A Collar of Jewels

by Pamela Pope

  ‘I thought you knew he was returning on the next boat,’ Oliver said, his expression puzzled and concerned.

  ‘Of course I didn’t know. Would I have let him leave me there like that?’ She stood up. Her fury was like a fuse burning. ‘And I don’t believe a word of that trash you told me. You’ve got a glib Irish tongue, Oliver Devlin, and I’d say you were in league with him. You’d planned it between you. It’s too much of a coincidence, you being there at just the same time as Max.’

  ‘It was coincidence right enough. May God strike me down if it wasn’t.’

  She stared at him, waiting for God’s vengeance, but nothing happened. Oliver looked up as she swayed with the motion of the train, and his eyes were innocent of subterfuge.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I misjudged you — but you must admit I have good reason.’

  ‘Ellie, my heart goes out to you.’

  ‘Why didn’t you try to talk him out of it? Why didn’t you make him see what a terribly wicked thing he was doing? How could you let him treat me like this?’ Tears gathered in her eyes, mainly because she couldn’t find enough words to express her anger. ‘I’m destitute. You bought my train ticket and I can’t repay you.’

  ‘I don’t want repaying. I’ll do anything for you.’

  ‘What am I going to tell my grandfather?’

  Oliver got up and took hold of her hands. She was gesticulating wildly as she talked and he tried to pacify her. ‘We’ll think up something suitable, so we will. I’ll be there to give you all the support I can. Trust me, mavourneen.’

  ‘I must go to the lavatory. I don’t even know if I can trust you with my baby and my belongings while I’m gone, but I’ll have to.’

  She felt like screaming as she passed along the corridor, but it would have achieved nothing. Like it or not she was dependent on this Devlin man for the time being and she had to be strong, but as soon as she got to Grandfather Cromer’s she would make sure he didn’t stay around. He had been likeable enough when he had come to the apartment in Pullman, but even then she’d had an uneasy feeling. No matter what he said, nor how many times he swore on his mother’s name, she didn’t believe he was innocent. He and Max had been close. There’d been collusion between them, she knew without doubt, but for what purpose she failed to understand.

  She washed her hands in the rose-patterned porcelain basin, letting cold water over her wrists to cool her feverishness. It was hot on the train. The rhythm of the wheels played on her nerves, drumming out repetitive phrases which were like torture. Max has left you … Max has left you … Max has left you … Steam drifted past the window in clouds, and when they went over some points the wheel rhythm changed. He’ll never come back … he’ll never come back … he’ll never come back …

  ‘I don’t want him back,’ she cried to her reflection in the mirror above the basin. ‘I never want to see him again. Not ever!’ Then she sobbed in earnest. ‘Yes, I do. I want him right now.’

  There was hardly room to move in the enclosed space. She took off her hat and smoothed her hair back from her forehead so that she could bathe her tear-stained face. It was only a few hours since she had dressed so carefully for their arrival, yet it seemed like another age. Perhaps she was still ill and hovering on the brink of consciousness.

  The cold water on her skin had a stringent effect, and she pulled herself together. This turn of events was only too real and had to be met with courage if she was going to survive.

  First of all she had to face up to the fact that Max was not the man she had always thought him to be. She had put him on a pedestal, loving him unreservedly and making allowances for any shortcomings. Now she knew that she had made the gravest mistake of her life and the consequences had caught up with her. Max was heartless. He had never loved her, and the only thing that could be said in his favour was that he had not tried to take advantage of her rich family. It might have been better had he done so … Then he wouldn’t have found it necessary to rob her.

  His desertion was the most wicked, the most contemptible act imaginable. In anguish, Ellie realised that her precious love had been killed at a stroke, supplanted by disillusionment and wrath which already threatened to turn to hatred. She could find no sympathy for her husband’s actions, no excuse or validity. What he had done was criminal and she wept afresh.

