by Mary Cummins
“I’d like all this put in the study, Mrs. Cameron,” she said, “I’d like to go through them all at my leisure. Oh, that reminds me, I shall be going out this afternoon.”
“Oh, aye?” asked Mrs. Cameron inquiringly, and Merry hesitated for a moment.
“Mr. Kilpatrick has invited me over to Rossie House,” she explained, “for tea, and to show me some of his jewellery.”
“Oh, aye,” said Mrs. Cameron again, this time with a small non-committal nod.
“Oh, and Mr. Brendan, the artist, is coming to tea next Wednesday.”
“Oh, aye,” said Mrs. Cameron for the third time, and a gleam lit her eyes. “Seems like we’re getting to know the neighbours, Miss Merry. Not that Mr. Brendan is a stranger, you might say. He is and he isn’t. We all ken wha he is, if you get my meaning.”
“I don’t,” said Merry, bewildered.
“Why, he’s a Ross-Findlater, and is really the last of them, now Mr. Ian and old Mr. Alexander have both gone. Miss Alison married Mark Brendan of Ladykirk, you see, and when Mr. Ian died, there was only the old man left at Rossie House, and Mr. Benjamin still at school. Davie Laird was at the Cot House in them days, to see to things. Then old Mr. Ross-Findlater died, and last year Davie Laird followed him, puir sowl, and Mr. Benjamin decided to come home. He’s the real owner of Rossie House, Miss Merry, only he’s rented it to the Kilpatricks.”
“Oh, I see,” said Merry.
There was no need to wonder any longer why Stephanie Kilpatrick so obviously wanted Benjamin Brendan. His must be one of the oldest families in the neighbourhood.
“He’ll be right welcome here, Miss Merry,” said Mrs. Cameron. “He called a few times to see Miss Ellen, but latterly she wasn’t so well and couldn’t entertain much. She aye liked him, though.”
“I thought you said he was a funny one.”
“So he is,” defended Mrs. Cameron. “He makes me laugh, the way he goes on.”
Mrs. Cameron again told her all about Benjamin’s behaviour in public, punctuated with hearty giggles.
“Mr. Kilpatrick seems nice,” put in Merry softly, remembering Nigel’s dancing blue eyes and charming smile.
“Oh, aye,” said Mrs. Cameron non-committally. “Yon Miss Stephanie is chasing Mr. Benjamin at the moment, and she’ll have him, too, if he doesn’t watch out. She’s fair spoiled, that girl. She once condescended to help with a garden party for church funds, and Mrs. Cairns, the minister’s wife, asked her to help me sell home provisions, and I was never so near slapping any young girl, she was that uppity and bossy. If you ask me, it’s what she’s short of, and another one I could name, too, and that’s Miss Sylvia. I was always glad when she didn’t stay here long, and that’s a fact. Folk don’t know how to bring up girls these days.”
“No?” asked Merry, grinning.
“I wasn’t meaning you, as you well know,” said Mrs. Cameron. “It’s been the opposite for you, and you could do with a bit of spoiling now. Only mind the Kilpatricks, Miss Merry. They’re strangers, you see.”
“But I thought they’d been here almost a year.”
“Still strangers,” said Mrs. Cameron firmly, “and it doesn’t do for a young man to have a conceit of himself. Och, never mind an old woman’s havers,” she added, as she saw Merry’s puzzled face. “Go and have a good time. I’ll get a nice bit of salmon for Mr. Benjamin’s tea.”
After lunch Merry dressed carefully in her best suit of russet-coloured tweed, beautifully cut to enhance her neat figure. She brushed her soft brown hair till it shone with red lights, and applied discreet make-up. Satisfied with her appearance, she went downstairs and into the kitchen.
“I don’t expect I’ll be home late, Mrs. Cameron.”
The older woman turned, then gasped with delight.
“My, but you look a fair treat, Miss Merry,” she said admiringly. “I didn’t realise you were such a braw lass.”
