The Talisman Ring (3 page)

‘Murder!’ exclaimed Eustacie. ‘
Voyons
, do you mean he killed someone in a duel?’

‘No. Not in a duel.’

‘But, Tristram,’ said the Beau gently, ‘you must not forget that it was never proved that Ludovic was the man who shot Matthew Plunkett. For my part I did not believe it possible then, and I still do not.’

‘Very handsome of you, but the circumstances were too damning,’ replied Shield. ‘Remember that I myself heard the shot that must have killed Plunkett not ten minutes after I had parted from Ludovic.’

‘But I,’ said the Beau, languidly polishing his quizzing-glass, ‘prefer to believe Ludovic’s own story, that it was an owl he shot at.’

‘Shot – but missed!’ said Shield. ‘Yet I have watched Ludovic shoot the pips out of a playing-card at twenty yards.’

‘Oh, admitted, Tristram, admitted, but on that particular night I think Ludovic was not entirely sober, was he?’

Eustacie struck her hands together impatiently. ‘But tell me, one of you! What did he do, my cousin Ludovic?’

The Beau tossed back the ruffles from his hand, and dipped his finger and thumb in his snuff-box. ‘Well, Tristram,’ he said with his glinting smile. ‘You know more about it than I do. Are you going to tell her?’

‘It is not an edifying story,’ Shield said. ‘Why do you want to hear it?’

‘Because I think perhaps my cousin Ludovic is of this family the most romantic person!’ replied Eustacie.

‘Oh, romantic!’ said Sir Tristram, turning away with a shrug of the shoulders.

The Beau fobbed his snuff-box. ‘Romantic?’ he said meditatively. ‘No, I do not think Ludovic was romantic. A little rash, perhaps. He was a gamester – whence the disasters which befell him. He lost a very large sum of money one night at the Cocoa-Tree to a man who lived at Furze House, not two miles from here.’

‘No one lives at Furze House,’ interrupted Eustacie.

‘Not now,’ agreed the Beau. ‘Three years ago Sir Matthew Plunkett lived there. But Sir Matthew – three years ago – was shot in the Longshaw Spinney, and his widow removed from the neighbourhood.’

‘Did my cousin Ludovic shoot him?’

‘That, my dear Eustacie, is a matter of opinion. You will get one answer from Tristram, and another from me.’

‘But why?’ she demanded. ‘Not just because he had lost money to him! That, after all, is not such a great matter – unless perhaps he was quite ruined?’

‘Oh, by no means! He did lose a large sum to him, however, and Sir Matthew, being a person of – let us say indifferent breeding – was ill-mannered enough to demand a pledge in security before he would continue playing. Of course, one should never play with Cits, but poor dear Ludovic was always so headstrong. The game was piquet, and both were in their cups. Ludovic took from his finger a certain ring, and gave it to Sir Matthew as a pledge – to be redeemed, naturally. It was a talisman ring of great antiquity which had come to Ludovic through his mother, who was the last of a much older house than ours.’

Eustacie stopped him. ‘Please, I do not know what is a talisman ring.’

‘Just a golden ring with figures engraved upon it. This of Ludovic’s was, as I have said, very old. The characters on it were supposed to be magical. It should, according to ancient belief, have protected him from any harm. More important, it was an heirloom. I don’t know its precise value. Tristram, you are a judge of such things – you must make him show you his collection, Eustacie – what was the value of the ring?’

‘I don’t know,’ answered Shield curtly. ‘It was very old – perhaps priceless.’

‘Such a rash creature, poor Ludovic!’ sighed the Beau. ‘I believe there was no stopping him – was there, Tristram?’

‘No.’

Eustacie turned towards Shield. ‘But were you there, then?’

‘Yes, I was there.’

‘But no one, not even Tristram, could manage Ludovic in his wilder moods,’ explained the Beau. ‘He pledged the ring, and continued to lose. Sir Matthew, with what one cannot but feel to have been a lamentable want of taste, left the Cocoa-Tree with the ring upon his finger. To redeem it Ludovic was forced to go to the Jews – ah, that means money-lenders, my dear!’

‘There was nothing new in that,’ said Shield. ‘Ludovic had been in the Jews’ hands since he came down from Oxford – and before.’

‘Like so many of us,’ murmured the Beau.

‘And did he get the money from the Jews?’ asked Eustacie.

‘Oh yes,’ replied the Beau, ‘but the matter was not so easily settled. When Ludovic called upon Plunkett to redeem the ring our ingenious friend pretended that the bargain had been quite misunderstood, that he had in fact staked his guineas against the ring, and won it outright. He would not give it up, nor could anyone but Tristram be found who had been sober enough to vouch for the truth of Ludovic’s version of the affair.’

