The Blue Sapphire

by D. E. Stevenson

  ‘He’d like to see you about ten if convenient,’ said Maggie solemnly. ‘But I’m to say not to bother if you’d rather not see him in his bed and not to bother if you’re busy and not to bother if you’re wanting to go out and——’

  ‘Oh, Maggie, of course I’ll go in and see him!’

  ‘I knew you would,’ declared Maggie, beaming with delight. ‘I said you would. I said, “Miss Julia’s not the girl that would stick at going into a gentleman’s bedroom.” That’s what I said.’

  ‘No, of course not! I mean—’ said Julia, trying to stifle an involuntary giggle—‘I mean of course I’ll go in and see him. Tell him I’d like to.’

  Maggie nodded.

  ‘About ten, you said,’ continued Julia, glancing at the clock. ‘Goodness, I’m awfully late this morning! It’s because I’ve had such an interesting letter. I’d better get up at once.’

  ‘There’s no hurry, Miss Julia. A quarter past will do as well.’

  The letter was strewn all over the bed. She collected the sheets and folded them and put them back in the envelope. How different people were! thought Julia. May Martineau would have shown eager interest in the letter and would not have been satisfied until she knew all about it, but Maggie had shown no interest at all. Maggie had kept her eyes turned in the other direction so that they might not fall, even for a moment, upon the scattered sheets. In Maggie’s opinion it would not be ‘the right thing’ to show any interest . . . and of course Maggie was absolutely correct.

  Having put her letter in the drawer of her dressing-table Julia hesitated and wondered if she should lock it—but there was no need to lock it—none whatever. Maggie would no sooner have thought of prying into somebody else’s private correspondence than she would have thought of stealing a five-pound note . . . and the idea of Maggie stealing a five-pound note was simply ludicrous! The idea of May stealing a five-pound note was equally ludicrous, but she saw nothing wrong in reading other people’s letters.

  Very interesting and very, very queer, thought Julia.

  She was dressed and ready by this time, and as it was just after ten o’clock she ran downstairs and tapped on Uncle Randal’s door.

  *

  4

  Uncle Randal was lying in bed propped up with pillows. His face looked wan and haggard this morning and he admitted that he had slept badly.

  ‘I was thinking,’ he explained. ‘It began with Cairn and his chess; as I told you, he never sees beyond the end of his nose. Well, it seemed a bit far-fetched when you said a man who’s not far-seeing at chess is not likely to be far-seeing as a doctor, but I’m bound to admit there’s a certain amount of sense in it. Then there’s the steamed fish,’ continued Uncle Randal, with a shudder. ‘Well, the less said about that the better, but there’s sense in what you said about that too. . . . And then there’s Neil. To tell you the truth I never thought of Neil needing me—he always seemed an independent sort of lad—but it seems he does. You said he was desperate, and that idea of kidnapping me looks as if it were affecting his brain. What did he think I’d be doing while he dragged me out of my bed and carried me away to his car? What did he think Maggie would be doing? Tell me that. It was a daft idea, Julia.’

  Julia remained silent. She had decided not to mention the details of Neil’s plan.

  ‘It was a daft idea, Julia,’ repeated Uncle Randal with an anxious frown.

  ‘Yes, but when you’re feeling desperate all sorts of—of daft ideas come into your head, don’t they? Especially in the middle of the night when you can’t sleep.’

  ‘He’s lying awake at night?’

  ‘Yes, for hours and hours, worrying about you.’

  ‘That’s bad,’ said Uncle Randal. ‘That’s very bad. Neil will need a clear head if he’s to do well in those exams.’

  ‘Frightfully important exams,’ Julia reminded him.

  ‘Yes, that’s true,’ he agreed.

  ‘His whole career depends upon them.’

  ‘Yes. Listen, Julia, do you think it would relieve his mind if I consented to see that man?’

  ‘I’m sure it would.’

  Uncle Randal heaved a sigh. ‘Well then, there’s nothing else for it. I’ll need to see that man. You’d better arrange it with Neil . . . but mind this, Julia, I’ll not go unless Cairn agrees to it. He’s a good friend and I wouldn’t hurt him for the world.’