Merry dimpled at the compliment, and was grateful for it. It gave her poise and confidence, and she felt well able to deal with Stephanie, if she happened to be at home. Nigel had made no mention of who else was likely to be present when she went to tea, but Merry felt full of eager anticipation as she walked lightly down the road in her neat leather shoes, polished like chestnuts. It was a lovely autumn day with only a soft breeze to rustle the trees and send a scattering of leaves down to swirl gently round her feet. Merry tried to catch one, as Mrs. Cameron had promised her a happy year ahead if she could, but found it surprisingly difficult.
Passing the Cot House, she glanced at the windows, but saw no sign of life. The narrow road twisted between trees for about a hundred yards, then widened into the courtyard in front of Rossie House. It was a charming old place, surprisingly small and neat, with sash windows peeping through ivy, and neat flower beds beside the gravel path.
Merry walked up to the heavy front door, passing Nigel’s white Jaguar sports car, and pulled the bell. An elderly woman with an inquisitive face, neat grey hair and a plain black dress opened the door. Merry had no difficulty in recognising Jeanie Lumsden.
“I’m Miss Saunders,” she said. “Mr. Nigel Kilpatrick invited me for tea.”
“Come in, you’re expectit,” the woman nodded. “I’ll tell Mr. Nigel you’re here.”
She showed Merry into a small room off the hall, while from behind another door Merry could hear the sound of voices talking animatedly. The housekeeper took little notice of this, however, and knocked loudly on the door before opening it.
“Miss Saunders’s here, Mr. Nigel,” she announced.
“I’ll come now, Jeanie.”
“Who?” asked another voice.
“The new young girl at Beau Ness, Miss Blayne’s niece. I asked her over for tea.”
Merry could hear the deeper voice rumbling again, then Nigel spoke.
“We’ll talk about this later, Father, but I still say it’s worth the risk. If the first one’s a success then we should do another, even if it’s after Christmas. We must keep presenting something new, even in jewellery. We ...”
Again the voice faded a little, then a door slammed and Nigel was pushing open the door of the small room.
“Merry! How nice of you to come. Come through to the study and meet my father.”
Merry rose a trifle uncertainly, then smiled and nodded.
“Thank you, Nigel, I’d love to.”
Mr. Kilpatrick was a heavily-built man, in his late fifties, with neat grey hair and tired eyes. He rose and whipped off a pair of spectacles, to which an extra eye-glass had been fixed, before shaking Merry’s hand.
“Come and sit down, my dear,” he said, indicating a comfortable leather armchair.
The study was a large room, full of books, chairs and small tables, but mainly dominated by the large desk behind which Mr. Kilpatrick now sat. To one side were several rolls of thin leather material, and Mr. Kilpatrick reached for one and unrolled it on top of the desk.
“Nigel tells me you’re interested in seeing some of our special pieces of jewellery,” he said, genially. “What do you think of this?”
Merry gasped as he lifted back the velvet flaps, and showed a large range of diamond brooches.
“Sit over here at the desk, Merry,” said Nigel, pulling up a chair. “I knew you’d love to see these.”
The next hour was one of the most exciting Merry had known. She was allowed to handle wonderful diamond brooches, exquisitely designed and set with perfectly matched stones.
“How beautiful!” she gasped, as Nigel picked up a lovely rose, entirely encrusted with diamonds.
“Here it is in rubies and diamonds,” said Mr. Kilpatrick, picking up another.
“It’s like a wonderful fairy tale,” said Merry, and watched while Mr. Kilpatrick unrolled another leather roll, to show her a selection of gold bracelets, some in heavy figured gold, and some again set with diamonds, rubies and sapphires.
“You haven’t many emeralds,” she commented.
“We’ve qui
te a few among the rings,” Nigel told her, opening a fitted case and drawing out some ring pads. “They’re scarce now, though, and a flawless emerald is even more costly than a diamond. They’re a very brittle stone, you know, and easily broken. What do you think of that one?”
Merry gasped as he picked out a large square-cut emerald, surrounded by diamonds.
“It’s ... magnificent!” she said, awed.
“And this diamond one,” went on Mr. Kilpatrick, “might interest you. It’s been designed so that several cuts of diamonds have been used, brilliant cut, marquise, baguette, round that lovely pear-shaped stone in the centre.”
