by Annie Haynes
“I am so glad you thought of asking to see it, Mrs. Mainwaring. I love looking at jewels.”
“Well, naturally, as a resident in the neighbourhood,” said the good lady with some emphasis, “I am anxious to see it, but I dare say you will be interested”—patronizingly—“for the Hargreaves have been so good to you, and you have been here for so long that you must feel almost as if you belonged to the place. It is so awkward for you, as I say to Mr. Mainwaring, not knowing where you do come from. I am sure I do not know what I should do in such circumstances. Your memory is too bad to permit you to teach or anything of that kind, is it not?” searching the girl’s face with a rapid inquisitive glance.
Hilda did not shrink from her scrutiny, but raised her eyes and smiled at Mrs. Mainwaring.
“I am afraid it is at present, but I think it is getting better, and I hope soon to be able to do something for myself. Then I was thinking of asking you to advise me, Mrs. Mainwaring. Perhaps I may come to the Rectory and talk to you some day.”
If Mrs. Mainwaring loved anything on earth better than her meek husband and the little Mainwarings who filled the Rectory, it was managing other people’s business. Hilda could not have taken a better way of placating her.
“I should be delighted, I am sure!” she said, instantly mollified. “You must come up and spend a long afternoon with me one day soon, and we will discuss the whole matter. I quite understand your feeling!”
“I felt sure you would,” Hilda responded with a grateful glance, “and I shall look forward so much to my visit.”
Mrs. Mainwaring’s face shone with mingled pleasure and self-importance.
“Now, when shall it be? I am afraid that next week—oh, here is Sir Arthur!”
Sir Arthur looked round for Hilda, then, as she came forward a step behind Mrs. Mainwaring, he turned towards her.
“This is the ‘Luck of the Hargreaves’,” with a laugh as he opened the case.
Mrs. Mainwaring uttered a cry of amazement.
“Oh, my dear Sir Arthur, I never imagined anything quite so magnificent!”
Hilda did not speak, but her eyes were fixed on the gleaming stones with a curiously rapt expression, and one long, fluttering breath escaped her. The rest of the party gathered round, eager to have another look at the famous diamonds.
Mrs. Mainwaring kept well in the front.
“It is the big one in the centre that is really called the ‘Luck,’ isn’t it, Sir Arthur? I wonder how the name originated.”
“I fancy the reason is lost in the mists of antiquity,” Sir Arthur said lightly, “but I believe the loss of the Blue Diamond would presage some fearful misfortune to all the Hargreaves. That is why we take such care of it. It is only worn on rare occasions by the wife of the head of the house, or by the bride of the heir on her wedding-day.”
His eyes sought Hilda’s, but the girl did not respond to his glance, and apparently her whole attention was absorbed by the diamonds.
The Hargreaves proudly claimed that their necklace was absolutely unique; certainly it was remarkable even when contrasted with the Crown jewels of modern reigning houses. It consisted of seven rows of diamonds, each row being clasped to the next one in front in the centre by a larger stone of great brilliance, and as a pendant to the lower one there gleamed resplendent, seeming almost like a living, burning flame as Arthur turned it about in the light, the great Blue Diamond — the “Luck” itself.
“You must feel quite nervous when you are wearing them, Lady Laura,” Mrs. Mainwaring said at last, Lady Laura laughed.
“I—I have never done so. Had my husband succeeded his brother I should have worn them, but as it is they are put by for Arthur’s wife.”
“I see!”
A sudden silence fell on the group. Mrs. Mainwaring, with questionable taste, looked across at Dorothy, who was just now smiling bravely at her cousin. Garth Davenant glanced significantly at Mavis. To his mind there was something curiously suggestive in the way in which Hilda was absorbed in the contemplation of the diamonds to the exclusion apparently of everything else. She and Dorothy were standing almost in a line, and it seemed to Davenant that even contrasted with Hilda’s loveliness the younger girl held her own.
There had always been something spiritual in Dorothy’s beauty, and to-night a certain air of fragility about the small, flower-like head and the immature curves of her slim young body struck Davenant afresh with a sense of delicacy, enhanced as it was by a touch of languor in her whole pose, in her large clear eyes and softly curving lips.