Eustacie’s eyes flashed. ‘I am not at all surprised that Ludovic killed this
canaille
! He was without honour!’

The Beau played with his quizzing-glass. ‘People who collect objects of rarity, my dear Eustacie, will often, so I believe, go to quite unheard-of lengths to acquire the prize they covet.’

‘But you!’ said Eustacie, looking fiercely at Sir Tristram. ‘You knew the truth!’

‘Unfortunately,’ replied Sir Tristram, ‘Plunkett did not wait for my ruling. He retired into the country – to Furze House, in fact – and somewhat unwisely refused to see Ludovic.’

‘Did Grandpère know of this?’ Eustacie asked.

‘Dear me, no!’ said the Beau. ‘Sylvester and Ludovic were so rarely on amicable terms. And then there was that little matter of Ludovic’s indebtedness to the Jews. One can hardly blame Ludovic for not taking Sylvester into his confidence. However, Ludovic came home to this house, bringing Tristram, with the intention of confronting Plunkett with the one – er – reliable witness to the affair. But Plunkett was singularly elusive – not unnaturally, of course. When Ludovic called at Furze House he was never at home. One must admit that Ludovic was not precisely the man to accept such treatment patiently. And he was drinking rather heavily at that time, too. Discovering that Plunkett was to dine at a house in Slaugham upon the very day that he had been refused admittance to Furze House for the third time, he conceived the plan of waylaying him upon his return home, and forcing him to accept bills in exchange for the ring. Only Tristram, finding him gone from here, guessed what he would be at, and followed him.’

‘The boy was three parts drunk!’ said Sir Tristram over his shoulder.

‘I have no doubt he was in a very dangerous humour,’ agreed the Beau. ‘It has always been a source of wonderment to me how you persuaded him to relinquish his purpose and return home.’

‘I promised to see Plunkett in his stead,’ replied Shield. ‘Like a fool I let him take the path through the spinney.’

‘My dear fellow, no one could have expected you to have foreseen that Plunkett would return by that path,’ said the Beau gently.

‘On the contrary, if he came from Slaugham it was the most natural way for him to take,’ retorted Shield. ‘And we knew he was riding, not driving.’

‘So what happened?’ breathed Eustacie.

It was Shield who answered her. ‘Ludovic rode back through the Longshaw Spinney, while I went on towards Furze House. Not ten minutes after we had parted I heard a shot fired in the distance. At the time I made nothing of it: it might have been a poacher. Next morning Plunkett’s body was discovered in the spinney with a shot through the heart, and a crumpled handkerchief of Ludovic’s lying beside it.’

‘And the ring?’ Eustacie said quickly.

‘The ring was gone,’ said Shield. ‘There was money in Plunkett’s pockets, and a diamond pin in his cravat, but of the talisman ring no sign.’

‘And it has never been seen since,’ added the Beau.

‘By us, no!’ said Sir Tristram.

‘Yes, yes, I know that you think Ludovic has it,’ said the Beau, ‘but Ludovic swore he did not meet Plunkett that night, and I for one do not think that Ludovic was a liar. He admitted freely that he carried a pistol in his pocket, he even admitted that he had fired it – at an owl.’

‘Why should he not shoot this Plunkett?’ demanded Eustacie. ‘He deserved to be shot! I am very glad that he was shot!’

‘Possibly,’ said Sir Tristram in his driest tone, ‘but in England, whatever it may be in France, murder is a capital offence.’

‘But they did not hang him just for killing such a one as this Plunkett?’ said Eustacie, shocked.

‘No, because we got him out of the country before he could be arrested,’ Shield answered.

The Beau lifted his hand. ‘Sylvester and you got him out of the country,’ he corrected. ‘I had no hand in that, if you please.’

‘Had he stayed to face a trial nothing could have saved his neck.’

‘There I beg to differ from you, my dear Tristram,’ said the Beau calmly. ‘Had he been permitted to face his trial the truth might have been found out. When you – and Sylvester, of course – smuggled him out of the country you made him appear a murderer confessed.’

Sir Tristram was spared the necessity of answering by the entrance of Sylvester’s valet, who came to summon him to his great-uncle’s presence again. He went at once, a circumstance which provoked the Beau to murmur as the door closed behind him: ‘It is really most gratifying to see Tristram so complaisant.’

Eustacie paid no heed to this, but said: ‘Where is my cousin Ludovic now?’

‘No one knows, my dear. He has vanished.’

‘And you do not do anything to help him, any of you!’ she said indignantly.

