THE BOND STREET JEWELLER
Richard Shrewsbury awoke next morning to suddenly remember two
things--the first, that Captain Burgoyne was coming to breakfast; the
second that he was engaged to be married.
Now that the first excitement was over, he found himself not a little
puzzled as to how the affairs of the previous evening had come
about. He was well aware that he had come to be very fond of Sylvie
Walsingham’s society, that she was the most important factor in his
small world, that she had become, in a sense, necessary to him, that
he liked and admired her, and was always well content when he was with
her, that she always amused and interested him, and that she was just
the sort of smart and pretty woman that he liked to be seen about with.
And he was also very well aware that when he went to her that evening
the idea of marrying her had never so much as entered his head. He felt
equally sure, being as yet very innocent and unlearned in the ways of
the world, that it had never entered hers.
“I persuaded her,” he said to himself as he began to dress. “I expect
it was one of those things that are bound to be. And after all----”
He turned to a new photograph of Mrs. Walsingham, which he had put
up on the mantelpiece of his bedroom only the day before, and Kedgin
having gone out of the room, he took it down and looked carefully at
it. Yes, there was no doubt that he would have one of the prettiest
wives in London, and she would do credit to him, and to all the finery
and luxury that he could give her, and he was very, very fond of her,
and they had always got on like a house on fire, and ... and then
he put the photograph back in its place and wondered vaguely why he
had been very much attracted to Frances Leverton, and why there was
something about her that had made him feel very down in the mouth when
she dismissed him so curtly and very cock-a-whoop when, through the
lame girl’s intercession, he had obtained permission to call at Acacia
Mansions again.
Now, he thought, that engagement would perhaps not be quite so
important as it had seemed--he would have to devote himself to his
fiancée more than ever; perhaps--he was well aware that there was
no love lost between Mrs. Walsingham and Miss Leverton--perhaps she
would not allow him to go to Acacia Mansions. At the notion of that he
laughed, a little cynically, and proceeded to complete his toilet.
Burgoyne came punctually to the moment of his appointment, alert,
hungry, and bustling, and gave his surroundings an all-embracing and
comprehensive stare.
“You seem to have lodged yourself in magnificence, young gentleman,”
he said, gazing at the pictures, the books, and the old china. “Who
inducted you into all this grandeur?”
“Carsdale--the man you saw yesterday,” replied Richard. “Carsdale is an
awfully useful man to know.”
“Evidently,” said Burgoyne, still looking round. “But you didn’t find
all these things--the books and pictures and ornaments--here?”
“No, they’re mine--I bought ’em,” answered Richard, gazing at his
possessions with the pride of a child who owns valuable toys which it
does not quite understand.
“I congratulate you on your taste. And pray, who helped you to form
it. Somebody who knows something about these things, I think,” said
Burgoyne. “I don’t believe you brought an epicurean taste in bindings,
a nice discernment in pictures, or an even superficial knowledge of old
china from Trinidad, young man.”
“No,” answered Richard, frankly. “I didn’t. I don’t know much about any
of those things. Mrs. Walsingham helped me in that direction.”
“Oh, Mrs. Walsingham, the lady I saw at Carsdale’s, eh?” said Burgoyne.
“Then I congratulate her on her taste--I possess a little, a very
little, myself--just enough, Master Richard, to know when I encounter
people who have more. I think your friend, Mrs. Walsingham, must be
very clever.”
Richard glanced at the door of the room in which they were standing.
In the next room Kedgin was moving about the breakfast table. Richard
watched him until he disappeared to other regions.
“Oh, ah, yes!” he said shortly. “Yes--I believe so. The--er--fact is,
Burgoyne, I wanted to tell you--you’re the first to know, really--the
fact is, Mrs. Walsingham and I are--er--engaged to be married.”
Burgoyne, who had screwed an eye-glass into his right eye in order to
examine a pair of exquisite water-colour sketches, turned and let it
drop.
“Oh!” he said. “You and Mrs. Walsingham are engaged to be married, eh,
Dick? Ah! Really! Now do you know, when those sort of announcements
are made to me, I never know how to reply to them? One is supposed to
shower congratulations on the persons who make them--and that sort
of thing. I never do. You see, I don’t know Mrs. Walsingham. I saw
yesterday a very pretty and smartly-gowned lady--but I don’t know any
more. The great thing, dear boy, is--are you satisfied?”
“Quite!” answered Richard, emphatically. “Quite!”
Burgoyne slapped his young friend’s shoulder and shook hands with him.
“Then that’s all right, and I’ll be your best man,” he said. “That is,
if you’ll have me. And here’s the welcome news of breakfast.”
Over the breakfast table, the elder man occasionally stole a keen look
at the youngster, as if he were endeavouring to penetrate through the
air and atmosphere of cheery good-humour which hung all over Richard.
He was wondering what had happened since the previous day to bring this
engagement about; that it had not been then made he was quite certain,
knowing well that Richard was not the sort of young man to keep secrets
from his friends. But he observed that his host’s appetite was not only
unimpaired, but healthy and vigorous, and from that fact he concluded
that Richard’s mind was quite easy on all matters of whatever nature,
and he accordingly dismissed his friend’s affairs from him, and began
to think of his own.
“And so Carsdale’s a smart business man, Dick?” he asked when they had
settled down to breakfast and Kedgin had taken himself away. “A really
clever man at his work, eh?”
“Carsdale’s one of the cleverest men in London,” answered Richard, with
deep assurance.
“Is that his general reputation, or do you speak of your own opinion?”
asked Burgoyne.
