The Blue Sapphire

by D. E. Stevenson

  I must ask Neil, thought Julia . . . and then she remembered that she must not ask Neil. She must not tell Neil a word about it, nor Maggie either. She had promised not to tell anyone. Neil and Maggie would just have to go on thinking that she was paying for everything herself. Julia did not feel very happy about this, but it could not be helped.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  ‘Maggie,’ said Julia. ‘Who is Jimmy the Sacks?’

  ‘Jamie the Saxth, Miss Julia?’

  ‘Yes, Neil said something about him one day and I wondered who he was. I’ve never seen him.’

  ‘You’ve never seen him!’ exclaimed Maggie in astonishment. ‘What are you thinking of, Miss Julia? How could you see him? He’s been dead for hundreds of years. Did you never lairn about him in history?’

  ‘No, never.’

  ‘Well, there now!’ exclaimed Maggie. ‘That’s strange. We had about him at school.’

  ‘Who was he, Maggie?’

  ‘He was a king, of course. To tell the truth I was always interested in Jamie the Saxth. I felt sorry for him.’

  ‘Sorry for him!’

  Maggie nodded. ‘He was awful human, for all he was a king.’

  Maggie had come into the study to clear away Julia’s supper and had stayed to chat.

  ‘You had better sit down and tell me about him,’ said Julia, smiling. ‘I can see there’s a story.’

  ‘Och, there’s a story all right—and a good one too,’ declared Maggie, and, nothing loath, she sat down and began without delay.

  ‘Well, maybe you’ll have heard of Queen Elizabeth?’ asked Maggie—a trifle doubtfully, for her confidence in Miss Julia’s education had been severely shaken by her lamentable ignorance of Jamie the Saxth.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ nodded Julia. ‘She was the daughter of Henry the Eighth—Good Queen Bess.’

  ‘That’s her . . . but she was not all that good, to my way of thinking; cutting off Queen Mary’s head! And all because she was jealous of the poor pretty creature.’

  Julia had heard a somewhat different version of this affair and was about to say so.

  ‘Well, never mind that,’ said Maggie hastily. ‘The story starts when Queen Elizabeth lay dying . . . and maybe regretting her sins. She lay on a heap of cushions, dressed up in all her finery, and wouldna go to her bed; but at long last, when she was near her end, her ladies took her by main force and carried her to her grand bed with the velvet curtains and the velvet counterpane. There she lay with the doctors standing round shaking their heads and the ladies on their knees praying. The great high counsellors were there too, and they all had grave faces, for the truth was, not one of them knew what was to happen when she died.

  ‘There were several who were wanting the crown of England and some of the counsellors thought it should be this one and some of them thought it should be that one; but the Queen had never said which it was to be and it was for her to choose . . . and now it was too late—or so it seemed—for she was too far gone to speak a word. At last one of the counsellors had an idea, so he went forward and said to the poor lady that he would say the names of all the different people and when he came to the right one—the one she wanted to rule England in her place—she was to raise her hand a wee bit and they would know her wish. So he said the names clearly, one by one, and when he came to “His Majesty King James of Scotland” she raised her hand. So that was that,’ declared Maggie triumphantly. ‘And it’s my belief she did it to make amends . . . because she was sorry she had cut off his mother’s head.’

  ‘But that was James the First!’

  ‘Well, maybe you know him as James the First but he was Jamie the Saxth in Scotland.’

  Julia was under the impression that the story was finished and was beginning to thank Maggie and to say it was very interesting indeed. . . .

  ‘But there’s more to come, Miss Julia,’ Maggie told her. ‘It’s the best part, to my way of thinking. There was a man there in the palace, Sir Robert Carey his name was; he was great friends with Jamie the Saxth and he had promised to bring news about what happened as quick as ever he could. So he waited till the Queen was dead, and without waiting a minute longer he was up and away to Scotland on his horse. He rode like a madman till the poor beast could bear him no longer and then changed to another horse, and then another and another and scarce paused for bite or sup, galloping and galloping night and day. I’m not very sure how far it was, but it was two and a half days he took to do it—that was all. Two and a half days galloping and galloping with the horses almost dying beneath him, changing to a fresh one and on the road again. The road was not a proper road in those days, you’ll understand, it was little better than a cart track; there were rivers he had to cross and there were deep ruts and bogs and rocks. He took a bad fall at one place and bumped his head, but up he got and on he went with the blood pouring down his face.

