by Joan Smith
“I’m rich!” Luane shouted and clapped her hands in glee.
“How did you find out?” Jonathon asked.
“The same way you did, I fancy. I happened to notice the cut on the glass case where they are kept. I was sure it was not there before, and it occurred to me it was the sort of incision a diamond might make on glass. It was but a step to wonder if the diamond that cut it was not in the case, and by trying the stones, I discovered which one it was. How fortunate for Loo that it was the largest one. I took the necklace to Hamlet today, and he confirmed my theory. So your old Aunt Sophie didn’t do so badly by you after all, Loo.”
“It is a mistake,” Mrs. Milmont said. “She didn’t mean to give Luane a real diamond.”
“I think she did,” Hillary contradicted. “The wording of the will was rather peculiar as I recall, said the contents of the case ‘exactly as they are now are’ or ‘stand’—something of the sort—were to go to Loo. And I don’t see how the switch could possibly have been made accidentally.”
There was a good deal of general discussion, argument, and angry cries; but eventually the news was accepted as true and irrefutable, and the request for wine was repeated by Sir Hillary.
It was not champagne but Madeira that was produced, and with everyone having to re-assess his or her plans, there was a little silence while they sipped. Then little groups broke into excited chatter anew.
“The dogs will be gone tomorrow night you say?” Jonathon asked Hillary.
“Yes, Captain, you’d do much better to wait till tomorrow night to go after the necklace,” Thoreau informed him nonchalantly.
“Nobody said anything about going after the necklace.”
“I really didn’t expect to be told in so many words.”
“It was Gab that went digging her up the very night she was buried, you might happen to remember.”
“Yes, but he hadn’t seen the scratch on the glass case. We mustn’t be too hard on him. It was very quick of you to have noticed it, by the by. When did you first perceive it?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jonathon insisted.
“No one is listening; we might as well be alone, and I promise you I shan’t tell a soul. Was it when Loo threw the necklace down in a fit of pique the day the will was read? It must have been then. So it was that rather than your awareness of the inner steel lining in the coffin that deterred you from having a go in the graveyard that first night. I thought your surprise quite genuine when you heard of it the next morning. You didn’t see the glass case again till the night of my little dinner party—oh dear! And that, of course, is why you koshed poor Miss Milmont on the head, knowing she wore a fortune in diamonds. And here we accused the girl of imagining the whole; or alternatively you of going after her emerald ring. But what prevented you from making the snatch that night? Did someone disturb you? My servants have no consideration, I fear.”
“Don’t be so foolish,” Jonathon said.
“It is foolish of me to expect a confession, when the evidence is all circumstantial. But how well it hangs together! You made the deuce of a mess in my study, Jon. Didn’t you know I never keep anything valuable in that safe? And I am quite angry with you for hitting Miss Milmont. That was ungentlemanly in the extreme. But I see you dislike the subject, and who shall blame you? Let us speak of other things. Did my servants give you a good breakfast? I hope so, and I hope you didn’t waste too much time looking for the necklace while I was gone. I thought of telling you I had it with me, but then I said, no, let him have his little fun. He will be missing the excitement of making plans to thwart Boney, and this is the very thing to divert him. I took the precaution of leaving the necklace with Miss Bliss last night and picking it up this morning, in case you decided to try sleepwalking.”
“Look here, Thoreau . . .”
“You may call me Hillary.”
“How do I know you don’t plan to go after them tonight? For all I know you could stop at the graveyard on the way home and tell Bronfman to leave.”
“I could do that, but I shan’t.”
“How do I know you won’t?”
“You wound me, Jonathon, so untrusting. Let us see now, you could keep an eye on me by inviting me to remain the night, as I invited you last night.”
“So that’s why you did it.”
“Well, I didn’t think you’d be going to the graveyard, for you thought the whole necklace was genuine, but I wasn’t sure you wouldn’t be breaking into my house again, and to save my locks I asked you, after first removing the necklace here.”
“What about young Gabriel?”