Hilda’s brilliant colouring was wont to overshadow and dwarf all other less striking beauty, but now as her eyes were fixed on the Blue Diamond her face was for the nonce off its guard, and Davenant noted not only a coarseness about the modelling of her features, but certain little lines about the mouth and eyes which convinced him that his estimate of her age was not unjust.
Just as the pause was becoming oppressive Dr. Grieve bustled forward—the old man could always be relied upon to fill up an awkward interval.
“I see you have not adopted the modern plan of sending your valuables to the bank, Sir Arthur? You still stick to your own safe and strong room.”
“Oh, yes. I fancy they are more secure in my care than they would be in the bank,” Arthur smiled. “I assure you it would be a very difficult matter for thieves to break through and steal the ‘Luck,’ Dr. Grieve. Have you ever seen our strong-room? It was made before the days of jerry-building.”
“No, I haven’t, but—” the doctor was beginning.
Hilda interrupted him.
“Do show it to us, Sir Arthur! It doesn’t seem to me that you could do enough to keep the treasure safe.”
Lady Laura looked manifestly displeased. Sir Arthur hesitated, but a look at Hilda’s eager face decided him.
“I will show it to any of you with pleasure. I shall have to put away the necklace myself, for we do not trust it to the servants, not even to one so trusted as Jenkins. So if you like to come with me, Dr. Grieve, I shall be delighted to exhibit our precautions to you.”
“Oh, do let us all see them, Sir Arthur!” Mrs. Mainwaring pleaded. “It would be so interesting—quite a novel experience. You will go with us, will you not, Miss Dorothy?”
The girl drew back.
“I think not—thanks!” she said.
Mrs. Mainwaring glanced round in indecision, but already Hilda and Dr. Grieve were at the door, and Garth Davenant was following. She moved forward.
“You do not mind, Lady Laura?”
“Certainly not!” said Lady Laura with a little air of coldness. “I hope you will find it as delightful as you imagine.”
Mr. Mainwaring glanced meaningly at his wife; quite evidently he saw that the proposed expedition did not meet with Lady Laura’s favour; but with Mrs. Mainwaring, for once, curiosity overcame her fear of incurring Lady Laura’s displeasure, and she hurried after the others.
Sir Arthur held open the green baize door which gave access to the back of the house, and led the way down a wide passage, stopping before a heavy oak door, which he unlocked. The door opened outwardly, and they saw inside a second one of metal.
“This is the outer strong-room,” Sir Arthur said as he fitted the key,” where all the plate and valuables in daily use are kept. To it there are two keys—one I have and one Jenkins has. Now this is a different matter,” moving towards a smaller inner door at the opposite end. “This key is never out of my possession, and even should any unauthorized person get hold of it you see there is an electric alarm-bell which rings at the top of the house—one of my Uncle Noel’s latest improvements.” He switched it off as he spoke and drew out a small key. “Now, Mrs. Mainwaring, you are in the heart of the mystery.”
They all glanced curiously round the small oblong room into which there was no opening save by the narrow doorway, and which was lined on three sides by iron cupboards.
“Rather stuffy, isn’t it?” Arthur said as he went across. “But
you would risk it, remember. Now this”—pointing to the wall, which was apparently blank—“is the real home of the necklace.” He touched a spring and the wall opened backwards, revealing a strong iron safe.
“And this,” he went on, “is the crux of the whole matter.”
He made a rapid movement with his hand and the door of the safe opened. He laid the diamonds carefully on a shelf and closed the door with a click. “Now,” he went on, “it would puzzle you to open that door, doctor, even if I lent you the key. You have heard of the letter-locks, I dare say. This is one of the most complicated.”
“Is it now—is it indeed?” The doctor stepped forward quickly. “Really, this is most interesting. A letter-lock! I have, as you say, heard of such things, but I have never seen one. How does it work, Sir Arthur?”
The young man smiled.
“Ah, that is my secret, Dr. Grieve. As I tell you, even if I gave you the key, you could not unlock the door.”
