Aunt Sophie's Diamonds (3 page)

Dinner was only an indifferent repast at Swallowcourt, as everyone but Claudia had good reason to know. She wished she had accepted another candied ginger. The captain remained behind after dinner only to taste the port before joining the ladies. One sip informed him he would as lief have tea.

The tea tray was just brought in when the butler came to the door. “Sir Hillary Thoreau and Mr. Gabriel Tewksbury,” he announced, and all eyes turned to the door.

Two elegant gentlemen strolled in, about as different as it was possible for two men to be. Gabriel was young, fair, slight, and appareled in the raiment of a young dandy. His hair was brushed forward in the Brutus do, his shirt points high, and his waistcoat of a brightness bordering on the garish.

His companion was taller, older, broader across the shoulders, his hair and eyes dark. His dress was restrained, and his expression, as he observed the mourners, was sardonic.

It was the elder who advanced first into the room. “The vultures gather, I see,” he said in a well-modulated voice, with a cool smile directed at random on the group.

Miss Bliss said, “Tch, tch,” but the sound blended with the clicking of her knitting needles and went unheard.

"One must suppose Sophie's demise to be imminent, to have lured you two rakehells from the city,” Thoreau continued, looking now at the captain and Mrs. Milmont.

"She's dead,” Captain Tewksbury said accusingly.

"Don't eat me!
I
didn't kill her,” he answered, with no show of either sorrow or surprise. “How thoughtful of you to have notified us."

Miss Bliss cleared her throat. “It happened late this afternoon just before Luane returned from Chanely. As you were coming over this evening, we didn't think it worthwhile to send a footboy down to tell you."

"I see her clutch-fisted way of managing matters survives her,” he said to Miss Bliss, then turned to Jonathon. “Were you on time to be in on the kill, Captain?” he asked.

"By Jove!” the captain answered, and Mrs. Milmont, who had been fulminating since their entry, could contain herself no longer.

"This is a most inappropriate way of behaving in a house of death, Sir Hillary,” she said severely. “And you ought to be in mourning, too, or at least wear an armband."

"And so we should be, had we been notified of the death,” he agreed. “And I see you brought your black gowns with you, Marcia darling. Up to all the rigs, as usual.” He then advanced to Luane and took her hand, saying in a low voice some words of condolence. Gabriel followed him, bowed to everyone, then he too went to Luane, at which point Hillary returned to the others.

"Was it a peaceful passing?” he asked of them all.

"The doctor had just left a while before. She was in bed, of course,” Miss Bliss explained.

"You, I take it, were with her?” he turned to Jonathon.

"No, I had been playing chess not half an hour before."

"Ah, that explains it,” Hillary said. “It nearly killed me the one time I played with you, and my constitution is quite strong. Something about your manner of moving the pieces is killing."

"I don't see why you must be clever at a time like this,” Mrs. Milmont charged angrily.

"No indeed, it will not do me, nor any of us, any good to be clever at this late date. The time to have been clever was before she popped off,
n'est-ce pas?
Were you clever during the chess match, captain?” His eyebrows rose very slightly, and his eyes of a dark penetrating blue looked levelly at Jonathon.

"Not very."

"It was a foolish question; you never are."

"She was beating me all hollow,” Jonathon informed him.

"She cannot have been totally unconscious at that time then, one imagines."

"Wasn't unconscious at all. As wide awake as you or me."

"As you or
me?
You must confess there is a large degree of difference."

"I'm awake enough!"

"But, captain, that was precisely my meaning. Awake on all suits, certainly. Our lives in your hands—God help us! What is the news of Boney in London?"

"There's no news."

"No news is good news,” Miss Bliss said, with a warning stare at Hillary. She knew him in this satirical mood of old. He smiled at her and winked, then turned back to Jonathon. “Have you got the obsequies in train?” he asked.

"I've been writing letters to everyone ... Miss Bliss gave me the list."

Sir Hillary trained his blue eyes on Miss Bliss again. “You notified Fletcher?"

"Yes, he was the first one Jonathon wrote to. It was her wish."

"And who, might one ask, is Mr. Fletcher?” Mrs. Milmont demanded, ready to take offense.

