Aunt Sophie's Diamonds

by Joan Smith

  The taper in her hand trembled and she turned to leave, took one step, then heard a rustle behind her. Her heart rose from throat to mouth, and with every nerve on edge she peered fearfully over her shoulder. A slinky ginger cat glided from the shadows, brushed past her skirt in a supercilious manner, and scooted upstairs. It was such an anticlimax after expecting to see a ghost at least that her spirits raised a little, and she decided to try one door—the one closest to the bottom of the stairs, since Loo had said the workshop was there.

  She pushed the door in, slowly, and held her taper high. She saw garden chairs and tables, empty flower pots, and long strings of Japanese lanterns, and realized she was in the storage area for the happy paraphernalia of summer. She closed the door. Should she try one more? They would be soon looking for her; she had thought it would be the work of a minute to throw a file out a door, but already several minutes had passed. With this poor shred of an excuse for her cowardice, she literally ran to the stairs, bolted up them to the corridor and safety.

  Yet it did not appear so safe as formerly. Since her descent, someone, a servant presumably, had been around to extinguish the hall lights, and the darkness was still all around her but for her own single taper. She went to the study to return the candle, and it too was in total darkness. She chose a resting place near the door for the candle, blew it out, and reached up to put the holder on top of a pedestal holding a marble bust of some philosopher of yore. With a sigh of relief that the ordeal was over, even if a total failure, she turned to leave. And then it fell—a crashing blow on her left temple, and she crumpled to the floor. Just at the doorway to unconsciousness, she felt a strong pair of hands go around her neck.

  Chapter Nine

  In the music room, Luane sat at the pianoforte and Gabriel stood beside her, looking through music which they might perform together, for he had quite a fine tenor voice. Everyone was ready and waiting except Miss Milmont. Sir Hillary had taken up a seat beside Marcia and Miss Bliss, and Jonathon lounged in a chair at the end of the row.

  “Now what can be keeping that girl of mine?” Marcia said, looking towards the door.

  “She spilt something on her gown, and went to clean it off,” Hillary told her.

  “The clumsy child! It is well she didn’t wear her best gown. With this mourning come on us so unexpectedly, she hasn’t a decent stitch to wear, I swear, for her gowns are all bright and lively, as becomes a young girl.”

  Thoreau stared at her with an unblinking eye and said nothing.

  “What can be taking her such an age?” her mother demanded petulantly after another moment. “I’ll send Luane after her.” She went to the pianoforte. Luane was not in the least averse to go after her cousin, and as no one observed her direction, she naturally headed towards the stairs leading to the workshop. As she passed down the dark passage she decided to return for a light, and as she once again proceeded down the corridor, she heard a low moan coming from the library. In an instant, she had discovered its source and ran for help.

  “She’s had an accident!” she shouted, hurrying into the music room, and from the excited state of the bearer of the news, no one took it for any minor mishap. Everyone jumped up and ran to the door.

  “Oh, my poor baby!” Mrs. Milmont moaned, pulling out one of her monogrammed handkerchiefs. “What did she do, the silly goose, stumble on the stairs?”

  “No, she’s in the library.”

  “The library?” Thoreau asked and led the way towards it, with the others hustling after him. “Why are all the lights out?” he asked. “Gab, get these lamps lit.”

  Miss Milmont had achieved a sitting position by the time her helpers reached her, and had a hand to her throbbing head. Simultaneous enquiries from everyone sent her into a relapse, and she leaned against the shoulder closest to her. Sir Hillary had gone down on one knee and supported her.

  “We must get her to a sofa,” he said, and lifted her from the floor. “Loo, fetch some wine,” he said over his shoulder, and he was given room to jostle past the onlookers. Deeming the Blue Saloon unsuitable, for they would all be hovering around and pestering her, he took her to a smaller parlor formerly used by his mama as a reading and sewing room. When Loo returned with the wine, Hillary told Gabriel to call for Dr. Hill.

  But Claudia was rallying by this time, and said, “I don’t want a doctor.”

  “Call him, Gab,” Hillary repeated.

