The Talisman Ring Read online

  ‘I don’t think it signifies what you wear if you are on your way to the scaffold,’ replied Sir Tristram, quite unappreciative of the picture his cousin was dwelling on with such evident admiration.

  She looked at him in surprise. ‘Don’t you? But consider! You would be very sorry for a young girl in a tumbril, dressed all in white, pale, but quite unafraid, and not attending to the canaille at all, but –’

  ‘I should be very sorry for anyone in a tumbril, whatever their age or sex or apparel,’ interrupted Sir Tristram.

  ‘You would be more sorry for a young girl – all alone, and perhaps bound,’ said Eustacie positively.

  ‘You wouldn’t be all alone. There would be a great many other people in the tumbril with you,’ said Sir Tristram.

  Eustacie eyed him with considerable displeasure. ‘In my tumbril there would not have been a great many other people,’ she said.

  Perceiving that argument on this point would be fruitless, Sir Tristram merely looked sceptical and refrained from speech.

  ‘A Frenchman,’ said Eustacie, ‘would understand at once.’

  ‘I am not a Frenchman,’ replied Sir Tristram.

  ‘Ça se voit!’ retorted Eustacie.

  Sir Tristram served himself from a dish of mutton steaks and cucumber.

  ‘The people whom I have met in England,’ said Eustacie after a short silence, ‘consider it very romantic that I was rescued from the Terror.’

  Her tone suggested strongly that he also ought to consider it romantic, but as he was fully aware that Sylvester had travelled to Paris some time before the start of the Terror, and had removed his granddaughter from France in the most unexciting way possible, he only replied: ‘I dare say.’

  ‘I know a family who escaped from Paris in a cart full of turnips,’ said Eustacie. ‘The soldiers stuck their bayonets into the turnips, too.’

  ‘I trust they did not also stick them into the family?’

  ‘No, but they might easily have done so. You do not at all realize what it is like in Paris now. One lives in constant anxiety. It is even dangerous to step out of doors.’

  ‘It must be a great relief to you to find yourself in Sussex.’

  She fixed her large eyes on his face, and said: ‘Yes, but – do you not like exciting things, mon cousin ?’

  ‘I do not like revolutions, if that is what you mean.’

  She shook her head. ‘Ah no, but romance, and – and adventure!’

  He smiled. ‘When I was eighteen I expect I did.’

  A depressed silence fell. ‘Grandpère says that you will make me a very good husband,’ said Eustacie presently.

  Taken by surprise, Shield replied stiffly: ‘I shall endeavour to do so, cousin.’

  ‘And I expect,’ said Eustacie, despondently inspecting a dish of damson tartlets, ‘that he is quite right. You look to me like a good husband.’

  ‘Indeed?’ said Sir Tristram, unreasonably annoyed by this remark. ‘I am sorry that I cannot return the compliment by telling you that you look like a good wife.’

  The gentle melancholy which had descended on Eustacie vanished. She dimpled delightfully, and said: ‘No, I don’t, do I? But do you think that I am pretty?’

  ‘Very,’ answered Shield in a damping tone.

  ‘Yes, so do I,’ said Eustacie. ‘In London I think I might have a great success, because I do not look like an Englishwoman, and I have noticed that the English think that foreigners are very épatantes.’

  ‘Unfortunately,’ said Sir Tristram, ‘London is becoming so full of French émigrés that I doubt whether you would find yourself in any way remarkable.’

  ‘I remember now,’ said Eustacie. ‘You do not like women.’

  Sir Tristram, uncomfortably aware of the footman behind his chair, cast a glance at his cousin’s empty plate, and got up. ‘Let us go into the drawing-room,’ he said. ‘This is hardly the place to discuss such – er – intimate matters!’

  Eustacie, who seemed to regard the servants as so many pieces of furniture, looked round in a puzzled way, but made no objection to leaving the dining-table. She accompanied Sir Tristram to the drawing-room, and said, almost before he had shut the door: ‘Tell me, do you mind very much that you are to marry me?’

  He answered in an annoyed voice: ‘My dear cousin, I do not know who told you that I dislike women, but it is a gross exaggeration.’

  ‘Yes, but do you mind?’

  ‘I should not be here if I minded.’

  ‘Truly? But everybody has to do what Grandpère tells them.’

  ‘Not quite everybody,’ said Shield. ‘Sylvester knows, however, that –’

  ‘You should not call your great-uncle Sylvester!’ interrupted Eustacie. ‘It is not at all respectful.’

  ‘My good child, the whole world has called him Sylvester for the past forty years!’

  ‘Oh!’ said Eustacie doubtfully. She sat down on a sofa upholstered in blue-and-gold striped satin, folded her hands, and looked expectantly at her suitor.

  He found this wide, innocent gaze a trifle disconcerting, but after a moment he said with a gleam of amusement: ‘There is an awkwardness in this situation, cousin, which I, alas, do not seem to be the man to overcome. You must forgive me if I appear to you to be lacking in sensibility. Sylvester has arranged a marriage of convenience for us, and allowed neither of us time to become in the least degree acquainted before we go to the altar.’

  ‘In France,’ replied Eustacie, ‘one is not acquainted with one’s betrothed, because it is not permitted that one should converse with him alone until one is married.’

  This remark certainly seemed to bear out Sylvester’s assurance that his granddaughter understood the nature of his arrangements. Sir Tristram said: ‘It would be absurd to pretend that either of us can feel for the other any of those passions which are ordinarily to be looked for in betrothed couples, but –’

  ‘Oh yes, it would !’ agreed Eustacie heartily.

