I took the letter in my hand, and walked to Cousin Geoffrey's house.
Drake was the name of the policeman who replied to my summons. He read
the contents of Mr Gray's letter with almost lightning speed, then
moved aside to let me pass in.
"You would rather I did not show you round, Miss Lindley?" said Drake.
"Yes," I answered, "I know the old house, I have been here before; I
should just like to walk quietly over it by myself."
"Very well, miss; but you'll allow the wife to prepare you a cup of tea?
We can get it quite handy, in the housekeeper's room next the kitchen,
if so be as you object to taking it in the kitchen itself, miss."
"I don't object at all," I answered. "Thank you very much, Mr Drake, I
should like to have a cup of tea, and I would prefer having it in the
kitchen."
A pleased smile stole slowly over the man's face. He walked down-stairs
in the deliberate fashion of a person who has remarkably little to do,
and I commenced my tour of investigation. I said to myself--"Drake need
not hurry with that tea; I shall not want it for some time." It was
delightful to me to be alone in this treasure-house. I could explore, I
could examine, I could pause, I could think. The furniture, the
carpets, the curtains were all full of story, and alive with
associations. I walked from room to room. My mother, had she been with
me, could have put speech into all these rare treasures, could have hung
a lovely legend or charm over each of those antiquated chairs and
tables. Her stories would have been founded on fact, but I, too, helped
perhaps by my magical ruby ring, could weave romances as I walked along.
The rooms of the house had one peculiarity, which I had not noticed the
last time I walked over it. Set into a panel of the door of each was a
kind of sliding slab, which could be pushed aside with the finger, and
which, when opened, revealed a name. I found that each room in the
house had its own special name. This discovery excited me very much.
It was not discernible to the ordinary visitor, for the little white
slab was well hidden in the heavy oak door. But a touch, the twist of a
button would reveal it. I wondered when Cousin Geoffrey had perpetrated
this strange freak. I imagined the queer pleasure he took in naming the
different apartments of his lonely mansion.
After I had made this little discovery I ceased to take such a deep
interest in the furniture. My desire was, if possible, to read the
title of each chamber. I thought what a delightful story I would have
to tell my mother by and by. I knew that she was unacquainted with this
vagary of her kinsman's.
I began at the attics, and turning slab after slab concealed so cleverly
in the doors, read the names rapidly off. Some were commonplace, some
fantastic; most of the rooms were called after the colour of the
decoration, or the style of the furniture. Thus there was the Oak room,
the Walnut room, the Blue room, the Gray room, the Rose room; there were
also the North room and the South room. At last I reached the beautiful
octagon room which contained the painted windows, and which had so
excited my mother's emotions.
The title of this room gave me a good deal to ponder over. It was
called the Chamber of Myths. I stayed for a long time here. I examined
all the furniture. I studied the subjects of the painted windows. I
stood on the raised dais, and leant against the old four-poster, and
pressed my hand against the moth-eaten counterpane. How dusty, and
dreary, and haunty it looked!
The light was fading fast, now, and the room displeased me. I left the
Chamber of Myths in a hurry, and went down to the kitchen to have tea
with Drake and his wife. I said nothing to them about the discovery I
had made, but when I left the house I was firmly convinced that Cousin
Geoffrey's eccentricity must have bordered on madness. What _did_ he
mean by the "Chamber of Myths"? What were the myths? Perhaps my mother
could tell me. I would question her the first moment I had an
opportunity.
It was rather late when I went back to Hetty. I thought how pleased she
would be to see the ruby ring, how pretty she would look when she opened
her eyes wide to gaze at it. How charmed and bewildered she would be if
I let her wear it for a moment on her slim third finger. Hetty had
lovely little hands. Her wedding finger would look dainty, circled with
this ruby ring. I too had small hands, but I could only get it on my
smallest finger.
The moment I got in Hetty pointed with excitement to a telegram which
lay upon the little table at her side.
"It has been here for two hours, Rose," she said. "Do open it quickly.
I am so anxious to know what is in it. Perhaps it is about Jack.
Perhaps he is worse."
"You poor little thing," I replied. "Why did you not open the envelope
yourself, if you are so upset with nervous terrors? Now let me see what
this precious yellow envelope contains."
"Well?" said Hetty.
I was reading the telegram to myself. My face showed heightened colour
and annoyance.
"Well?" she said again. "_Do_ speak, please, Rose."
"It is nothing about Jack," I said then.
"Nothing at all?"
"Nothing at all; the telegram is from my home, but it is about--about
another matter."
This was the other matter--these were the contents of the telegram.
"Lady Ursula Redmayne and Captain Rupert Valentine have just been here,
asking to see you. Will call at your lodgings in Putney, to-morrow,
before eleven. Lady U. in great distress. Gave your address under
pressure."
This long telegram from my mother showed most reckless extravagance. I
could imagine how Lady Ursula had worked upon her feelings.
"But I am not going to give you up, little ring," I said, kissing it.