  ‘Neil will arrange it all,’ declared Julia with conviction. She could not imagine Neil being stumped by little things like these.

  ‘Yes,’ said Uncle Randal. ‘But there’s no hurry about it, Julia.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ she agreed. She had been about to rush off and phone to Neil at once, but she realised that they must be careful, so she stayed where she was and chatted about other matters . . . and meanwhile she looked round the room.

  It was a room on the ground floor looking out onto the back garden. The window was masked by a couple of laurel bushes which made it dark and airless. It was also exceedingly dismal, thought Julia in some distress. It was the room of a man who did not value comfort or at least had no idea how to achieve it. Maggie had told her that she had been obliged to move him down from the upstairs bedroom to save him the stairs and this was the only room available, but surely something could have been done to make it more comfortable! It was frightful to think of him lying here for days on end in such miserable surroundings: the drab drugget on the floor; the drab paper on the walls; the narrow iron bed—quite frightful! He was badly off, but it would not take much money to make the room brighter. I could do it myself, thought Julia remembering her nest-egg in the bank. Yes, I could do it myself quite easily . . . and if he has to go to a hospital in Edinburgh I can have it all done while he is away. Maggie can help me.

  By this time Uncle Randal was looking more cheerful, so Julia left him and went to phone to Neil and explain what she had been able to accomplish.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  This was Julia’s third day at The Square House, but already she had been absorbed into its atmosphere and a routine had been established. She did the ‘messages’ in the morning, had dinner with Uncle Randal, and weeded the garden in the afternoon. To-day, however, instead of weeding the garden she settled down at the solid table in the study and wrote letters to May Martineau, to Madame Claire and to Stephen. She had expected to polish them off quite quickly, but she found she had a good deal to say, so it was four o’clock by the time she had finished her letters and ran out to post them in the pillar-box at the corner of the road.

  Usually Julia had tea with Maggie, but on this particular afternoon Mrs. Inglis had come in for a crack with her old crony, so Julia was banished to the study.

  ‘It’s a pity, Miss Julia,’ said Maggie. ‘But you’ll need to take your tea in the room. You’ll understand it wouldna be the right thing for you to take your tea in the kitchen with Mrs. Inglis there.’

  Julia understood perfectly and was not sorry to be banished, for she was half-way through Villette, which she had found on Uncle Randal’s shelves. Lucy Snowe was annoying, of course (Julia would have liked to take her and shake her and tell her not to be a silly little ass), but all the same she was so enthralled by the creature’s misadventures that it was difficult to put the book down. She propped it against the teapot and sipped her tea. It was most enjoyable.

  By this time Lucy was in desperate straits; she had fallen in love and the wretched man, having led her on in a shameless manner, had now forsaken her. He had failed to keep his appointment with her and had gone away without saying good-bye. Various other frightful things had happened to poor Lucy and she had gone to bed ‘haunted by quick scorpions,’ when the door opened and Neil came in.

  Lucy’s troubles were immediately forgotten.

  ‘Oh, Neil, have you seen the doctor?’ Julia exclaimed. ‘You had better fetch another cup and——’

  ‘Too much bother,’ said Neil, sinking gratefully into a big chair. ‘I’ll just have it in the slop-bowl.
Lucky you haven’t used it!’

  She was about to expostulate but already Neil had leaned forward and was pouring out his tea, adding milk and five lumps of sugar.

  ‘It’s bigger than those silly cups,’ he explained, taking the bowl in his two hands and drinking the syrupy liquid with enjoyment. ‘I had no time for lunch,’ he added, seizing a buttered scone and devouring it ravenously.

  In view of his starving condition Julia forgave him and smiled at him in a friendly manner.

  There was a short silence while the pangs of hunger were alleviated.

  ‘I couldn’t get hold of the old doc,’ said Neil at last. ‘Mrs. Cairn said he’d gone to Dunbar on business. I wonder what he’s doing at Dunbar.’

  ‘Business, perhaps,’ suggested Julia.

  ‘Think you’re funny, don’t you? Well, you are funny,’ declared Neil with a wide grin. ‘You amuse me a lot.’

  ‘I find you rather boring,’ declared Julia, giggling and displaying her dimples in her usual attractive way.

