"You know the ring," I said.
"Oh yes, miss; you don't want me to go back to Sam with it now, miss?"
"No, no, no! I am not going to sell my precious ruby ring; but, Susan,
you said to-day that your mistress sometimes hired out jewels. Fine
ladies, who wanted to look extra fine, borrowed jewels. Of course, when
they borrowed, they paid. Look at my ring once again, Susan. See!
Here under the gas-lamp, does it not sparkle? Would not the gems look
well on a small, fair hand?"
While I was speaking Susan remained motionless, but I noticed that she
began to breathe hard and quick.
"I do believe that this will set everything right," she said, "I do most
positively believe it. You give me the ring, miss, and stay here. I'll
be back in a minute; don't you stir till I come back to you, Miss
Rosamund."
"Listen, Susan, I must have money for the ring, money down. The more
you can get the better, and I'll hire it out for one night only.
Remember that, Susan, I only hire out the ring for one night."
"All right, miss, give me the ring at once. This may set matters
straight again. There ain't no saying. I'll attend to all you want,
Miss Rosamund, never you fear."
Susan almost snatched the old-fashioned little case out of my hand,
sprang up the stairs three steps at a time, and vanished.
I waited in the great, cold, empty hall with no other companion than my
fast-beating heart.
I had a curious sense of loneliness and even desolation, now that I had
parted with the ring. It seemed to me that Cousin Geoffrey was near,
and that he was looking at me reproachfully. I almost regretted what I
had done; if I had known where to find Susan I would have rushed after
her, and asked her for my ring back.
As it was, I had to restrain my impatience as best I could. Perhaps
Susan would be unsuccessful; perhaps in a moment or two she would bring
me back the ring. She did nothing of the kind. She kept me waiting for
a quarter of an hour, then she came back with five pounds in her hand.
"My missis is awfully obliged to you, Miss Rosamund, and--and here's
five sovereigns, miss. I couldn't get more, I couldn't really."
"And my ring, Susan, my ring?"
"You'll have it back to-morrow, miss."
"But is my precious ring safe? Is it in the house? Where is it?"
"Where is your ring, Miss Rosamund?" Susan stared at me, and spoke
almost pettishly. "Didn't you say you wanted to hire the ring out,
miss? Well, and haven't I done it? The ring is out--it's seeing
company to-night, that ruby ring; it's having a fine time; it belongs to
grand folk for the night, and it's seeing life, that's what it is. Oh,
I wish I was it! I think, Miss Rosamund, that ring is going to have a
lovely time."
"And you're sure I shall have it back by to-morrow?"
"Why, of course, miss. You come here about twelve o'clock. I shouldn't
be surprised if Madame wanted to do another hire with it; she seemed
mighty taken with the big ruby, and I dare say the young lady who wears
it to-night may want it again. But of course that's as you please,
miss."
"Of course, Susan. Well, I am very much obliged to you, and I will call
to-morrow at noon." I slipped the five sovereigns into my purse, shook
hands with Susan, and left the house. I felt wonderfully independent;
the touch of the gold had done this. It was marvellous with what a
sense of power I now looked around me. I felt at that instant what a
gulf there was between the rich and the poor. With five shillings I
could be timid; with five pounds I could be wonderfully calm, collected,
and brave.
I walked as composedly down the gaslit streets as if I had done so every
evening of my life. I entered a grocer's shop and bought half a pound
of tea, very good tea. I also bought sugar, Brand's meat jelly, and a
pound of paraffin candles. As I was leaving the shop I thought how fond
mother was of rusks when she was ill. I turned back and got some. I
was now quite laden with parcels, and as I knew I must purchase several
more, and could not possibly carry them all in my hands, the next thing
was to secure a basket. I was not long in discovering a sort of bazaar,
where miscellaneous articles of every description were to be had. I
chose a serviceable basket, paid for it, popped my groceries in, and
went out. I soon added to the store a chicken, two pounds of beef for
beef-tea, a loaf of bread, and some fresh butter. Finally I placed on
the top of the basket a bunch of fine hothouse grapes, two or three
lemons, some oranges, and, lastly, a great lovely bunch of
chrysanthemums.
Now, I felt that I was ready for Putney.
I retraced my steps to Regent Circus, and after a little delay found
myself in an omnibus which would finally land me at Victoria.
I need not describe my brief journey to Putney; I had no adventures on
the road. No one spoke rudely to me, or stared at me, or molested me in
any fashion. The train was punctual, and my fellow-passengers civil.
When I got out at Putney station I did not lose my way, for Jack's
directions were explicit, and my head felt wonderfully clear.
It was, however, between nine and ten o'clock at night when I arrived at
the lodging-house where my brother's poor young wife lay ill.
I knocked at the door, and the landlady, who had watery eyes and an ugly
sodden sort of face, presently answered the summons.
She opened the door about six inches, and stared at me suspiciously from
head to foot.
"Does Mrs Lindley live here?" I asked.
"No, there's no one of that name in the house." She prepared to shut
the door in my face.
"Stay," I exclaimed, pressing my hand against the panel of the door,
"there is a young lady here who is very ill. I am her husband's sister,
and I have come with a message from him, and I have brought several
things that she wants. I must see her at once."
The landlady looked at the heavy basket in my hand. She glanced at my
face, which I am sure was resolved in expression. She listened to my
voice, which was firm.