‘Well, dear cousin, it is a little difficult, is it not?’ replied the Beau. ‘After that well-meaning but fatal piece of meddling, what could one do?’

‘I think,’ said Eustacie with a darkling brow, ‘that Tristram did not like my cousin Ludovic.’

The Beau laughed. ‘How clever of you, my dear!’

She looked at him. ‘What did you mean when you said he must show me his collection?’ she asked directly.

He raised his brows in exaggerated surprise. ‘Why, what should I mean? Merely that he has quite a notable collection. I am not a judge, but I have sometimes felt that I should like to see that collection myself.’

‘Will he not let you, then?’

‘Oh, but with the greatest goodwill in the world!’ said the Beau, smiling. ‘But one has to remember that collectors do not always show one quite
all
their treasures, you know!’

Sir Tristram, standing once more beside Sylvester’s bed, was a little shocked to perceive already a change in him. Sylvester was still propped up by a number of pillows, and he still wore his wig, but he seemed suddenly to have grown frailer and more withdrawn. Only his eyes were very much alive, startlingly dark in his waxen face.

Sir Tristram said in his deep voice: ‘I’m sorry, sir: I believe my visit has too much exhausted you.’

‘Thank you, I am the best judge of what exhausts me,’ replied Sylvester. ‘I shan’t last much longer, I admit, but by God, I’ll last long enough to settle my affairs! Are you going to marry that chit?’

‘Yes, I’ll marry her,’ said Shield. ‘Will that content you?’

‘I’ve a fancy to see the knot well tied,’ said Sylvester. ‘Fortunately, she’s not a Papist. What do you make of her?’

Sir Tristram hesitated. ‘I hardly know. She’s very young.’

‘All the better, as long as her husband has the moulding of her.’

‘You may be right, but I wish you had broached this matter earlier.’

‘I’m always right. What did you want to do? Come a-courting her?’ jibed Sylvester. ‘Poor girl!’

‘You are forcing her to a marriage she may easily regret. She is romantic.’

‘Fiddlededee!’ said Sylvester. ‘Most women are, but they get the better of it in time. Is that damned mincing puppy-dog downstairs?’

‘Yes,’ said Shield.

‘He’ll put you in the shade if he can,’ said Sylvester warningly.

Sir Tristram looked contemptuous. ‘Well, if you expect me to vie with his graces you’ll be disappointed, sir.’

‘I expect nothing but folly from any of my family!’ snapped Sylvester.

Sir Tristram picked up a vinaigrette from the table by the bed and held it under his great-uncle’s nose. ‘You’re tiring yourself, sir.’

‘Damn you!’ said Sylvester faintly. He lifted his hand with a perceptible effort and took the bottle, and lay in silence for a time, breathing its aromatic fumes. After a minute or two his lips twitched in a wry smile, and he murmured: ‘I would give much to have been able to see the three of you together. What did you talk of?’

‘Ludovic,’ replied Shield with a certain cool deliberation.

Sylvester’s hand clenched suddenly; the smile left his face. He said scarcely above a whisper: ‘I thought you knew his name is never to be mentioned in this house! Do you count me dead already that you should dare?’

‘You’re not a greater object of awe to me on your deathbed, Sylvester, than you have ever been,’ said Shield.

Sylvester’s eyes flashed momentarily, but his sudden wrath vanished in a chuckle. ‘You’re an impudent dog, Tristram. Did you ever care for what I said?’

‘Very rarely,’ said Shield.

‘Quite right,’ approved Sylvester. ‘Damme, I always liked you for it! What have you been saying about the boy?’

‘Eustacie wanted to hear the story. Apparently you told her he was dead.’

‘He is dead to me,’ said Sylvester harshly. ‘Of what use to let her make a hero of him? You may depend upon it she would. Did you tell her?’

‘Basil told her.’

‘You should have stopped him.’ Sylvester lay frowning, his fingers plucking a little at the gorgeous coverlet. ‘Basil believed the boy’s story,’ he said abruptly.

‘I have never known why, sir.’

Sylvester flashed a glance at him. ‘You didn’t believe it, did you?’

‘Did any of us, save only Basil?’

‘He said we should have let him stand his trial. I wonder. I wonder.’

‘He was wrong. We did what we could for Ludovic when we shipped him to France. Why tease yourself now?’

‘You never liked him, did you?’

‘You have only to add that I am something of a collector of antique jewellery, Sylvester, and you will have said very much what Basil has been saying, far more delicately, below stairs.’

‘Don’t be a fool!’ said Sylvester irritably. ‘I told you he’d do what he could to spoil your chances. Send him about his business!’

‘You will have to excuse me, sir. This is not my house.’