  Neil laughed delightedly and poured out another bowl of tea.

  ‘Six lumps of sugar!’ exclaimed Julia, raising her eyebrows.

  ‘I’ve used up a great deal of energy this afternoon. That’s why I require so much sugar. What have you been doing?’

  ‘Writing letters,’ she replied. ‘I’ve realised that you were right. I can’t go home on Tuesday; in fact I shall have to stay here with Uncle Ran until he’s better.’

  ‘That’s grand!’ he exclaimed. ‘That’s splendid! Julia, I didn’t want to say much on the telephone this morning because in a place like Leddiesford you never know whether somebody may be listening, but it was marvellous that you were able to persuade Uncle Ran. How did you manage it?’

  ‘Remember, Neil, it’s only on condition that Dr. Cairn agrees.’

  ‘I know—and anyway we couldn’t get MacTavish without his sanction—but I’ll make him agree,’ declared Neil emphatically. ‘You’ve done your bit, Julia, and I’ll do mine. I intend to be on his doorstep at eight-thirty to-morrow morning. He’s not likely to be out before that.’

  Julia thought it most unlikely.

  ‘How did you manage it?’ asked Neil.

  He had asked this question before and Julia had evaded it. She did not intend to answer it now, so she offered him another scone.

  ‘It’s a secret, is it?’ asked Neil as he accepted the offering. ‘Well, never mind, I shall worm it out of you in time. I like to know things—all sorts of things—for one thing I’d like to know why you’ve gone all grand.’

  ‘Gone all grand?’

  ‘Having tea all by yourself in state. I thought you always had it in the kitchen.’

  This was easily explained so Julia explained it.

  ‘No, of course it wouldn’t be the right thing,’ said Neil seriously. ‘And anyway the two old girls wouldn’t want you.’ He took the last scone, crammed it into his mouth and added none too clearly, ‘They’re probably talking obstetrics.’

  ‘Did you say obstetrics?’

  ‘M’h’m. People having babies. They wouldn’t want a young and innocent maiden listening in.’

  Julia giggled.

  ‘It’s a silly giggle but there’s something rather attractive about it,’ said Neil, looking at her critically.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t mention it. I’m glad we’re cousins.’

  ‘Cousins? But we aren’t cousins!’

  ‘We share Uncle Ran. You can’t share an uncle unless you’re cousins. If you think about it you’ll realise that it’s impossible for two people to have the same uncle unless they’re cousins.’

  ‘But he isn’t really your uncle.’

  ‘He was my uncle long before you knew anything about him,’ retorted Neil with some heat.

  ‘All the same——’

  ‘Listen, Julia. I’ve been thinking about it and I’m sure we’re cousins. The Logans and the Harburns have been living in this district within a few miles of each other for generations so it goes without saying that they must have intermarried. At some time or other, perhaps four or five generations ago, a Neil Logan must have married a Miss Harburn—or a Randal Harburn a Miss Logan. See what I mean?’

  At first Julia had thought he was joking but she now perceived that he was perfectly serious. She had heard of’ Scotch cousins’ but she had not realised that the relationship was quite so far-reaching.

  ‘I’ve got a tree as long as your arm,’ continued Neil. ‘It’s rolled up in a tin case and I’ve never bothered to look at it, but I’ll have a go at it when I can spare a moment; meanwhile let’s be cousins, Julia. I’ve got no cousins—at least none that I know of—and I’ve always thought it would be a nice pleasant relationship. What about it?’

  ‘All right,’ said Julia, laughing. ‘I haven’t got any either. What are cousins supposed to do?’

  ‘Oh, just stand by in an emergency, that’s all.’ Neil rose and added that he had wasted the whole day trying to get hold of the old doc so he must do some work. ‘I shall probably work till midnight,’ he added. ‘It’s nice and quiet in the evening. I’ll just look in and see Uncle Ran for a minute and then I’ll be off.’

