THE DIAMOND RING.
Those of my readers who have read "A World of Girls" will know all about
the early story of Annie Forest; but, to those who have not, I may as
well explain that she was a motherless girl, that she had been in her
day a sad tomboy, that she had a father living, but that it was
absolutely necessary for her before long to earn her own living. She was
still at school, however, although she now occupied the post there of
pupil-teacher. Mrs. Willis, the head-mistress of Lavender House, the
school where Annie was educated, was her warm and devoted friend. Mrs.
Willis loved all her pupils and had an extraordinary influence over
them, but Annie was almost like her adopted child.
She stood now in the wide, cool hall at the Grange, and reflected for a
moment as to what she should do. She then ran lightly up to her pretty
bedroom, and, opening her trunk, began to rummage eagerly among its
contents. Annie would not be Annie if she were not the most impulsive
creature in the world. She meant to devote herself to Nora; she had a
great gift for reading character, and a quick glance showed her how best
she might amuse this little girl. Nora was pretty, but Nora was not
richly endowed with pretty frocks. Annie felt sure that she would arouse
the keenest sympathy in the sick girl if she used her skilful fingers to
cover the defects in Nora's wardrobe. She had made her own cambric
frocks, and imagined that she had plenty of stuff in her trunk to make
similar ones for Nora; she saw, to her dismay, however, that she had
left the cambric behind her at school; and, as Mrs. Willis was away, and
Lavender House was shut up during the summer vacation, it would be
impossible for her to send for it. She had only a few shillings in her
purse; she was well aware that Nora was possessed of no money. How,
then, could she redeem her promise? Annie could not bring herself to ask
Hester to help her, and yet, at the same time, it would never, never do
to disappoint Nora! Annie had brought herself to consider Nora her own
special patient. She had spent an hour with her in the morning and
nearly two hours in the afternoon, and during the afternoon visit the
girls had talked a good deal about the frocks. It was arranged between
them that they were to be surprise frocks, and that Mr. and Mrs.
Lorrimer were to know nothing about them until they saw Nora well once
more and arrayed in the prettiest of the three. Annie had hunted up some
fashion-books, and had consulted Nora about the shape and the cut of the
sleeves, and the way the skirt was to be hung and the embroidery sewn
on. Both girls had been animated over the discussion, and Nora had been
too interested to feel fatigue.
Well, that happened a few hours ago; now Annie, on her knees, bent over
her empty trunk with an expression of keen dismay.
What was she to do? How could she possibly raise the money necessary to
the purchase of the cambric? She calculated that the cambric and
embroidery necessary for the making of three simple dresses would cost
from twenty-five to thirty shillings This was not a large sum, but
everything is by proportion, and for poor Annie, with five shillings in
her purse and very little chance of any more money coming to her until
the end of her visit to the Grange, thirty shillings seemed absolutely
unattainable.
"But I must get it somehow!" she murmured, flinging herself on the floor
by her open trunk as she spoke. "I'm not going to be beaten by a little
paltry sum like that! I promised Nora the frocks, and she shall have
them! I didn't care a bit for Nora yesterday--she didn't suit me, and I
thought her affected; but if I hadn't been so desperately thoughtless,
she'd have been well now; and, as I have been in part the cause of her
accident, I'm simply bound to look after her. Have those frocks she
must! Poor little bit of frivolity, nothing in the world will soothe her
nerves so much as seeing me making them for her. But that money--that
thirty shillings! Oh, _dash_ that thirty shillings! Why should a mean
little sum like that worry a girl almost into fits? Get it, I _will_;
and ask Hester to help me, I _won't_! The frocks are to be a secret
between Nora and me; the secret will be half the fun. Now, how am I to
get the money? Have I anything to sell?"
Annie rose from the floor, where she had seated herself, and, going to a
drawer, opened it. She took out a little leather box, and looked
anxiously at its contents. There were a few treasures there, dear from
association, but not of a valuable sort. There was a silver brooch,
shaped like a horn, with a little bell attached; a schoolfellow had
brought it to her from Switzerland; it probably cost a franc, and,
although Annie admired it immensely on her neck, she did not believe any
jeweller would give her sixpence for it. Then there was a basket
beautifully carved out of an apricot-stone, and a narrow silver chain
broken in many parts; and there was a bog-oak brooch and an old jet
bracelet. Annie also possessed a gold locket and chain which she had won
as a prize on a certain memorable occasion, but this treasure she had
also stupidly left behind her. How provoking! She had really nothing she
could sell for thirty shillings. But stay, she had forgotten. She
coloured high as a memory came to her. She had one article of solid
value--a ring. In one sense it was not hers; in another it was. It was a
gold ring, with a single diamond; this ring had belonged to Annie
Forest's mother. On her dying bed she had given the ring to Mrs. Willis.