  Suddenly all the problems of the last few months took on new significance. She thought back to when Max had first found fault with her, and realised it was from the beginning of their life together. Instead of helping when she’d found things difficult, he had told her to try harder. He had wanted to bring her down to his level, never raise himself to hers, and his refusal to accept monetary help from Drew had been a way of punishing her for trapping him in a marriage he had never wanted. He had turned against George Pullman because he was her godfather, forgetting how kind he had been to him in the beginning. He had an outsized chip on his shoulder which made him resentful of his betters, and now he had shown himself for the villain he really was.

  How blind she had been. How utterly stupid not to have listened to Papa. She couldn’t say she hadn’t been warned.

  There could be no dissolution of the marriage, of course. The teaching of the Catholic Church ensured she was tied to him forever. She had no clear idea what the Jewish laws were, but imagined they were the same. For good or evil she would always be his legal wife, which meant that he, too, was tied. Putting an ocean between them made no difference.

  She longed to reach the comfort of Grandfather Cromer’s home. He would advise her what to do next. One thing was certain — she was not going to rush post-haste back to Chicago to face her husband with his crime. Max was not the only one with pride. Ellie replaced her hat and tilted it at an angle which gave her confidence, then retraced her steps to the first-class railcar, and Oliver Devlin.

  *

  Mama’s letter gave a vivid description of her old home. ‘The house is a mansion in Chesterman Court, off Curzon Street, and you will love it. The interior is so gracious, suitable for every occasion, and I remember wonderful parties held in the music room which has a parquet floor ideal for dancing. There are paintings on the walls which your Papa drooled over and would love to own, and exquisite miniatures of myself, my sister Beatrice and my brother Julian which my father specially commissioned. The china is as colourful and beautiful as anything you can imagine, and inlaid tables set with it are indeed a joy to the eye. The ceilings are all painted a delicate blue with intricate white stuccowork edging them. The mantelpiece in the drawing room is genuine Chippendale with a carved canopy, and the Sheraton cabinets are full of porcelain and silver which you must see to believe. I could go on all night describing everything. It brings tears to my eyes just remembering.

  ‘Ask your grandfather to let you have the bedroom on the second floor, which has a four-poster bed once used by Queen Elizabeth at Hampton Court, I believe. Conrad has never forgotten how it felt to be so close to history dating back farther than anything we can lay claim to over here. The bed has cream tapestry hangings and the drapes have been made to match. From the window you may just see a glimpse of Hyde Park.’

  Ellie didn’t show the letter to Oliver. She knew it off by heart and had built up mind-pictures of the palatial residence to which she was going. The grandeur may have frightened Max but Ellie had thrilled to the thought of it every time she had reread the descriptions.

  London had promised to be the mecca of all things sublime and she had imagined it a city of grace and beauty like Paris, but on her arrival at Waterloo station with Oliver she hardly looked around to see if the reality matched up. It was an oddly planned terminal, with a maze of platforms and throngs of people bustling through the steam from screaming engines. Without Max there was no beauty anywhere.

  ‘Stay here while I get a porter for the luggage,’ Oliver instructed, when he’d helped her down from the train with William.

  Ellie panicked, terr
ified of a repetition of what had happened at the dockside. ‘Don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me,’ she cried. Oliver Devlin might be an unwanted companion but at least he was a link with home. Not another soul knew her in this great metropolis.

  Luckily a porter came along, loaded Ellie’s luggage on a trolley and wheeled it to the station entrance where elegant carriages were drawing up in quick succession to meet weary travellers.

  ‘I should have sent a telegram to tell my grandfather what time we were arriving,’ Ellie fretted. ‘He would have sent his carriage for me and I wouldn’t have needed to trouble you further.’

  ‘I’ll not be leaving you till I’m sure you’re expected,’ replied Oliver suavely. ‘I gave my word to Max.’

  ‘Of course I’m expected!’