"Now
you,
darling, are not nearly so wide awake as Jonathon,” Sir Hillary said, wagging a long finger at her. “Is it possible you do not know her new solicitor? Fletcher is the interesting gentleman—er, man—not quite a gentleman, I fear—who will stun us all with the reading of the will."

"Mr. Cartwright was always her man of business, and mine too."

"Mr. Cartwright was of no use to her this past year. She needed someone closer to hand than London, for she changed the will regularly. Yes, you may well gasp like a landed fish, my dear, our fortunes were all up and down like a—a suitable simile fails me momentarily."

He gestured with a pair of shapely hands on which a handsome ruby ring rested. “It was everything for the captain one day—some vestigial traces of primogeniture consumed her at one time. No, Jonathon, your glee is premature. That was immediately after Christmas, when Gab and Luane refused to be buckled. When you forgot her birthday in February and Marcia so wisely remembered, sending that elegant trifle—what
was
that wisp of lace for, Marcia? We couldn't quite figure it out."

"It was a lace cap."

"I
suggested to her it was a cap, but Sophie would have it it was a container for her wools. That is what she used it for ultimately. She liked it excessively,” he said with a half smile at Mrs. Milmont.

"Did she indeed? So happy to think my little gift cheered her."

"Yes, it was a good idea. Sophie always liked to get something for nothing, but then you both—really how
could
you be so negligent, and Sophie within Ame's ace of sticking her fork in the wall—you
both
forgot Valentine's day, and it was another call for Fletcher."

"I daresay
you
remembered Valentine's day?” Mrs. Milmont asked in a meaningful tone.

"I try to be civil,” he allowed modestly.

"She never left it all to
you!"
the captain gasped.

Hillary pursed his lips and shook his head sadly. “My best efforts came to naught. She took it amiss that I twice visited her in a new jacket—that is to say, two visits, two jackets—neither of which she liked, and the lot was destined for Luane."

Two pairs of hostile eyes turned on Miss Beresford, but she didn't notice them. Gabriel also was looking at her, winking merrily. “How he enjoys bamming them,” he said.

"Luane is only a niece!” Mrs. Milmont said to Hillary. “No more to her than my own little girl."

"Your little girl was never mentioned in connection with the will. I for one begin to doubt her very existence."

"What nonsense!"

"Why have you so foolishly failed to produce her for inspection all these years, darling?"

"Why, she is right here!” Marcia replied, pointing to Claudia, who sat quietly all the while in a corner, saying nothing but listening to the conversation with her eyes open wide, and a curious expression on her face—something between a frown of disapproval and an upturning of the lips that was not quite a smile.

"Such a quiet little girl,” Hillary said, training his quizzing glass on her. Seated, she looked young, for her face was still youthful, and her light brown hair simply styled. “No, no, you fool me,” Sir Hillary said, lowering the glass and turning once more to Mrs. Milmont. “This cannot be your little girl."

Marcia flushed with pleasure. “I married very young, and Claudia is big for her age."

"You might pass for—er—sisters? certainly, but so different in looks—style...” he trailed off vaguely.

"When Claudia is a little older will be time enough for style,” Mrs. Milmont said coyly.

Claudia turned pink at this mendacious discussion of her youth, and in fact turned a mutinous countenance on her mama, who met it with a hard stare and then smiled again sweetly. The quick shift in expression did not escape Sir Hillary's lazy-looking eyes. Though he kept them half closed, they missed very little.

"Do you not mean to present me to your little girl, Marcia?” he asked.

"To be sure, Claudia, this is Sir Hillary Thoreau—your aunt Sophie's husband's ... Well, it is quite confusing, but Hillary's cousin married Mr. Tewksbury's brother."

"Let us say I am Gabriel's guardian; it is the easiest way,” Hillary added.

"He ain't really nothing to Sophie,” the captain inserted.

"You cut me to the quick,” Hillary replied, “I was her closest neighbor, and as close to a friend as she had, poor old girl. Our mutual interest in Gabriel brought us closer together."

"Fact remains,” the captain pointed out, “you ain't nothing but a connection to her."

"I claim no closer kinship, I promise you. But, of course, it is not the kinship or lack of it that disturbs you. Do you fear I have insinuated myself into her heart, and worse, will? Perish the thought. She promised me her chess set. I doubt she remembered to give it to me, but that is the sole possession of hers I ever coveted."

