“Mrs Ambrose, where did you get those?”
“Looks as though somebody had been making you a present, if Ambrose won’t,” said Brian lightly, with the amiable intention of averting another dispute. “Or have you been making a little private expedition of your own after loot? In the Fort to-day—oh, fie, Mrs Ambrose, fie! Won’t I set the Provost Marshal and the Prize Agents on you!”
Eveleen was bathing her hands in the jewels, without troubling to answer either man’s question. “Such a pity they spoil their stones so cruelly,” she said. “I wonder why will they always pierce them and they never seem to cut them so as to bring out the full beauty. And flaws, now—you’d think they didn’t even notice them, as if they only cared for a stone to be as large as possible.”
Richard’s hand gripped her shoulder—not gently. “You acknowledge these are native stones, then—from the treasury, I suppose? How did you get them?”
“If you hurt me so, I’ll cry. I know I’ll have a horrid bruise for weeks. Y’are so rough, Ambrose!”
“Get on with y’, Evie,” said Brian curtly. “How did you get hold of these things?”
“Well, then, I found them!” Eveleen looked defiantly from one to the other, resenting their tone.
“You found them? Where, pray?”
“On my dressing-table—wrapped up in an old dirty bit of silk embroidery. I nearly called Ketty to pick it up with a stick and throw it away, it looked so horrid. Then I saw something sticking out, and ’twas this emerald.”
“Did your ayah know anything of the parcel?”