  When Neil had gone Julia returned to Villette . . . but somehow the spell had been broken and she did not really mind what happened to Lucy Snowe.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  As usual Uncle Randal came into the study for supper, and he and Julia had it together by the fire. It had been a warm day, but now it had become cooler and was raining, so the gentle log fire was very pleasant. Julia was glad to find that he did not seem to be worrying about the prospect of seeing Mr. MacTavish; he was talking about his travels, which had been extensive, and talking in a a most interesting way. Julia had never before come into close contact with a man so widely read and widely travelled and she found his conversation absorbing.

  ‘Have you ever been in South Africa?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, but it’s a long time ago,’ he replied, smiling. ‘It’s an amazing country. There’s a queer sort of fascination about the veldt and the kopjes and the blazing sunshine. I went on safari with two other fellows that I happened to pick up in Johannesburg. They were interested in precious stones and they infected me with their enthusiasm——’

  ‘Precious stones!’ exclaimed Julia. ‘Oh, I’m tremendously interested in them too, especially sapphires.’

  ‘Sapphires,’ he said. ‘Yes . . . sapphires. I’ll tell you about sapphires . . . some time. I’m not . . . feeling very well . . . just now. . . .’

  She looked up in dismay. His face had gone a queer colour—grey like ashes—and there were beads of perspiration on his forehead. His hands were clutching the arms of his chair.

  ‘Uncle Ran!’ cried Julia.

  ‘Call Maggie!’ he exclaimed breathlessly ‘It’s all right, dear child. Don’t be—frightened—but—just call Maggie—quickly.’

  Julia ran to call her. She was not in the kitchen but was coming downstairs carrying a pile of linen in her arms. When she saw Julia’s face she dropped the linen in a heap and rushed into the study. Julia followed and saw her bending over him, murmuring to him, holding his hand, trying to raise him from the chair.

  ‘It’s one of his turns, Miss Julia!’ she exclaimed. ‘We must get him to his bed. Take hold of his other arm.’

  He was groaning with pain, bent almost double, but he was so light—so terrifyingly light—that between them there was no difficulty in getting him out of his chair. They half-carried him across the hall and into his room and laid him on the bed. He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow.

  ‘Phone the doctor,’ cried Maggie. ‘Quick, Miss Julia! It’s three-two-nine. Tell him to come at once.’

  Julia ran to the phone. Her hand was shaking as she took up the receiver . . . and she remembered suddenly that the doctor had gone to Dunbar! Fortunately he had just returned, and said he would come. For a moment Julia hesitated and then ran back to see if th
ere was anything more she could do to help. The door was locked. She could hear half-strangled groans and Maggie’s voice, soothing and encouraging.

  Julia tapped gently and in a moment or two Maggie opened the door.

  ‘Is he coming?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, at once. Can I help?’

  ‘He’s not wanting you to come in. You can fill a hot-water bottle—two of them—and put on the kettle. The doctor will need a glass of boiling water for his needle.’

  ‘Yes, of course!’ Julia went into the kitchen, filled the kettle and put it on the stove, and found the hot-water bottles. Quite soon she heard the doctor come in at the front door and go straight into the bedroom. By this time the kettle was boiling so she filled the glass and the hot-water bottles and carried them to the door. When she tapped, Maggie came and took them from her.

  ‘Can’t I do anything?’ asked Julia miserably.

  ‘There’s nothing anybody can do,’ replied Maggie, closing the door.

  Julia stood in the hall twisting her hands together; tears were running down her cheeks. He was dying—she was sure of that. Uncle Randal was dying . . . and she loved him dearly. She only realised now—when he was dying—how much she loved him. She could hear the sound of moaning; it went on and on growing more feeble until at last the dreadful sound ceased and there was silence. . . .

  A few moments later the door opened and the doctor came out.

  ‘Dr. Cairn, what’s happened?’ she exclaimed.

  ‘He’ll be all right now,’ replied Dr. Cairn. ‘I’ve given him a shot of morphia. There’s no need to worry. You’re Miss Harburn, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good evening,’ he said, smiling at her and taking up his hat which was lying on the hall table.

  ‘I should like to speak to you for a minute.’

  ‘Some other time,’ he replied, nodding. ‘We’ll have a chat some other time, Miss Harburn. I’ve been out all day and I’m anxious to get home.’

  ‘Please, Dr. Cairn, just for a few minutes,’ said Julia. She opened the door of the study and waited.