Above Rubies

by Mary Cummins

  “Mr. Benjamin’s here, Miss Merry,” said Mrs. Cameron, as she brought in a cup of coffee. “Will I tell him you’re busy?”

  “No, no, of course not. It’s good of him to come. Ask him to come through, Mrs. Cameron.”

  “I’ll hand him in a cup of coffee, too,” beamed Mrs. Cameron, and a moment later Benjamin walked into the study.

  “Busy?” he asked. “I only popped over to see how you were. I believe Mrs. Campbell’s singing your praises all over Kilbraggan.”

  Merry blushed.

  “I wish she wouldn’t,” she said ruefully. “She was so delighted to have Cailleach back.”

  She laid aside the manuscript with a sigh. “I’m not doing too well at the moment,” she told him despondently. “I was sure this would sell, but I see now that it’s away off the mark. I wrote it rather emotionally, and the characters are quite unbelievable. I’ll have to scrap it.” Benjamin leafed it over.

  “I know how you feel,” he told her sympathetically. “I used to have some of my work rejected, and it knocked the stuffing out of me for an hour or two. What about the book?”

  “I’ve made a start,” Merry told him. “I only wanted to keep on with a few articles and short stories in the meantime. Nigel’s coming over to help me with an article on cleaning jewellery, this afternoon.”

  Benjamin pursed his lips, and nodded.

  “Best let you get on with it, then,” he told her, easing himself off her desk.

  “Och, but I’ve just made you some coffee, Mr. Benjamin,” said Mrs. Cameron, appearing with a tray, and Benjamin relaxed again as he thanked her and began to drink his coffee.

  “You ... you seem to get on well with Nigel Kilpatrick,” he said casually, as he helped himself to a buttered scone.

  Merry nodded.

  “He’s been very nice to me.”

  “You ... er... like him?”

  She looked at him defensively.

  “Of course I do. He’s charming. As a matter of fact, I’ve promised to help again at their next jewellery display in the Royal Hotel at Hillington. Will you be going?”

  Benjamin put down his cup and stood up.

  “I think I opt out this time,” he told her. “That sort of glamour isn’t really my line, and you already know what I think of you becoming involved with their jewellery. I know nothing went wrong last time, but that doesn’t mean that I think the possibility no longer exists. Anyway, if you must do this sort of thing, I can’t stop you ...only don’t get into more scrapes, will you? I might not always be available to bail you out!”

  “I told you I didn’t want a watch-dog,” she said with a touch of annoyance.

  He nodded and turned to go.

  “Cheerio, Merry.”

  “Cheerio,” she returned, and watched him go, feeling a sudden attack of unaccustomed loneliness. Benjamin had said he might not always be available, and the thought depressed her, while she wondered exactly what he had meant. Surely he wasn’t leaving the Cot House? Or could it be that he would be devoting more time to Stephanie in the future? Merry found the thought oddly depressing, though she didn’t know just why this could be so.

  With a sigh, she picked up her manuscript and tore it across, dropping it in her wastepaper basket. It was an emotional story, and that was the place for emotions which didn’t do any good.

  Nigel arrived after lunch, and Merry greeted him brightly, if a little subdued.

  “Hello, Nigel, it’s so nice to see you. Oh, you’ve brought me some notes, thank goodness. I need them. I got my last short story back today.”

  “Too bad,” said Nigel, and Merry’s eyes flickered as she realised it didn’t really mean anything to him. “I hope you’ll make a better job of your article, then.”

  He began sorting out the papers.

  “I’ve made a heading for each type of stone, and a note under it as to how best to keep it clean. Diamonds, as you see here, can actually be boiled clean, dried in hot sawdust, then polished gently with a soft cloth. Some people are terrified of washing them in case the stone comes out of the setting, which is nonsense. They’re probably confusing the diamonds with a much softer stone like turquoise. Anyway, a well-set stone won’t come out with soap and water, and you’d be surprised how dirty jewellery can get.”

  “It’s bound to, when you think about it,” said Merry.

  She watched Nigel’s eyes light up when he warmed to his subject, and had to admit that he was very attractive, as his bright blue eyes smiled into hers.