It was plain that both men were very knowledgeable about their gems, and Merry felt free to ask as many questions as she liked. She gazed, fascinated, while Mr. Kilpatrick pointed out the various cuts in stones and showed her why a beautiful clear solitaire is always more expensive than three lesser stones.
“You may be interested in this,” said Mr. Kilpatrick, lifting up a leather case and flicking back the lid. Inside were several large shapes, made of clear plastic. “This is a replica of a rough diamond (much larger, of course), and shows how it crystallises in the cubic system. This next one shows how the diamond can be sawn into two, and the next one shows how it begins to be polished into a brilliant cut stone, such as you know it. Here you see how the facets are formed, and here, finally, is the replica of a perfectly polished diamond, with fifty-eight facets. It’s the hardest substance in the world, and when you buy a diamond, it’s for ever.”
“But how is it polished if there’s nothing harder?” asked Merry.
A gleam came into the older man’s eyes.
“With diamond, my dear. Only diamond can polish diamond. Rubies and sapphires are corundum, and are the same stones, only different colours. They’re not so hard as diamonds, of course. This beautiful pale blue stone is a zircon, but it’s much softer. White zircon is sometimes mistaken for diamond, though it hasn’t the same fire when you see them side by side.”
“And turquoise?” asked .Merry, picking up a gold brooch whose flower petals were studded with lovely blue turquoise, the heart of the flower set with diamonds.
“They’re phosphate,” said Nigel. “They’re found with limonite, and the finest blue turquoise comes from Khorasan in Persia. Green is more common, but not such good stones.” Merry sat back in her chair, and gazed again at the glittering array. The final roll contained necklaces and earrings some of which matched brooches and rings she’d already seen.
“And ... and do you always keep these in the house?” she asked, rather fearfully.
“Goodness, no,” laughed Nigel. “Normally you’d have to come to the shop in Hillington, which is our biggest, or several shops even. This is a special occasion, when we have gathered this large stock together. Next Saturday we are having a private cocktail party in the showrooms above the Hillington shop, as I believe I mentioned to you, and we want to decide what the mannequins will wear. This pink topaz ring will, I think, be the piece de resistance.”
Merry gasped again as Nigel lifted a small blue leather ring case, and threw back the lid. Inside lay a beautiful ring, a huge stone glittering with pink fire.
“That’s our most expensive ring at the moment, because of its rarity,” he explained. “Topaz are good gemstones and this one is forty carats, and its clarity and cut are faultless. Stephanie will wear this one, also the diamond necklace, and tiara.”
“She’ll look ... wonderful,” said Merry, in an awed voice, then put the ring down quickly. For a moment she felt slightly giddy, and rather cold and shivery as she looked at the ring, but the feeling passed quickly and she admired its great beauty.
“Wouldn’t you like to come to the cocktail party?” Nigel asked her. “I’m sure you’d enjoy it.”
Her eyes glowed as Mr. Kilpatrick nodded and smiled, his long sensitive fingers busy with the leather rolls, folding back the velvet, rolling them up and tying them neatly with blue cord. “Why not?” he asked.
“I’d love to,” she said shyly. “I’ve never been to anything like that in my life.”
“We may be having another after Christmas, in one of the big hotels. I thought jewellery and furs, if the furrier I know agrees ... and if Father agrees.”
He grinned slyly at Mr. Kilpatrick.
“I’ll wait and see how this one goes, Nigel,” he said, a note of decision in his voice. “I’m still not convinced that parties of this kind are the best way of selling our goods. Our business has been built up, slowly, over the years, on trust and on satisfying old and valued customers who wouldn’t want to enjoy some of your smart new ideas.”
“And I say it’s ridiculous not to try them out for that reason,” said Nigel, and Merry was surprised to see how different he looked when decisive. The pleasant, boyish face looked grim, then he caught her eye, and laughed merrily.
“Sorry, my dear,” he apologised. “Dad and I often air our views, as though we were ready to fight each other. You’ll have to get used to the Kilpatrick temperament.”
A moment later Jeanie Lumsden knocked loudly on the door to say she’d served tea in the lounge.
