Aunt Sophie's Diamonds (31 page)

"I was there, too."

"Claudia! You didn't go all alone to the graveyard in the dead of night!"

"No, Miss Bliss came with me. She is a splendid conspirator, Hillary. She even knew a short cut."

At this he laughed aloud. “Blissful is up to anything. And she will need to be, to ride herd on the child bride and groom the next couple of months at Cambridge. They may end up here with us for a while after he graduates. Just till they find a place of their own."

"How nice! They will be our first guests."

With a wary eye at his future mama-in-law, who was smiling on him in a doting fashion, he felt some doubts about that, but said instead:

"Do you know, I had a strange communication from Mr. Fletcher this morning. In the excitement of the day, it slipped my mind, but he said he wished to see us all here or at Swallowcourt tomorrow. Can it have anything to do with Jonathon's grave-digging, I wonder?"

"He won't be put in jail, will he?"

"Lord, no, but the gudgeon has likely cut himself out of any cash in Sophie's will. A pity, for he has lost his heiress, too.” He smiled and squeezed Claudia's hand as he said this.

"There is no saying I will ever get any of the Trump's money, Hillary,” she warned him.

"That will be a sad blow to me, for, of course, it is the only reason I offered for you!"

She looked closely at his face, to be reassured by his quizzical smile that he was roasting her. “I don't know why you
did
offer. Loo said you usually had diamonds of the first water for girl friends, so you cannot have married me for my looks, and I know I am not at all clever, or anything like that."

"Quit hinting for compliments, Feigning Woman. It is, of course, a chess partner I am after."

Marcia could no longer stay away from the side of her son-to-be, and descended on him to discuss more aspects of the two weddings. As the party was about to break up a little later, Hillary told them of Fletcher's communication, and they agreed to meet at Swallowcourt next morning at eleven. Luane was to remain at Chanely for her wedding night. Already feeling herself a matron, she kindly prepared Claudia a box of sweets to take back to Swallowcourt for breakfast.

At ten minutes before eleven the next morning, Fletcher was at Swallowcourt with Sir Hillary, and five minutes after them Gabriel and Loo arrived in the curricle. The group gathered again around the desk in Sophie's library was as curious as they had been the first time. The captain was the only one greatly discomposed, as he feared some public disclosure of his crime would be made. Any further benefits to accrue to anyone were now in the nature of a superfluous gift, and though Gab and Hillary were quite eager to hear whether the former was to get any money, they did not feel this was the time they would find out. A year hence was the date named.

They were soon disabused of this thought. Mr. Fletcher said in a calm voice that all the events to have taken place in the intervening year had now transpired, and in that case, he had been authorized to read the remainder of the will sooner. “So this is to be the disposition of her fortune,” he said.

Nerves tautened at the words. The captain especially was pale around the ears, though he sat as tall as any of Wellington's officers. Each person privately figured out that the two events must be Loo's marriage and the digging up of the grave. That great secret had become known within the family circle, as any choice piece of scandal always will. Their surmises were correct, and the all-important moment was upon them.

"'Upon the marriage of my niece, Miss Luane Beresford to anyone, she is to receive the sum of ten thousand pounds,'” he read. Gabriel was a little disappointed to hear the sum so small, for Sophie's total fortune was thought to be in excess of a hundred thousand pounds. Still, with her diamond it made twenty thousand. “'And if she marries either of my nephews, the sum will be fifty thousand pounds.’”

"We are rich, Gab!” Loo crowed. She leaned over in her chair and kissed his check. There were general congratulations all around, till Mrs. Milmont recalled them to business.

"That leaves another fifty thousand pounds!” she announced.

Mr. Fletcher bowed to her and read on. “'You will know by now that the necklace buried with my mortal remains was the paste reproduction,'” he read.

The party, with the exception of Sir Hillary Thoreau, did not know this, and a good deal of chatter was necessary to confirm it. His deception in claiming only the large stone of the supposed replica genuine was explained as adhering as closely to her will as possible after Jonathon had tumbled to it that some part of the necklace was real.

"Well, then, where are the real diamonds?” Marcia demanded.

"The genuine Beresford diamond necklace was given to Miss Beresford in the replica case, and it is hers to keep,” Fletcher said.

"Thoreau just told us that,” the Trump explained to wee wifie, wondering at her lack of attention on so important a point.

"Gabriel, we are millionaires!” Loo shrieked. “Uncle, you didn't tell me this! And you knew all along I had the real diamonds."

"Not a millionaire,” the Trump pointed out. “A hundred thousand is what you've got.” Really, the whole bunch of them had gone mad.