“What about him? If I am to stay, you’ll have to find a bed for him, too. Or would you prefer to come to Chanely again? Still another ‘or’ occurs to me. We could just make a gentleman’s agreement to wait till tomorrow night, if you wish. I confess I am tired after so much driving and would like to have a night off.”
“A verbal agreement ain’t good enough.”
“Seems a pity to disturb Fletcher to have it done up legally,” Thoreau said, smiling lazily.
“I ain’t that big a gudgeon.”
“Ain’t you, Jonathon? You fooled me. What is it to be then? You at Chanely or myself and Gab here? You’ll have to feed us too. We hadn’t time to stop for dinner.”
“We’ve waited dinner for the girls. I suppose there’s enough for you and Gab, too.”
“I doubt it severely, but Loo has a bag of candies we’ll take from her if we find ourselves too ravenous. Are we to remain then?”
“Yes,” Jonathon decided, and it was settled.
The dinner was no better than Thoreau’s worst fears—stringy mutton, lukewarm potatoes boiled to a pulp, carrots and turnips, the whole topped off with bread pudding. There was plenty to go around for the extra company, as no one took very large portions.
When the gentlemen joined the ladies in the Crimson Saloon, Sir Hillary went to Miss Milmont’s side and said, “Are you too fagged for another game of chess?”
“You took the set home.”
“So I did. Pity. How about whist?”
She covered a yawn with her fist and said, “I am a little tired from the trip. Is it true you are to remain overnight?”
“Yes, do you mind?”
“Not in the least, and it will be an excellent time for us to dig up the diamonds, while we are all in the same house. We shan’t have such another opportunity.”
“And you are too tired for a game of whist! There is no understanding women. Also you seem to have forgotten to cut myself and Gabriel out of this adventure some time ago.”
“How can you be so spiritless?” she asked with contempt.
Goaded at this charge, he added, “Well, I promised Jonathon that tonight I shan’t go in any case, and I think he means to lock my door.”
“It will be better to wait till the dogs are called off. I wonder if they hurt the little boy very much.”
“I hope not. More frightened than hurt, very likely. I shall go to see him tomorrow.”
“Well, it seems we have all called a truce till tomorrow. I must own I am grateful for it. One is always fagged after a trip.”
“We’ll talk tomorrow. Go to bed, Claudia. You look burnt to the socket.”
“I shall, but not before I thank you for the wonderful day. It was marvelous, from beginning to end. Thank you.”
“Sleep well.” He blew her a kiss as she turned to take her leave of the others. Marcia observed this with a sharp narrowing of the eyes, but when she strolled casually up to him to try to sound him out, he excused himself with a yawn and went to his room.
Chapter Twelve
On Thursday, spring pretended to be coming at last. A balmy breeze wafted through the ill-fitting windows, and the damp chillness of Swallowcourt was alleviated somewhat. Outside the sun shone, and a brave beam or two penetrated the dusty fenestration to pick out a tarnished bowl on a table, and the dusty surfaces of heavy furniture.
�
�This promises to be a pleasant day,” Sir Hillary remarked, taking his place at the table beside Luane and Claudia. Gabriel was there before him, and they were joined shortly by their host.
“Just coffee for me,” he continued. Gabriel was either braver or hungrier. He tackled a plate of eggs and a muffin with apparent relish.
“Did everyone sleep well?” Thoreau continued. “Luane and Miss Milmont, I observe, are bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and full of schemes, as usual. Jonathon, have you been to the village yet to enlist the smitty’s help, or do you plan to attempt opening the casket with a file?”
“Don’t see why you keep harping on that,” Jonathon replied in a surly tone.
“It is the reason I spent a highly uncomfortable night on a lumpy mattress and unaired bed, and the reason I am drinking mud this morning instead of coffee. As it is uppermost in all our minds, I see no point in avoiding the subject. But you are the host, captain, and I bend like a reed in the wind to your wishes. We shall speak of other things. I plan to bid you farewell as soon as I have drunk my coffee. I repair to Chanely to await the constable and the vicar, pursuant to which I must see Fletcher. What are you ladies to do?”