One day Mrs. Willis had shown it to Annie, had yielded to Annie's
entreaties that she might borrow it for this visit to the Grange, and
had told her that, although she could not part with her mother's last
gift during her lifetime, she would leave the ring to Annie in her will.
With her dark eyes full of excitement, Annie now took the ring out of
its little morocco case and looked at it.
She had meant to wear it proudly on her finger during her stay at the
Grange; but, in the excitement of passing events, had forgotten to do so
up to the present time. The ring was of value; no one had seen it on her
finger, therefore no one would miss it. It occurred to Annie that she
might ask a jeweller to lend her thirty shillings on the ring. With this
thirty shillings she could buy the stuff for Nora's frocks; and as her
father always sent her a pound on her birthday, and that birthday was
only a little over a month away, she thought that she might manage to
scrape together thirty shillings to redeem the ring before she returned
to school.
Annie's mind was quickly made up. She would pawn the ring to someone,
and trust to her lucky star to get it back before she returned to
Lavender House. She knew well that Mrs. Willis would ask her for it as
soon as ever she went back to school. Mrs. Willis was a person who never
forgot: big things and small things alike found a place in her memory;
but long before then Annie would, of course, have the ring in her
possession.
Having made up her mind to sell it, she wondered how she could
accomplish this feat. She would have not only to sell the ring, but also
to buy the cambric and embroidery without anyone knowing anything about
it. The secret would lose half its fascination if anybody guessed. Annie
thought anxiously for a moment, then an idea came to her. Nan had talked
a good deal about her old nurse. Annie was a prime favourite with nurse,
who always considered that she owed Annie a good deal for having rescued
her darling from the gipsies some years ago. Perhaps nurse would help
Annie now; she resolved to go and sound the old woman.
Putting the ring in its morocco case, she opened the baize door which
led to the nursery part of the house, and soon found herself in Mrs.
Martin's apartments. Mrs. Martin was known by three different
appellations: to Hester she was nurse, or nursey, to Sir John Thornton
she was Patty, but to the servants and to strangers she was always
spoken of as Mrs. Martin. She was extremely punctilious as to the manner
in which she was addressed; and now, as Annie entered her room she
wondered which of her three titles would best propitiate her.
"Well, my dear, what do you want?" said the old lady, looking up with a
pleased smile from her knitting as Annie's pretty head was pushed
roguishly round the door. "Oh, come now, Miss Forest; I know your
collogueing ways. But you ought to be in bed, my dear, for it's past ten
o'clock."
"And so ought you to be in bed, you dear, naughty, old thing," said
Annie; "but you know people don't always do what they ought. If going to
bed is what I ought to do at the present moment, you ought to do the
same, nursey. May I call you nursey?"
"Well, Miss Annie, you're almost like one of the family; but still I'm
properly only nurse to my own two bairns--Miss Hetty and Miss Nan."
"And this is a motherless bairn who would like you to be nursey to her,"
said Annie, seating herself on a low hassock at the old woman's feet and
looking into her face.
"Well, and nursey it shall be," said Mrs. Martin. "Eh, but God has given
you a very bonny face, my love."
Annie took up one of the horny hands, and rubbed it affectionately
against her soft cheek.
"Nurse," she said, "I am quite in trouble. I wonder if I might tell you
a secret?"
"Well, dear, if you like to trust me, safe it shall be. Inviolate it
shall be kept, Miss Annie, and you know that violet's the colour of
truth."
"Of course I do, you dear old thing. What a wonderful comfort it is to
talk to you. I knew you'd let me confide in you, and it will be such a
load off my mind."
"My dear, I hope you haven't been at any mad pranks. The young ladies of
the present day are wonderful for audaciousness."
Annie sighed.
"I wish I wasn't audacious," she said; "and I wish I wasn't thoughtless
and reckless. I'm always meaning to be kind to people, and somehow or
other I'm always kind in the wrong way; it's very, very trying."
Annie's pretty eyes filled with real tears of contrition.