"I have known it only since we went to London, but by the terms of her will, I could not reveal it.” Jonathon was glaring at Thoreau, and he, feeling very sorry for the captain, said, “Gab didn't know either, Jonathon. There has been no deception but the necessary one that was told to all."

"And we have been scheming all the while to dig up a pair of paste beads!” Marcia exclaimed, the whole truth at last penetrating her whirling mind. “The woman was a monster!” she decreed and would have claimed her insane too, but for the last fifty thousand to be accounted for.

"A cursed rum touch,” Mr. Blandings said, rubbing his chin, then he let out a merry peal of laughter. “Ha, she fooled you, wee wifie. And you'd have had me robbing a corpse of a pair of glass beads. Famous! ‘Pon my word, I never heard of such a thing."

Silence fell, and every eye turned to Mr. Fletcher for the final clause of the will. “Now for the last of it,” he said, scanning the nether part of the page and shaking his head. “'To whomever shows the initiative of digging up my mortal remains, opening the wooden coffin, the steel chest, and stealing the paste necklace, I leave the remainder of my fortune, fifty thousand pounds.’”

A hush fell on the room. The first to grasp this outrage was the Trump. “Congratulations, Captain!” he said, rising and going to shake Jonathon's hand.

Jonathon stood, gulping and looking paralyzed with shock. “Me! You mean to say she's rewarding me for digging her up! She was crazed!"

"This proves she was insane!” Marcia joined in at once.

"As shrewd as she could hold together,” her bridegroom contradicted her. “A very interesting will, when all's said and done. There's a woman as knew the value of a penny. Anyone foolish enough to let a fortune stay buried in the ground don't deserve to have it."

"But you refused to dig it up for me!” wee wifie reminded him.

"She was a step ahead of us all the way,” he admitted, shaking his head at the knowledge that there had existed a mind with more turns than his own. “A rare wonderful old woman she must have been. I wish I had known her. I made sure it was the paste beads she'd buried, and thought it was a trick to punish whoever dug her up, but she was a deep ‘un. What we'd have had to do was know she'd buried the paste beads, then go a step further and figure the rest of it. It never occurred to me. Never once entered my head, and I don't figure myself a slow one."

"I was similarly fooled,” Hillary admitted. “I thought the test was to see which would show such disrespect as to plunder her grave. But she preferred the man with the initiative to steal to one who would let the diamonds go to waste. Well, it makes a perverse sort of sense."

"Now you say so,” his bride challenged him, “but you would never lift a finger to help me and Loo get them."

"Mea culpa!"
he said humbly. “I was certainly misguided. Loo is fifty thousand poorer because of me."

"No, I'm not!” she said at once. “I didn't plan to dig her up when I thought I had just the
one
diamond! I wouldn't have touched the grave for the world if I'd known I had the whole necklace. I hope I am not greedy. This is much fairer, for really Jonathon was gypped to get only Swallowcourt in such a poor state."

"There may be hope for you yet,” Sir Hillary complimented her noblesse.

"She did more than enough for
us."
Gabriel added his pleasure at the outcome.

"And you mean to say I get fifty thousand pounds!” Jonathon said, still not quite able to assimilate so much good news after the fears that had haunted him. “Fifty thousand pounds! I'm rich."

"Congratulations,” Hillary said, offering his hand. “I doubt you will believe it, but I am very happy. I have felt from the beginning you were robbed by her letting Swallowcourt disintegrate so."

Jonathon accepted the hand and murmured some acknowledgment of the congratulations. Everyone but Marcia seemed well pleased at the outcome.

"We'll pick up the Beresford necklace if you've a mind for it, love.” the Trump whispered in her ear. “I daresay the little lady will be happy to sell it, though we'll get a better price if we ain't too eager."

Mr. Fletcher took the captain and Gabriel aside to consult with them as to the manner in which they would like to receive their fortunes—whether in stocks and bonds or cash, for Gabriel would look after Loo's monies. Hillary was asked to help Gabriel decide, and it was half an hour before the whole party gathered in the Crimson Saloon to celebrate.

"All's well that ends well,” Sir Hillary said. “The ladies all got a jewel and a husband; the gentlemen a jewel of a wife—with the exception of Jonathon, who may now marry where he likes. I daresay Sophie is pleased as punch to have fooled us all, and Fletcher must be the happiest of the lot to be done with this confounded will."

A strange, eerie sound seemed to come simultaneously from all corners of the room. It was not loud, but perfectly audible—a sound of ghostly laughter. It reached a crescendo, then subsided.

"Shall we all drink a toast to Sophie?” Thoreau asked. “And I trust, old girl, this will be your last performance."

"To Aunt Sophie!” they said in unison and grimaced simultaneously as they swallowed the horrid wine.