“Ah, no. You must have the secret of the combination of the letters, must you not?” It was Hilda’s voice, but sounding so curiously strained and harsh that every one instinctively turned towards her. Her hand was pressed to her forehead, her eyes were wide-open, the pupils looking dark and dilated. “I think I have seen one like it before somewhere,” she said slowly, with a little fluttering gasp between each word. “A minute ago I thought I knew the word, but now I seem to forget again. Was it ‘Keep’?”
“This is not,” Arthur said. “But I do not know—”
Dr. Grieve glanced from him to Hilda meaningly. All his little mannerisms seemed to fall away for a moment.
“Now I wonder what it is?” he went on benevolently after a momentary hesitation. “Something short, you think, Miss Hilda?—‘Safe’? How would that be? Very appropriate, I should say,” with a little laugh at his own joke.
Moving forward almost like a person in a dream, Hilda put him aside and fumbled helplessly with the letters, as the others gathered round. “‘Luck,’ ‘Manor,’ ‘Keep’. No, no—they are not right! I cannot remember!” a distressed pucker coming between her brows, her lips trembling childishly. “Oh, I wish I could! I wish I could!”
Dr. Grieve laid his hand on her arm.
“Don’t try any more to-day, my dear young lady. Rest assured you will recall everything before long. I consider that you have made wonderful progress lately, I do indeed; and very soon I feel sure everything will come back to you. Well, Sir Arthur, you have shown us what care you take of the precious Blue Diamond, and I think I may say, speaking for all of us, that we are intensely obliged to you; but now I fancy we had better be making our way back to the drawing-room. I want to have a little talk with this young lady here,” patting Hilda’s hand in a fatherly fashion.
He led the girl away without further ado, and the rest of the party followed, almost more interested in the promise of a solution of the mystery that had puzzled them all so long than in the precautions taken for the safeguarding of the Hargreave treasure.
They watched eagerly as Dr. Grieve took Hilda across the drawing-room to a distant settee and seated himself beside her.
Mrs. Mainwaring turned to Lady Laura; Garth crossed to Mavis, who was talking to the rector; Sir Arthur found himself close to Dorothy.
“When are you coming back to the Manor, Dorothy?” he began, anxious to appear on the same friendly footing, but obviously ill at ease. “We miss you very much, little cousin. I don’t think you can be spared to the Leighs much longer.”
The girl raised her eyes to his, smiling bravely.
“I shall come for the birthday celebrations. Mavis has told me your news, Arthur. You must let me congratulate you and wish you both every happiness, though it is not public property yet.—I—I was not altogether taken by surprise—I had been expecting it.”
“You are very kind, Dorothy.” To the girl who loved him Arthur’s embarrassment was painful. “You know it is by Hilda’s wish that it is not made known at once?”
“Yes. Mavis said that Hilda wanted to wait till all was cleared up. One can understand that as well as your impatience, for she is very beautiful, Arthur. I hope she will let me be her friend too,” with a tiny catch in her voice.
“We shall always think of you with Mavis,” he said. “I have always looked upon you as a dear little sister, Dorothy, and Hilda—”
Dr. Grieve interrupted them.
“The exigencies of a doctor must be my excuse for an early farewell, Sir Arthur; but before I go I must tell you that I have every hope that in a short time Miss Hilda will be quite restored. If she accidentally makes any allusion to the past do not appear to be surprised; lead her on to speak of it gently, and you will probably get the clue for which we are waiting. It is only a question of time. I consider the progress most satisfactory.”
Chapter Fourteen
“IF YOU please, Sir Arthur, could you come into the houses for a minute? I am not quite satisfied with that new root from Chile. There’s a dryness—”
“All right, Gregory, I will be back directly; I must just see the ladies to the house, and then—”
Mavis stood still.
“How absurd, Arthur! As if Hilda and I could not take care of ourselves for that little bit of a way! You can go at once, can’t he, Hilda? We shall be perfectly safe.”
“Certainly! Please go,” Hilda agreed promptly. “Indeed, I would rather you did. We should feel obliged to hurry if we knew we were keeping you from your orchids, whereas Mavis and I can dawdle as much as we like, and I think it is lovely to be out in the gloaming.”