  ‘Nevertheless,’ pursued Sir Tristram, ‘I believe such marriages as ours often prosper. You have accused me of disliking females, but believe me –’

  ‘I can see very well that you dislike females,’ interrupted Eustacie. ‘I ask myself why it is that you wish to be married.’

  He hesitated, and then answered bluntly: ‘Perhaps if I had a brother I should not wish it, but I am the last of my name, and I must not let it die with me. I shall count myself fortunate if you will consent to be my wife, and so far as it may lie in my power I will promise that you shall not have cause to regret it. May I tell Sylvester that we have agreed to join hands?’

  ‘Qu’importe? It is his command, and naturally he knows we shall be married. Do you think we shall be happy?’

  ‘I hope so, cousin.’

  ‘Yes, but I must tell you that you are not at all the sort of man I thought I should marry. It is very disheartening. I thought that in England one was permitted to fall in love and marry of one’s own choice. Now I see that it is just the same as it is in France.’

  He said with a touch of compassion: ‘You are certainly very young to be married, but when Sylvester dies you will be alone, and your situation would be awkward indeed.’

  ‘That is quite true,’ nodded Eustacie. ‘I have considered it well. And I dare say it will not be so very bad, our marriage, if I can have a house in town, and perhaps a lover.’

  ‘Perhaps a what ?’ demanded Shield, in a voice that made her jump.

  ‘Well, in France it is quite comme il faut – in fact, quite à la mode – to have a lover when one is married,’ she explained, not in the least abashed.

  ‘In England,’ said Sir Tristram, ‘it is neither comme il faut nor à la mode.’

  ‘Vraiment? I do not yet know what is the fashion in England, but naturally if
you assure me it is not à la mode, I won’t have any lover. Can I have a house in town?’

  ‘I don’t think you know what you are talking about,’ said Sir Tristram, on a note of relief. ‘My home is in Berkshire, and I hope you will grow to like it as I do, but I can hire a house in town for the season if your heart is set on it.’

  Eustacie was just about to inform him that her heart was irrevocably set on it when the butler opened the door and announced the arrival of Mr Lavenham. Eustacie broke off in mid-sentence, and said under her breath: ‘Well, I would much rather be married to you than to him, at all events!’

  Her expression did not lead Sir Tristram to set undue store by this handsome admission. He frowned reprovingly at her, and went forward to greet his cousin.

  Beau Lavenham, who was two years younger than Shield, did not resemble him in the least. Sir Tristram was a large, lean man, very dark, harsh-featured, and with few airs or graces; the Beau was of medium height only, slim rather than lean, of a medium complexion and delicately-moulded features, and his graces were many. Nothing could have been more exquisite than the arrangement of his powdered curls, or the cut of his brown-spotted silk coat and breeches. He wore a waistcoat embroidered with gold and silver, and stockings of palest pink, a jewel in the snowy folds of his cravat, knots of ribbons at his knees, and rings on his slender white fingers. In one hand he carried his snuff-box and scented handkerchief; in the other he held up an ornate quizzing-glass that hung on a riband round his neck. Through this he surveyed his two cousins, blandly smiling and quite at ease. ‘Ah, Tristram!’ he said in a soft, languid voice, and, letting fall his quizzing-glass, held out his hand. ‘How do you do, my dear fellow?’

  Sir Tristram shook hands with him. ‘How do you do, Basil? It’s some time since we met.’

  The Beau made a gesture of deprecation. ‘But, my dear Tristram, if you will bury yourself in Berkshire what is one to do? Eustacie – !’ He went to her, and bowed over her hand with incomparable grace. ‘So you have been making Tristram’s acquaintance?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Eustacie. ‘We are betrothed.’

  The Beau raised his brows, smiling. ‘Oh la, la! so soon? Did Sylvester call this tune? Well, you are, both of you, very obedient, but are you quite, quite sure that you will deal well together?’

  ‘Oh, I hope so!’ replied Sir Tristram bracingly.

  ‘If you are determined – and I must warn you, Eustacie, that he is the most determined fellow imaginable – I must hope so too. But I do not think I expected either of you to be so very obedient. Sylvester is prodigious – quite prodigious! One cannot believe that he is really dying. A world without Sylvester! Surely it must be impossible!’

  ‘It will seem odd, indeed,’ Shield said calmly.

  Eustacie looked disparagingly at the Beau. ‘And it will seem odd to me when you are Lord Lavenham – very odd!’

  There was a moment’s silence. The Beau glanced at Sir Tristram, and then said: ‘Ah yes, but, you see, I shall not be Lord Lavenham. My dear Tristram, do, I beg of you, try some of this snuff of mine, and let me have your opinion of it. I have added the veriest dash of Macouba to my old blend. Now, was I right?’

  ‘I’m not a judge,’ said Shield, helping himself to a pinch. ‘It seems well enough.’

  Eustacie was frowning. ‘But I don’t understand! Why will you not be Lord Lavenham?’

  The Beau turned courteously towards her. ‘Well, Eustacie, I am not Sylvester’s grandson, but only his great-nephew.’

  ‘But when there is no grandson it must surely be you who are the heir?’

  ‘Precisely, but there is a grandson, dear cousin. Did you not know that?’

  ‘Certainly I know that there was Ludovic, but he is dead after all!’

  ‘Who told you Ludovic was dead?’ asked Shield, looking at her under knit brows.

  She spread out her hands. ‘But Grandpère, naturally! And I have often wanted to know what it was that he did that was so entirely wicked that no one must speak of him. It is a mystery, and, I think, very romantic.’

  ‘There is no mystery,’ said Shield, ‘nor is it in the least romantic. Ludovic was a wild young man who crowned a series of follies with murder, and had in consequence to fly the country.’

  ‘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 ver
y 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.’