Aunt Sophie's Diamonds (2 page)

"Quite a large sum,” Mrs. Milmont replied evasively.

"Daresay that's why Sophie is leaving the diamonds to the Beresford chit then."

"I cannot feel she would treat her own sister so shabbily. But there are the other jewels—the long rope of pearls I especially admire, and there are some fine rings..."

"All the rest of that junk together wouldn't be worth the price of the necklace."

"You don't have to describe my family's diamond necklace to
me,
Captain. I know it is worth fifty thousand pounds. Why, the large pendant stone hanging off the front is worth ten thousand. And if she wants to be giving it to a niece, I see no reason why Claudia should not get it. She is the elder."

Claudia smiled to herself to hear that she was being allowed to be older than anyone and asked mischievously just how old her cousin Luane was.

"A year or so younger than yourself,” she was told by her mama with a silencing frown.

Miss Bliss returned to take the Milmont ladies up to see Sophie, and Jonathon went out for a walk around his estate, an exercise so depressing that he soon returned and had a glass of sherry. Everything was a mess—stonework crumbling, slates off the roof, windows smashed to bits, and the lawn a jungle. It would take a fortune to put the place to rights, and for what? Couldn't sell it. An heiress—there was the answer to his problems, and if Luane Beresford got the diamonds, he'd make a push to attach her. What had Sophie said there, during the chess game? ‘Thoreau is bringing Gabriel down from Cambridge in case I should take a pique and leave all my blunt to you. And I'd do it, too, if Luane would marry you, which she won't.’ Who said she wouldn't though? Be bound to fall for the uniform. He paraded in front of the dim mirror to admire his buttons and lace. He let his eyes wander up to the face, and he saw nothing amiss there either. Bit of a handsome dog actually.

He was disturbed at this narcissistic chore by the sound of flying feet in the hallway. Dashing out to see what had happened, he saw Miss Milmont, breathing hard and stuttering. “She—she's dead!"

"By Jove!” the captain exclaimed in a strange voice of which sorrow made up no part.

"They said to tell you."

"What am
I
supposed to do about it? If she's gone, she's gone. You've told me."

"Don't you want to go up?"

"What for? It's the doctor you want, I fancy. Have to sign some certificate very likely. Yes, I'll send for Hill."

Mrs. Milmont was only a minute behind her daughter, the monogrammed handkerchief firmly lodged against her dry eyes. “My vinaigrette, Claudia,” she breathed in a dying voice.

The two ladies went into the Crimson Saloon, and were soon joined by Jonathon. “Well, I've sent a boy off for Doctor Hill,” he told them and rubbed his hands, unable to control a smile.

Miss Bliss came in, her usually alert face wearing a stunned look.

"Where is Miss Beresford?” Claudia asked. “Should we not tell her?"

"She went down to Chanely—Thoreau's place, to wait for Gabriel's arrival. She should be back soon."

Jonathon was a little worried to hear of his heiress still dangling after Gabriel. He had thought they had a falling out at Christmas, but it could not have been severe.

"What should I do?” Miss Bliss asked the relatives. “We should be letting people know. Jonathon, maybe you'd come with me, and I'll give you some note paper."

Jonathon's chest swelled to be at last master in some house and in a fit of nobility he said, “I don't want you to worry about a thing, Miss Bliss. You can stay right on here and look after things for me. Of course, I wouldn't be able to pay you much...” he added, as sanity returned to him.

"No, you couldn't pay me to stay here,” she said bluntly and gave him a list of persons to notify.

"I could pay you a little something."

"I'm going to a chicken farm with my sister,” Miss Bliss said to be rid of him, and she returned to the Saloon. She then took the Milmonts to their rooms.

When Marcia had attired herself in a black gown and her daughter in an unbecoming dove gray, the closest thing to mourning the girl possessed, they went downstairs to await whatever Fate and Miss Bliss had in store for them.

They were soon seated in the Crimson Saloon looking at each other in silence. Before talk was necessary, the door flew open and a regular hurly-burly girl came charging in, black curls flying beneath a jaded brown riding cap, and a rumpled brown tweed riding habit, too small for her, covering her body.

"Oh, hello, Aunt Marcia,” she said. “Is this your daughter?"

