A Ring of Rubies. Meade L. T.
might have been heard to drop.
“If Geoffrey Rutherford was more eccentric in one particular than another,” continued Mr Gray, clearing his voice, “it was on the subject of wills. In the course of his long life he made several – to each of these wills he added codicils. The wills and the codicils were all peculiar, but none, none so peculiar as the last. It is with regard to the last will and testament of my esteemed friend that I am now going to speak.”
“You will read us the will, perhaps, Mr Gray,” interposed an anxious-looking relative.
Mr Gray gave her a long glance.
“Under the circumstances, no,” he said. “My friend’s last will is long, and full of technicalities. It is without a flaw anywhere; but to hear it read would be tedious, and you must excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, if I refuse to gratify what can only, at the present moment at least, be regarded as idle curiosity. For the will as it now stands affects no one present.”
“It is scarcely fair not to read it, however,” said the red-faced lady. “After a funeral the will is always read. This is, I think, ordained by law, and ought to be enforced.”
“I am sorry,” repeated Mr Gray, taking no notice of the old lady’s remark, which made her frightfully irate. “It would be tedious to read the will, so I decline to do so. I have, however, a letter from my late client, which embodies the principal provisions in it, and that I shall be happy to read aloud for the benefit of every one present.”
Here Mr Gray cleared his throat, and putting on his glasses, began to read.
Cousin Geoffrey’s letter ran as follows: —
“My dear Gray:
“The more I think over our interview to-day the better pleased I am at the arrangement we have arrived at. You know how particular I am about my wills. I regard them from a serious and even an artistic point of view. I look upon a will as the crowning stone of a man’s life, a crown to be placed on the shrine of his memory, a monument to hand down his name to the ages. My last will pleases me much. It is finished in all its details. It is, I may venture to say, truly original. I do not think it has a flaw in its construction, and, when carried into force, it will be a means of diffusing happiness and adding to the benefit of the human race.
“As you are well aware, Gray, I am a rich man; the rich have many trials: they are the envied of the poor, and that in itself is disagreeable; they are also much worried by relations. I have never married; there is, literally, not a soul in the world belonging to me who bears my name, and yet I have relatives – many relatives. All my relations are kind, and solicitous for my welfare. When I am dead they will one and all express sorrow at my departure. There will be a goodly gathering of them at my funeral, and they will congregate afterwards at my house to hear my will read. I don’t wish my will to be read. You, as my only trustee, are to take the necessary legal steps with regard to it, but I don’t wish it to be read aloud to my relatives. As, however, they will be naturally curious to know in what way I dispose of my property, you may mention to them, in any manner you think fit, the following particulars:
“I have appointed in my will heirs to all my worldly estates, my property in lands and houses, in stocks and shares. The names of my heirs I have not thought fit to disclose; they may turn up at any time between the date of my death and five years after, and whenever they do appear on the scene, prepared to fulfil a condition which I have named, my property goes to them as appointed in my will.
“If, five years having gone by, the true heirs do not come to claim the property, one-half of it is to go to different charities named at full length in my will, and the other half is to be divided in equal shares among all my blood relations.
“Until the end of the five years, or until the true heirs appear, my property is to accumulate; my furniture, plate, valuable china, and jewels are to remain unsold.
“I have, however, given directions in my will that a certain small legacy is to be given without any delay to a young girl, the daughter of a relative.
“This girl came to me a week ago with a request that I should give her sufficient money to enable her to attend a school of art. I hate art schools; the word art, as applied to them, is a misnomer. I have my own views with regard to art – she is a mistress who must be wooed in a very different manner. This girl, Rosamund Lindley is her name, trod severely on my most cherished prejudices when she made her daring request.
“To show, however, that I bear her good-will, I leave her, and request that it may be given to her at once, the valuable ruby ring which belonged to my mother, and which for many years I wore myself. You will find the ring in my mother’s jewel-case, in drawer fifty, room eight, in the second story of this house.
“Rosamund Lindley and her mother may possibly attend my funeral. I hope they will. In that case, please give Rosamund the ruby ring in the presence of my other relatives, and, although I lay no command upon her in the matter, tell her, if she values the memory of old Geoffrey Rutherford, not to sell the ring.
“I am, my dear Gray, —
“Yours faithfully, —
“Geoffrey Rutherford.”
Immediately after reading the letter Mr Gray put his hand into his waistcoat pocket, and drew out a small, old-fashioned morocco case.
“You will like, ladies and gentlemen, to see the ruby ring,” he said, in his blandest tones.
Chapter Three
The Octagon Room
There was immediately a great buzz and clatter in the room. All the relatives rose in a body, and pressed round the table near which Mr Gray stood. My mother and I, surely the most interested persons present, were thus pushed quite into the background.
We had not a chance of seeing the ring until the other relatives had first gazed at it.
It was taken out of its velvet bed, and handed solemnly from one to another. I don’t think an individual praised it. The comments which reached my ears were somewhat as follows:
“What an old-fashioned shape!”
“Dear, dear, how clumsy!”
“The centre stone is large, but is it real? – I doubt it.”
A very morose-looking Scotchman pronounced the ring “no canny.” A lady near immediately took up the sentiment, and said that the gem had an evil look about it, and she was truly thankful that the ring was not left to her.
A gentleman, who I was told afterwards was a poet and wrote verses for the magazines, said that the ruby itself had an eye of fire, and if it were his he feared it would haunt him.
In short, one and all of the relatives expressed their scorn of the ring, and their utter contempt for Cousin Geoffrey. Not a woman in the room now spoke of him as a poor dear, nor a man as an eccentric but decidedly jolly sort of old boy. There were several muttered exclamations with regard to Cousin Geoffrey’s sanity, but no expression of affection came from a single pair of lips.
At last Mr Gray’s voice was distinguished, rising above the general din.
“If you will permit me, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I should be glad to show Miss Rosamund Lindley her property. Allow me, madam.” And he took the ring out of a sour-faced lady’s hand. Immediately all eyes were turned on me. I heard the stout person who had spoken of Cousin Geoffrey as a “poor dear,” pronounce me nothing but a chit of a girl. Notwithstanding this withering comment, I had, however, the strength of mind to come forward, and with outward calmness receive my property.
“Take all possible care of this ring, Miss Lindley,” said the lawyer. “If it has no other value, it is worth something as a curiosity. The setting of the gem is most uncommon.” Then he put the case containing the ring into my hand.
One by one the relatives now left the room, and my mother, the lawyer, and I found ourselves alone.
“If you will permit me,” said my mother in her gentle, charming sort of manner to Mr Gray, “I should like to go over Cousin Geoffrey’s house, and to look once