‘No, by God, and nor is it his!’ said Sylvester, shaken by a gust of anger. ‘The estate will be in ward when I die, and I have not made him a trustee!’

‘Then you are doing him an injustice, sir. Who are your trustees?’

‘My lawyer, Pickering, and yourself,’ answered Sylvester.

‘Good God, what induced you to name me?’ said Shield. ‘I have not the smallest desire to manage your affairs!’

‘I trust you, and I don’t trust him,’ said Sylvester. ‘Moreover,’ he added with a spark of malice, ‘I’ve a fancy to make you run in my harness even if I can only do it by dying. Pour me out a little of that cordial.’

Sir Tristram obeyed his behest, and held the glass to Sylvester’s lips. Perversely, Sylvester chose to hold it himself, but it was apparent that even this slight effort was almost too great a tax on his strength.

‘Weak as a cat!’ he complained, letting Shield take the glass again. ‘You’d better go downstairs before that fellow has time to poison Eustacie’s mind. I’ll have you married in this very room just as soon as I can get the parson here. Send Jarvis to me; I’m tired.’

When Sir Tristram reached the drawing-room again the tea-table had been brought in. Beau Lavenham inquired after his great-uncle, and upon Sir Tristram’s saying that he found him very much weaker, shrugged slightly, and said: ‘I shall believe Sylvester is dead when I see him in his coffin. I hope you did not forget to tell him that I am dutifully in attendance?’

‘He knows you are here,’ said Shield, taking a cup and saucer from Eustacie, ‘but I doubt whether he has strength enough to see any more visitors to-night.’

‘My dear Tristram, are you trying to be tactful?’ inquired the Beau, amused. ‘I am quite sure Sylvester said that he would be damned if he would see that frippery fellow Basil.

‘No, no; it cannot be my taste in dress which makes him dislike me so much, for that is almost impeccable,’ said the Beau, lovingly smoothing a wrinkle from his satin sleeve. ‘I can only think that it is because I stand next in the succession to poor Ludovic, and that is really no fault of mine.’

‘For all we know you may be further removed than that,’ said Tristram. ‘Ludovic may be married by now.’

‘Very true,’ agreed the Beau, sipping his tea. ‘And in some ways a son of Ludovic’s might best solve the vexed question of who is to reign in Sylvester’s stead.’

‘The estate is left in trust.’

‘From your gloomy expression, Tristram, I infer that you are one of the trustees,’ remarked the Beau. ‘Am I right?’

‘Oh yes, you’re right. Pickering is joined with me. I told Sylvester he should have named you.’

‘You are too modest, my dear fellow. He could not have made a better choice.’

‘I am not modest,’ replied Shield. ‘I don’t want the charge of another man’s estate; that is all.’

The Beau laughed, and setting down his tea-cup turned to Eustacie. ‘It has occurred to me that I am here merely in the rôle of chaperon to a betrothed couple,’ he said. ‘I do not feel that I am cut out for such a rôle, so I shall go away now. Dear cousin! –’ He raised her hand to his lips. ‘Tristram, my felicitations. If we do not meet before we shall certainly meet at Sylvester’s funeral.’

There was a short silence after he had gone. Sir Tristram snuffed a candle which was guttering, and glanced down at Eustacie, sitting still and apparently pensive by the fire. As though aware of his look, she raised her eyes and gazed at him in the intent, considering way which was so peculiarly her own.

‘Sylvester wants to see us married before he dies,’ Shield said.

‘Basil does not think he will die.’

‘I believe he is nearer to it than we know. What did the doctor say?’

‘He said he was very irreligious, and altogether insupportable,’ replied Eustacie literally.

Sir Tristram laughed, surprising his cousin, who had not imagined that his countenance could lighten so suddenly. ‘I dare say he might, but was that all he said?’

‘No, he said also that it was useless for him to come any more to see Grandpère, because when he said he should have gruel Grandpère at once sent for a green goose and a bottle of burgundy. The doctor said that it would kill him, and
du vrai
, I think he is piqued because it did not kill Grandpère at all. So perhaps Grandpère will not die, but on the contrary get quite well again.’

‘I am afraid it is only his will which keeps him alive.’ Shield moved towards the fire and said, looking curiously down at Eustacie: ‘Are you fond of him? Will it make you unhappy if he dies?’

‘No,’ she replied frankly. ‘I am a little fond of him, but not very much, because he is not fond of anybody, he. It is not his wish that one should be fond of him.’

‘He brought you out of France,’ Shield reminded her.

‘Yes, but I did not want to be brought out of France,’ said Eustacie bitterly.

‘Perhaps you did not then, but you are surely glad to be in England now?’

