India Black and the Rajah's Ruby (4 page)

The chap was enjoying himself. “I shouldn’t go so far as to say that it’s dangerous to possess the jewel, but it does enjoy a certain reputation.”

“I’m intrigued,” I said. “You have my full attention.”

“And mine, Mr. Ashton.” Marie Carter’s voice was tremulous. “Do tell us what you know.”

“I’m afraid I know only what’s been reported in the newspapers. The ruby once belonged to the Rajah of Ganipur, a princely state in central India. I gather the rajahs there have been particularly troublesome over the years and our lads have had to step on their necks occasionally to keep them in line. It was during one such punitive expedition over a century ago that the ruby was liberated from the then ruler of that wretched state by one of our stalwart heroes, a fellow by the name of Major Swift.”

“I suppose the Rajah found it difficult to object?”

“I believe so, Mrs. Barrett. As I understand it, Major Swift had relieved the Rajah of his head before taking his ruby.”

Ashton’s dissertation was interrupted by White charging into the room with Ford following in his wake and bearing a simple chest of polished mahogany. The ghostly chap deposited it on the table nearest the window and then fetched a set of candlesticks which he placed on either side of the box. He produced a box of matches and lit the candles, then drew back the curtains so a shaft of sunlight penetrated the gloom of the parlour. White observed Ford’s activities with the self-important expression of a bishop about to celebrate communion. We crowded round the table. Even Mr. Carter deigned to peep over his wife’s shoulder.

White drew a key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock, turning it with a flourish. Using both hands, he reverently lifted the lid of the box and stepped away, allowing his audience to see what he had revealed.

Marie Carter gasped. Or, I regret to admit, it might have been me.

Nestled among folds of billowing white silk sat a great scarlet stone that caught and reflected the flames of the candles and the brilliant light of the sun. White rotated the box a half turn and the facets of the jewel shimmered with crimson flame, emitting sparks of a rich violet hue. He lifted the ruby from the silk and held it up to the window. The stone was a bottomless well of flame and flower. There was no end to that brilliant, bloodred color.

I quite forgot my role as the wife of a respectable merchant and muttered, “Blimey.”

Ashton was standing behind me, but in his excitement he had leaned forward so far that he pressed against me unconsciously. “You see the secondary purple color,” he said. “The mark of a superior stone.” He cleared his throat and, realizing that he and I were about to indulge in carnal relations according to the conventions of the day, stepped away hastily.

“I congratulate you, sir,” he said. “That is indeed an exceptional ruby.”

“Wherever did you get it, Mr. White?”

“Marie!” Mr. Carter exclaimed.

“Don’t scold the girl, Carter,” said White. “I’m so proud of this little beauty my buttons are about to pop. I don’t mind telling you where I bought it. I got it off a duchess, so I did, and for a good price, too. She needed to settle some racing debts for her boy. Me, I’d have told him to cough up the money himself, but you know what mothers are like. She was happy to get the cash.”

Carter looked as though he’d swallowed a fish bone. I suppose no one had informed White that frank discussions of impoverished aristocrats and losses at the gaming table were bad form.

“How did the ruby find its way from Major Swift to the duchess?” Marie asked.

“So someone knows the story of my little treasure, eh?” White asked genially. He caressed the stone with his thumb.

“When you purchase one of the most renowned rubies in the world, you can hardly expect the press to keep silent,” observed Ashton.

“You mentioned the jewel’s reputation,” I said to him. “Do elaborate, please.”

“Perhaps Mr. White should be the one to tell the story.”

Ashton was clearly correct about this matter. White’s eyes were gleaming at the prospect of sharing the tale of the gemstone with his guests.

“We’ve heard how the ruby was acquired from the Rajah,” I said, not wishing to hear about the poor old boy’s decapitation again. “I suppose that’s where the legend began.”

“The curse, you mean,” Marie Carter corrected me.

White chuckled. “I wouldn’t say ‘cursed.’ Nobody who’s ever owned the stone has died as far as I know, except of natural causes.” Clearly, one Indian prince did not factor into the equation. “It’s just that it’s damned hard to keep your hands on the thing once you get hold of it.”

“Harold,” Mrs. White objected. “Language.”

