir, you must agree with me,” continued George, glancing at my father, “when I say that young women have no business to spend their time gadding about.”
“Much you know about young women,” answered my father. He was about to continue, when I suddenly interrupted.
“And I am going to town this morning,” I said, in my meekest voice, “and father knows all about it, and he has given me leave.”
“Tut! I am not so sure of that,” said my father, with a frown.
“I hope, sir, you will once for all forbid Rose to spend her time in this thoroughly unprofitable, not to say extravagant and improper manner,” said George, his face turning crimson.
“It is not your place to interfere,” said my father.
“And if you give me leave, I may go, may I not, father? You said last night I need not obey George.”
“Most certainly you need not. George, stop that hectoring.”
My father stamped his foot vehemently. George dropped his eyes on to his plate, and I ate my breakfast feeling that my cause was won.
“Rose,” said my mother, when the meal was over, calling me into the drawing-room as she spoke, “are you really going back to London to-day?”
“I must, mother darling.”
“My dear child, your present strange proceedings agitate me a good deal.”
“Dearest mother! you shall know everything as soon as ever I can tell you. Perhaps to-night you shall know all.”
My mother sighed. “And where is the good of vexing George?” she continued.
“George shall not stand between us and – and happiness,” I said with vehemence. “Mother, it is impossible for me to explain. I shall, I must, I will go to London to-day. Mother darling, you won’t blame me when I tell you everything by and by.”
“I never blame you, Rosamund,” said my mother; “you are the great comfort of my life. How could I possibly find fault with you, my dear, dear daughter?”
She kissed me as she spoke.
I ran up-stairs for my hat and jacket, and as my father was putting on his great-coat in the hall, I tripped up to him, equipped for my little expedition.
“So you are coming, Rosamund?” he said. “Yes, of course,” I replied, “if only to show that George is not to lay down the law to you.”
Oh! how double I felt as I said this. I hated myself. I blushed and fidgeted. It is a most uncomfortable sensation to fall a peg or two in your own estimation. It ruffles the nerves in the most extraordinary manner. As I walked to the station, leaning on my father’s arm, I kept saying to myself, “Rosamund, you are a detestable, double-minded, deceitful girl. You must do penance for this. You must be punished by yourself – by the better part of yourself, Rosamund Lindley. Some day, Rosamund, you will have to confess your real motives to your father. You must let him know what a low, double sort of a creature he has got for a daughter.”
George did not speak at all during our journey up to town, but my father was quite chatty and confidential with me. He even confided some fears, much to my surprise, which he entertained with regard to my dear mother’s health.
“Your mother ought never to spend her winters in England,” he said. “She has always been fragile; she grows more fragile every year; she ought to winter abroad – in the Riviera, or some other dry and sheltered place.”
He spoke quite kindly, with real anxiety in his voice. I never loved him so well. We parted the best of friends at Paddington, and I went off to Mr Gray’s office, secured my bag of keys, and before ten o’clock that day found myself once again in Cousin Geoffrey’s house, with many long hours before me to spend as I thought fit. I went up to the octagon room, and spent the whole of that long day arranging and sorting those dreary bundles of keys. I had made up my mind that I would not commence my task of examination until each key fitted each lock. I was firmly convinced that if I did not use method I should effect nothing. I was aware that the task before me was one of great difficulty. I would not add to it by any irregularity with regard to my method of search. Methodical work is always more or less successful, and as the day wore on I fitted key after key into the locks they were meant to open. My spirits rose as my work proceeded, and I felt almost sure that I might commence my search in good earnest to-morrow.
The light was beginning to fade, and I was thinking of putting my nicely-sorted keys away and retiring from my hard day’s work, when I heard steps on the deserted stairs, the murmur of voices – several voices, one of them high and sweet, the others low and deep in tone, evidently proceeding from men’s throats.
The sounds approached nearer and nearer, and a moment afterwards the door of the octagon room was opened, and Drake, accompanied by three people, entered. In this dark room, which, with all its beauty, never admitted the uninterrupted light of day, it was difficult for me at first to recognise the people who so suddenly invaded my solitude. But the clear, high voice was familiar, and when an eager figure ran across the room, and two hands clasped mine, and a fervent kiss was implanted on my somewhat dusty forehead, I did not need to look again to be quite sure that Lady Ursula Redmayne stood before me.
“Here I am, Rosamund. Whether welcome or not, I am here once more. Ursula, the impetuous, comes to visit Rosamund, the mysterious. Now, my dear, what are you doing? and have you no word of greeting for me, your real friend, and for your cousin, for he is your cousin, Rupert Valentine? Have you no word of affectionate greeting, Rosamund?”
I stammered and blushed. I was not very glad to see Lady Ursula Redmayne. At this moment her presence confused me. I avoided looking at Captain Valentine, and wondered quickly what he must think of my present very remarkable occupation.
“How do you do?” I said, not returning her kiss, but trying hard to seem pleased; “how do you do, Captain Valentine? I won’t shake hands with you because my hands are very, very dirty.”
“And why are they dirty, Rose?” asked Lady Ursula, her merry eyes twinkling. “A lady should never have dirty hands. Oh, fie! Rose; I am shocked at you. I will only forgive you on one condition – that you tell me what you are doing here.”