  All the same she was nervous, and she was glad of his concern. Two fashionable young women carrying tennis racquets walked by in conversation just then, and their accents sounded so aristocratic it filled Ellie with an unaccustomed sense of inferiority. These relatives whom she had never met might not accept her. Ellie hadn’t thought to ask her mother what reply she’d had from Sir Robert Cromer. Supposing they looked down their noses at her and made her feel unwelcome …

  ‘I’ve secured a hansom,’ said Oliver. Anxiety made her hold back and seeing it he put a hand beneath her elbow. ‘Come on, my dear, the worst’s over.’

  ‘Somehow I doubt it.’ She couldn’t rid herself of the spectre of Aunt Beatrice, Uncle Julian and their respective offspring peering at her as if she had crawled out from under one of the Sheraton cabinets. For the first time, she feared that the rich of Chicago were quite unlike London’s nobility. Then she remembered that Mama was one of them, and as her daughter she had every right to hold her head high. ‘Five, Chesterman Court, please,’ she told the cab driver.

  In spite of everything her spirits rose as they crossed Westminster Bridge in the hansom. She gazed at the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey with awe, and when the journey took her past Buckingham Palace it was like a photograph from one of Mrs Faber’s magazines coming to life. They had left the rain behind in Southampton and the sun shone on stretches of green either side of Constitution Hill. A right turn at the top brought them into Park Lane, a wide thoroughfare with luxurious residences facing the park, and a few minutes later they were in Curzon Street, leading from which was Chesterman Court.

  Ellie looked up at the large mansions lining the street, all but one a dazzling white. Each had a portico balcony and bow-fronted windows through which lighted chandeliers could be seen twinkling now that evening approached. But what surprised Ellie was the flight of steps leading up to each door straight from the street, little different from the entrances to tenement buildings in Pullman. She had thought there would at least be some ground in the front.

  ‘Number five, lady,’ said the cabby, drawing the horse to a standstill outside the only house requiring a fresh coat of whitewash. The paint was flaking round the windows and the ironwork on the balcony was crumbling with rust. No light shone in the drawing room.

  ‘You must be mistaken,’ said Ellie. ‘This isn’t the home of Sir Robert Cromer.’

  ‘No mistake, ma’am. That’s where the old geezer lives, up them apples and pears.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Stairs,’ said Oliver. ‘It’s Cockney rhyming slang.’

  Ellie was dumbfounded. While Oliver got down and paid the man she blinked hard and looked again, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks, but still the dilapidated mansion crouched between its pristine neighbours like some shabby joke. It was far from funny. She could only suppose that the interior would put all the others to shame.

  Holding William tightly she went up steps which obviously hadn’t been cleaned for weeks, and when she pulled an iron rod at the side of the door a bell clanged inside the house. Twice more she jerked it, by which time the hansom had left and Oliver was behind her with the luggage.

  ‘I don’t understand this,’ she said. ‘It can’t be right. Where is the footman?’

  Her heart was beginning to thud painfully, the way it had done while she had waited on the quayside for Max, and a new and terrible dread took hold. Surely nothing else could go wrong, nothing on the scale of what she had already suffered.

  Oliver, too, was looking mystified. He stood back and looked up to where a light flickered in a second-floor room. ‘There’s someone upstairs. Ring again.’

  Once more the bell jangled, and this time it brought a response. Unhurried footsteps echoed on what sounded like a tiled floor. A bolt rattled and the door was opened by an elderly manservant who regarded them suspiciously with cold eyes. He wore a black tailcoat and trousers which were shiny with age, a black tie with a white wing collar, and his shoes turned up at the toes from constant wear. He would be the butler.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he asked. His sparse grey hair, brushed and pomaded, had receded either side of a centre tuft which peaked on his high forehead, and his beak of a nose overshadowed his pursed mouth.

  ‘I wish to see Sir Robert Cromer,’ said Ellie.

  ‘I am afraid Sir Robert is unavailable at present. May I relay a message, madam?’

  ‘I should like to be shown in. Will you please tell Sir Robert his granddaughter, Mrs Elena Berman, has arrived from America.’

  The impassive face dropped. The fixed expression, conditioned to show no surprise, creased into disbelief. ‘The master has said nothing. Is he expecting you, madam?’