“My apologies, ladies.” White looked abashed, but only for a moment as the fever to tell the story returned. “Major Swift, the fellow who took it from the Rajah, only had it a few weeks. He lost it in a game of cards to one of his brother officers. That fellow had it pinched from his cabin on the voyage back to England. The next time we hear of the gem, some lord or t’other has picked it up but won’t say a word about where he got it. He gives it to his mis—” Mr. White caught his wife’s eye. “Er, to a certain young lady. They have a falling out and the next thing you know, she’s pawned the darned stone and run off with the money. It goes on like that, with different folks owning the ruby but never able to hang on to it for very long. Just like my duchess. She probably kept it longer than anyone but in the end she had to part with it, too.”

“Are you not worried, sir, that you might also succumb to the same destiny as previous owners?” Ashton asked politely.

“Hell, no.”

“Harold—”

“Oops. ’Pologies again, ladies. I ain’t worried, Mr. Ashton. I don’t believe in fairy tales. A man makes his own luck. I intend to hang on to this pretty little rock for a long time. Soon as we get back home, I’m having one of those Tiffany fellas set it for me in pure silver.”

“Might I suggest you consider twenty-four karat gold?” Ashton said. “With a stone of this rich, purplish-red, it’s traditional to set it that way. The yellow of the gold reduces the purple hue and makes the ruby appear a pure, unadulterated red. It would be absolutely striking against a gold setting.” The chap seemed quite conversant with the finer points of jewelry, and I noticed a lustful gleam in his eye. I felt a niggling suspicion that there was something deuced odd about Mr. Ashton.

“Is that a fact? How about that, mother? Should we set the ruby in gold?”

Mrs. White shrugged. “Whatever you think best, Harold.”

White turned to me. “What’s your opinion, Mrs. Barrett?”

“I should be delighted to have such a magnificent jewel regardless of the setting. It is exquisite. If—” And here I glanced coyly at Philip. “That is to say,
when
my dear husband presents me with such a gem, I shall consider myself the most fortunate of women.”

“And you shall deserve such a gift. A beautiful object for a beautiful woman.” White beamed at me, his eyes straying toward my bosom. Mrs. White cleared her throat.

“Would you care to hold it?” asked White, ignoring his wife.

“May I?” I didn’t have to feign enthusiasm.

He dropped it into my palm with an indulgent smile, and I held the great stone up to the light and gaped at it. I didn’t have to feign the admiration, either. It was a stunner, that stone. I’d have given my eyeteeth for one like it.

“You’re mighty lucky,” Mrs. White observed. “Harold doesn’t usually let anyone touch that ruby.”

No use rubbing the wife’s nose in it. I handed back the gem, thanked White for his largess, and said I expected Philip to buy the thing for me someday.

“He’ll have a hard go of it,” said White. “This one is a keeper.”

“It must be worth a fortune,” said Marie, which earned her another venomous glare from her father.

“Oh, it is, Miss Carter. It is. Which is why I shall now return it to the box and secure it in the safe.”

We watched the whole ceremony in reverse, with White depositing the ruby in its silken nest and turning the key in the lock, and Ford bearing away the mahogany chest with his master on his heels.

Mr. Carter promptly seized Marie’s elbow and drew her into a corner where he proceeded to deliver a tongue-lashing, no doubt on the subject of well-bred young ladies refraining from discussions of curses and costs. Mrs. Carter and Mrs. White retired to a window to admire the garden. Philip, Ashton and I made up an uneasy triangle.

“Quite a sparkler old White has there.” Ashton cocked a brow at Philip. “Rather tempting fate, isn’t he? Showing off the ruby like that, I mean. I hope he’s taken precautions, or he may find his ownership of the gem briefer than he anticipated.”

“He’s no fool,” said Philip, looking disdainfully at Ashton. “I expect the jewel is quite safe.”

“I do hope it is, for his sake. He wouldn’t enjoy becoming another in the long line of luckless owners of the Rajah’s Ruby.”

White returned and Philip drew him off again to talk tobacco and soon Mr. Carter left off haranguing his daughter and joined them for what appeared to be an engrossing discussion of shipping dates and letters of credit. I wondered just how I was to go about charming White if Philip kept dragging him off to talk business. Ashton wandered about with a cigarette in his hand, peering at the unspeakable paintings on the parlour walls while I sauntered over to chat with Marie. This proved a mistake, as I found myself trapped for what seemed an eternity while the drab creature droned on about Papa’s tiresome lectures. Given the length and spirit of her own tirade, I reckoned the fruit had hit the ground directly below the parental limb.

