Chapter Sixteen.
Vanity.
I returned home late that night, but by this time my people were accustomed to my eccentricities. My father and mother made no comment when I came in looking tired and yet excited. Even George was silent. He evidently thought it useless to continue to torment me. I scarcely slept at all that night. I had fitted all the keys into their locks, and to-morrow my search would begin.
Lady Ursula Redmayne, Captain Valentine, and his brother had all arranged to come and see me on the morrow in the Chamber of Myths.
“We will none of us disturb your search,” Lady Ursula had said, “but the result we must—we really must know.”
I could not forbid them to come, for the Valentines were also Cousin Geoffrey’s relations; but I was sorry. The secret had been in a measure confided to me alone, and I had an unreasonable feeling of jealousy in sharing it with any one.
I was early at Cousin Geoffrey’s house the following day, and everything being arranged now according to the most approved method, I began my search without a moment’s delay. Oh! the pathos of the task. Oh! the strange, dreary, undefined sense of loneliness which came over me as one by one I opened those drawers, and looked into the secrets of the dead man’s life. The drawers of the different cabinets in the Chamber of Myths were filled, not with rubbish, but with strange, foreign curiosities. A sweet scent came from them which brought me a waft of another and richer world. Sandal-wood and spices, old-fashioned silks, gorgeous brocades, boxes full of exquisite dyes, shawls from Cashmere, coloured beads from Japan, piles of embroidery, Indian muslins of the softest and finest texture, all lay neatly folded and put away in the drawers of the cabinets in the Chamber of Myths.
Were these things myths? Were they myths in the life of a man who had gone down to his grave leaving the world no whit better for his presence? He had hoarded his wealth instead of using it. He, living in the richest of homes, had yet been practically homeless; he, with a long rent-roll and a heavy banker’s account, had yet been poorest of the poor. He had never known children to love him or a wife to render his existence beautiful. On his tombstone only one word could be written—Vanity.
I felt all these thoughts. They coursed through my brain as I opened the sacred drawers where the delicate riches from Eastern lands lay treasured up. No clue had I yet obtained to guide me in my search—no papers, no memoranda of any sort. The Eastern perfume began presently to intoxicate me—it seemed to get into my head, to put a light into my eyes and a flush of roses on my cheeks. I felt under a spell. I should not have been the least surprised if Cousin Geoffrey himself had opened the door of the Chamber of Myths and come up to my side and asked me what I did opening coffins. For in one sense these closed drawers were coffins. They held, I made no doubt, many buried hopes.
At one o’clock the rattling of gay, light laughter was heard on the stairs, and Lady Ursula, accompanied by my two relatives—for by these names I was pleased to designate the Valentines—entered.
“We have brought lunch,” said Lady Ursula; “a delicious basketful—containing all kinds of good things. Rupert must open it. Well, Rosamund, what rosy cheeks! Have you found the will?”
“No,” I said. “Please, Lady Ursula—”
“Well, what does this most pleading of pleases mean?”
“We are not going to lunch in this room,” I said.
“Why not? It is a charming room to lunch in. Oh, what a love of a cloth! I must open it. See the delicacy of this ground, and these fairy stitches, and that embroidery. We will spread it over the centre Queen Anne table, and put our lunch on it.”
“You will not,” I said. “The cloth does not belong to us. We have no right to desecrate it.”
“Desecrate! Honour, you mean, Rosamund. Oh! Rupert, Rupert,” continued Lady Ursula, turning to her future husband, “I do pray and trust that you will be discovered to be Cousin Geoffrey’s heir. I absolutely pine for that cloth. I long for it as intensely as I used to long for Rosamund’s ruby ring.”
Lady Ursula’s volatile spirits had a depressing effect on me. I was determined, however, not to yield to her whims. We had no right to spoil Cousin Geoffrey’s Chamber of Myths by dining in it.
I took my friends down to the great drawing-room, and there we spread our repast; truth to tell, we had a merry time. Afterwards we all returned to the Chamber of Myths.
“You alone have the right to continue the search, Miss Lindley,” said my cousin Tom Valentine.
“I think I had better go on with it,” I said, steadily. “I have a certain plan marked out in my own mind, and if any one interfered with me now I should only feel puzzled.”
“You must certainly continue the search,” said Captain Valentine.
“And we will look at these loves of windows,” said Lady Ursula.
My three visitors—for in one sense I considered them my visitors—went to the far end of the room and left me in comparative peace. With all my heart I wished them away, but I had not the courage to desire them to go. I felt also that I had not the right.
The search, however, was now becoming irksome. The Eastern treasures no longer exercised a spell over me. I was anxious for the daylight to wane—for the time to arrive when I might re-lock the drawers, and return the keys to Mr Gray.
I had now completely examined five of the cabinets. I approached the sixth, which stood exactly under the window which contained the representation of Christ blessing the children. I opened the top drawer of this cabinet with a renewed sense of great weariness, of fatigue of both mind and body. The first thing I saw lying by itself in the little shallow drawer was a thick envelope with my name on the cover—“Miss Rosamund Lindley.” I seized it with trembling fingers. I felt suddenly cold and faint—my heart seemed to stop—my brain to reel. I knew that my search was ended.
“What is the matter?” said Lady Ursula, coming up to me quickly.
“Nothing,” I replied, “except—except this—my search is over.”
I held up the thick packet to her. She half screamed, and called the two Valentines to look. “Read it, Rosamund, read it,” she said. “Read the contents of that letter quickly, dear Rosamund.”
