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Polly: A New-Fashioned Girl, a fiction by L. T. Meade |
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Part 2 - Chapter 11. The Worth Of A Diamond |
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_ CHAPTER XI. THE WORTH OF A DIAMOND Flower quite made up her mind to go away again. Her mood, however, had completely changed. She was no longer in a passion; on the contrary, she felt stricken and wounded. She would go away now to hide herself, because her face, her form, the sound of her step, the echo of her voice, must be painful to those whom she had injured. She shuddered as she recalled Firefly's sad words: "Father says it is wrong to hate any one, but, of course, we cannot love you." She felt that she could never look Polly in the face again, that Helen's gentle smile would be torture to her. Oh, of course she must go away; she must go to-night. She was very tired, for she had really scarcely rested since her fit of mad passion, and the previous night she had never gone to bed. Still all this mattered nothing. There was a beating in her heart, there was a burning sting of remorse awakened within her, which made even the thought of rest impossible. Flower was a very wild and untaught creature; her ideas of right and wrong were of the crudest. It seemed to her now that the only right thing was to run away. When the house was quiet, she once more opened her little cabinet, and took from thence the last great treasure which it contained. It was one solitary splendid unset diamond. She had not the least idea of its value, but she knew that it would probably fetch a pound or two. She had not the least notion of the value of money or of the preciousness of the gem which she held in her hand, but she thought it likely that it would supply her immediate needs. The house was quite still now. She took off her green cloth dress, put on a very plain one of black cashmere, slipped a little velvet cap on her head, wrapped a long white shawl round her, and thus equipped opened her door, and went downstairs. She was startled at the foot of the stairs to encounter Maggie. Maggie was coming slowly upwards as Flower descended, and the two girls paused to look at one another. The lamps in the passages were turned low, and Maggie held a candle above her head; its light fell full on Flower. "You mustn't go to Miss Polly on no account, Miss Flower," said Maggie, adopting the somewhat peremptory manner she had already used to Flower in the hermit's hut. "Miss Polly is not to be frightened or put out in any way, leastways not to-night." "You mean that you think I would tell her about Dr. Maybright?" "Perhaps you would, Miss; you're none too sensible." Flower was too crushed even to reply to this uncomplimentary speech. After a pause, she said: "I'm not going to Polly. I'm going away. Maggie, is it true that the--that Dr. Maybright is very ill?" "Yes, Miss, the Doctor's despert bad." Maggie's face worked; her candle shook; she put up her other hand to wipe away the fast-flowing tears. "Oh, don't cry!" said Flower, stamping her foot impatiently. "Tears do no good, and it wasn't you who did it." "No, Miss, no, Miss; that's a bit of a comfort. I wouldn't be you, Miss Flower, for all the wide world. Well, I must go now; I'm a-sleeping in Miss Polly's room to-night, Miss." "Why, is Polly ill, too?" "Only her foot's bad. I mustn't stay, really, Miss Flower." "Look here," said Flower, struck by a sudden thought, "before you go tell me something. Your mother lives in the village, does she not?" "Why, yes, Miss, just in the main street, down round by the corner. There's the baker's shop and the butcher's, and you turn round a sharp corner, and mother's cottage is by your side." "I've a fancy to go and see her. Good-night." "But not at this hour, surely, Miss?" "Why not? I was out later last night." "That's true. Well, I must go to Miss Polly now. Don't you make any noise when you're coming in, Miss! Oh, my word!" continued Maggie to herself, "what can Miss Flower want with mother? Well, she is a contrairy young lady mischievous, and all that, and hasn't she wrought a sight of harm in this yer house! But, for all that, mother'll be mighty took up with her, for she's all for romance, mother is, and Miss Flower's very uncommon. Well, it ain't nought to do with me, and I'll take care to tell no tales to Miss Polly, poor dear." The night was still and calm; the stars shone peacefully; the wind, which had come in gusts earlier in the evening, had died down. It took Flower a very few minutes to reach the village, and she wasn't long in discovering Mrs. Ricketts' humble abode. That good woman had long retired to rest, but Flower's peremptory summons on the door soon caused a night-capped head to protrude out of a window, a burst of astonishment to issue from a wonder-struck pair of lips, and a moment later the young lady was standing by Mrs. Ricketts' fireside. "I'm proud to see you, Miss, and that I will say. Set down, Miss, do now, and I'll light up the fire in a twinkling." "No, you needn't," said Flower. "I'm hot; I'm burning. Feel me; a fire would drive me wild." "To be sure, so you are, all in a fever like," said Mrs. Ricketts, laying her rough hand for a moment on Flower's dainty arm. "You'll let me light up the bit of a paraffin lamp, then, Miss, for it ain't often as I have the chance of seeing a young lady come all the way from Australy." "You can light the lamp, if you like," said Flower. "And you can stare at me as much as you please. I'm just like any one else, only wickeder. I've come to you, Mrs. Ricketts, because you're Maggie's mother, and Maggie's a good girl, and I thought perhaps you would help me." "I'm obligated for the words of praise about my daughter, Miss. Yes, she don't mean bad, Maggie don't. What can I do to help you, Miss? Anything in my power you are kindly welcome