Read Online After the Armistice Ball by Catriona McPherson - Free Book Online
Authors: Catriona McPherson
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your poor mother must be distracted by all this trouble about the jewels. But I should love to hear about your wedding. Where are you going afterwards? Where are you to settle?’
‘I can’t stop thinking about the jewels either,’ said Cara. ‘Everyone is being so peculiar. Mummy, of course, is bereft. Clemence is as Clemence-like as ever, although I shouldn’t say it about my own sister, I suppose. And Daddy just doesn’t say anything at all. How I wish it hadn’t come out until after I was married.’
‘How did it? Come out, I mean?’ I knew how it had come out, of course. Hugh had told me, but I needed to start her talking.
‘Haven’t you heard? Gosh, I thought everyone knew absolutely everything. I can hear whispering behind my back everywhere I go. It makes it almost a relief to be here with those dreadful little women for a few days, and I expect by the time Monday comes they will be buzzing with it too.’
I said nothing. I was quivering for more, but if I prodded her too sharply she might retreat with distaste. My recent experience with Daisy had shown me, however, that if one keeps perfectly quiet (even if one is only keeping quiet because one is utterly lost and therefore incapable of sensible speech) someone else will say something. It worked again.
‘I took them out of the bank to have them valued, and the poor jeweller’s apprentice who was inspecting them, as a special treat and with his boss breathing down his neck, took one look through his little monocle and almost died of fright.’
‘He must have, poor lamb,’ I said. And then I ventured, ‘Do you have to have them valued every so often then? I’m just being nosy because I have nothing so sumptuous of my own. Hugh’s insurers don’t force us to submit my little baubles for regular inspection.’ She seemed to find nothing strange in this. Another important lesson: say nothing at all, or say much too much – it’s the unadorned question that raises the hackles.
‘No, it wasn’t an insurance valuation, as it happens,’ said Cara, with a small suggestion of laughter in her voice. ‘I’ve no idea how often those have to be done. But I bet my eyes they just stamp the form and sign it and never look at the things. Nobody ever does. I bet more than half the “jewels” you see are fakes, no matter how closely guarded and heavily insured they are.’ She was even nearer laughter now, but a weary kind of laughter which suggested to me that she was ready to tell all to anyone just for sheer relief.
‘The last time they were all out together was here, you know. Since then they’ve been out of the bank once to have pastes made and twice to be cleaned. All at different times, too, because our usual jeweller doesn’t care to have the whole lot in his safe at once. Do you see what I’m saying?’
‘Yes, but there’s something bothering me about that –’ I began, then I really did see what she was saying.
‘He cleaned them all,’ said Cara, burbling with a laughter that almost did away with the weariness in her voice, ‘solemnly refusing to acknowledge that they were worthless. And then he made pastes of pastes, again solemnly going along with it. Such excruciating discretion. And after the whole thing came out, it was clear that he does it all the time. It’s killing.’
I could see the funny side of this, of course, and we smiled ruefully for a moment before I spoke again.
‘I wonder what happened to them,’ I said, carefully, probing. Again Cara spoke as though letting out the words was a relief of some unbearable pressure.
‘Well, it must have been someone who had time in advance to have copies made for the substitution,’ she said. ‘Someone who had seen them before. You see? Someone we know.’ Much as I loathed to admit it, she was making perfect sense.
‘And I suppose,’ I said slowly, ‘I suppose it’s a mere fluke that you found out at all. That you decided to have them valued, and took them to a
‘I can’t stop thinking about the jewels either,’ said Cara. ‘Everyone is being so peculiar. Mummy, of course, is bereft. Clemence is as Clemence-like as ever, although I shouldn’t say it about my own sister, I suppose. And Daddy just doesn’t say anything at all. How I wish it hadn’t come out until after I was married.’
‘How did it? Come out, I mean?’ I knew how it had come out, of course. Hugh had told me, but I needed to start her talking.
‘Haven’t you heard? Gosh, I thought everyone knew absolutely everything. I can hear whispering behind my back everywhere I go. It makes it almost a relief to be here with those dreadful little women for a few days, and I expect by the time Monday comes they will be buzzing with it too.’
I said nothing. I was quivering for more, but if I prodded her too sharply she might retreat with distaste. My recent experience with Daisy had shown me, however, that if one keeps perfectly quiet (even if one is only keeping quiet because one is utterly lost and therefore incapable of sensible speech) someone else will say something. It worked again.
‘I took them out of the bank to have them valued, and the poor jeweller’s apprentice who was inspecting them, as a special treat and with his boss breathing down his neck, took one look through his little monocle and almost died of fright.’
‘He must have, poor lamb,’ I said. And then I ventured, ‘Do you have to have them valued every so often then? I’m just being nosy because I have nothing so sumptuous of my own. Hugh’s insurers don’t force us to submit my little baubles for regular inspection.’ She seemed to find nothing strange in this. Another important lesson: say nothing at all, or say much too much – it’s the unadorned question that raises the hackles.
‘No, it wasn’t an insurance valuation, as it happens,’ said Cara, with a small suggestion of laughter in her voice. ‘I’ve no idea how often those have to be done. But I bet my eyes they just stamp the form and sign it and never look at the things. Nobody ever does. I bet more than half the “jewels” you see are fakes, no matter how closely guarded and heavily insured they are.’ She was even nearer laughter now, but a weary kind of laughter which suggested to me that she was ready to tell all to anyone just for sheer relief.
‘The last time they were all out together was here, you know. Since then they’ve been out of the bank once to have pastes made and twice to be cleaned. All at different times, too, because our usual jeweller doesn’t care to have the whole lot in his safe at once. Do you see what I’m saying?’
‘Yes, but there’s something bothering me about that –’ I began, then I really did see what she was saying.
‘He cleaned them all,’ said Cara, burbling with a laughter that almost did away with the weariness in her voice, ‘solemnly refusing to acknowledge that they were worthless. And then he made pastes of pastes, again solemnly going along with it. Such excruciating discretion. And after the whole thing came out, it was clear that he does it all the time. It’s killing.’
I could see the funny side of this, of course, and we smiled ruefully for a moment before I spoke again.
‘I wonder what happened to them,’ I said, carefully, probing. Again Cara spoke as though letting out the words was a relief of some unbearable pressure.
‘Well, it must have been someone who had time in advance to have copies made for the substitution,’ she said. ‘Someone who had seen them before. You see? Someone we know.’ Much as I loathed to admit it, she was making perfect sense.
‘And I suppose,’ I said slowly, ‘I suppose it’s a mere fluke that you found out at all. That you decided to have them valued, and took them to a
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