"You're but young, my bairn," said Mrs. Martin, "and the heart's in the
right place; anyone can see that who looks at you, Miss Annie."
"Nurse, you are a comfort to me. Now I will tell you my trouble. At the
picnic the other day I got into a state of mind because little Boris
Lorrimer had not come, and I confided in Kitty Lorrimer and went off to
fetch him, and Kitty promised she would not tell where I had gone until
I had brought him back; but when I got to the Towers I was very
hot--very, very hot with my long walk, and I found that Boris did not
wish to come back with me, and I forgot all about my promise to Kitty,
and stayed at the Towers for the rest of the day; but poor Kitty kept
her word and did not tell, and Nora got cross with her, and climbed up
the beech tree after her, and crept out on to the rotten bough, and so
got the dreadful fall which has made her so ill. Nora would not have met
with this terrible accident but for me; so I have taken upon myself to
amuse her, and I promised to make her three dresses."
"Sakes alive! Three?" interrupted Mrs. Martin; "and why three, Miss
Annie? Wouldn't one be enough to content her?"
"No, nursey, no; three cambric dresses or nothing. I promised to make
them, and I thought I had the cambric and embroidery in my trunk, but
when I looked I found I had left it all behind me at school. You can't
think how upset I am about it, for I must keep my promise to Nora, and
Nora has got no money, and I have only five shillings, which I must keep
for stamps and odds and ends; and I would not ask Hester or Nan to lend
me sixpence for the world."
"But why not, my dear? I am sure Miss Hetty would be proud to oblige."
"No, nurse, it must not be," said Annie; "Hester is to know nothing
about the frocks, and Nan is to know nothing and Molly is to know
nothing. The fun of the thing is its being a great, great secret. Why,
the making of those frocks in the room with Nora and only Nora knowing;
why, the mystery of the thing will almost cure her, it will, really. Oh,
nursey, nursey," patting Mrs. Martin excitedly as she spoke, "you must,
you shall help me."
"And you want me to lend you the money, my pet?"
"No; how can you imagine such a thing. But I'll tell you what I want you
to do. I want you to get up early to-morrow morning, quite early, and to
make one of the grooms drive you into Nortonbury."
"Sakes alive! What for? I'm not used to the air without my breakfast."
"I'll get up and get you your breakfast. I'll boil the kettle here, and
make your tea and toast your bread. You must go to Nortonbury, and you
must be back between ten and eleven o'clock."
"And when I go what am I to do there, my dear? Oh, dear, dear, the ways
of the young of the present day are masterful beyond belief. You make me
all of a quiver, Miss Annie."
"I knew you'd rise to it," said Annie. "I felt if there were a soul in
this world who would pull me out of the horrid scrape I have got myself
into, it would be you, nursey."
"Well, my love, you have got a blarneying tongue, and no mistake; but
now, when I do get to Nortonbury, what am I to do?"
Annie pulled the morocco case out of her pocket. She opened it, and
slipped the ring on Mrs. Martin's little finger.
"You are to sell that," she said; "or, rather--no, you are not to sell
it for the world--but you are to borrow thirty shillings on it."
"My word! Is it to the pawn-shop you expect me to go, Miss Forest?"
"How nasty of you to say Miss Forest. I'm Annie Forest, in great
trouble, and looking to you as my last comfort. You are to borrow thirty
shillings on that beautiful diamond ring. I don't mind where you get it;
and then you are to buy me seven yards of pink cambric, and seven yards
of white cambric, and seven yards of blue cambric. These shades, do you
see? And I want embroidery to match. I have put the number of yards on
this slip of paper, and a list of buttons and hooks and waistbands and
linings. Oh, and, of course, cottons to match. Now, will you or won't
you? Will you be an angel or won't you? That's the plain question I have
got to ask."
[Illustration: "'YOU ARE TO BORROW THIRTY SHILLINGS ON THAT BEAUTIFUL
DIAMOND RING'" (_p._ 96).]
"It's the pawn-shop that gets over me, Miss Annie."
"Oh, _please_ don't let it get over you. What can the pawnbroker do to
you? Most people call him uncle, so I expect he's awfully good-natured."
"Uncle, indeed," exclaimed Mrs. Martin, tossing her head; "it's a word
you shouldn't know, Miss Annie Forest."
"But why shouldn't I? I never heard that uncles were wicked, except the
one who killed the babes in the wood. Now you will go; you will be an
angel! I know this special uncle who is to lend money on my ring will be
delightful!"