Read Ebook: A Ring of Rubies by Meade L T

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Ebook has 1585 lines and 58992 words, and 32 pages

"Is Mr Rutherford at home?"

The old man opened the door an inch wider.

"Eh? What? I'm a trifle deaf," he said.

I repeated my question more distinctly.

"Is Mr Rutherford within?"

"And what may you want with him?"

"My name is Rosamund Lindley. I am his relative. I want to see him."

"Eh, my dear," said the old man; "Geoffrey Rutherford has many relatives, many, and they all want to see him. It's wonderful how he's appreciated! Quite extraordinary, for he does nothing to deserve it. I'll inquire if you can be admitted, Miss--Miss Lindley."

The old man shambled away. He was so inhospitable that he absolutely left the chain on the door.

He was absent for nearly ten minutes. I thought he had forgotten all about me, and was about to knock again, when he reappeared. Without saying a word he removed the chain from the hall-door and flung it wide open.

He was about the shabbiest-looking servant I ever saw.

"Come this way," he said, when I had stepped into the hall.

He took me down a long passage, and into a room which was only lighted from the roof. The furniture of the room was handsome, but covered everywhere with dust. The leather of the high-backed chairs was worm-eaten.

"Sit down, Miss Lindley," he said, motioning to one of them.

And then, to my astonishment, he placed himself before a high desk, and began to write.

I am sure I must always have had a quick temper. I thought this old servant's manners intolerable.

"Go and tell your master, at once, that his relative, Rosamund Lindley, is here," I said. "Go, I am in a hurry."

He dropped his pen, and looked at me with the dawning of a smile playing round his thin lips.

"And pray, who is my master?"

"My cousin, Mr Geoffrey Rutherford."

"I happen to be that individual myself."

I was really startled into jumping out of my seat. I flopped back again with a very red face, said "Oh!" and felt extremely foolish.

"What is your candid opinion of your Cousin Geoffrey, young lady?" said the little man, jumping up and walking over to the fireplace. "He is the ideal sort of rich cousin, is he not?"

I laughed. My laugh seemed to please the owner of the dirty house. He smiled again faintly, looking hard into my face, and said:--"I forget your name, tell it to me again."

"Rosamund Lindley."

"My mother was your first cousin," I said boldly. "Her name was the same as yours--Rutherford. Before she was married she was known to her friends as Mary Rutherford."

"Sit down, Rosamund Lindley, you--you have astonished me. You have given me a shock. In short you have mentioned the only relative who is not--not very affectionate. So you are Mary Rutherford's daughter? You are not like her. I can't compliment you by saying that you are. Did-- did Mary Rutherford send you to me?"

"Most assuredly she did not. I have come entirely of my own free will. I had to coax my mother for a whole week before she would even give me your address."

"But she gave it at last?"

"I made her."

"She knows you have come then."

"It is impossible for her not to know that I have come. But she is angry--grieved--even frightened. You could not have been at all kind to my mother long ago, Cousin Geoffrey."

"Hush--chit! Let your mother's name drop out of our conversation. Now, I will sit down near you, and we can talk. You have come to see me of your own free will? Granted. You are my relative--not twenty degrees removed? Granted. Now, what can I do for you. Rosamund Lindley?"

"I want you to help me," I said.

I spoke out quite boldly.

"You are rich, and I am poor. It is more blessed to give than to receive."

"Ha, ha! You want me to be one of the blessed ones? Very neatly put. Upon my word, you're a brave girl. You quite entertain me. Go on."

My cheeks were very red now, but I was not going to be beaten.

"Cousin Geoffrey," I said, "we are all very poor at home, and I hate being poor. We have all to pinch and contrive, and I loathe pinching and contriving. I have a talent, and I want to cultivate it. I want to be an artist. I can't be an artist without money. I wish to go to one of the good schools of art, here in London, and study hard, and work my way up from the very beginning. I have no money to do this, but you have lots of money. As you are my cousin, I think you ought to give me enough money to learn art at one of the great schools here. I think you ought. You are my relative--you ought to help me."

I had flung my words out almost defiantly, but now something seemed to catch my voice; it broke.

"Oh, Cousin Geoffrey, this means so much to me," I said, half sobbing. "How happy you can make me, and I will love you for it. There, I will love you!"

I knew I was offering him something greater than he could give me. I felt we were equals. I ceased to sob, I stood up, and looked him full in the face.

He returned my gaze with great solemnity. A queer change came over his very old face; his eyes were lit by an inward fire. It was impossible for me to tell whether he was pleased or not, but unquestionably he was moved, even agitated. After a brief pause he came up and took my hand in his.

Cousin Geoffrey and I talked together for over an hour. At the end of that time he told me he was hungry, and that if I had no objection he would go out and bring in some lunch for us both.

He was now quite confidential and friendly. I made him laugh several times, and although he had apparently turned a deaf ear to my request, I fancied that I was getting on very well with him.

He made me chain the hall-door after him when he went out, and he promised that he would not be longer away than he could help. He brought in two mutton-chops for our lunch, which he fried himself in the most perfect manner, over a gas-jet in his sitting-room. We had bread with our chops, and some very rare wine, which was poured into tall Venetian glasses of great beauty.

"I don't open this wine for my distant relatives," he said, with a chuckle. "But you, Rosamund--your courage deserves the best I can do for you."

After lunch he took me all over his large house. It was full of the most valuable and costly furniture, but all worm-eaten and going to decay from dirt and neglect.

He had some paintings of immense value in his drawing-rooms, and in his library were several rare editions of costly books.

"I refused three thousand pounds for that Paul Veronese," he said, pointing to a picture which I was too ignorant to appreciate.

"Then you, too, love art," I said. "Of course you will help me."

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