The Chase of the Ruby

by Richard Marsh

  CHAPTER X

  SHE WISHES THAT SHE HADN'T

  Miss Broad had a very bad night. That was because of her conscience,which pricked her. Almost as soon as Mr Holland had left her sheregretted the advice she had given him--advice, she had the candour toadmit, as applied to this case, being but a feeble word. She hadbullied him into committing burglary! It was awful to think of, or, atleast, it became awful by degrees. A sort of panorama of dreadfulimaginings began to unfold itself in front of her. She even picturedhim as being caught in the act, arrested, thrown into gaol, tried,sentenced to penal servitude, working in the quarries--she had heardof 'the quarries'--because of her. She did not pause to consider that,after all, he was responsible for his own actions. He loved her; byobedience he proved it, even to the extent of committing burglary.Therefore, the blame of what she did was on her shoulders.

  So she upbraided herself, regretting too late, as ladies sometimes do,the line of action she had taken up with so much vigour.

  'I wish I'd bitten my tongue off before I'd been so wicked. The truthis, I really believe I'd like to kill that woman. Ellen, you needn'tpull my hair right out.'

  The first two remarks were addressed to herself, the last, aloud, toher maid. That young person, who was dressing Miss Broad for dinner,found her mistress in rather a trying mood.

  'If he was detected in the act, he would be at that woman's mercy. Shemight compel him to do anything in order to avoid open humiliation anddisgrace and ruin.'

  At the thought of what he might be compelled to do, she was dividedbetween terror, tears and rage. Since the woman had once pretended tolove him, and, no doubt, was still burning with a desire to be hiswife, she might even force him--oh, horrible!

  'Ellen, you're pulling my hair again.'

  Which was not to be wondered at, considering how unexpectedly theyoung lady jerked her head.

  She ate no dinner, excused herself from two engagements, made herselfgenerally so agreeable that she drove her father to remark that hertemper was not improving, and he pitied the man who had anything to dowith her. Which observation added to her misery, for she knew quitewell that her temper was her weakest point. She was a wretch, and shehad ruined him!

  Throughout the night she scarcely slept. She was continually gettingoff the bed to pace the room, exclaiming,--

  'I wonder if he's doing it now?'

  She must have wondered if he was doing it 'now' nearly a hundredtimes, apparently under the impression that 'it' was an operationwhich took time.

  The result was that, when the morning came, she did not feel rested,and looked what she felt, causing her father--an uncomfortablyobservant gentleman, who prided himself, with justice, on being ableto say as many disagreeable things as any man--to remark that shelooked 'vinegary,' which soured Miss Broad still more.

  She had an appointment with Mr Holland, at the usual place in Regent'sPark, for ten. They were to have a little conversation; then,together, they were to go to church. She was at the rendezvous atnine, though how she managed to do it was a mystery even to herself.At ten minutes past she began to fidget, at the half-hour she was in afever, and when ten o'clock struck, and there was no Mr Holland, shewas as nearly beside herself as she could conveniently be.

  'He's never been late before--never, never! Oh, what has happened?'

  She went a little way along a path by which she thought that he mightcome; then, fearful that after all he might come another way,tremulously retracing her steps, she returned to the seat. But shecould not sit still, nor stand still either. She was up and down,sitting and standing, fidgeting here and there, glancing in everydirection, like the frightened creature she was rapidly becoming.Every nerve in her body was on edge. When the quarter struck, andthere were no signs of Mr Holland, she could restrain herself nolonger. Tears blinded her eyes; she had to use her handkerchief beforeshe could see. It would have needed very little for her to becomehysterical.

  She knew her man--his almost uncanny habit of punctuality. She wascertain that, if nothing serious had happened to prevent him, he wouldhave been in time to a moment. She was sure, therefore, that somethinghad happened. But what?

  As she vainly asked herself this question, a boy came along one of thepaths. He was a small child, about nine years of age, evidentlyattired in his Sunday best. He carried something in his hand. Comingup to her, he said,--

  'Are you Miss Broad?' She nodded; she could not speak. 'I was told togive you this.'

  He handed her the envelope. She jumped to the conclusion that it camefrom him. Her delight at receiving even a message from him aboutscattered her few remaining senses.

  'I'll give you sixpence.' She spoke with a stammer, fumbling with herpurse. 'I haven't one; I'll give you half-a-crown instead.'

  The boy went off mumbling what might have been meant for thanks,probably too surprised at the magnitude of the gift to be able to makehis meaning clear. She tore the envelope open. It contained half asheet of paper, on which were the words,--

  'If you want Mr Guy Holland, inquire of Miss May Bewicke.'