to." "Have you ever seen a diamond, Mrs. Ricketts?" "I don't know, I'm sure, Miss." "Diamonds are very valuable stones, you know." "Maybe, Miss. They ain't in my way. I wish you'd let me light you a bit of fire, Miss Flower. You'll have the chills presently, Miss, for you're all of a burning fever now." "You can do anything you like in the way of fire by-and-by. I have a diamond here. Shall I show it to you?" "Oh, law, Miss, I'm sure you are condescending." "Come over close to the paraffin lamp. Now you shall see. Doesn't it sparkle!" Mrs. Ricketts dropped a curtsey to the gem, which, unpolished as it was, cast forth strange reflections, giving her, as she afterwards explained, a "queer feel" and a sense of chill down the marrow of her back. "This is very valuable," said Flower. "I don't know what it is worth, but my father gave it to my mother, and she gave it to me. She said it would be well for me to have it in case of emergency. Emergency has come, and I want to sell this stone. It is very likely that whoever buys it from me will become rich. Would you like it? You shall have it for what money you have in the house." "Oh, law, Miss! but I'm a very poor woman, Miss." Mrs. Ricketts curtseyed again, and drew closer. "For all the world, it looks as if it were alive, Miss." "All valuable diamonds look as if they lived. If this were cut and polished it would dazzle you." "And if I had it, I could sell it for a good bit of money?" "I am sure you could. I don't know for how much, but for more than I am likely to get from you." "I'd like to pay Miss Polly back that pound as Maggie took from her." "Don't worry me about your debts. Will you have this beautiful uncut diamond for the money you have in the house?" Mrs. Ricketts did not reply for a moment. "I have nine shillings and fourpence-halfpenny," she said at last, "and to-morrow is rent day. Rent will be eight shillings; that leaves me one-and-fourpence-half penny for food. Ef I give you all my money, Miss, how am I to pay rent? And how are the children to have food to-morrow?" "But you can sell the diamond. Why are you so dreadfully stupid? You can sell the diamond for one, two, or perhaps three pounds. Then how rich you will be." "Oh, Miss! there's no one in this yer village 'ud give away good money for a bit of a stone like that; they'd know better. My word! it do send out a sort of a flame, though; it's wondrous to look upon!" "People will buy it from you in a town. Go to the nearest town, take it to a jeweler, and see how rich you will be when you come out of his shop. There, I will give it to you for your nine-and-fourpence-half penny." Flower laid the diamond in the woman's hand. "It seems to burn me like," she said. But all the same her fingers closed over it, and a look of greed and satisfaction filled her face. "I don't know if I'm a-doin' right," she said, "for perhaps this ain't worth sixpence, and then where's the rent and the food? But, all the same, I don't like to say no to a pretty lady when she's in trouble. Here's the nine-and-fourpence-halfpenny, Miss. I earned it bit by bit by washing the neighbors' clothes; it wasn't easy come by; there's labor in it, and aches and dead-tiredness about it. You take it, Miss. I only trust the diamond will repay what I loses on that nine-and-fourpence-half penny." Flower handled the money as if she thought it dirty. Without a word she slipped it into the pocket of her dress. "I am going away," she said. "They are angry with me at Sleepy Hollow. I have done wrong. I am not a bit surprised. I'm going away, so as not to cause them any more trouble." "Oh, law, now, Miss! but they'll fret to part with you." "No they won't. Anyhow, it isn't your affair. I'm going away as soon as I possibly can. Can you tell me where the nearest railway station is?" "There's none closer than Everton, and that's a matter of five mile from here." "I must get there as quickly as possible. What road shall I take?" "Do you think, Miss, I'd let a pretty young lady like you trape the lanes in the dead of night? No, no; carrier goes between two and three in the morning. You might go with him, if you must go." "That is a good thought. Where does the carrier live?" "Three doors from here. I'll run round presently and tell him to call." "Thank you. Do you think nine-and-fourpence-halfpenny will take me to Bath?" "To Bath, Miss? It might, if you condescended to third class." "Third class will do very well. Did you ever hear Polly Maybright speak of an aunt of hers, a Mrs. Cameron?" Mrs. Ricketts, whose back was half turned to Flower while she shut and locked the box out of which she had taken the precious nine-and-fourpence-halfpenny, now sprang to her feet, and began to speak in a tone of great excitement. "Did I hear of her?" she exclaimed. "Did I hear of the woman--for lady she ain't--what turned my Maggie out of her good place, and near broke Miss Polly's heart? Don't mention Mrs. Cameron, please, Miss Flower, for talk of her I won't; set eyes on her I wouldn't, no, not if I was to receive a pound for it!" "You needn't get so excited," said Flower; "you have not got to see Polly's aunt; only I thought perhaps you could give me her address, for I am going to her to-morrow." "I wouldn't, Miss, if I was you." "Yes, you would if you were me. What is Mrs. Cameron's address?" "I don't know as I can rightly tell you, Miss." "Yes, you must. I see you know it quite well." "Well then, well then--you won't like her a bit, Miss Flower." "What's her address?" "Jasper Street; I think it's Jasper Street." "And the number? She doesn't live in the whole of Jasper Street." "Now, was it a one and a six or a one and a seven?" queried Mrs. Ricketts. "Oh, Miss! if I was you, I wouldn't go near her; but I think her number is a one and a seven." "Seventeen, you mean." "Yes, that's it; I was never great at counting." _ |
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