THE
SAPPHIRE SIGNET
[Illustration: "I had the _worst_ time puzzling this out!" she said]
THE
SAPPHIRE SIGNET
BY
AUGUSTA HUIELL SEAMAN
Author of "The Boarded-Up House," etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY
C. M. RELYEA
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1916
Copyright, 1915, 1916, by
THE CENTURY CO.
_Published, September, 1916_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE HOUSE IN CHARLTON STREET 3
II SOMETHING TURNS UP 16
III THE DISCOVERY IN THE ATTIC 32
IV A KEY TO THE MYSTERY 53
V "THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL" 65
VI A SURPRISE 79
VII THE DISCOVERIES CORINNE MADE 91
VIII BAFFLED! 102
IX INTRODUCING ALEXANDER 114
X ALEXANDER TAKES HOLD 126
XI ALEXANDER SPRINGS A SURPRISE 135
XII THE MYSTERY UNRAVELS FURTHER 149
XIII ALEXANDER ENGAGES IN SOME HISTORICAL
RESEARCH 162
XIV A BELATED DISCOVERY AND A SOLEMN CONCLAVE 179
XV SARAH TAKES A HAND IN THE GAME 192
XVI THE SAPPHIRE SIGNET 209
XVII IN WHICH SARAH CHANGES HER MIND 228
XVIII TWO SURPRISES 245
XIX THE MISSING LINKS 255
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"I had the _worst_ time puzzling this out!" she said _Frontispiece_
"Corinne noticed that the bottom of the trunk seemed
all wrong." 37
"He gazed hard at me as I stood on the lawn." 71
"Madame Mortier warned Alison that she wasn't to have
any communication with the rebels." 109
"I poked around it, top, bottom, and sides." 143
"You must welcome the latest member of the Antiquarian
Club, Miss President!" 205
He began to tap the inside of the trunk all over, carefully,
with the handle of his penknife 223
"For a minute or two she didn't answer." 265
THE SAPPHIRE SIGNET
THE SAPPHIRE SIGNET
OR
"THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL"
CHAPTER I
THE HOUSE IN CHARLTON STREET
It was five o'clock and a very dull, dark afternoon in Charlton
Street. One by one lights had twinkled out in all the little
two-story-and-dormer-windowed houses on the block,—in all but one.
The parlor windows of this house were still unlit, but behind the
flower-box in one of them a hand could be seen moving aside the white
curtains at frequent intervals and a dim face peering anxiously into
the dusk.
At ten minutes past five precisely, two trim girl-figures turned the
corner of Varick Street, hurried down the block, raced up the steps
of this same house, and waved frantically at the dark windows. An
answering wave saluted them from between the parted curtains. At the
same moment lights twinkled out from the windows, and a quick hand
pulled down the shades with a jerk, shutting out the dim street for the
night. But back of the drawn shades a small figure in an invalid-chair
held out welcoming arms to the girls who had just entered.
"My! How long you were! I thought you'd never get here to-day. And it's
been so dark and dismal all the afternoon, too!" The two girls, who
were plainly twins, knelt down, one on each side of the invalid-chair.
"We _were_ an age, I know, Margaret dear," began Bess, "but there was a
good reason. It's quite exciting,—all about the new girl!"
"Yes, you can never guess what, either!" echoed Jess, winding one of
Margaret's dark curls around her finger.
"Oh, tell me—quick!" The child's big, beautiful gray eyes fairly
sparkled with eagerness, and a faint flush tinted her delicate face.
"Is it that queer girl you told me about, who only came into the class
a few days ago?"
"That's the one,—but let's get our things off first and see if Sarah
made any cookies to-day. We're starving!"
A huge woman who had been moving about the room lighting gas-jets,
pulling down shades, and straightening the furniture, now broke into
the conversation: "Ye kin save yerselves the trouble! I ain't made no
cookies this day—an' me wid all that wash! What d' ye think I be?"
"Go 'long, Sarah!" laughed Bess. "You know there's probably a whole
jarful in the pantry, and we don't care whether you made them to-day or
a week ago. They're always dandy!"
Sarah gave a chuckle that shook her huge frame, and tucked a light
shawl lovingly about the knees of the girl in the chair.
"Ye'll have a hard time findin' any!" she warned, as the two ran off.
"Won't they, Margie, macushla?"
In five minutes the twins were back, each with a massive chunk of
chocolate layer-cake in her hand and a mouth full of the same.