  ‘My mother has informed him of the date of my arrival by letter. It was impossible to let him know the exact time.’ By now Ellie was irritable. ‘I am not accustomed to being kept waiting on doorsteps. Please let us in and have someone come to deal with my luggage.’

  ‘Yes, madam.’

  The grand entrance was only dimly lit by a single electric fitting, showing two staircases at the far end curving up to meet at a central landing on the next floor. The carpet was grey with dust, the carved wood balustrades dull and unpolished. Ellie set foot inside the house, showing nothing of the trepidation she felt at the state of things.

  She and Oliver were shown into a reception room on the right which was furnished with a set of upright chairs, a small occasional table, and a cabinet which certainly wasn’t Sheraton and contained very little in the way of costly trinkets. A few etchings of railroad terminals hung on the wall, but it was obvious by the oblongs of lighter coloured wallpaper that several pictures had been removed.

  ‘If you and Mr Berman would care to wait in here I will inform Sir Robert,’ the man said. His accent was exaggeratedly cultured.

  When he had gone, closing the door behind him, Ellie seated herself on the edge of a chair with the sleeping baby in her arms; she kept her back so rigid it made her shoulder-blades ache.

  ‘All will be well in a minute,’ she reassured herself aloud.

  Oliver went over to the window and looked out. His bright hair seemed to be the only source of colour in the cold room and Ellie tried to take comfort from it. After all, he should have been on his way back to the States with Max, but he’d had enough compassion to put her welfare before his own interests.

  He turned round. ‘How long is it since your Mama saw Sir Robert?’ he asked. ‘Has she been back to England since she married your father?’

  ‘No, she hasn’t.’

  ‘Then it must be over twenty years. Have they kept in touch?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Mama didn’t speak of my grandfather much.’

  ‘He’ll be an old man now,’ Oliver said. ‘Things change.’

  ‘Everything will be different upstairs.’ Ellie refused to be discouraged. All the same, she couldn’t help being truthful over one matter. ‘I’m glad you’re with me, Oliver.’

  ‘And I shall stay, so I will, until I see things in the light of day.’

  It was unnervingly quiet. There was not even a clock to break the silence so she couldn’t tell
how long they were kept waiting. The damp feeling in the room was getting into her bones.

  At last the butler returned. The knot of his tie was loose, but when he saw her eyes go to it he hastily put it in place.

  ‘Sir Robert has been indisposed for some time, madam, and does not receive visitors,’ he said. ‘He sends his apologies and has asked me to have a bedroom made ready for you and your husband. Tomorrow he may be a little stronger and feel able to see you.’

  Ellie’s temper was roused. She stood up and faced the man, who was no taller than herself, and her imperious tone when she spoke was exactly copied from her mother.

  ‘What is your name? I like to know whom I’m addressing.’

  ‘Frobisher, madam.’

  ‘Then, Frobisher, shall we establish something from the start? First of all, I am here to stay — and I want to see my grandfather immediately. I’m sure the state of his health can’t be so bad that he won’t wish to welcome me. I’m not afraid of a sickroom.’

  ‘Sir Robert …’

  ‘Secondly, this gentleman is not my husband so we shall require separate rooms. Mr Berman was not able to accompany me, after all.’

  ‘Yes, madam.’

  ‘Thank you. Now if you will show me to the room where my grandfather is I shall be much obliged.’

  Frobisher bowed courteously, his manner the essence of all that an English butler should be, but she could tell it didn’t please him to take orders from her. He tarried still, the back of his hand to his mouth as he cleared his throat.

  ‘Forgive me, Mrs Berman, it isn’t that I am unwilling to take you to Sir Robert. The fact is, I think you will be shocked by his … er … illness.’

  ‘I’ll come with her,’ Oliver intervened. ‘This lady has had enough shocks for one day.’

  There was no sign of any other servants as they followed the butler up the stairs and turned left at the top and along a landing which overlooked the lower hall. Several heavy oak doors led off it, and at the last of these Frobisher stopped and knocked loudly.