"You won't get Swallowcourt anyway,” Jonathon said.

"I am suitably thankful for small mercies.” Thoreau answered.

"Well, and is Luane to get it all then?” Mrs. Milmont asked.

"That only takes us to the end of February,” Hillary continued, settling back comfortably, “What was it you did, brat, to turn the tide against you?” he asked Miss Beresford.

"It was the dog,” Luane reminded him.

"To be sure, it was. Because of a dog a fortune was lost, if I may paraphrase an old saw. A small spaniel, quite adorable, but with an unfortunate lack of manners which we shall not go into in mixed company. Suffice it to say, he was caught wet-handed, and in this very room, too."

"No, it was in her room, on the new carpet,” Luane corrected.

"I
told
you how to train him, Loo,” Gabriel said to her and proceeded to tell her once again what she should have done.

"Who does get it all then?” Marcia demanded, becoming impatient with this dallying manner of explaining things.

Again Sir Hillary's hands went up, and he hunched his shoulders to indicate he was at a loss.

"You mean to say you have no idea, and have been wasting our time with this farradiddle?” the captain demanded.

"I was under the misapprehension I was helping you pass this evening of mourning rather agreeably,” Thoreau answered, offended.

"Does Luane get the diamonds, that's what
I
want to know,” Mrs. Milmont asked him.

"It was one of many versions of the will,” Sir Hillary told her. “They were to go to Luane, Jonathon, Gabriel—turn upon turn. Round and round and round they go, but where they stopped nobody knows, as the fortune wheel man at Bartholomew Fair says."

"I don't see why they ought to go to Luane any more than to Claudia,” Mrs. Milmont insisted.

"Did your little girl really want the garish things?” Hillary asked. “Have you been pining all these years for a vulgar set of stones in the worst possible taste, little Claudia? I never suspected you of such rapacious leanings for a moment."

"Of course, she wanted them!” her mother replied. “Fifty thousand pounds, and Claudia a poor fatherless child.” The monogrammed handkerchief, somewhat rumpled from its many outings, was out once more.

"And virtually motherless,” Hillary added, with a quizzing look at Marcia. “But Claudia has not answered.” Nor did she, but only sat staring at him with a mesmerized look in her eyes. In her sheltered life in the country, she had never encountered anyone like this sleek person. She felt as though he were a snake charmer, and she a snake, rising up out of a basket. She couldn't take her eyes off him.

"Naturally, anyone would,” the captain added.

"And
still
little Claudia has not answered,” Thoreau remarked sadly. Then he appeared to forget it and turned to Miss Bliss. “I expect the tea is quite tepid by now. Odd you didn't offer me a cup, ma'am."

"You aren't the only uncivil one in the room,” she said sharply. She then put her hand to the pot. “It's still warm,” she said. “Would you like some?"

"I wouldn't want you to overexert yourself, but there is a bitter wind outside."

He arose to get his own cup to save Lavinia Bliss the exertion, and when he had it filled, he did not return to his former seat but went to an empty chair beside Claudia.

"You did not answer my question, darling,” he said. “Did you truly want the diamonds?"

Claudia had never been called darling by anyone since her papa had died. The smooth-spoken, elegant gentleman bending towards her now, an ironic smile on his face, did not remind her of her papa. Nor of anyone she had ever met in real life. He had stepped straight out of the pages of the lurid marble-covered novels of her young years, and she knew him at once for the villain, hiding his shame beneath a fashionable facade.

"I didn't know there were diamonds in the case,” she said simply.

"Less and less can I credit you to be your mama's daughter,” he said, his eyes widening a shade. He regarded the quaint creature before him. Utterly unlike the common, encroaching mama in appearance. Less bright, less brittle—a soft-edged water color, set against a hard-edged painting.

"I am thought to resemble my papa,” she replied.

"I was slightly acquainted with Henry Milmont. I was only a young fellow when he died—it must have been a decade ago,
n'est-ce pas?"

"Nine years, actually."

"And in all those years no one told you you had a rich aunt with whom you ought to be on terms? You have been badly treated, my dear."

"Certainly I knew I had an Aunt Sophie. Mama often spoke of her."