"My poor child!” Marcia said by way of response. She once again produced the monogrammed handkerchief. “Is Sir Hillary with you?"

"No, they're back and coming up after dinner. Why do you call me poor child?"

"You have not heard the sad news,” she said with a long face.

"What, did my aunt finally die, and me not here to see her?"

"Indeed, my sister is gone...” the last word petered out.

The little face under the brown hat crumpled, and a tear oozed out of the dark eyes, but in an instant her face resumed its former contours, and a small hand brushed away the tear. “I'm sorry to hear it. Where is she?"

"She—it—the body is still upstairs. We must wait for the doctor to come by, my dear. Sir Hillary is coming, you say?"

"Yes, they are just come home, but don't know Sophie's dead."

"They must be notified."

"They are coming up immediately after dinner. It's not worth while sending a boy down.” The stout little voice was trying hard not to break. “Excuse me,” she said and turned away to dash up the stairs.

"Rag-mannered,” Mrs. Milmont said to her daughter.

"She was overcome with grief, mama,” Claudia objected.

"That sassy chit? She hasn't a thought or a tear for anyone but herself. Snatching the diamonds out from under our noses with her conning ways. If Sophie only meant to give them to a niece and not her own sister, I don't see why she shouldn't have given them to you, but you never bothered to make up to her in the least."

"I never saw her till ten minutes ago, and she was dying then."

"You saw her any number of times—at least once or twice—when you were in pinafores. I daresay you don't remember."

"I have not been in pinafores for a good many years, Mama. You forget I am twenty-four."

"You could not have written her a letter, I suppose? Oh no, it never entered your head to be conciliating. You must needs let Miss Beresford walk off with a fortune."

"The will has not been read yet. Mama, why did you keep asking if Sir Hillary was come yet? Do you know him?"

"Know
him? My dear, he is the Nonesuch!"

"None such what?” her simple daughter enquired.

"Oh, child, don't pester me with your stupid questions. He is one of the leaders of the
ton,
of the fashionable elite in London."

"Is he a friend of yours?"

"No, he thinks he is too highly placed to bother his head with
me.
A toplofty, arrogant..."

"Then why are you so anxious to know if he is come?"

"It can do no harm to be pleasant to him. Of the first stare, you must know."

"But if you dislike him, mama, and really he sounds very disagreeable..."

Such a foolish remark as this received the withering glance it deserved. “Run up and see if Luane has anything to say. You might just hint if she is to get the diamonds."

Claudia agreed readily, but she had no notion of quizzing her cousin about the diamonds. She had felt a pang of pity rush out to the girl when she had heard of her aunt's death. So far as she could see, Luane was the only one who did grieve at Aunt Sophie's passing. She must be quite alone in the world now, except for mama and herself. And this Gabriel, of course, but as yet Gabriel Tewksbury was unknown to Claudia. All that was known was that he had refused to marry Luane, so he could not be much comfort to her. The girl's position reminded her uncomfortably of herself when papa had died nine years ago. She had her mama, of course, but no one who wanted her. It was her good fortune that her grandparents had taken her in and given her a home.

Miss Bliss directed her to Luane's door, and she tapped twice. Receiving no answer, she opened the door and stepped in. She feared she would find her cousin on her bed in a fit of tears, but it was no such a thing. Luane was standing at a clothespress, flipping over a small selection of gowns. She turned and looked at the interloper out of her big dark eyes.

"Are you my cousin Claudia?” she asked.

"Yes, and I am very happy to meet you at last, for you are the only female cousin I have. My papa's brother has two sons, but they are only rowdy little boys. May I come in?"

"You are in. I am happy to meet you, too. You aren't much like your mama, are you?"

"No, we are not much alike. Are you choosing a gown?"

"Yes, do you think this pale blue ... or should I wear the navy moire?"

"It is chilly downstairs. I'd wear the navy with long sleeves if I were you."

To her surprise, Miss Beresford turned around with her back to her cousin and proceeded to undress herself, with no apparent discomfort or hesitation, though she kept her back to her the whole time.

"I expect you are very sorry to hear of your aunt's death,” Claudia said, while she stared at the floor and wondered if she ought to leave.

"Yes, it's inconvenient,” was the unexpected reply.