“So do I,” agreed Mavis, putting her arm through the other girl’s. “Go on, Arthur, we will look after ourselves.”
“Well, if you really do not mind,” Arthur conceded reluctantly. “I dare say I shall catch you up before you get to the house.”
He hurried away. The two girls walked leisurely towards the house, laughing as they talked over the approaching festivities, for Arthur’s coming of age was only three weeks distant now; and though their engagement was a secret to the world at large the young man insisted that Hilda should be consulted with regard to all the arrangements. Lady Laura’s dislike to the whole affair had in no way abated, but, realizing her helplessness, she had ceased to offer any opposition, trusting that time might show Sir Arthur the folly of the proceeding.
It seemed to Mavis sometimes, looking on, that his love for their beautiful visitor increased rather than diminished, and she had little faith in matters turning out as her mother wished. The longed-for improvement in Hilda’s memory had not taken place. Mavis very often doubted whether it ever would—the girl herself seemed so well now, so full of vitality in every way, save for that fatal blank in her recollection.
Notwithstanding her real love for Dorothy and Garth Davenant’s avowed distrust of Hilda, Mavis had from the first fallen under the girl’s fascination to almost as great an extent as her brother, and Hilda had responded to her evident affection with a caressing, wayward wilfulness that the other girl found very winning.
“Have you decided on your frock for the ball yet, Mavis?” Hilda asked as they turned through the shrubbery. “You really must make up your mind about the colour to-night and then let me arrange it all for you. I will write to Madame Sternforth and tell her just what I have designed for you. I know exactly how it ought to be made to suit your style and to charm Mr. Davenant,” she ended with a little laugh.
Mavis paused.
“Now, Hilda, you know that I have told you I will not do anything towards getting my gown until you have promised to have one too. You remember mother said we were to have them alike in every respect.”
A slight smile curled Hilda’s lips—only too well did she divine who had dictated Lady Laura’s offer.
“Don’t you see, dear, that I owe everything I wear, everything I eat, to your mother’s kindness? I must not go on carelessly piling up a debt which I may never be able to pay.”
“You know we have told you not to think
of it like that. Arthur would be very angry.”
“Oh, Arthur is all that is good and kind,” Hilda interrupted “and so is Arthur’s sister”—with an affectionate squeeze of the girl’s arm—“but I should not like to think—Mavis, did you notice anything? Listen! There, I am sure I heard a step! Somebody is following us!”
“It is Arthur, I expect. You know he said he should not be long; but I don’t hear anything.”
“No, no!” Hilda continued quickly. “It was not decided enough for Arthur. It had a stealthy, gliding sound, as if some one did not want to be heard. There, I believe it is coming again.”
They stood still and listened, and Hilda turned round.
“There, you see, it was your fancy!” Mavis said, moving a step away. “Come along, Hilda—you make me feel quite creepy. What—what is it?” as the other clutched her arm.
“Look! Look!” Hilda cried hoarsely, her fingers gripping Mavis nervously. “It is she—it is Nurse Marston!”
With a sharp exclamation Mavis turned. Right behind them, some little way back on the path down which they had just come, there stood a woman. Mavis caught sight of her dark cloak and little close nurse’s bonnet, as Hilda spoke, of the broad white cuffs and collar. With a little fluttering sob she caught at Hilda.
“How did she come? Oh, Hilda, let me speak to her!” She tried to move forward, but her knees felt strangely numbed and tottering.
Hilda held her back.
“Ah, no, no, Mavis, I daren’t! Indeed I daren’t! It is her spirit!” with a violent shudder.
In spite of her common sense, Mavis shivered from head to foot as she turned to the terrified girl beside her.
“Hush, hush, Hilda! We must speak to her, ask her what she wants, why she has come!”
“Oh, don’t!” cried Hilda, half fainting. “I know!”
“You know?” For half a minute, as if stunned, Mavis stood silent, quiescent, while the other clung round her, moaning. “Let me go Hilda! I—” She stopped and stared in amazement. It seemed to her that she had not taken her eyes from that quiet figure on the path, and yet now it had disappeared. In vain she gazed round, not a vestige of it was to be seen. “Hilda,” she said in a low tone, “it—she has gone.”