CHAPTER XVI: THE SAPPHIRE SIGNET
Margaret continues:
"[Lady Washington] was traveling through the city on her way from Virginia to her husband's camp outside Boston when the accident happened. She congratulated Alison on her skill with horses, and asked her about herself. Alison was just beginning to tell her about Bermuda and how she longed to go back, when Madame Mortier, who had just learned about the occupant of the broken coach, rushed up and dragged her bodily away! And then things got worse and worse!
"Now, there 's no need of telling you all that happened after that because we know it; so I 'll skip at once to the night of that last entry in the journal, and explain how it came to be so mysteriously broken off. While Alison was sitting there writing, she suddenly heard again the mysterious footsteps, just as she had that time before. She was horribly nervous, but she suspected something wrong and crept to the door and opened it to peep out. And there, sure enough, was the steward, come back from Corbie's tavern, and evidently going down to the cellar again! Alison was scared to death, but, almost unconsciously, she found herself creeping after him, her journal still in her hand.
"Suddenly on the stairs something made him turn—and he saw her! Before she could cry out he made one leap and clapped his hand over her mouth. Then with the other he tried to get hold of the journal. She began to struggle and twist, and try to keep it away from him, and he whispered that if she made a sound he would kill her right there! Still she kept struggling, but at last he got hold of it and gave it a wrench. Of course it came in half, and at the same moment she got free from him and ran like mad to her own room and locked herself in.
"She hid the half of the journal she had kept hold of in the bottom of her trunk, and stayed for hours shivering with fright and listening at the door. Then, at last, not hearing anything more, she crept out, and rushed to Phoebe's room, and told her all about it. They decided that it was best to wait no longer, but tell the whole thing to Washington at early dawn, and let him take matters into his own hands. They had the interview, and Washington acted on the matter at once. He got his life-guard, Thomas Hickey, made him confess the whole thing, and then sent out and had every one of the conspirators arrested. Strangely enough, the steward was nowhere to be found. He had disappeared completely, and was never seen or heard of again. He had probably thought it wise to take flight in the night. Alison always thought, too, that he was intending to run away when he did, anyhow, without warning any one, because he had appropriated a lot of the gold and money that was to be used in paying the conspirators. That was what he had kept hidden in the beam, and he had removed it all that very night, preparatory to making off with it.
"Early that morning, Washington sent Phoebe back to the city to stay with her father, as she would be safer there. And as he thought the house no longer a safe place for his wife, either, he arranged to despatch her at once with a strong escort to Philadelphia. Alison had told him her own story, explained how she aided in the gunpowder plot, and begged him to send her back to Bermuda if he could. He was so grateful to her for the assistance which she had twice given that he told her he would send her to Philadelphia with Lady Washington, and there would arrange that she should sail for her home as soon as was possible.
"So Alison packed her little trunk, and without even bidding Madame Mortier good-by (for of course she did n't dare see her) she left that morning with Lady Washington, and never again in all her life looked upon Richmond Hill. In Philadelphia she was fortunate enough to catch a vessel sailing at once for Bermuda, but before she got to her home one other accident was to happen to her. The ship ran into a terrific storm and was completely dismasted. It almost foundered, but, after drifting around helplessly for more than a week, the passengers and crew were at last rescued by another vessel, leaving all their belongings behind on the wreck, and finally were landed in Bermuda.
"She went straight to her aunt first, for she did not dare go to her grandfather, thinking he had never forgiven her for running away. But her aunt told her that her grandfather, though terribly angry with her at first, was now very, very ill, and kept constantly calling for her. So she returned to him and was forgiven, and nursed him tenderly till he died, leaving her the fine old farm. A few years later she married Harrington Ord, for he had always admired and loved her. He died, in later years, by falling from the mast of the vessel of which he was captain, and Alison was left alone with one daughter, who also married, after a time, and it was her daughter, old Mrs. Jewell, who told us the story. Alison lived all her life in secret terror lest her part in the gunpowder plot should ever be discovered by the Bermudians, for she felt that she had been disloyal to her country in the part she played. Yet she never wholly regretted it, because of the intense admiration she always felt for Washington, and her gratitude to him for his timely rescue of her. Madame Mortier died soon after her departure, and never knew about the defeat of her beloved Tories.
"So that is the end of the story, folks, and I guess I 've explained everything!"
