JULIET BREAKS THE SEALS
At six forty-two the Duchess of Claremanagh descended from a plebeian
taxicab in front of her pretentious home. She had sent away her own
car, before going to the Lorne, and though there was no wrong in her
secret, she was weighed down by a sense of guilt as she went to her
room. This annoyed her, because the one guilty person in the house was
Pat!
She had heard, toward the end of her conversation with Jack, that the
pearls had come while he was with the Duke; but the girl was too
wretched to care. How did she know that the story about Monsieur Mayen
was not a "fake"? It was quite possible that Pavoya had had the pearls
for months, and had only now given them up, under cover of Mayen's
name, and his messenger on the _Britannia_. Juliet felt as Emmy West
had expected her to feel: She hated the pearls! Whatever the truth
was, she could take no pleasure in wearing them. All the same, she
_would_ wear them, to show curiosity-mongers that they were not in Lyda
Pavoya's hands. She would wear them this very night.
She and Claremanagh were engaged to dine at the Van Estens', and he had
insisted in the morning that he would be well enough to go. Now, for
all she could tell, he might have changed his mind, and 'phoned that
his cold would keep him at home. That excuse should not affect _her_,
however. If he did not bring or send the pearls to her room, Simone
should take him a note. In this, Juliet would say, not that Jack had
told her, but that she "_supposed_ the messenger had arrived," and she
would ask for the pearls to wear at Nancy's dinner party--ask for them
not as a favour, but because of the right she had, as Duchess of
Claremanagh.
"Madame is very late!" were Simone's first words as Juliet flung open
her bedroom door. "I began to be anxious."
Juliet glanced at her wrist-watch and a French clock on the mantel. It
was true, she _was_ late! She had a new gown which there had been no
time to try, and dinner was at eight. The girl's nerves, tensely
strained all day, began to get out of control. She was "jumpy" and
cross as Simone unfastened the many little hidden hooks and tiny lace
buttonholes of the "dawn-cloud" dress. Simone's hands were cold as
ice, she complained. She hoped Simone wasn't "sickening for
something!" Then, it seemed that the quaint grey hat had spoiled her
hair, which usually remained in perfect order throughout the day. It
had to be let down; and being immensely long and thick, would take
twenty minutes to rearrange. Never, never had Simone been so awkward!
Her fingers were all thumbs!
For a few moments, in her need of haste and her nervous agitation,
Juliet forgot the crying question of the pearls. But a knock at the
door which separated Pat's room from hers set every pulse a-throb. _He
had come, of his own accord_!
The blood rushed to her cheeks, and as she turned to the opening door,
she looked gloriously beautiful. Her eyes met Claremanagh's with the
desperate appeal of a loving, tortured soul, and he was disarmed.
"Could you let Simone go for a few minutes?" he asked. "I should like
to speak to you alone."
A few seconds ago Juliet had been fuming because every instant counted.
But suddenly time ceased to be of importance. She didn't care how late
she might be for Nancy's dinner. She didn't care if she were too late
to go at all!
Simone, who knew that things were not as they should be, expected her
mistress coldly to refuse the Duke. She was intensely surprised to be
sent away and told not to return for fifteen minutes. Sensitively
jealous, the maid resented being sent out of the room for _ce traitre_,
as she mentally called Claremanagh. What a different scene there would
be between husband and wife if she had betrayed to the Duchess the
secret of the afternoon! To do so would satisfy her love of drama, and
her pique against the Duke; but Simone knew too well "which side her
bread was buttered." For one thing, the Duchess would not hear such a
tale from a servant, even her trusted maid. The Duke might be sent
"packing" by the heiress, but so would Simone! And for another thing,
there must be no possible suspicion when the "Whisperer" of the _Inner
Circle_ whispered next, as to where the whisper had started. It would
not do for Simone to know that Lyda Pavoya had called on the Duke of
Claremanagh in his American wife's absence.
The instant the Frenchwoman was out of the room, Pat came close to
Juliet. He was dressed for dinner, all but coat and waistcoat, and
Juliet adored him thus, in his glittering white expanse of evening
shirt. She had often told him so.
"You were not very kind to me this morning," he said, looking down at
her, his face graver than she had ever seen it before this day. "I may
as well tell you I was a good deal hurt, and angry, too--though I
haven't deserved too well of you, perhaps. But to see you as you are
now makes me forget everything, except that we've been dear lovers, and
that you're the most beautiful girl on earth--_my_ girl! You look just
as you looked that evening at Harridge's, a million miles away, in old
London--the night before our wedding when I came in suddenly, and you'd
been washing your hair. Do you still hate your poor Romeo, _Giullietta
mia_, or do you feel like forgetting, too, and beginning all over
again?"
"I never hated you--not for a minute!" cried Juliet. "I thought you
hated _me_!"
"Then you were jolly well mistaken," said Pat.
They gazed at each other like two fencers, for a moment; then Juliet
sprang up, and held out her arms. He clasped her, and kissed her hair,
her face, her bare white neck. Something he held in his hand, out of
her sight behind his back, fell to the floor. She started at the
sound, and he let her go, laughing like his old self.
"'History repeats'!" he exclaimed. "Do you remember the little box I
brought you, with its blobby seals? Well, I have another sealed box
for you to-night. You're to open it as you opened that one, and you
will find the same thing inside. Only, it will be the same thing with
a difference."
He picked up the packet from the floor, and handed it to Juliet with a
flourish. "_Voilà, Madame! Les plus belles chases, pour la plus belle
dame_."
"The pearls!" Juliet breathed.