"Oh, you mean Mrs Gray," she exclaimed. "Yes, poor thing, she's as bad
as bad can be. I suppose you had better come up and see her, if you
have any message from her husband. It's a perfect worry to hear her
calling out for him all the time, and maybe you can quiet her down a
bit."
The landlady mounted the narrow stairs slowly. They were dirty, as
stairs in all such houses are; there were many gaps in the banisters,
and many sad rents and signs of wear on the greasy carpets. I could
have moralised, as I walked up the stairs behind the broad-backed
landlady. I could have stored up materials for an excellent little
essay on the shady side of lodging-house life. But my heart was too
full just then to think of anything but the girl whom I was about to
visit, the girl whom my brother had married without even giving her his
rightful name.
Poor people are often the proudest, and we Lindleys had what is commonly
called "honest pride." That simply means that we _were_ honest; we had
no double dealings; we paid our way not only with coin of the realm, but
with promises which were kept, with endeavours which terminated in
results. It could not enter into our heads to cheat our brothers; we
could do without luxuries, but we could not part with even a
hair's-breadth of honour.
The first scapegrace in a family like ours causes, therefore, those
anguished blushes, those shrinkings of the soul which are about the
worst forms of pain. I felt as if I were being roasted at a slow fire
of public condemnation as I followed Mrs Ashton up-stairs. I was
almost sorry at that moment that my conscience was so tender.
The landlady did not stop until she reached the attic floor; then she
turned and pointed to the door of a room which was slightly open.
"Mrs Gray's in there," she said; "you can go in."
She did not offer to come with me. On the contrary she turned her broad
back and descended the stairs with many bumps and bangs. I walked
softly into the small low attic which had been thrown open for my
entrance.
My steps were light, and the room was almost entirely in shadow, for the
fire had gone out, and one solitary candle was already dying in its
socket.
Light as my footfall was, however, it was heard, for a high-pitched,
querulous, weak voice said instantly:--
"Is that you, Jack? Is that really you at last?"
"No," I replied to the voice, "I am not Jack, but I am the next best
thing, I am Jack's sister. I have brought you a great many messages
from him. Now lie quite still, until I light a candle, and then I will
tell you everything."
The figure in the bed gave utterance to a queer kind of astonished
groan, but no further sound of any kind came from the lips. I fumbled
in my basket until I found the pound of candles; I lit one at the
expiring embers in the socket, found two showy candlesticks on the
mantelpiece, filled both, and lighted them, and then, going over to the
bed, bent down to take a good look at my sister.
I saw a small dark face; two big beautiful eyes looked up at me; a weak
little peevish mouth trembled; the lips were drawn down; I saw that
tears, and perhaps hysterics, were close at hand. I touched the girl's
forehead with my hand, it was damp from weakness, but there was no
fever.
"Before I tell you any of my story I must make you comfortable, Hetty,"
I said.
"Hetty?" she whispered, in a kind of terror. "How _do_ you know
anything about me?"
"Jack has told me, of course; it's all right, I assure you. He is
prevented coming to-night, so I am going to be your nurse. Oh, yes, I
will talk to you presently, but not yet, not until you have had some
food, and I have made you comfortable."
I now observed that the girl's face was ghastly pale. Yes, the fever
was gone, but she was in almost the last extremity of weakness. I
rushed again to my basket, took out the tin of Brand's jelly, opened it,
and gave her a spoonful. It acted as a stimulant at once, and I felt
that I might leave her while I ran down-stairs to interview the
landlady.
Oh, the wonders that a purse full of money can effect! With the chink
of that gold I softened Mrs Ashton's obdurate heart. Jack's wife
became "Poor dear!" and an object of the deepest interest in her eyes.
She bundled up-stairs herself, to re-light the fire in the miserable
attic. She supplied me with unlimited warm water, clean towels, and
clean sheets, and when I asked her if she could roast a fowl, and send
it up hot in about an hour's time, she readily promised to do what I
required.
In her absence I affected wonders in the attic room. I made it cheerful
with fire-light and candle-light. I opened the window and let in some
purer air. Having fed my patient, I proceeded to comb out her beautiful
curly dark hair. I then washed her face and hands, and made the bed
over again with the clean sheets.
When the landlady brought up the fowl nicely done to a turn, we were
both ready for it. The good food, the care, the cheerful light, the
purer atmosphere had already done wonders for Hetty. She lost the
nervous, frightened manner which at first had made it almost distressing
to speak to her. Her eyes shone; the colour dawned faintly in her white
cheeks, and when I fed her with tender bits of chicken, she even smiled
up into my face with a world of love and gratitude in her eyes.
"You are good to me, miss," she whispered.
"You must not call me miss, my name is Rosamund. I am your husband's
sister."
But this allusion made her blush painfully, and she drew once more into
her shell.
When Hetty and I had finished our chicken, I set what was left carefully
away, and putting out one of the candles sat down by the bedside, and
told my new sister that she must go to sleep.
"But you, miss?--oh! I beg your pardon,"--she stopped, confusion in her
tone.
"Never mind," I said, soothingly. I saw this was not the time to
commence her education. "Go to sleep," I said, and bending forward I
touched her forehead lightly with my lips. Her eyes looked full back
into mine. I had never seen such a wealth of love in any eyes. The
lids fell languidly over them. She obeyed me with a happy, satisfied
sigh.