"No, you have n't!" said Alexander promptly. "What about that half of the diary that we found in the beam! Put us wise to that!"
"Well, of course, that's one of the things we can't be absolutely certain about, but can only guess at. The steward had gone off with that half, and Alison never saw it again. She always wondered what became of it. We think, though, that the steward must have come back that night looking for the slip of paper that he had forgotten or lost. He evidently thought it might be left in his hiding-place, and was on the way to hunt it up. Then he had the encounter with Alison, and got hold of that half of her diary. He must have taken it to the cellar, examined it hurriedly, written on it that mysterious sentence, and thrown it into the opening where he hid his things. Probably he looked for his paper, and, not finding it, thought he 'd dropped it elsewhere. We think likely he didn't suspect that any one had discovered the place in the beam. That's the only explanation that seems possible."
"Yes," objected Alexander, still unconvinced, "but how came it to remain there all that time untouched? Did n't they go and search the beam afterward? Didn't any one else ever know about it?"
"No, it seems that Phoebe and Alison, in their hurry that morning, did not think to tell Washington where they had found the paper. They did n't have time—everything had to be done so quickly. They just gave it to him and told who the conspirators were. Then Phoebe was sent right off, and Alison went away, too, and, of course, nobody else ever knew about it or suspected it. So it lay through all the years till Alexander unearthed it! Is n't it too wonderful!"
"Then that gink of a steward must have beat it out for keeps!" commented Alexander. "Guess he did n't think it 'd be healthy for him to shine about those parts again, after he 'd got away with all the swag! He was some pippin, he was!"
"Well," ended Margaret, "now you know all the mystery and the history of Alison Tren- ham, and I hope you 're satisfied!"
"Satisfied!" ejaculated Bess, sitting up very straight. "When you have n't said one word about the sapphire signet—the most important thing of all? I guess not!"
"I was wondering when you 'd begin to be curious about that," commented Margaret, with her tantalizing smile. "Since you seem a little anxious on the subject, I 'll go on with the second half of the story. Well, as I 've hinted, we did n't say a word about the signet to the old lady, and she did n't mention it in her account either. But when she had finished, Corinne asked her if there was anything else she knew of that had troubled Alison's mind—whether she 'd ever heard her grandmother speak of something she 'd lost. And at that Mrs. Jewell looked awfully surprised, and said no, her grandmother had never spoken of anything else, and what did we mean?
"Then we told her all about the signet, and how we 'd found it, and how valuable it was, and how we wanted above everything to return it to Alison's descendant, and were so glad we 'd found her at last. Well, if you 'll believe me, Mrs. Jewell looked simply stunned for a while, as if she could n't trust her senses! And we had the hardest time convincing her that the signet was really hers and she must take it. She insisted it ought to be ours, since we had found it. But finally we managed to convince her that she was its rightful owner, and told her that Mr. Cameron would get it from the safe at the hotel and bring it over to her the next day."
"But why do you suppose Alison never told her about it?" interrupted Jess.
"That's just what we all could n't fathom for a while, till at last Mrs. Jewell explained it in this way. Of course, when Alison was shipwrecked and rescued, she naturally supposed her trunk went down to the bottom of the ocean with the wreck. She told her grandmother that they had had to cling to the decks for several days, and never dared to go down to the cabins, for most of them were full of water. So she could n't get at her trunk to take out anything. We think that when she realized that the signet was lost forever, and after her grandfather had forgiven her for everything (including that, no doubt), she just forgot all about the matter and either did n't think of it again, or else did n't want to. What troubled her most was the fear that the second half of her journal would sometime be discovered and deciphered, and she, perhaps, be considered a traitor for twice giving aid to Washington.
"But now listen to the best part of the story, which comes last! We had asked Mrs. Jewell to say nothing just yet about what we 'd told her, and when the housekeeper came back for us, the old lady bade us good-by as calmly as though we had n't just given her the surprise of her life. But on the drive to the hotel we asked a few questions about her and found out, to our astonishment, that old Mrs. Jewell was really in very straitened circumstances. For years she had supported herself by doing the most beautiful lacework, and had earned enough to live on. But since her blindness came, her money had gradually disappeared, and she had had to borrow on the farm and the lovely old furniture. The housekeeper said she was afraid it would n't be long before she would lose everything. Every one was so sorry for her and wanted to help, but she was very proud and would accept nothing from them. No one could imagine what she would do when she was homeless.