"Inconvenient?” Claudia asked, startled.

"Yes, I had hoped she'd hang on till I was married. I have nowhere to go now, you see."

"I see,” Claudia answered, much struck by this plain speaking.

"I can't go to Cousin Gabriel, for he is still at university. Your mama won't have me, because she won't even let
you
live with her, and you can't ask me to your grandfather's place, for they are no relation of mine.” There was no hint of a whine or even complaint in this recital, but rather an angry tinge to the whole.

"Well...” Claudia said and could think of not a single suggestion to proffer.

"Just like Rosalie,” Miss Beresford said with a sigh.

This comparison would have conveyed nothing to most, but to a woman much addicted to trashy novels herself in her greener years, Rosalie Dumont was as well known as Queen Charlotte. “Yes, the comparison is striking.” Claudia agreed readily. “Very like
The Daughter of Bardon Hall.
I hope you don't mean to solve your case in the same manner, for I think Rosalie was imprudent in fleeing aboard a ship to France, don't you?"

"How else should she have met and married the Comte de Davencourt?” Luane asked.

"Yes, I had forgotten that, but there was no war on in those days and no Bonaparte."

"Yes, it can't be France,” Luane said consideringly. “Are the Frenchies in Italy, too?” she asked.

"They are scattered all over Europe and, with Boney escaped from Elba, your best bet to meet a lord is right here in England. And you would do better to remain a girl, too, instead of turning into a boy, like Rosalie."

"It is very vexing, but then I am not so poor as Rosalie. I shall have a diamond necklace worth fifty thousand pounds."

"That is a very respectable dowry,” Claudia replied.

"And I'm pretty too,” Luane pointed out. Claudia looked to the little face now turned towards her for examination and was much inclined to agree.

"What I must do is hire some impoverished lady to chaperone me till I make a match."

"What sort of man would you like to marry?” Claudia asked, happy to see the mundane manner of her cousin.

"A titled gentleman,” was the unhesitating answer. “I mean to be a great lady."

"Ah, like Rosalie, I collect."

"Yes, and then he'll see..."

"That will show him,” Claudia agreed quietly. “Who is
he?"

"My cousin—it is no matter."

"The captain?"

"That toy soldier!” she scoffed. “I mean Cousin Gabriel. He will see I'm not an ill-behaved brat."

"Did he call you so?"

"He certainly did, and only because I asked Hillary if he bought me anything. He usually brings me bonbons,” she explained.

"Did he remember the bonbons?"

"Yes, would you like one?” She passed a box of candied gingers. “Have two if you like. These are not my favorite."

Claudia contented herself with only one of the treats and chewed it while waiting expectantly for more news from this interesting creature.

"How old are you?” Luane asked suddenly.

"I am rather old, but you must not tell anyone, for mama is still young,” Claudia answered with a slight tremor in her voice.

"I thought you weren't as young as you let on,” Luane said unemotionally. “Would you care to be my chaperone, cousin?"

"It would be excessively diverting,” Claudia replied readily, “but I have not yet put on my caps and could not do much to introduce you to great noblemen in any case."

"Sir Hillary will do that. He is a nonpareil. I think you would make a very good chaperone. You are old without being
too
old."

"I am greatly flattered,” Claudia said, drawing her handkerchief to her unsteady lips, “but I doubt my grandpa could spare me."

"He will have to spare you when you marry."

"True, but chaperones don't usually marry, especially
old
ones."

"You aren't over the hill—quite. We'll find a nobleman for you, too, cousin. A widower perhaps, with children, then you won't have to bother having any of your own. I think it must be very uncomfortable, don't you?"

"I have always thought nature mismanaged it very badly. We ought to just lay an egg like the birds."

"Or lay a whole bunch of them at once and have it over with."

"Even better.” A small gurgle of laughter escaped Claudia, and she marveled at her lack of decorum when she had come here to console the bereaved. “I expect you are sad at losing your aunt,” she essayed once more.

"She wasn't so bad, but she didn't like me. I'll miss her, but she's been talking of dying ever since I came here, and I am used to the idea. Shall we go downstairs? I'm starved,” she added prosaically. They left the room, arm in arm and went gaily chatting down into the house of mourning.