  “I remember a woman buying a spinel eternity ring, when I was working as an assistant in one of the shops. White spinels look a little like diamonds at first glance, though there’s less fire and a more whiteish appearance. At any rate, the spinels were much cheaper, and she chose the ring after being assured that they were genuine gemstones. A few weeks later she was back, declaring she’d been had, and the ring was nothing but cheap glass. The stones were dull and lifeless, and the ring looked terrible. It took me about five minutes to clean it up in our workroom, then she was suspicious that I’d swapped it over for another ring! You can’t please everybody.”

  He leafed over a page.

  “Be careful what you say about pearls, though, in case someone goes off and boils them! They need a great deal more care, and must be cleaned with warm soapy water to get the grease off, then dried very gently. Turquoises, too, are soft and have to be cleaned very carefully. The blue can lose its colour in water, warm water that is, so don’t do the washing up wearing a turquoise ring. I can give you some good illustrations if it will help your article.”

  “Oh, Nigel, you are good,” cried Merry, and he turned to her with a smile.

  “Am I, Merry?”

  He reached out and drew her gently into his arms, kissing her. She tried to respond, feeling the need to have someone to care for her, someone she could love in return. She could easily love Nigel, she decided, even if she didn’t think she was in love with him.

  “What’s wrong, Merry?” he asked, pushing her hair back and looking into her face. “I thought you were beginning to care for me. You know, I love you quite a lot already, but I was going to give you more time for us to get to know each other. I know you’re not a girl to be rushed.”

  “No,” said Merry, shaking her head, “and I do like you, Nigel.”

  “Then can’t I kiss you properly?”

  “I ... I think I’m a little tired today,” she excused herself.

  “Our consorting with the tinkers?” asked Nigel teasingly, though there was a warning note in "his voice. “Not the sort of escapade I enjoy my girl getting up to.”

  “Who told you?” asked Merry.

  “Oh, darling, everything that happens in Kilbraggan is news in five minutes. I expect we’re even engaged by now, in some quarters, though we haven’t got as far as that yet ... have we?”

  She shook her head.

  “Not yet, Nigel. As you say, I don’t like being rushed. We both need more time.”

  “But not too much,” said Nigel softly, and kissed her again.

  Outside Merry could hear the faint sound of a car, growing louder as it turned into the drive and crunched on the gravel.

  “Who can that be?” she asked. “Stephanie come to take you home?”

  “I’ve got my own car,” he told her, “and it sounds more like Joe Weir.”

  A moment later the bell shrilled, and Mrs. Cameron padded to the front door.

  “I’d better be going, Merry. What about a run out in the car next Saturday? We could drive somewhere for dinner ... maybe dancing, too.”

  “That would be lovely,” said Merry, feeling her spirits lift. Nigel was really very sweet. The faint sounds of a female voice reached her, and she turned as Mrs. Cameron again knocked gently on the door.

  “Ye’ve got a visitor, Miss Merry,” she announced, a rather constrained note in her voice. “It’s yer cousin, Miss Neilson.”

  “Sylvia!” cried Merry. “Whatever is she doing here?�
�� and a moment later an all-too-familiar voice was greeting her.

  “Merry darling, I knew you’d want me to come, though I’ve had such a journey from the station with that peculiar old taxi driver, Joe Something ... Oh!”

  She stopped in the doorway, looking like a silver fairy with her pale dove-grey suit, matching accessories and wonderful silvery-blonde hair. Her small piquant face was flushed, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of annoyance and excitement, and Merry had never seen her look lovelier. Even Stephanie’s beauty paled into more ordinary good looks beside Sylvia.

  “This is Mr. Kilpatrick, from Rossie House,” she said, turning to Nigel. “Nigel, my cousin, Sylvia Neilson.”

  “How do you do.”

  Sylvia’s voice tinkled sweetly and her small face dimpled into a smile as she held out her hand. Merry had seen that look so many times before, and the smile went a bit stiff on her face. Would Nigel, too, be captivated, even at first sight, as so many before had been?