"The pearls!" echoed Pat.
The girl was thrilled. How could she have hated the things so angrily
an hour ago? Her whole mood concerning them and concerning life had
changed under Pat's kisses. She was going to _love_ his pearls for his
sake, and the sake of their own romance!
"Why, the seals haven't been broken!" she exclaimed, as she took the
box.
"No, I was determined you and you alone should do the breaking."
"But--didn't the messenger insist?"
"He did. Two can play at that game, though!"
"What about the receipt? I should have thought he'd object----"
"'Object' is a mild word. I convinced him in the end, however--if not
that I was right, anyhow that I meant to have my own way. Darling,
this is a happy moment for me--though I didn't expect to be happy
to-night. Break the seals. Open the box. And I shall know by your
eyes what you think of its contents."
With trembling fingers Juliet obeyed. Each seal was so perfect, it
seemed a shame to shatter the delicate eye in crimson wax. Laughing,
she remarked that it was clear no thief had touched the box. Pat
agreed, and took from her the waterproof wrapping as she peeled it off.
Within was a wooden box, with a sliding lid, such as French jewellers
use. Claremanagh had bought it himself, at Mayen's request, he
explained to Juliet; and the seal (made also by his ring) which held
the cover in place had been pressed by his hand in the presence of his
friend, the "super money-lender."
"By Jove, I'm proud of it!" he exclaimed. "It's a work of art. I'd
forgotten how good it was. The best seal I've ever done, and I've
called myself an expert--a Genie of the ring!"
It needed a pair of scissors to loosen the wax from the wood. Then
Juliet slipped off the lid, and took from the box something wrapped in
a handkerchief of fine Irish linen. "You'll find my monogram on that
rag," said Pat, apparently enjoying himself. "Mayen would make me wrap
the case with the pearls in something that belonged to me--something
that couldn't be copied easily by a thief. My hair wasn't quite long
enough to do up a parcel in, and this was the only other thing we could
think of!"
While he gaily explained, Juliet slowly--tantalizing herself--unwound
the linen folds. So doing, she smelt a faint fragrance of
tobacco--Pat's special tobacco which left its odour on all his clothes.
It had seemed exquisitely exciting to the girl when she was engaged to
Claremanagh, and it was more so than ever to-night, when they were
having this heavenly reconciliation--a reconciliation partly due to
Jack's advice and his defence of the Duke. But it was odd that the
scent should have lasted all these months!
Juliet exclaimed over this to Pat, but he accounted for it by reminding
her how closely the handkerchief had been shut up in the box.
At last she was looking at the jewel-case which had once belonged to
the love-sick Tsarina! It was of white velvet, creamy now with age,
and stamped with crowns in gold, pathetically and appropriately dimmed.
The catch was curious and beautiful: a big _cabochon_ ruby shaped like
a heart. Juliet pushed it, and lifted the satin lid. There, on the
cushion, lay the long rope of pearls curled up like a snake, with the
curious diamond clasp for its head.
The girl had expected to cry out in amazed admiration at sight of the
wonderful thing--"Claremanagh's ewe lamb." She had expected to be
literally dazzled. But instead, she suffered a shock of disappointment.
With all the will in the world to be pleased and grateful, she was
dumb. She could think of nothing to say; and she tingled with
embarrassment under her husband's eyes.
"Well, darling," he said, after a few seconds of waiting. "Don't the
poor pearls come up to your hopes?"
"Oh, yes!" she forced herself to answer. "Aren't they _big_? Aren't
they _blue_? I never saw any so-called 'blue pearls' so really blue as
these."
"All the same, you are disappointed," Pat judged, his eyes on her face.
"Don't you think by this time I know your tones and your expressions?
Out with it, Jule! Bless you, _I_ shan't be hurt. I didn't make the
pearls, you know. And you're a spoiled pet of fortune, brought up from
your babyhood to play with better toys than these. You could have had
pearls as big as plums, in a rope to your feet, if you'd wanted 'em.
Only your taste was too good. What's the matter with these baubles?"
"Why," the girl hesitated, "if I must say what I think you know I _am_
supposed to be a bit of an expert, in my little amateur way, it seems
to me these pearls aren't as lustrous as they ought to be. Perhaps
they're 'sick'. They may need sea-water, or something. Yet they
haven't the symptoms of 'dying' pearls. They haven't lost their
colour. They've got almost too much--to look _real_."
"They're real enough!"
"Of course they _must_ be. And the clasp is charming, isn't it? An
eye made of a blue sapphire, set in white diamonds, rimmed with tiny
black ones; an eye like the design of your seal, except that this one
looks to the right, and----"
"To the _right_!" Pat caught the words from her mouth. "Impossible!"
Juliet stared. "But it does. You may see for yourself."
"Good God!" There was horror in his voice.
Juliet could not understand. This scene began to feel like a queer
dream. "What is the matter?" she asked.
"Give me the thing!"
She handed him the rope.
He glared at the clasp as if the diamond and sapphire eye were a
miniature head of Medusa. Then he turned to her with a dazed
expression, still in silence.
"You frighten me," she faltered.
"You--you say you're an expert in pearls," he said. "How can you tell
real ones from false?"
"One very simple way is to touch them to the tip of the tongue," Juliet
explained, bewildered. "Real pearls are always cold. False ones can
be warmish. Besides, the surface feels different. And even if the
weight is right----"
"Test these," Pat said.
The girl took back the gleaming blue rope, and lifted the largest
pearls to her lips.
"They are--false," she gasped, after an instant's pause.
"You are sure?"
"Yes. I am sure."