Read Online After the Armistice Ball by Catriona McPherson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Catriona McPherson
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different jeweller, that a callow apprentice got his hands on them and blew the whistle.’
‘Well, not quite,’ said Cara.
I thought furiously, kicking into the path with the toe of my boot, but I could make no headway with this. Cara was chewing her lip and looking at me out of the corner of her eye. Suddenly she seemed to make up her mind and spoke again.
‘I was having them valued to sell,’ she said quietly. ‘I rather think that’s what brought the jeweller to his senses. And I’ve simply got to talk to someone about it before I burst.’
I was nodding, trying not to look too eager.
‘But you must promise not to tell anyone,’ Cara went on. ‘Oh Lord, listen to me! I’ve always hated that, haven’t you? I promise not to tell anyone, and then tell you not to tell anyone, and you’ll extract the same promise from whoever you tell . . .’ She sounded almost hysterical.
Just then we were forced to abandon the conversation to negotiate a birch sapling which had fallen most inconveniently across the path. It was slim enough for us to step over, but we had to concentrate on keeping our skirts clear of the up-thrusting branches and so I had a little time to think. My questions, none of which I could possibly have asked her out loud, were: first, why in heaven’s name with marriage to Alec Osborne weeks away was she planning to sell the diamonds she was surely to wear at her wedding; second, what could she possibly need the money for; third and most important, why on earth had she told her mother about it? Had it been me, I should have bribed the jeweller with everything I owned, and then simply slipped the things back into the bank and kept my head down.
Over the tree at last, we patted ourselves down and regarded one another.
‘You poor dear,’ I said at last. And I meant it. Mrs Duffy was not someone I should care to cross, unconnected and unbeholden as I was. I could hardly imagine Cara revealing to her mother not only that she had been planning to offload the famous collection for cash – and how did she manage to get them out of the bank, anyway? – but that the family treasure was Woolworth’s best.
Cara was shaking her head and spoke in a very calm voice.
‘Please forget I said anything at all. It’s just that I’m so very confused and I don’t know who to turn to –’ She broke off, shook her head again, then repeated even more firmly: ‘Please just forget I spoke. It’s probably nothing.’
We were just emerging from the wood then, and we could see across a stretch of parkland the coloured frocks of the ladies on the croquet lawn, and a short procession of dark-suited footmen carrying tea trays across to a ring of chairs where Alec Osborne and Daisy were seated, with Silas in turned-down waders looking like Dick Whittington standing between them. My heart sank. Tea outside in summer one must learn to put up with, but this early in the spring one ought really to be able to count on a crackling fire and an armchair; Daisy has gone terribly hearty and Scotch in some ways over the years. Still, I could see a footman on his way with a pile of rugs and at least the tea would be hot. Cara, beside me, laughed suddenly.
‘Silly old me with my wedding nerves,’ she said, unconvincingly.
‘More than likely,’ I said, unconvinced.
‘Although to be honest I don’t care how awful the wedding is, as long as it actually happens and isn’t called off.’ She had lost me again. Why should the wedding be called off? Were the diamonds her dowry and Alec unlikely to take her without them? But then why should she sell them? To get rid of him? If so, it had not worked, for he didn’t look like jilting her. What was going on? I forced myself to pay attention to what she was saying.
‘I don’t say that I shall lock myself in a tower and pine to death if it all falls through, but I am very keen to be good and married, and no going back.’
I looked at the distant figure of Alec Osborne, lying
‘Well, not quite,’ said Cara.
I thought furiously, kicking into the path with the toe of my boot, but I could make no headway with this. Cara was chewing her lip and looking at me out of the corner of her eye. Suddenly she seemed to make up her mind and spoke again.
‘I was having them valued to sell,’ she said quietly. ‘I rather think that’s what brought the jeweller to his senses. And I’ve simply got to talk to someone about it before I burst.’
I was nodding, trying not to look too eager.
‘But you must promise not to tell anyone,’ Cara went on. ‘Oh Lord, listen to me! I’ve always hated that, haven’t you? I promise not to tell anyone, and then tell you not to tell anyone, and you’ll extract the same promise from whoever you tell . . .’ She sounded almost hysterical.
Just then we were forced to abandon the conversation to negotiate a birch sapling which had fallen most inconveniently across the path. It was slim enough for us to step over, but we had to concentrate on keeping our skirts clear of the up-thrusting branches and so I had a little time to think. My questions, none of which I could possibly have asked her out loud, were: first, why in heaven’s name with marriage to Alec Osborne weeks away was she planning to sell the diamonds she was surely to wear at her wedding; second, what could she possibly need the money for; third and most important, why on earth had she told her mother about it? Had it been me, I should have bribed the jeweller with everything I owned, and then simply slipped the things back into the bank and kept my head down.
Over the tree at last, we patted ourselves down and regarded one another.
‘You poor dear,’ I said at last. And I meant it. Mrs Duffy was not someone I should care to cross, unconnected and unbeholden as I was. I could hardly imagine Cara revealing to her mother not only that she had been planning to offload the famous collection for cash – and how did she manage to get them out of the bank, anyway? – but that the family treasure was Woolworth’s best.
Cara was shaking her head and spoke in a very calm voice.
‘Please forget I said anything at all. It’s just that I’m so very confused and I don’t know who to turn to –’ She broke off, shook her head again, then repeated even more firmly: ‘Please just forget I spoke. It’s probably nothing.’
We were just emerging from the wood then, and we could see across a stretch of parkland the coloured frocks of the ladies on the croquet lawn, and a short procession of dark-suited footmen carrying tea trays across to a ring of chairs where Alec Osborne and Daisy were seated, with Silas in turned-down waders looking like Dick Whittington standing between them. My heart sank. Tea outside in summer one must learn to put up with, but this early in the spring one ought really to be able to count on a crackling fire and an armchair; Daisy has gone terribly hearty and Scotch in some ways over the years. Still, I could see a footman on his way with a pile of rugs and at least the tea would be hot. Cara, beside me, laughed suddenly.
‘Silly old me with my wedding nerves,’ she said, unconvincingly.
‘More than likely,’ I said, unconvinced.
‘Although to be honest I don’t care how awful the wedding is, as long as it actually happens and isn’t called off.’ She had lost me again. Why should the wedding be called off? Were the diamonds her dowry and Alec unlikely to take her without them? But then why should she sell them? To get rid of him? If so, it had not worked, for he didn’t look like jilting her. What was going on? I forced myself to pay attention to what she was saying.
‘I don’t say that I shall lock myself in a tower and pine to death if it all falls through, but I am very keen to be good and married, and no going back.’
I looked at the distant figure of Alec Osborne, lying
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