  “He ain’t at home, uncle. You remember Mrs. Grosvenor is in labor. Cook said he went after dinner, and he’ll surely be there the night.”

  As the Grosvenors was an inconvenient seven miles distant, Thoreau said to Claudia, “Drink this wine, and tell us how it feels.”

  She took a sip, then put her fingers gingerly to her temple and said it hurt like the very devil.

  “But how did it happen, my love?” her mama demanded.

  “I was attacked,” she said.

  “Nonsense! You slipped and hit your temple against the edge of the pedestal in the dark,” Sir Hillary objected. “I can’t think why the lights were extinguished so early. You were lying right at the foot of the pedestal. How did it come you were . . .” There was a general babble from all present, and he said, “You’d better go and leave us. All this racket can’t do her any good.”

  “No!” Claudia said, trying to sit up. “Let Luane stay with me.”

  “My dear, surely it is my place to stay with my little girl,” Marcia said, deeply offended.

  With a truly deceitful expression of concern, Claudia answered, “Your poor nerves, mama. I’m sure you must be in worse state than I am myself. You will want a glass of wine and a rest.”

  “To be sure I am as nervous as a kitten with all this commalia. My nerves . . . But I shan’t leave you, darling.”

  Miss Bliss surveyed the scene of confusion before her and said to her rosy-cheeked companion, “You look white as a ghost, Mrs. Milmont. Come with me, and I shall get you a cordial. You will want all your strength to tend your little girl when she gets home.”

  “That might be best,” she said in a weak voice, her interest already waned upon seeing that the foolish girl had only tripped, and likely broken something valuable besides, when the whole truth should come out. She allowed herself to be led away, supported by Miss Bliss. Tewksbury and Gabriel were strongly inclined to remain behind, but Miss Bliss gathered them up also on her way, and led them all to the Blue Saloon to discuss in total ignorance how the accident had come about, and what Claudia had been doing in the library when she had gone upstairs to clean her gown.

  When Luane, Claudia, and Thoreau were alone in the small parlor, he said, “Are you well enough to tell us what happened now?”

  “As if you didn’t know!” she flashed out angrily.

  “I haven’t the least idea what you’re talking about. And how came you to be in my library in the dark?”

  The girls exchanged a guilty glance. Miss Milmont chose to defend herself by the time-honored method of attack. “You hit me, and were about to strangle me as well.” She reached to ease her strained throat with her fingers, and the diamond necklace came off in her hands.

  Thoreau stared at her in patent disbelief. “Your brain is disordered with the blow.”

  She handed him the necklace. “This has come loose. You might as well take it.”

  “Claudia, did someone truly hit you?” asked Luane, a much more believing auditor than Sir Hillary.

  “Yes, I had just gone into the library to put back the candle. The whole place was in total darkness, and just after I blew out the candle, I felt a stunning blow on my temple.”

  “You slipped and rapped your head against the edge of the pedestal. Was it you who blew out all the candles?” Hillary asked.

  “No, they were on when I went down . . .” She pulled herself up short. “I didn’t slip and I didn’t bang my head on the pedestal! I had to reach up to put down the candle, and I’d like to know how I come to have this bruise where there are no sharp edges on th
e column.”

  Thoreau thought about it for a moment and had to acknowledge to himself that the top of the pedestal was a good foot higher than Miss Milmont’s temple. The bruise indicated having been hit with a sharp edge—it was a straight line, red, turning purple around the edges. It looked very sore. “You’ll want a cold pack for that bruise. Loo, would you . . .”

  “No!” Claudia said sharply. “Don’t leave me, cousin. He means to hit me again and will likely succeed in strangling me this time.”

  “You are not rational!” Hillary said angrily, and went to the door himself and summoned a servant by hollering loudly, while Miss Milmont winced at the noise. Returning he said, “Why should I do anything so foolish?”

  “Because you mean to prevent us from getting the diamonds!” Loo charged. “And I daresay he will too,” she added to Claudia. “You will be in no shape to go grave-digging tonight, and by tomorrow the soldier will be there with his dogs.”