"You told the truth, Sarah, for once! There weren't any cookies, but
this is heaps better!"
"If ye get any crumbs on me floor," threatened Sarah, ominously,
"ye'll have no more cake of any kind, the week out!" And she departed
downstairs in great (pretended) displeasure.
"Now for it! Tell me right away," demanded Margaret. "I'm _so_
impatient to hear!"
"Well," began Bess, in muffled tones, struggling to swallow a large
mouthful of cake, "you remember we told you about that nice girl who
came into our section three days ago, but who seemed so offish and
queer and quiet. She's always staring out of the window, as if she were
dreaming. And when she isn't studying, she's reading some book the
whole time. And she hardly ever talks to a soul. Jess and I thought
she must feel rather lonesome and strange. You know it is rather hard
to come into the first year of High School more than a month after
everything's started, and every one else has got acquainted, and try
to pick up! I think one must feel so awfully out of it!
"So Jess and I decided we'd ask her to eat lunch with us to-day. She
always eats by herself, and yesterday she didn't eat at all,—just read
a book the whole time! I went up to her at lunch-period and said—"
"What's her name?" interrupted Margaret.
"Corinne Cameron,—isn't it a dandy name? Corinne! It has such a
_distinguished_ sound!—Well, she was reading, as usual, and looked
up at me sort of dazed and far-away when I asked her if she'd care to
eat with us. But she seemed very glad to do it and came right over. We
had a very interesting talk, and she asked us right away to call her
'Corinne,' instead of 'Miss Cameron,' as they do in High School. She
said it made her feel about a hundred miles away from every one to be
called 'Miss.' So of course we asked her to call us 'Elisabeth' and
'Jessica.'"
"But why didn't you tell her just 'Bess' and 'Jess'?" interrupted
Margaret again. "That's so much more natural."
"Well, you see, 'Corinne' sounds so sort of distinguished and—and
dignified! And somehow our names don't. They just seem ordinary
and—and so like small children. And at least 'Elisabeth' and 'Jessica'
seem more—grown-up!"
"What does she look like?" questioned Margaret, going off on another
tack.
"Oh, she's, well, sort of distinguished-looking, too—like her name.
She's tall and slim and has very dark brown wavy hair, and big, dark
eyes, almost black, and the prettiest straight nose,—not a little
_snub_ like ours (I don't mean yours, Margaret! _That's_ all right!).
But she always acts as though her thoughts were about a thousand miles
away. She talked about books mostly, and asked us if we didn't just
_love_ to read. And when we said no, not so awfully, she seemed so
astonished. I said we'd rather play basket-ball, and she laughed and
said we couldn't play that _all_ the time, and what did we do with our
spare moments. I told her we didn't have many, because, at home here,
we were always busy amusing you or helping Sarah, when we weren't
studying.
"Then she asked about you, Margaret, and was _so_ interested when we
told her about your poor back, and how you couldn't move around much or
go to school, but studied with us and knew just as much as we did—and
_more_, because you read a great deal, too, even though you are only
thirteen and we're fifteen. And she said:
"'That's perfectly fine!' Well, we were talking so hard that we
scarcely noticed lunch-period was over, and we hadn't said half that we
wanted to. She promised to eat with us every day.
"This afternoon we decided not to stay for basket-ball in the gym,
because Jess's finger hurts so much where she cut it last night. So we
left at half-past two (which we hardly ever do), and who should start
to walk over our way but Corinne, and she was delighted that we could
go part of the way together. She lives in the Ten Eyck, that swell new
apartment in West Twelfth Street."
"The Ten Eyck!" exclaimed Margaret, in a tone of hushed awe. "Gracious!
she must be very wealthy, then!"
"Wait till you hear!" murmured Jess, parenthetically, and Bess went on:
"She told us they'd just moved there because her father, who isn't
in very good health, has to live near his business. He's in a big
steamship company on West Street. And until now they've always lived in
an apartment on Madison Avenue near Central Park. They just moved down
here a week ago. Her mother is dead, and an aunt, her father's sister,
lives with them.
"By this time we had reached the Ten Eyck, and what do you think!—she
asked us to come in and chat awhile, because she was all alone. Her
aunt was out at some club. Of course we went in, and my! but it was
splendiferous, especially going up to the eighth floor in a big
elevator! Their rooms are sort of built all around a central hall.