  ‘Meantime Jamie the Saxth was waiting for news. He had heard that Queen Elizabeth was desperately bad and not expected to live, and he knew well enough that she had never said who was to come after her . . . so there he was, walking the floors of the great grand rooms of Holyrood Palace, back and forth, biting his fingers, nearly demented. Would it be him? That was the question. Maybe the Queen had named somebody else or maybe she had died without saying who was to have the crown! Oh, what could have happened to Sir Robert Carey who had promised to bring the news? Back and forth went Jamie the Saxth like a restless spirit, and not a creature in the Palace dared speak to him for he was half crazy with the worry of it all.

  ‘It was dead of night when Sir Robert Carey reached Holyrood Palace and hammered on the gates to get in—and you may be sure he was not kept waiting long. They took him straight up the stair to the King’s bedroom just as he was, unkempt, unshaven, muddy from head to foot with the bogs he’d come through, and his face all smeared with blood . . . and that’s the way Jamie the Saxth heard the news that he was to be King of England and Scotland and Ireland.’

  Julia had been listening enthralled to the saga. She had never heard it before! History books seldom concern themselves with the romantic details of events but merely with hard facts and dates which are liable to go in at one ear and out of the other. Maggie’s story would be recorded in a school history book as the fact that Queen Elizabeth of England had named King James of Scotland as her successor and the kingdoms had been united. Julia had forgotten this—important though it was—but now, thanks to Maggie’s vivid recital, she would remember it all her life.

  ‘You’re an awfully good story-teller,’ she declared.

  ‘Och well, it’s just because I can see it all happening,’ replied Maggie. ‘I can see the old Queen dying in her grand bed and I can see Sir Robert Carey galloping—I can hear the sound of the horses’ hoofs—and I can see poor Jamie pacing back and forth in yon big dining-hall at Holyrood Palace, back and forth like a demented ghost. It’s easy enough to tell about it if you see it happening. . . .

  ‘Maircy, it’s ten o’clock already! Away you to bed, Miss Julia! I’ll go and warm your milk.’

  (A glass of hot milk and a couple of Marie biscuits was a refreshment forced upon Julia every night and, to be truthful, appreciated and enjoyed by the recipient.)

  Perhaps it is not to be wondered at that when Julia had drunk her milk and eaten her biscuits she lay down and went to sleep and dreamed about Sir Robert Carey’s ride . . . the gallop of horses’ hoofs went through her dreams . . . but the odd thing was that when the rider turned his head and she saw his face in the moonlight it was Stephen’s face. Stephen’s face, set in lines of stern resolve and determination, as he pressed forward to Scotland ‘o’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent,’ and scarce paused for bite or sup.

  The dream was so vivid that Julia woke from it with a little cry—a cry of delight! Why should Stephen be on his way to Scotland . . . unless he was coming to see her?

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Julia awoke to find Maggie standing by her bed with
the breakfast tray.

  ‘You were dreaming!’ Maggie exclaimed.

  ‘Yes, I was dreaming about Sir Robert Carey,’ said Julia sleepily. ‘I saw him galloping along in the moonlight. It was rather a nice dream.’

  ‘It must have been nice. You were smiling to yourself.’

  ‘Are there any letters this morning?’

  ‘There was just one. It was for me—and I could have done without it,’ replied Maggie as she put Julia’s breakfast before her. ‘It’s from ma nephew in Canada; he’s got himself into a fine pickle and no mistake.’

  Julia knew all about Maggie’s relations; there was ‘ma sister in Skye’ and ‘ma niece in New Zealand’ and several cousins in different parts of the world. They were for ever getting into some sort of trouble and appealing to Maggie for financial assistance, but ‘ma nephew in Canada’ was the worst of the lot . . . and Maggie’s heart was so tender that she was unable to say no.