Doubtful hunchings of the shoulders indicated their lack of plans, and Jonathon had a suggestion to put forward. As it was no longer eligible to court Luane, the inheritor of only one diamond and the tiara, he spoke to her bluntly.
“If you’ve nothing better to do you might get Sophie’s junk out of her room. Don’t see why I must go on sleeping in that nasty little yellow room, when the best bedroom is empty. Mean to say, she ain’t in it any longer, though it’s full of her stuff.”
“Why should I clean it for you?” Luane asked. “Have a servant do it.”
“You forget, brat,” Sir Hillary said to her, “Aunt Sophie’s personal effects were left to you.”
“Poo, what do I care for her musty old gowns and letters a hundred years old. Throw them out.”
“It might be worth your while to have a look,” Gabriel suggested. “She had that quite valuable traveling case in wrought silver with her combs and mirror and brushes.”
“Oh, and a sweet set of cut glass perfume bottles. I do like them,” Loo added, brightening to consider these acquisitions.
“Daresay they’re part of the furniture, if we was to take it to law,” Jonathon said.
“I think not,” Hillary contradicted.
“What of her costume jewelry?” Claudia asked. “Her watch . . .”
“Will you help me, cousin?” Loo asked Claudia, and it was agreed.
Thoreau and Gabriel left them to their chore and went to Chanely to confront a humble constable, shaking in his boots to tackle Sir Hillary Thoreau, and apologizing a dozen times for his task. He was set at his ease, told the dogs would be called off that same day, given a glass of small ale, and sent on his greatly relieved way. The vicar had still not arrived at ten-thirty, so Thoreau and Gabriel harnessed up the curricle to drive to Billericay, first stopping at a shop to pick up a toy for the wounded boy.
The boy ran out to meet them when they reached the vicarage, pointing proudly to a small plaster on his leg, “where the dog ate me.” The matter was handled in a trice, with good will on all sides, and a refusal by the vicar to let Sir Hillary pay even the doctor’s reckoning, as he was coming to give Martha, the vicar’s wife, a look-over anyway. She was increasing again, one of the annual rites of spring in Billericay, as regular as the flowering of the trees or the lengthening of the days.
Sir Hillary made another stop before going to see Fletcher. Something in the window of Miss White’s Drapery Shop attracted his eye. As Gabriel had already been sent off to the sweet shop while he talked with Fletcher, he did not hesitate to go in and purchase what had attracted him. Miss White raised her eyebrows and wondered who Sir Hillary should be buying a shawl for, with his mother cold in the grave and never a sign of a sweetheart. Wasn’t for his housekeeper, for it was miles away from her birthday, and she wouldn’t be wearing such a lively shade either. Very odd the way he had looked at it and said, “Yes, that will suit her admirably” with such a look in his eyes.
The parcel was stowed in the curricle before he went on to see Fletcher. The contretemps was explained to Fletcher—old news to him by now. They agreed that not only the dogs but Bronfman himself should be dispensed with.
“It has troubled me, I confess,” Fletcher said. “She did not specify in the will that the grave was to be guarded. Indeed, I rather suspect her intentions to have been otherwise, though she did not say that either.”
“She was certainly inviting mischief,” Sir Hillary said.
“Indeed it seems so,” Fletcher agreed blandly.
“I must tell you, Fletcher, I have had Luane’s necklace to London for examination by Hamlet the Jeweler,” Hillary said next.
“So soon?” Fletcher asked, surprised. “Well, and what did you discover?”
“You must know what I discovered, but what I told everyone is that the large pendant stone is a genuine diamond. I thought that stuck as close to the truth as I could possibly do. Captain Tewksbury already had his suspicions. She wished us to believe Luane received only a set of paste stones, and I have varied from Sophie’s wishes as little as I felt feasible. We must now sit tight and see what transpires.”
“Dear me, this promises to be very interesting,” Fletcher said, with a meaningful glance at his caller.
“I didn’t feel it just to give Gabriel the edge over the captain, strong though the temptation was,” Hillary continued.