“No,” I answered, “I could not take in the words now, my head aches, my hands shake, I am tired—I am very, very tired. I must read the words written to me inside this thick envelope when I am alone.”
“Oh, but that is too bad. We are consumed with curiosity. Won’t you open the envelope? Won’t you read just a few words to satisfy us that you are really the heir.”
“I may be as little the heir as you, Lady Ursula. The packet with my name on the cover proves nothing. But I am agitated—perhaps it is with hope. I should be glad to be Cousin Geoffrey’s heir, for I am tired of great poverty. I am not a bit ashamed to say this; but I cannot read the letter which either confirms or destroys my hopes in the presence of any one else.”
Lady Ursula looked annoyed. Captain Valentine also plainly expressed a sense of disappointment on his face, but my cousin Tom heartily approved my resolution.
“You are right,” he said; “we will all go away. You shall read your letter in peace.”
“You need not go away,” I said. “I am going myself. I will not read this letter until I get home. Now I must lock these drawers and return the keys to Mr Gray.”
“And you will be sure to write at once and tell us the news, Rosamund,” said Lady Ursula.
“Better still,” exclaimed Captain Valentine, “let us meet here to-morrow. Let Miss Lindley tell us the contents of Cousin Geoffrey’s letter in person.”
After a little consultation this plan was resolved upon. We four were to meet in the Chamber of Myths at noon on the following day.
After this I took my leave, ordered a hansom, and drove to Mr Gray’s.
He was in and disengaged. I entered his room without any delay. The moment he saw my face he jumped up, seized my two hands, shook them heartily, and exclaimed—
“You have succeeded, Miss Lindley. I know by your face that you have succeeded.”
“I have found this,” I answered, holding up the packet.
“Yes, yes; in finding that you have found everything. What a relief this is to me. That eccentric clause of the will was the last straw to try the temper of any man. Now let me congratulate you. I do so most heartily.”
“I don’t know what for; this solid packet may mean nothing to me.”
“Oh! but it does.”
“You know its contents then?”
“Perfectly. Sit down, read your letter; know for yourself what a fortunate—what a really fortunate girl you are.”
“I won’t read my letter now,” I answered. “I will take it home and read every word, study each sentence in my own room; but not now. You excite me. I am tired. I cannot bear any more.”
“Poor little girl,” said Mr Gray, in quite a tender voice. “There never was a more plucky creature than you, Rosamund Lindley; but you are a true woman after all. Well, my dear, go home. Early to-morrow I shall see you again.”
“I am to meet Lady Ursula Redmayne and Captain Valentine and his brother in Cousin Geoffrey’s house at twelve o’clock to-morrow,” I replied.
“What!” answered Mr Gray. “Has Tom Valentine returned? Do you know the Valentines—your cousins?”
“Are they really my cousins?”
“Yes, three or four times removed; but undoubtedly there was at one time a relationship. Well, Rosamund, what do you think of your cousin Tom Valentine?”
“I scarcely know that I think of him at all,” I replied.
“What! Have you not discovered that he is a traveller—a man who has met with remarkable adventures; a man of the world, a gentleman, a man of culture; also, and above all, an Englishman, with a true and honest heart?”
“I have had no time to find out these many excellent qualities,” I answered back.
“You will soon see them,” responded Mr Gray. “Your eyes will be opened. You will perceive what I mean; all, all that I mean. So you have already met Tom Valentine; and Tom has returned just in time. What an extraordinary coincidence! what a piece of luck!”
“I don’t pretend to understand you,” I answered.
“No, my dear; go home and read your letter. God bless you, Rosamund. Upon my word, this day’s work has taken a load off my mind.”
He again wrung my hand. I had no time to think of his extraordinary rapture, nor of his queer uncalled-for words about Tom Valentine. Everything he said came back to me by and by; but I had no room in my mind to dwell upon his words at that moment. There was no doubt whatever that the packet held in my hand brought good fortune to me and mine. Ugly Poverty might take to himself wings and fly away—he and I—he and those I loved, would not have even a bowing acquaintance in future. This fact was quite sufficient to fill my mind to the exclusion of all other ideas. I went home early—had tea with my mother—said nothing at all about the packet which lay in my pocket, but listened to a long and miserable letter from Jack, while I held in my hand a little note from Hetty, which I knew must be sad, but which scarcely troubled me at that moment, for I also knew how soon I could relieve my dear little sister’s anxieties; how absolutely it now lay in my power to comfort and aid her, and to give to Jack all the good things which would make him a manly fellow once more.
I do not think in my whole life I ever felt happier than I did that evening. My fatigue had vanished—a feeling of absolute rest reigned in my heart; even the annoyances, the vexations, the penury of home brought to me a sense of rejoicing. It was sweet to know that with a touch of my magic wand I could sweep them once and for ever out of sight.
If I was happy, however, this could scarcely be said of any of the rest of the family. My mother had a headache; she had also caught cold, and the cough, which always more or less racked her slender frame, was worse than usual.
My father kept looking at her anxiously. He really did love my beautiful, gentle mother very much. George was disagreeable and morose; and my mother’s eyes kept straying in the direction where Jack’s photograph stood. She was thinking no doubt of that last letter from the poor fellow. Never mind, these were passing clouds, and knowing how soon I could chase them away, I felt scarcely any pain as I watched them.
At last, one by one, my family bade me good-night. I stayed down-stairs to put the little house in order, and then, going up to my room, locked my door, and prepared to acquaint myself with the contents of that letter, which was to turn all the dross of my life into pure and glittering gold.