“I can only tell what I know,” answered Richard. And he entered into
a plain account of what Carsdale had done for him in the way of
investing the major portion of his fortune, not forgetting to repeat
the encomiums passed upon the transaction by the highly respectable
bankers. But in detailing the magnitude and the soundness of this
transaction, he forgot to mention that he had given Carsdale ten
thousand pounds to play with, and Burgoyne was consequently impressed.
“Well, that seems highly satisfactory,” said Burgoyne. “Carsdale may be
of use to me. I want some man of his sort as a sort of medium. I meant,
of course, to go to Leverton.”
For a moment Richard’s thoughts turned to Frances Leverton. Here was a
chance of introducing business to her. Carsdale, whether by intention
or not, had taken away his, Richard’s, business from her; it would be
doing her a good turn to get Burgoyne to give her a chance.
“Miss Leverton is carrying on some part of her father’s business,” he
said. “I don’t quite know what she does, but I think she advises people
about investments, and----”
“No!” said Burgoyne. “I wouldn’t employ a woman in business matters
under any consideration. But I think Carsdale might do for what I want.”
“What do you want?” asked Richard.
“To form a company for developing the district which I’ve been
exploring,” replied Burgoyne. “There’s an enormous trade to be done in
that corner of the world. Oh, I’m going to do it, of course! I shall
put a good deal of money into it myself, now that I’ve come into this
rather unexpected wealth. You’d better come in with me, Dick. In two
years any company formed on lines I propose, and with the capital I’m
thinking of, will be getting twenty, aye, thirty per cent. on its
money. There’s a veritable virgin gold mine there.”
“Oh, I’ll come in,” said Richard. “That is, of course, if Carsdale
approves. I’ve left everything in his hands, you see.”
Burgoyne smiled.
“I think Carsdale will see the possibilities when I talk to him,” he
said. “I must make an appointment. For a few days I’m about filled up.”
“Can you give me half an hour this morning?” asked Richard, a little
shyly and diffidently. “Do, if you can, Burgoyne.”
The explorer pulled out his watch.
“I’m due at the Royal Geographical Society’s place at half-past
eleven,” he said. “And it’s now half-past ten. What is it, Dick?”
Richard laughed and looked somewhat shame-faced.
“I--well, I suppose I’ve got to buy an engagement ring,” he said. “I
thought perhaps you’d go with me to Levanter’s place in Bond Street.”
“That’s on my way,” answered Burgoyne. “Levanter’s, eh? That’s a very
swell establishment, isn’t it? Perhaps they could do something for
me. I want to have my necklace valued--the expensive luxury which I
redeemed yesterday, you know. I really don’t know what it’s worth, and
I believe I shall sell it.”
“Sell it to me!” said Richard, eagerly. “I’ll buy it.”
Burgoyne gave the young gentleman a queer look. He was not precisely
aware of the full amount of Richard’s fortune, and it seemed to him
that the buying of diamond necklaces was not a thing to be lightly
entered upon.
“What would you do with it?” he asked, smiling.
“Why give it to Sylvie, of course,” answered Richard.
“A pretty name,” commented Burgoyne, and secretly wondered who Mrs.
Walsingham had been. “Well, we’ll see, Dick. Of course, if you want to
buy diamonds----”
“All women love diamonds,” interjected Richard, with an air of wisdom.
“True, my son,” said Burgoyne, gravely. “They do. And,” he added to
himself, “they love young men who can afford to give them diamonds.
Well,” he said aloud, “suppose we go round, then?”
“But--your necklace?” said Richard.
Burgoyne laughed, and tapped the breast of his buttoned-up coat.
“I have it--here,” he answered. “Here, in a wash-leather bag. The fact
is, I’ve never had it off me since I took possession of it again,
yesterday. I--slept with it under my pillow. I’m not sure that I didn’t
dream of it.”
Closeted with the Bond Street jeweller, who already knew him very well
as a good customer whose purchases so far had been chiefly for himself
in the way of sleeve-links, scarf-pins, and such-like adjuncts to a
rich young man’s personal adornments, Richard proved hard to please.
He asked Burgoyne’s advice, he asked Mr. Levanter’s advice; he
endeavoured to combine their ideas and their taste with his own.
Finally he decided on a plain ring in which were set five stones of the
purest quality. The price made Burgoyne jump, but Richard drew out his
cheque-book, and paid the sum demanded without comment. He put the ring
in his pocket, and rose with a sigh of relief.
“Now it’s your turn,” he said, looking at Burgoyne.
“And you’ve been so long at making up your mind that you’ve left me no
time,” said Burgoyne. He drew out his wash-leather bag from an inner
pocket of his vest, and handed it to the jeweller. “I want you to do
something for me, Mr. Levanter,” he said. “In this bag, which, as you
see, is sealed, you will find a diamond necklace which has been in my
family for about a hundred years and is now my property. I’ve never had
it properly valued, and I want to know what it is really worth. Look it
over this morning. I can’t stay now, but I’ll come in before lunch.”
Then he got Richard out, bidding him carry his newly-acquired bauble
to his fiancée, and he himself hurried away to his appointment. He
was kept by it longer than he had anticipated; then a fellow-explorer
carried him off to lunch at the _Bristol_; it was not until the middle
of the afternoon that he remembered the jeweller and the task he had
entrusted to him. He went off to Bond Street, and entered the shop with
a careless smile.
“Well, Mr. Levanter?” he said.
Mr. Levanter led him into the room in which Richard had inspected the
rings, and unlocked a safe. He took out the wash-leather case and
looked at Captain Burgoyne with a curious expression.
“You meant me to value these as--as diamonds?” he said.
“As diamonds? Why, of course!” answered Burgoyne. “Of course! Diamonds!”
“Well, Captain,” said Mr. Levanter, drawing out the necklace, “I
thought so. But these, sir, are not diamonds. These things are paste!”