A gong sounded and Ford arrived to announce in sepulchral tones that dinner was served. I sighed with relief, and waited for Philip to join me. He was looking rather pinched about the mouth, and a little pale.

“What’s the matter, Philip? Has White turned you down?”

“It’s not that. In fact, he seems quite interested in my proposal.” Philip winced and pressed a hand to his stomach. “I’m damned if I don’t feel a bit peaked.”

“Something you ate?”

“I don’t know. It’s come over me suddenly.” He wiped his brow and grimaced. “Blast. I’ve got to dash, India. Can you apologize for me? I’ll be down in just a minute.” Without waiting for my reply he galloped off, clutching his midsection.

The other guests were already seated when I trailed into the dining room. Ford had evidently been dispatched to find Philip and me, for I met him at the door.

“Mr. Barrett is indisposed,” I whispered. “He’ll be down directly.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Thank you, no. I don’t believe it’s serious.”

He fluttered a ghostly hand in the direction of the table. “I’ve seated you next to Mr. White.”

I hastened to take my chair, muttering Philip’s regrets while a footman shoved me up to the table and draped a napkin in my lap.

“That’s rough.” White gave me a sympathetic look, which was wasted, of course, as I wasn’t the one searching for the nearest water closet. “Should we delay supper for the boy?”

“Oh, no. Please go on. Philip will join us soon.”

White gave a peremptory nod and the footmen started the rounds, dishing up a savory broth and pouring wine. After tasting both, I was pleased to learn that Philip’s intelligence about the pleasures of the American’s table was correct. I hoped that Philip recovered sufficiently to appreciate the quality of the food and drink on offer.

We’d finished our soup and begun a second course of
filets de sole
by the time Philip arrived, looking flushed and breathing heavily. There was a bead of sweat above his lip. He slid into the empty chair between Mrs. White and Mrs. Carter with a pretty apology that earned him indulgent smiles from both. The footman set a plate before him and Philip smothered a look of dismay. He’s a game fellow though, for he took a fork and tasted the fish cautiously, and thereafter pushed it around his plate until it looked as if he’d done a credible job of tackling the stuff.

Dinner, I am sorry to say, was uneventful. I hadn’t expected any sparkling conversation from my fellow guests and I proved rather prescient in that line. White seemed a harmless fellow, but Lord, the man could ramble and he did, mostly about his financial acumen and the new house he and Sylvie were building in St. Louis, and how dreadfully hot it was in the South, but then it had to be for the tobacco to grow so well. I made sure to flutter my lashes at him when Mrs. White was looking elsewhere and White preened and enjoyed my attentions, but not nearly so much as I had hoped. This was no time to panic, however, as I had a week left to work my charms and I had no doubt that by the end of that period old White would be dining with his hand on my knee. Philip looked pale but determined, and chimed in from time to time with trenchant observations about the prices that tobacco would fetch here in England. Carter unbent sufficiently to offer his view of the future of interest rates. The womenfolk, as women should, interjected a few admiring comments so the males would know their plumage was attractive and thereafter we all kept silent, though I noted that Marie Carter made a few conversational sallies in the direction of Ashton, which he repulsed with nonchalant ease.

Philip hardly touched his dinner, but he manfully managed to drain several glasses of White’s superb vintages. By the time the footmen carried in the Stilton, walnuts and port, Philip was looking like his old self, if still a trifle pasty. I joined the ladies for coffee and demurred, without regret, when Mrs. White suggested a hand of bridge.
Ving-et-un
is my game, but as it’s mostly played in gambling dens and gentlemen’s clubs, I suspect I was the only female there with an acquaintance with the rules. We made small talk of the type I particularly dislike, about fashions and hairstyles and the latest serialization by Mr. Dickens until I wanted to weep. Then the men joined us and the feeling intensified. I’ve seldom been more bored in my life and if someone asks me to describe Hell I can assure him or her that it’s an evening spent with a prig like Carter, an amiable blowhard like White, and the smug Mr. Ashton. I could forgive the latter his superciliousness, however, as he’s a comely fellow and a treat to behold. Philip, I am sad to say, was not his usual charming self and kept glancing at the clock on the mantel as if calculating how soon he could retire for the night.