  As a matter of fact Julia felt very much annoyed with Maggie’s relations, so she listened with mixed feelings to Maggie’s recital of her nephew’s woes.

  ‘You see, Miss Julia, I’ll need to send him the money straight off. He’s borrowed it out of the club funds and if he doesna pay it back before the end of the month there’ll be an awful to-do about it.’

  ‘Maggie, how frightful!’ exclaimed Julia in horrified tones.

  ‘It is that. He was wanting the money so he just borrowed it. I’ll need to get a money order at the post office and send it away to-night.’

  Julia did not approve of this at all; she was of the opinion that ‘ma nephew in Canada’ should be left to stew in his own juice; it would do the young man a lot of good if his sins were brought to light and he received just retribution. She said so to Maggie as tactfully as she could.

  ‘But, Miss Julia, he’s ma nephew!’ exclaimed Maggie in surprise.

  It was useless to say more.

  ‘Mind you, it’s difficult,’ continued Maggie thoughtfully. ‘It’ll just need to be the money I set aside for a new winter coat. I’ll get ma old one sorted and it’ll do for another year.’

  It was Maggie’s problem, of course, but now it had become Julia’s problem. She thought about it as she ate her breakfast and all the time she was dressing; she was still thinking about it as she stood and looked out of her window at the drizzling rain. How strange it was that Maggie Walker, upright and honest as the day, should be afflicted with such disreputable relations! How much stranger it was that Maggie should condone their misdemeanours!

  Yes, it was very strange indeed . . . but this was not Julia’s problem. Julia’s problem was how she, herself, ought to deal with the situation. She had seen Maggie’s winter coat (it was in a deplorable condition) and was aware that Maggie had been ‘putting by’ for a new one. Now, alas, the carefully hoarded money was to be dispatched forthwith to Maggie’s scapegrace nephew . . . and Maggie would shiver in the winter winds. Julia’s first impulse had been to give Maggie the money to send to her nephew, but on second thoughts she decided that it would not be right. It was against Julia’s principles to provide money to save the young blackguard from the consequences of his sins.

  How difficult it is! thought Julia . . . and then she thought, but of course I could give Maggie a new winter coat! Good. That’s what I shall do.

  Her problem solved, Julia was just turning away from the window when she saw a car draw up at the gate. It was a long low car with a cape-hood—a speedy-looking car—and so bespattered with mud that she could not determine its colour. It drew up at the gate and a man got out, a large tall man in a burberry coat. He stood for a moment stretching himself as if he were cramped.

  Julia waited not a moment longer, she rushed downstairs and out of the front door like a whirlwind and flung herself into his arms as he was walking up the path from the gate—flung herself into his arms and felt his arms close round her.

  ‘Stephen!’ she cried. ‘Stephen!’

  ‘Julia, Julia, Julia!’ murmured Stephen’s voice in her ear.

  They stood there on the path, oblivious to their surroundings, oblivious of the fact that their meeting had been observed by quite a number of interested spectators.

  Maggie, peeping from the window in the dining-room, where she was laying the cover for Julia’s solitary lunch, was transfixed with astonishment for at least half a minute; then, pulling herself together, she laid two places on the table and rushed into the kitchen to see how the half-pound of round steak which she had intended to stew in brown gravy could be made to feed three people . . . and one of them a man. Curry, she thought. That’s the thing. It’s as well I’ve got enough rice.

  Tom the Milk stopped whistling while he stood and stared. Meta Young, who had ‘been a message’ for her mother fell off her bicycle sideways and only just managed to save herself from falling onto the road. She also stood and stared; it was exactly like the movies! Quite half a dozen other people happened to be in the vicinity and reacted in much the same manner . . . and the old gentleman who lived opposite in Mrs. Dow’s rooms and was done for by that lady seized his pen and wrote a long letter to The Scotsman deploring the Lack of Decorum Shown by Young People Nowadays.