  “I was just going, I’m afraid,” he said, politely but rather formally, “but I shall be back over to see Merry shortly. We’ll meet again, Miss Neilson.”

  “I’ll look forward to that,” Sylvia told him, laughter gleaming in her eyes.

  Merry accompanied him to the door, and he turned to wave cheerfully and tell her that he’d see her soon. She returned to the sitting-room, to find Sylvia sprawling on the settee, her lug gage piled round her. She didn’t know whether she was glad to see her cousin or not.

  “Well, Sylvia?” asked Merry.

  “I’d forgotten how restful it is, darling,” said Sylvia, waving her hand about, so quiet. “Just what I need at the moment. I hope you’ll be very sweet and won’t mind if I stay for a week or two.”

  Merry felt mean and ashamed that her heart sank at Sylvia’s words. She ought to be happy to have her only cousin here to stay, but she had never grown very fond of Sylvia, and the thought of having to put up with her for more than a very short visit depressed her.

  “If you won’t be bored,” she said flatly. “What about Graham? Won’t he be missing you?”

  “Not much,” said Sylvia, rather airily. “That’s all over, and don’t get stuffy and start asking questions. We were never really suited, you know.”

  Merry’s lips tightened. She’d liked Graham Holland, and Sylvia had only wanted him because he was her friend. Luckily her heart hadn’t been touched, but she suspected that Graham had been hurt, and was annoyed that Sylvia could treat people so casually.

  “How are Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle George?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “A bit peevish with you, Merry dear, for running out on them.”

  Her voice changed suddenly, and she looked very young and tired with faint blue shadows under her eyes.

  “They drive me to screaming point at times,” she said, “and it’s worse since you left. Let me stay here for a while, anyway. I feel tired to death, and I want a change. I want peace and quiet, for once.”

  Merry’s heart softened. If only Sylvia would shed all her affectations permanently, and try to live a normal, useful life, how much easier it would be to love her. They were cousins, and they should be much closer than they were. She had been spoilt by Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle George doting on her, but it wasn’t too late for her to learn new values.

  “Of course you can stay, Sylvia, as I told you ” she said warmly. “I’ll be glad to have you. It gets a little bit lonely at times.”

  “With such an attractive young man?” asked Sylvia teasingly, and laughed as Merry blushed. “Tell me about him. Who is he, and what does he do?”

  Merry began to tell her all about the Kilpatrick shops, pleased to be arousing Sylvia’s interest as she told her all about the jewellery exhibition.

  “And you mean you modelled that fabulous jewellery?” asked Sylvia incredulously. “Wow! You have been having a lovely time. Lucky Stephanie. She’ll be able to borrow what she wants.”

  “Perhaps,” smiled Merry. “Though I think they consider the stock is for selling to their customers, and not for private use.”

  “I hope I can have a peep. I love jewellery and precious stones. Those brooches and things old Aunt Julia left me are so old-fashioned now. I’d love to see those cocktail rings, and brooches, modern-designed brooches. Could I see them, do you think?”

  Merry laughed at the eagerness on her cousin’s young face. In this mood, Sylvia was irresistible.

  “I expect so, darling.”

  A moment later Mrs. Cameron walked in, a guarded look on her normally cheerful face.

  “I’ve put Miss Neilson in your old room, Miss Merry,” she said, a trifle stiffly. “I hope that’s all right.”

  “That will be wonderful, Mrs. Cameron,” cried Sylvia. “And please call me Sylvia. Surely you remember me when I used to come and stay with Aunt Ellen. Merry and I were often here together.”

  “I remember you, Miss ... Sylvia,” Mrs. Cameron informed her, in the same disapproving voice.

  “And no doubt thought me a horrible child,” laughed Sylvia disarmingly. “Oh, Mrs. Cameron, don’t hold it against me. Look! I’ve grown up now.”

  She rose, turning and twisting for the older woman’s inspection, and Mrs. Cameron’s expression reluctantly softened into a smile. Sylvia could be lively and full of fun when she liked, thought Merry. It might be nice to have another girl around for a little while.