‘I am not at all glad, but, on the contrary, very sorry,’ said Eustacie. ‘If he had left me with my uncle I should have gone to Vienna, which would have been not only very gay, but also romantic, because my uncle fled from France with all his family, in a berline, just like the King and Queen.’

‘Not quite like the King and Queen if he succeeded in crossing the frontier,’ said Shield.

‘I will tell you something,’ said Eustacie, incensed. ‘Whenever I recount to you an interesting story you make me an answer which is like – which is like those snuffers –
enfin
!’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Shield, rather startled.

‘Well, I am sorry too,’ said Eustacie, getting up from the sofa, ‘because it makes it very difficult to converse. I shall wish you a good night,
mon cousin
.’

If she expected him to try to detain her she was disappointed. He merely bowed formally and opened the door for her to pass out of the room.

Five minutes later her maid, hurrying to her bedchamber in answer to a somewhat vehement tug at the bell-rope, found her seated before her mirror, stormily regarding her own reflection.

‘I will undress, and I will go to bed,’ announced Eustacie.

‘Yes, miss.’

‘And I wish, moreover, that I had gone to Madame Guillotine
in
a tumbril,
alone
!’

Country-bred Lucy, a far more appreciative audience than Sir Tristram, gave a shudder, and said: ‘Oh, miss, don’t speak of such a thing! To think of you having your head cut off, and you so young and beautiful!’

Eustacie stepped out of her muslin gown, and pushed her arms into the wrapper Lucy was holding. ‘And I should have worn a white dress, and even the
sans-culottes
would have been sorry to have seen me in a tumbril!’

Lucy had no very clear idea who the
sans-culottes
might be, but she assented readily, and added, in all sincerity, that her mistress would have looked lovely.

‘Well, I think I should have looked nice,’ said Eustacie candidly. ‘Only it is no use thinking of that, because instead I am going to be married.’

Lucy paused in her task of taking the pins out of her mistress’s hair to clasp her hands, and breathe ecstatically: ‘Yes, miss, and if I may make so bold, I do wish you so happy!’

‘When one is forced into a marriage infinitely distasteful one does not hope for happiness,’ said Eustacie in a hollow voice.

‘Good gracious, miss, his lordship surely isn’t a-going to force you?’ gasped Lucy. ‘I never heard such a thing!’

‘Oh!’ said Eustacie. ‘Then it
is
true what I have heard in France, that English ladies are permitted to choose for themselves whom they will marry!’ She added despondently: ‘But I have not seen anyone whom I should like to have for my husband, so it does not signify in the least.’

‘No, miss, but – but don’t you like Sir Tristram, miss? I’m sure he’s a very nice gentleman, and would make anyone a good husband.’

‘I do not want a good husband who is thirty-one years old and who has no conversation!’ said Eustacie, her lip trembling.

Lucy put down the hair-brush. ‘There, miss, you’re feeling vapourish, and no wonder, with everything come upon you sudden, like it has! No one can’t force you to marry against your wishes – not in England, they can’t, whatever they may do in France, which everyone knows is a nasty murdering place!’

Eustacie dried her eyes and said: ‘No, but if I do not marry my cousin I shall have to live with a horrid chaperon when my grandpapa dies, and that would be much, much worse. One must resign oneself.’

Downstairs Sir Tristram had just reached the same conclusion. Since, sooner or later, he would have to marry someone, and since he had determined never again to commit the folly of falling in love, his bride might as well be Eustacie as another. She seemed to be tiresomely volatile, but no sillier than any other young woman of his acquaintance. She was of good birth (though he thought her French blood to be deplored), and in spite of the fact that if he had a preference it was for fair women, he was bound to admit that she was very pretty. He could have wished she were older, but it was possible that Sylvester, whose experience was undoubtedly wide, knew what he was talking about when he said that her extreme youth was in her favour. In fact, one must resign oneself.

Upon the following morning the betrothed couple met at the breakfast-table and took fresh stock of each other. Sir Tristram, whose mulberry evening-dress had not met with Eustacie’s approval, had had the unwitting tact to put on a riding-suit, in which severe garb he looked his best; and Eustacie, who had decided that, if she must marry her cousin, it was only proper that he should be stimulated to admiration of her charms, had arrayed herself in a
bergère
gown of charming colour and design. Each at first glance felt moderately pleased with the other, a complacent mood which lasted for perhaps ten minutes, at the end of which time Sir Tristram was contemplating with grim misgiving the prospect of encountering vivacity at the breakfast-table for the rest of his life, and Eustacie was wondering whether her betrothed was capable of uttering anything but the most damping of monosyllables.