It's different from any apartment we were ever in. Corinne took us to
her room, which was about as large as this parlor, and had the cutest
low bookcases all around the walls and lovely cushioned seats in the
windows. And we sat there and talked a long time.
"But here's another queer thing about her. While we were talking about
school and our studies, and how hard the geometry seemed, she suddenly
showed us an old book that was lying on her table,—it was a _very_
old, battered-up looking book with brown stains on the leaves, and one
cover half hanging off, and the queerest old-fashioned pictures,—and,
she asked us whether we'd like to look at it. She said it was her chief
treasure just now. It was called 'Valentine's Manual, Volume II,' and
seemed to be all about New York City in very early times. She said her
father had picked it up at an auction-sale of some one's library, and
had given it to her for her birthday.
"I didn't say much, for somehow I thought it was an awfully queer thing
to get for your birthday—an old, dilapidated, uninteresting book like
that! And then I guess she saw that we were surprised, for she said:
"'Don't you love _old_ things?'
"I just had to laugh,—it all seemed so queer! And I said, no, I
preferred them brand-new. And then she said:
"'Well, perhaps every one doesn't feel the same as I do; for Father
says I'm a born antiquarian, just as he is!' We couldn't say a word,
either of us, for actually, we don't know what 'antiquarian' means! She
went out of the room just after that and brought back some lemonade and
little sweet crackers. Then we had to leave, for it was getting late,
and we knew you'd be watching for us." Here Bess ended her recital and
Margaret instantly exclaimed:
"Get the dictionary—quick! I want to see what 'antiquarian' means!"
"That's just like you!" commented Jess, as she hauled a big Webster's
Unabridged out of the bookcase. "You're a lot like Corinne, too. I
think you two would get on beautifully together. Here it is:
"'Antiquarian,—one who is addicted to the study of antiquities; an
admirer of antiquity.' And 'antiquities' are old things, of course.
Well, what she sees to admire in 'em beats me! Anyhow, she's an awfully
nice girl,—sort of unusual, you know,—and I'm glad we made her
acquaintance. Bess and I were saying on the way home that it's kind of
like an _adventure_ to meet unusual people—" Jess broke off suddenly,
at the sound of a latch-key in the front door, and they all exclaimed:
"There's Mother! Isn't she early to-night!"
A pleasant-voiced woman called out to them cheerily, and a moment later
entered the room. Mrs. Bronson's face, which singularly resembled her
youngest daughter's, had once been very pretty, but now showed many
traces of anxious care. Her expression was of one who was constantly
thinking over worrisome matters. But at the sight of the trio her face
lit up, the lines smoothed away temporarily, and ten years seemed
magically to drop from her as she sat down in the group, questioning
them about the affairs of their day.
After a few moments the twins went off downstairs to help Sarah with
the dinner, and Margaret was left to her coveted half-hour alone with
her mother.
"Oh, Mummy," she sighed, snuggling her head on Mrs. Bronson's shoulder,
"this is lovely! You don't often get home so early. But I appreciate it
specially, because I feel sort of blue and no-'count to-night."
"Is that so, dear?" exclaimed her mother, some of the anxious lines
returning to her face. "Is the pain worse? What has happened to-day?"
"No, it isn't my back," Margaret almost sobbed. "It's just that
_nothing_ has happened—to me—to-day; nothing ever _does_ happen! I
just sit here all day long, waiting for 'something to turn up,' like
Dickens' _Mr. Micawber_, and nothing ever does turn up! The twins
go out and meet nice people and have pleasant things happen, but
there's nothing like that for me. Oh, I want some adventures—just one
nice, big, beautiful adventure would do—some delightful, unexpected
surprise! I'd be content if I could have just _one_!" It was very
unusual for Margaret to make the slightest complaint, and it was well
now that her head was on her mother's shoulder, and that she did not
see the sudden pain in Mrs. Bronson's face.
"Dearie, I know!" her mother said. "It's dull enough for you, sitting
here day after day. But we're all doing the best we can to make you
happy. After all, you never can tell what's going to happen. Just keep
on hoping for something interesting to 'turn up,' and I'm sure sometime
it will. Things occasionally happen in the most unexpected way! Even
_Mr. Micawber_ had something pleasant 'turn up' after a while, if you
remember."
Margaret snuggled her head closer. "You're a _dear_, Mummy! You
do cheer me up so! I feel better already, and I'm going to hope
harder than ever that something nice and interesting—some real
_adventure_—will turn up sometime, perhaps _soon_!"