  “You can have a warm bath before your supper, Miss Sylvia,” Mrs. Cameron told her, as she hurried towards the kitchen. “I’ll take the rest of your things up to the bedroom.”

  “Thank you,” said Sylvia. “I’ll just go up now, then, Merry. This is going to be fun!”

  CHAPTER 5

  IT was difficult to settle into a new routine, thought Merry, as she struggled with the third chapter of her book, even with the encouragement of an acceptance for her jewellery article. Sylvia was doing her best to fit into the household, although Mrs. Cameron was alternately disapproving and resigned. She deplored the untidiness in Sylvia’s bedroom, then softened a little when the girl brought her some small gift from the village stores, or Hillington.

  At first she had found it difficult to understand why Merry was willing to do anything so boring as writing. It was much too reminiscent of school essays and tiresome homework, but Merry knew that explanations were almost impossible, and merely made it clear that her study was her own domain, and privacy was essential.

  The following Saturday Merry got ready for her date with Nigel, while Sylvia watched her, the first look of sulkiness on her face.

  “I do think you might ask Nigel to take me, too,” she said, pouting. “It’s bad manners going out and leaving me here on my own.”

  Merry forbore to point out the number of times she had been left on her own, while Sylvia went dancing, and her aunt and uncle attended a bridge party.

  “You’ll have Mrs. Cameron,” she pointed out. “You won’t be entirely on your own.”

  “What fun!” exclaimed Sylvia sarcastically.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” said Merry. “I’m afraid Nigel asked me before we knew you were coming, Sylvia.”

  “Well, you’ve no right to leave me here bored to death,” Sylvia retorted sulkily, then brightened a little. “Maybe Nigel will ask me to come, too, when he calls.”

  “Maybe he will,” said Merry quietly. “I shan’t need to give you any advice on how to wangle an invitation.”

  Nigel looked tall and handsome in a dark suit and sparkling white shirt, and Merry felt a rush of pride at the sight of him. Sylvia had beaten Mrs. Cameron to the door, and was now sweetly entertaining him, and offering him cigarettes. Nigel’s blue eyes sparkled with amusement at her eager efforts to amuse him.

  “I do think Merry’s lucky, going out dancing,” she told him. “I love dancing.”

  “Most young people do,” Nigel told her smilingly. “I tell you what...” He paused, and Sylvia gazed at him eagerly.

  “Yes?”
r />   “My sister Stephanie is in London at the moment, on business for our firm. We’re running another line in gold jewellery, which has been enamelled in glowing colours, and we thought Stephanie might take a look at the latest samples. The one sent to us was a lovely brooch, shaped like a flower, and enamelled in rich blues and greens, with diamonds on the stem. It isn’t a new idea, of course, but fairly new to Kilpatricks.”

  Sylvia’s eyes were glowing.

  “How gorgeous!” she breathed. “I’d love to see them.”

  “And so you shall,” said Nigel indulgently. “Stephanie will be buying a few pieces, brooches, rings and bracelets, and we’ll see if they become popular or not. When she comes home, I’m sure she’ll be delighted to arrange a small party. Brendan would come, and one or two young people from Hillington, We’ll make sure of the dancing, Sylvia.”

  “Who is Brendan?” she asked.

  “Benjamin Brendan who lives in the Cot House. He’s a commercial artist. Hasn’t Merry mentioned him?”

  “There hasn’t been much time to tell Sylvia about everyone yet,” Merry said, rather hastily, her cheeks suddenly warm. It was difficult to know why she had put off introducing Sylvia to Benjamin.

  “Talk of the devil,” said Nigel, as he glanced out of the window, “here he is now.”

  Benjamin looked amused when he saw the small party in the sitting-room.

  “Well, well,” he said, walking forward. “Have I come at the wrong time? All set for a night out?”

  “Except me,” Sylvia told him, in a small voice, while Merry quickly made the introductions.

  “Don’t let me keep you,” Benjamin told her. “I only came over with the rest of the information about Uncle Ian for your book. I thought you might be waiting for it.”

  “Oh, Benjamin, I am,” said Merry delightedly. “I’ll be able to get on with it so much quicker. Thank you very much.”