by L. T. Meade
is to accumulate; my furniture, plate, valuable china, and jewels are to remain unsold.
"I have, however, given directions in my will that a certain small legacy is to be given without any delay to a young girl, the daughter of a relative.
"This girl came to me a week ago with a request that I should give her sufficient money to enable her to attend a school of art. I hate art schools; the word art, as applied to them, is a misnomer. I have my own views with regard to art--she is a mistress who must be wooed in a very different manner. This girl, Rosamund Lindley is her name, trod severely on my most cherished prejudices when she made her daring request.
"To show, however, that I bear her good-will, I leave her, and request that it may be given to her at once, the valuable ruby ring which belonged to my mother, and which for many years I wore myself. You will find the ring in my mother's jewel-case, in drawer fifty, room eight, in the second story of this house.
"Rosamund Lindley and her mother may possibly attend my funeral. I hope they will. In that case, please give Rosamund the ruby ring in the presence of my other relatives, and, although I lay no command upon her in the matter, tell her, if she values the memory of old Geoffrey Rutherford, not to sell the ring.
"I am, my dear Gray,--
"Yours faithfully,--
"Geoffrey Rutherford."
Immediately after reading the letter Mr Gray put his hand into hiswaistcoat pocket, and drew out a small, old-fashioned morocco case.
"You will like, ladies and gentlemen, to see the ruby ring," he said, inhis blandest tones.
CHAPTER THREE.
THE OCTAGON ROOM.
There was immediately a great buzz and clatter in the room. All therelatives rose in a body, and pressed round the table near which MrGray stood. My mother and I, surely the most interested personspresent, were thus pushed quite into the background.
We had not a chance of seeing the ring until the other relatives hadfirst gazed at it.
It was taken out of its velvet bed, and handed solemnly from one toanother. I don't think an individual praised it. The comments whichreached my ears were somewhat as follows:
"What an old-fashioned shape!"
"Dear, dear, how clumsy!"
"The centre stone is large, but is it real?--I doubt it."
A very morose-looking Scotchman pronounced the ring "no canny." A ladynear immediately took up the sentiment, and said that the gem had anevil look about it, and she was truly thankful that the ring was notleft to her.
A gentleman, who I was told afterwards was a poet and wrote verses forthe magazines, said that the ruby itself had an eye of fire, and if itwere his he feared it would haunt him.
In short, one and all of the relatives expressed their scorn of thering, and their utter contempt for Cousin Geoffrey. Not a woman in theroom now spoke of him as a poor dear, nor a man as an eccentric butdecidedly jolly sort of old boy. There were several mutteredexclamations with regard to Cousin Geoffrey's sanity, but no expressionof affection came from a single pair of lips.
At last Mr Gray's voice was distinguished, rising above the generaldin.
"If you will permit me, ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I should beglad to show Miss Rosamund Lindley her property. Allow me, madam." Andhe took the ring out of a sour-faced lady's hand. Immediately all eyeswere turned on me. I heard the stout person who had spoken of CousinGeoffrey as a "poor dear," pronounce me nothing but a chit of a girl.Notwithstanding this withering comment, I had, however, the strength ofmind to come forward, and with outward calmness receive my property.
"Take all possible care of this ring, Miss Lindley," said the lawyer."If it has no other value, it is worth something as a curiosity. Thesetting of the gem is most uncommon." Then he put the case containingthe ring into my hand.
One by one the relatives now left the room, and my mother, the lawyer,and I found ourselves alone.
"If you will permit me," said my mother in her gentle, charming sort ofmanner to Mr Gray, "I should like to go over Cousin Geoffrey's house,and to look once again at the old furniture. You are not perhaps awareof the fact that I lived here for many years when I was a young girl."
Mr Gray smiled slightly.
"I happen to know some of Mr Rutherford's history," he said.
My mother blushed quite prettily, as if she were a young girl. Sheturned aside and took my hand in hers.
"We may go, then," she said.
"Undoubtedly you may go, Mrs Lindley, and pray do not hurry; take yourown time. I am going to put a caretaker into this house, and until hearrives shall stay in charge myself, so you and Miss Rosamund need nothasten away."
My mother thanked Mr Gray, and then she and I began our pilgrimage. Idon't think I ever before spent such an interesting afternoon. CousinGeoffrey's death had cast me down and destroyed all the hopes on which Ihad been building, still--perhaps it was the effect of the ring--I felta curious sense of elation. The task of looking over the old house wasthe reverse of depressing to me. I never had been in such an antique,curious, rambling old mansion before. It was not like an ordinaryLondon house; it had unexpected nooks, and queer alcoves, andmarvellously carved and painted ceilings, and quaint balustrades andgalleries. It must have been built a long time ago, and when theprecious London ground was comparatively cheap, for the building wentback a long way, and was added to here and there, so that it presentedquite an irregular pile, and I don't believe another house in London inthe least resembled it. It towered above all its fellows in the square,and looked something like a great king who owned but a shabby kingdom.For the neighbouring houses were fifth-rate, and most of them let out intenements.
But Cousin Geoffrey's house was not only curious in itself--its contentswere even more wonderful. I never saw a house so packed with furniture,and I don't believe there was an article in it which had not seen atleast a hundred years. The quaintest bureaus and chests of drawersinlaid with brass and ivory and mother-of-pearl were to be found in alldirections. There were great heavy glass cupboards full of rare andwonderful china; there were spindle-legged tables and chairs of the mostapproved last-century pattern; there were Chippendale book-cases, andQueen Anne furniture of all shapes and sizes. At the time I was not aconnoisseur of old furniture, but my mother was. She told me the dateof the furniture of each room, and said that the house was so full ofvaluables, that it would make in itself quite an interesting museum. Inever saw my mother look younger or prettier.
"Ah, I remember this," she exclaimed, "and this--and this. It was bythis mirror I stood when I was dressed for my first ball, and as alittle child I used often to climb on to this carved window-sill."
We came to a room presently which seemed to have been taken more care ofthan the rest of the house. Its approach was up a little turret stair,and the room, when we entered it, was an octagon. Each of the octagonwindows contained a picture in richly-coloured glass; the picturesrepresented the same child in various attitudes.
"Oh, how lovely!" I exclaimed. "Even the dirt and the neglect can'tspoil these windows."
"No," said my mother, but she turned a little white, and for the firsttime showed signs of fatigue. "I did not know Geoffrey kept the room insuch order," she said. "Why, look, Rosamund, look, it is fairly clean,and the glass in this great mirror shines. I believe Geoffrey took careof this octagon room himself."
"This was your room, mother," I said, flashing round upon her, "and I dobelieve this was your face when you were a child. Oh, what lovely,quaint, uncomfortable chairs, and _what_ a brass fender to the oldgrate, and _what_ a wonderful bit of tapestry hangs across that alcove!This was your room, your own, wasn't it, mother dear?"
"I used to sit here a good deal," answered my mother. "And Geoffrey'sfather had the windows representing childhood put in specially for me.Poor Geoffrey! I think he drew all the designs himself."
"Then Cousin Geoffrey was an artist?"
"Oh, my dear, did I never mention that?"
"Rosamund dear, I am glad you have got the ruby ring. From a man likeGeoffrey it means much. Cousin Geoffrey must have taken a great fancyto you, Rosamund."
"Well, mother, I wish he had left me some of his money."
My mother's face turned still paler. She made no reply, but, walkingacross the octagon room, she spent some little time examining the oldfurniture, and touching it with reverent fingers.
"Rosamund," she said suddenly, "I am tired. This day has been too muchfor me. We will go home now."
I took the ring home in my pocket. This was a dangerous thing to do,and Mr Gray looked