“Then we’d better go and eat, my dear,” said Mr. Kilpatrick. “Why isn’t Stephanie here?” Stephanie, however, didn’t appear until they were all seated round the fine oval table, and Merry was pouring tea from a large silver pot.
“Sorry I’m late,” she apologised, sauntering into the lounge, and stopping to stare at Merry.
“I think you’ve met before,” said Nigel, politely. “Miss Saunders from Beau Ness ... my sister Stephanie.”
The older girl took in Merry’s neat suit and well-groomed appearance, then smiled a trifle coolly.
"Well, well, we are getting matey,” she said, sliding into a chair. “May I have a cup of tea, too?”
“Of course,” said Merry calmly, passing it over. “I’ve just been admiring your wonderful stock of jewellery, Miss Kilpatrick.”
“Yes, it is rather nice, isn’t it?” said Stephanie.
“We’ve invited Merry to the cocktail party,” Nigel told her.
Stephanie weighed her up lazily, then nodded. “Good,” she said. “She could be quite a lot of help. By the way, I called in to see Benjamin, Daddy, and he agrees to those alterations. I believe you’ve met our landlord, Miss Saunders —Benjamin Brendan?”
“We met the other day,” said Merry. “He invited me in for tea.”
“Yes, he’s inclined to be anxious about people. I’m afraid I worry about him a little. We’re ... good friends, you know.”
Stephanie gazed directly at the younger girl, and Merry could not fail to get the message. She was being warned off. Stephanie was willing to accept her, though she was probably too big a snob to treat her as a bosom friend, so long as she made no effort to attract Benjamin. Merry could have laughed aloud at the idea. She glanced across at Nigel, and had to admit that he was very attractive, though she would have to guard her heart carefully against him, as it was unlikely he would fall in love with an ordinary girl like her. He must meet beautiful and glamorous girls every day.
“Do you like Beau Ness?” Mr. Kilpatrick was asking. “It’s a fine solid little house.”
“Rather quaint,” said Stephanie sweetly. “How big is it?”
“Six rooms, then kitchen quarters and two extra rooms for Mrs. Cameron,” said Merry. “Aunt Ellen loved it, and so do I.”
“But she wasn’t your real aunt, was she?” asked Stephanie. “I understood you’re an orphan.”
“My mother was at school with Aunt Ellen ... Hilsden, actually, and I went there myself until a few years ago. Daddy was a missionary, but he died ...”
“Not Gregory Saunders?” broke in Mr. Kilpatrick, and eyed Merry with respect when she nodded. “I’ve read some of his essays and articles, my dear. He has inspired me many times. You must be proud of him.”
“I am,” said Merry gratefully, and rather shakily.
“I’ve ask
ed Benjamin for tea on Wednesday, but he says he has a previous engagement,” said Stephanie loudly, obviously bored with the subject. “Whatever could he be doing that’s so important?”
Merry bit her lip, hoping the sudden colour in her cheeks didn’t give her away.
“Perhaps I’d better be getting home,” she said, rising rather abruptly. “Mrs. Cameron and I are busy sorting out Aunt Ellen s things.”
“I’ll drive you home,” offered Nigel.
“No, it’s all right ... I’d like to walk.”
“Then I’ll walk with you. It will probably do us both good.”
As they passed the Cot House, the crimson and pink streamers from the setting sun lighting it up with a vivid glow, Merry caught sight of Benjamin hanging over the gate.
“Good evening,” he grinned at both of them. “Wonderful night for walking.”
“It certainly is,” agreed Nigel with enthusiasm, and Merry wondered why she felt slightly annoyed when he tucked her hand possessively through his arm. She wriggled uncomfortably, feeling as though Benjamin’s eyes were boring through her back, then laughed at her own imagination. What an irritating effect Benjamin had on her, she thought crossly.
As they reached the gates of Beau Ness, Nigel refused an invitation to come in, but clasped Merry’s hand warmly, then bent and quickly kissed her cheek.
“You’re a lovely girl, Merry,” he whispered. “Goodnight, my dear ... see you soon.”
“Goodnight, Nigel,” said Merry softly.