“Nothing wrong,” I replied; “but Mr Gray knows. You had better ask Mr Gray.”
“Don’t worry her, Ursula,” said Captain Valentine. “Miss Lindley has a perfect right to employ her time as she pleases. You remember, Miss Lindley, the last time I had the pleasure of meeting you, how we established a sort of cousinship. I believe we are undoubtedly cousins. May I therefore have the pleasure of introducing to you another relative – my brother Tom?”
Mr Tom Valentine now came forward. He was a little shorter than his brother, broader set, with a good-humoured and kind face.
(Forgive me, Tom, if at that moment I saw nothing more in your face.)
He shook hands with me kindly, said a word or two about being glad to meet a relative, and then began to examine the curious room for himself with much interest.
“But what are you doing here?” said the irrepressible Lady Ursula; “and oh! Rupert, do look at these keys. Fancy our methodical Rose arranging these keys in bunches, and labelling them. Oh! what a model of neatness you are, Rose! What a housewife you would make!”
“Don’t worry her, Ursula,” said Captain Valentine again. Then he added, turning to me: “The fact is, my brother Tom and I are very much interested in this old house. Tom is my eldest brother, Miss Lindley. He is a great traveller – a sort of lion in his way. You must get him at some propitious moment to tell you all about his many adventures. He has met the savages face to face. He has been through the heart of darkest Africa. He has fought with wild beasts. Oh, yes! Tom, you need not blush.”
“Who would suppose you could blush, Tom?” said his future sister-in-law, patting him familiarly on his shoulder. “I should imagine that swarthy skin of yours too dark to show a blush.”
“I hate making myself out a hero,” said Tom Valentine in his gruff voice. “Do stop chaffing, Rupert, and let us tell Miss Lindley why we have come here.”
“Curiosity,” said Captain Valentine; “curiosity has brought us. I told Tom last night about Cousin Geoffrey Rutherford’s death, and about the curious will he had made. Tom and I spent many happy months in this old house; long, long, long ago, Miss Lindley. I told Tom last night the story of your ruby ring. Altogether I excited his curiosity to an enormous extent; and he said he himself would like to have a search for the missing document. May I ask you a blunt question, Miss Lindley? Are you looking for it now?”
I hesitated for a moment. I felt my face turning white; then raising my eyes, I said, steadily, “I am.”
As I uttered these words I encountered the direct and full gaze of my new cousin, the bearded and bronzed traveller, Tom Valentine. If ever there were honest eyes in the world they dwelt in Tom’s rather plain face. They looked straight into mine as I uttered these words, and I read approval in their glance.
“Yes, I am looking for the will,” I said, encouraged by the glance Tom had given me.
“I may never find it; but I am not without a clue. Look here!” I added, suddenly, “I will confide in you all. Two of you are cousins, the other is, I am sure, my true friend. Look at my ruby ring.” I held up my hand – my dirty hand. I pulled the ring off my third finger. “You know the secret of the ring,” I said to Rupert Valentine. “Open it carefully; let it show its secret chamber. You thought that secret chamber revealed nothing; that it was empty and without its secret. You were mistaken. Look again, but carefully – very carefully.”
I was so excited that I absolutely forgot that I was addressing my words to three comparative strangers. I gave the ring back to Captain Valentine.
“Be very, very careful,” I repeated.
He looked at me gravely, took the ring over to the light, motioned to his brother to follow him, and touched the spring. The central ruby revolved out of its place, the serpents’ heads opened wide their doors, and the little chamber inside the ring was once more visible.
“Raise that white paper,” I said; “there is writing under it.”
“Rosamund, you shake all over,” said Lady Ursula.
I flashed an impatient glance at her.
“Can you wonder?” I said. “Yes, perhaps you can. It is impossible for you to understand. If you wanted money as badly as I do, and saw the bare possibility of getting it, you too would shake – you would find it impossible to control your emotion.”
Again Tom Valentine’s eyes met mine. Now they were less approving. Their glance expressed a sense of being puzzled, of being disappointed.
Meanwhile, Captain Valentine, lifting the tiny portion of paper, was trying to decipher the very minute writing on the other side.
“You cannot read that with the naked eye,” I remarked. “Has any one here got a magnifying glass?”
“I have,” said my cousin Tom.
He took a tiny little lens, exquisitely mounted, out of his pocket, and handed it gravely to his brother. Captain Valentine applied the lens to his eye, looked at the ring, and uttered an exclamation.
“Look in the Chamber of Myths,” he read aloud.
”‘Look in the Chamber of Myths!’ What does this mean? I always thought Geoffrey Rutherford was off his head. Dear Miss Lindley, are you allowing wild words of this sort to guide you?”
“There is method in this madness,” I returned, “for this is the Chamber of Myths.”
“This room, this lovely room?” exclaimed Lady Ursula.
“Yes; it was one of Cousin Geoffrey’s fancies to name each room in his house. This was called by him the ‘Chamber of Myths’ – why, I cannot tell you. The fact I can verify. Go to the door and look.”
I brought them all to the door of the room, pushed aside the sliding panel, and showed the name in white letters on a dark ground.