  However, the old gentleman was in the minority of one; everybody else was pleased and wildly excited and the news went round Leddiesford like a prairie fire, improving every minute, so when it reached the ears of Mrs. Inglis (who most unfortunately had chosen that very morning to turn out her back bedroom) she was informed by Bill the Fish on good authority that Miss Julia’s young man, who was a sailor in the Navy and had been reported lost at sea, had been saved miraculously by an Aberdeen trawler and landed at Dunbar that very morning. He had borrowed a racing-car and made straight for Leddiesford and had just that moment arrived . . . and if Mrs. Inglis didn’t believe him she could ask Tom the Milk who had seen them hugging and kissing on the path outside The Square House with his own eyes. ‘And they’re to be married next week,’ added Bill the Fish providing his own little quota for good measure before hastening away to carry his story to other ears.

  ‘Well, I never saw a ring on her finger and that’s the truth,’ declared Mrs. Gowan, who had called in to borrow a flue-brush from Mrs. Inglis. But as Mrs. Inglis pointed out, when she was retailing the story to Mrs. Wilson, ‘You’ll always get wet blankets to pick holes in everything they hear.’

  *

  2

  Meanwhile the principal actors in the drama had awakened to the fact that it was raining, and arm in arm strolled into the study and sat down together on the old leather sofa.

  ‘Darling Stephen, my eyes nearly dropped out when I saw you. How did you get here?’

  ‘From London, driving all night.’

  ‘Driving all night?’

  ‘I only stopped once—I’m not sure where—for a cup of coffee and a roll. Then off again as hard as I could pelt. The car went like a race-horse.’

  Julia sat up and gazed at him, wide-eyed. ‘Oh, Stephen. I saw you!’

  ‘You saw me?’

  ‘I dreamt about you. I did really! You were riding, like Sir Robert Carey.’

  ‘Riding a motor-bike?’ asked Stephen in bewilderment.

  ‘No, it was a horse. He rode all the way from London to Edinburgh. I saw him in my dream galloping along like mad and when he turned his head I saw it was you.’

  ‘It’s impossible. No horse could do it,’ declared Stephen.

  ‘He kept on changing horses all the time and scarcely paused for bite or sup.’

  ‘Some ride! Did he do it for a bet?’

  ‘No, he did it . . . but never mind that now,’ said Julia, abandoning the intrepid Sir Robert. ‘Tell me why you did it—all of a sudden like this.’

  Stephen was only too ready to obey her command. ‘Well, you knew I was in London, didn’t you? I was frightfully busy, but last night I called in to see Miss Martineau to ask her if she knew your plans. It was nearly eleven o’clock by the time I got there, but she seemed awfully plea
sed to see me. She took me up to her parlour and we sat there and talked.’

  ‘Oh, you mean she told you——’

  ‘She told me quite a lot, but the main thing was that you had returned the Rajah’s ring—I never liked that ring—so naturally when I heard that glorious piece of news I came as quickly as I could. I had to go back to the club and pack and I had to go to the garage and get the car, so it was after two o’clock before I got started. I thought of flying, of course, but I might have had to wait at the airport for a plane, so I decided that what with one thing and another it would be just as quick by road. I’d have come before—I’d have come at once if you’d told me. Why on earth didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I wanted—a little time,’ replied Julia, trying to explain. ‘You see, I’d been engaged to Morland for months and months, so it was difficult to feel disengaged all of a sudden . . . and Uncle Ran was desperately ill; I was so worried about him. Then Morland came to Leddiesford and there was an awful scene. It was all such a muddle. Besides, I didn’t really know I wanted you so much and loved you so much until I saw you at the gate. Then suddenly I knew.’ She looked up at him with dewy eyes. ‘You understand, don’t you, Stephen?’

  Stephen did not understand in the least, for his own feelings had been entirely different; he had loved her and wanted her more than anything on earth from the very first moment when he had seen her sitting on that seat in Kensington Gardens, looking rather forlorn but as beautiful as an angel. . . . However, it did not matter; the only thing that mattered was that she loved him now and wanted him now, and she had left him in no doubt of that. So he just said, ‘Darling, Julia!’ and kissed her again, which was quite a good way of answering her question.