“You have acted in the best interest of all parties—the fairest interest that is,” Fletcher corrected scrupulously.
“I hope I have. You don’t feel this deception on our part invalidates the will?”
“Certainly not. So long as all parties are under the same belief, there is no advantage or disadvantage accruing to one more than the other. The will stands. There is no question of that.”
They took a formal leave of each other, and Thoreau went to join Gabriel.
While this business was being transacted, Luane and Claudia went to Aunt Sophie’s room to begin the unpleasant chore of sorting out the belongings of their dead relative. Two crates were hauled to her room, one to hold utterly useless items such as gowns in tatters from age, and the other to contain goods to be sent to the poorhouse in the village. Those objects that she wished to keep, Luane set aside on the bed. The silver traveling case, a gold and nacre inlaid dresser set, the perfume bottles, and a few bits of jewelry were laid there. Luane soon found yet another carton to be necessary, to hold things too good to give away, and not suitable for herself to use.
“I’ll haul this lot to Maldon or Billericay and sell them,” the practical miss declared, tossing a sable-lined cape into the box, where it jostled with kid gloves and slippers, a morocco leather stationery set, and some rather ugly figurines. “I wouldn’t be surprised to get ten pounds for them.”
“That’s a good deal of money,” Claudia said. “I wonder if I might sell my cracked Sèvres vase.”
The chore was unappetizing and dusty, but by noon it was done, and Claudia raised the much more interesting point of digging up the diamonds. She was utterly stymied at Luane’s reply. “I don’t need the necklace now. She didn’t mean it for me, and it would be illegal to steal it. Sir Hillary would only make me give it back to whoever it really belonged to after the year is up, so I shan’t bother digging it up.”
“But what of our adventure?” Claudia asked, disappointed.
“It’s over, unless you want to dig it up for yourself,” Loo told her.
“No, I don’t want it. But only think, Loo, if the pendant is worth ten thousand pounds, the rest of it is worth forty thousand!”
“Ten thousand is enough,” Loo answered. “We can live on that, if needs be. That will give us five hundred a year, along with whatever Gabriel earns.”
“You could live much better on the interest of fifty thousand!” Claudia pointed ou
t.
Her cousin hunched her shoulders and dismissed the topic. “Now how shall I get all this junk to the village? Gab must take me.”
There was no mention of Claudia accompanying them, and she felt not only disappointed at the sudden termination of the adventure but rejected as well.
“I wonder if they mean to come back this afternoon,” Loo asked aloud, but really of herself. “I think I’d better ride over to Chanely and see Gabriel.” She hopped up, but still made no offer to her cousin to accompany her, so Claudia went belowstairs to admire her cracked vase.
From the window she saw Luane canter down the bill to Chanely, and her heart sank a little. Loo didn’t return for luncheon, and she made a dull meal with her mother, Jonathon, and Miss Bliss.
At Chanely, Luane had to wait for only a short while before Gabriel and Sir Hillary arrived. Immediately she had greeted them, her guardian sighed and said, “I suppose you are come to engage our help in a digging expedition.”
“No, I’ve given up on that, but I have come for your help and Gab’s. You, Sir Hillary, I want to sell my big diamond at once and invest the ten thousand in the funds, and Gabriel must take me to the village to sell all Aunt Sophie’s old junk, which Claudia and I have been sorting through this morning.”
“Impossible!” Sir Hillary exclaimed, and Gabriel said, “All right,” at the same instant.
It was to Hillary that Luane turned a wrathful eye. “Why is it impossible? You have the stone. I never mean to wear it and would like to be getting my interest on the ten thousand pounds. It would be enough . . .” She looked to Gabriel, but broke off her speech in midsentence.
“I am to hold it for you till you are eighteen, or married, whichever comes first. Permission was not given to sell it. And it would not be easy to sell in any case. People with a whim for a ten-thousand-pound jewel don’t grow on trees, brat.”
Luane listened, a furrow wrinkling her brow, then she said, “But it didn’t say in the will you could not sell it for me. You were to be in charge of it—which could as well mean in charge of selling it and investing the money in something secure.”