  “Good God! You can’t mean you’re still harping on that!” Hillary looked down at the necklace Claudia had handed him and stuck it into his jacket pocket. “I can’t believe you’re so insane as to think two girls could unseal a steel casket, welded shut.”

  “There is only a latch,” Loo told him. “And your file . . .”

  “I don’t keep my files in the library.” Comprehension dawned on him. “So that’s where you were going down to—the workshop!”

  “I was only getting a book from the library,” Claudia said, shamefacedly.

  He looked at her, frustration lending an angry hue to his countenance. “A Bible, I daresay. There is no making any sense of this business. Why should anyone attack you? Who could have done it?”

  The cold compress arrived, causing a diversion. “I think I know why,” Loo said significantly, “and as to who, I can only say you were very late in coming into the music room, Sir Hillary. Gabriel and I were waiting ages for you to show up.”

  Claudia directed an accusing stare at him and rubbed her temple.

  “Don’t be absurd!” Thoreau sneered at Luane. “Did you happen to notice whether Jonathon was in the music room the whole time?”

  “No, not the whole time. He went to get a shawl for Aunt Marcia; it was rather chilly in the music room, you recall, and he said she would take a chill.”

  “He suggested it?” Thoreau asked.

  “He may have suggested it, but she was shivering, and I was rather chilly myself, too. You didn’t have any fire in there. And besides, he was back long before you.”

  “What is your alibi, Sir Hillary?” Claudia demanded.

  “My alibi is that I was speaking to my housekeeper about packing you two waifs a lunch basket to take home.

  “I hope you put in the left-over cream buns?” Luane said with a question in her voice.

  “And the rest of the Chantilly,” Miss Milmont added weakly. “If it is not too difficult to carry.”

  “Mrs. Robinson could put it in a covered bowl,” Loo suggested. It began to seem as though the attack had been forgotten. Hillary could only stare at their guilelessness.

  “You are forgetting there was an alleged attempt on your life, Miss Milmont,” he said ironically.

  “I am not forgetting it; it is exactly why I think I shall require more nourishing sustenance than I am likely to get at Swallowcourt.”

  “You don’t fear a little arsenic in the Chantilly?” he asked.

  “Well, I don’t suppose you meant to kill me. But I bet he’ll put laudanum in it,” she said aside to Loo. “We’d better not eat it till after we have the diamonds safe. Then I shouldn’t mind a good night’s sleep.”

  “You are staying here the night,” Hillary announced. “You are not well enough to travel. And don’t think your mother will rescue you. It will give her an excellent excuse to stay and have a look around any cupboards or attics she missed out on this evening.”

  “You can let me go back to Swallowcourt. I am not ripe for any digging after this. I’m sorry, Loo.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Loo admitted grandly. “And besides, I have had an excellent idea. We shall pack a fine lunch for Bronfman with some of Sir Hillary’s leftovers and put laudanum in it, as Sir Hillary meant to do to us, and then he will fall asleep tomorrow night, and we shall steal the diamonds. Oh, and we must be sure to give something to the dogs too.”

  Sir Hillary stared in disbelief, but he refrained from commenting on the plan. He was coming to the conclusion that the girls were in dead earnest, and every precaution would have to be taken to keep them from trying to get at the diamonds. Glancing at Claudia, who still lay back against the pillows, rubbing her throat, he said, “I see your emerald is safe. I wonder if that could have been the object of your attack.”

  “Jonathon, he means,” Loo explained to Claudia. “He tried to steal my tiara; I daresay he would snitch your ring if he could. You must keep it in a safe place. That Tuggins is all over the house, sneaking into all our rooms when we are not about.”

  “I wonder,” Claudia said, rubbing her ring, with a speculative expression. “But he might have had it off my finger in a moment, without strangling me.”

  “I thought you couldn’t get it off,” Loo asked.

  “Oh, no, it slips off easily. I only tell mama it is tight, so she won’t take it from me.”

  “Surely this matter of your strangulation is imaginary,” Thoreau said, believing with Luane that they had hit on the true explanation of Miss Milmont’s attack.