"It set us thinking hard, of course, and we told Mr. Cameron about it that night. He only said we must leave it to him, and he 'd think out a scheme. Next day we three drove over there with the signet, and placed it in old Mrs. Jewell's hands. And right then and there Mr. Cameron told her that, if she cared to sell it to him, he 'd be only too delighted to buy it. And he offered her enough to keep her living comfortably for the rest of her days.
"You should have seen that poor old lady's face! She begged and protested that he should not give so much, that she could not accept it. But he assured her that he knew positively it was the real value of the signet, and to prove it, read her a letter he 'd received from some authority in such things. She gave in at last, and we left her with that big, fat check in her hands—the happiest woman in all Bermuda!"
"But what has become of the sapphire signet?" demanded her listeners, as Margaret paused.
"Here it is!" said Corinne, quietly, and she pulled from under the neck of her dress a thin golden chain. There on the end dangled the wonderful sapphire signet, more beautiful than ever since it had been cleaned and polished.
"Father has given it to me, and I 'm going to keep it always, in memory of the long-ago Alison and the strange way we stumbled on her mystery. I shall not wear it all the time, for it's too rare and valuable to run the risk of losing. But I put it on to-day in honor of the most satisfactory meeting the Antiquarian Club ever held!"
It was about noon of a day a week or two later that Corinne and Margaret stood together at the open window of the Charlton Street parlor. A light breeze flapped the awnings to and fro, a warm midday sun shone on the pavements outside, and the droning sound of busy Varick Street came distantly to them as they stood looking out. The twins were still at high school, but Corinne had not returned there, as she was expecting to study up during the summer and in the autumn pass the examinations she was now missing. So, during these idle days, she spent the greater part of her time with Margaret. Since their long Bermuda weeks together, they had grown into even closer intimacy, and sisters could not have loved each other with deeper devotion.
Leaning on her crutches, Margaret idly plucked the dead leaves from a geranium in the window-box, and Corinne stood twisting one of the younger girl's dark curls around her finger. Presently she said:
"Father had a letter from old Mrs. Jewell this morning. She says words would be impossible to describe how happy she is. She thinks it just marvelous that we girls were led to do what we did, for she was in desperate straits when we first came. She declares she would never have accepted it as a charity, but it was really help from her own dead kindred sent through us. She considers it an absolute miracle!"
"Is n't it strange!" began Margaret. "That's the exact word Mother used last night when we were talking it over. She said it all seemed like a miracle to her—the way you came into our lives, and walked straight to the heart of the mystery that very first day; the way we worked it all out and restored what was her own to Alison's granddaughter just in the nick of time; and best of all, what's happened to me!"
"Well, I wasn't left out in the miracle way, either," laughed Corinne; "for I 've had the loveliest adventure imaginable, and made the very dearest friend of all my life!" She squeezed Margaret's hand, and the two girls looked for one long, understanding moment into each other's eyes. After a quiet interval Corinne spoke again:
"Margaret, there 's something I never told you I No one but Father knows it. But I 'm going to tell you now. Do you know what I plan to be when I am older?"
Margaret looked up at her in quick interest, and said: "No! Tell me!"
"Well, it's my ambition to be a writer. Father says I have some gift in that direction, and I am constantly practising at it. But, after I 've learned how and can really write what people might like to read, the first story I 'm going to tell is the one about Alison Trenham and the wonderful way she helped to rescue Washington at the time he was in such danger!"
"Oh, that's perfectly splendid!" cried Margaret. "I wish I could do something like that, but I 'm afraid it is n't in me. Shall I tell you my chief ambition, Corinne? I want to get so strong that I can join a basket-ball team—and beat the twins at it!"
"Bless your heart, honey!" exclaimed Corinne, "you 're going to be the captain of that team, I 'll be willing to wager!"
Just at that moment Alexander came swinging down the street on his way home to luncheon, whistling the tune that had come to be such a momentous one in their lives. Margaret smiled as she heard it, and suddenly turned to her friend:
"Corinne, I want you to promise me something! When you come to write the story of Alison, I want you to call it The Lass of Richmond Hill! I think that would be the most appropriate title for it. Will you?"
Corinne thought it over a moment, then she said, slowly: "Yes, I think you 're right! I promise to call it—The Lass of Richmond Hill!"
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