  “No, I could feel fingers around my neck before ever I hit the floor. Well, very likely that is what loosened the clasp on Loo’s necklace. You recall it fell off, and it has a safety clasp.”

  “Yes, it is an exact duplicate of the original,” Sir Hillary replied, drawing the necklace from his pocket. “In fact, I fail to see how it came undone, for it has the little gold chain and hook besides the regular clasp.”

  “I’m not sure I bothered to do up the safety hook,” Claudia told him. “I was only trying it on, you know, then we left the room rather suddenly.”

  He returned the necklace to his pocket once more, but was obviously dissatisfied. “Are you feeling better now?” he asked Claudia.

  “Yes, and I should like to go home. What I want above anything is a good night’s sleep.”

  “I wish you and your mother will stay here the night. I’ll take you to Swallowcourt first thing tomorrow.”

  There was no reason not to stay, still Claudia was reluctant. She no longer believed Sir Hillary had attacked her. Jonathon was a much more acceptable villain. It would be pleasant just to go to bed now, in a room with a fire, which Swallowcourt would not have, and a surfeit of servants to fetch and carry, and likely bring one hot cocoa in bed in the morning. Still, she did not want to stay. “I should prefer to go to Swallowcourt,” she said.

  “You still think it was I who attacked you,” he said matter-of-factly. “I did not, and if you insist on going back there, promise me you will take good care of yourself and your emerald.”

  “Of course.”

  “You must promise me one more thing. You will not go to Sophie’s grave tonight.”

  From confusion and pain and nervousness after her ordeal, Claudia felt suddenly ill-used. A warm tear started in her eyes, and she groped for a handkerchief. “My reticule is in the Blue Saloon,” she said. This seemed like the last straw. “I daresay my poor lonely guinea has been stolen by now,” and on this childish complaint she burst out crying.

  “Now see what you’ve done,” Loo accused Hillary. “As though she is fit to go digging tonight. There, there, cousin,” she patted Claudia’s shoulder comfortingly. “I’ll fetch your reticule.” She went off to the Blue Saloon, where Miss Milmont’s little black patent bag lay unmolested in the corner of the settee.

  Sir Hillary pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to Miss Milmont, who took it and wiped angrily at her tears. “I can’t think why I’m crying,” she said. “I never cry.”

  “It is a del
ayed reaction from your attack,” he offered. “Finish your wine.” He took up the glass and held it to her lips. She sipped, then sniffed, and wiped her eyes again.

  “I was attacked, you know,” she insisted, her tear-stained eyes looking at him disconsolately.

  “I know you were, and I am sorry it happened in my home. I hope it will not give you a disgust of the place.”

  “Oh no, it is the Palace Beautiful,” she replied.

  “It is not a palace.”

  “It reminds me of Bunyan’s Palace Beautiful. You remember—‘and behold there was a very stately palace before him, the name whereof was Beautiful.’ That is what I thought when I first saw it, on Monday. Palace Beautiful was where Christian met the saints and virtues, and was strengthened to go and fight the devil on the way to heaven. Grandmama Milmont is very fond of The Pilgrim’s Progress. We have readings from it two nights a week. The rest of the time it is the Bible.”

  “I am not much familiar with Bunyan’s book. I started to read it once.”

  “It is not so very interesting, but he has wonderful names for everything. The Slough of Despond is my favourite. I’m sorry I called you Lord Turn-about.”

  “Another of Bunyan’s characters?” She nodded. “I am sorry if I did a turn-about on you, but after giving the matter consideration, I thought it best, and I hope you will, too, when you have thought about it.”

  Miss Milmont appeared to accept the apology, but she made no rash promises.

  “We shall have a good long talk about all this when you are better. I’ll call on you tomorrow.”

  “Yes,” Claudia said sadly. She couldn’t say quite what saddened her, for to tell the truth, she was relieved not to have to go to the graveyard that night. Leaving the comforts of Chanely had something to do with it, yet it was not precisely that either.

  Sir Hillary regarded her silently a moment, then asked suddenly, “Why is it you are going to such lengths to help Luane get the diamonds? You scarcely know her, and it seems to me you have as much need of them, and as much right to them, as she has.”