The Annam Jewel (30 page)

“What is it?” he said. “It doesn't matter what you say. Just tell me what it is.”

“Were you engaged to her?” said Rose Ellen. She had turned quite white; the words came with a rush, “Were you engaged to her?”

“No, thank the Lord, I wasn't,” said Peter.

“But—you—were—in—love—with—her?”

“You know I wasn't. Rose Ellen,
you
know I wasn't.”

She shook her head.

Peter's grasp tightened on her little shaking hand.

“You must know. You always know things. You know I love you frightfully.”

Rose Ellen shook her head again.

“Well, I do,” said Peter fiercely. He looked at her with a most fearful frown; and then, with no warning at all, he dropped his head upon her hand and began to sob.

In a moment Rose Ellen was bending down to him, her free hand stroking his hair, her voice soft and broken.

“Peter de—ah, oh, my Peter de—ah, oh, don't—oh, Peter, don't.”

“I'm such a damned fool,” said Peter in muffled tones.

“You're not, you're not. What is it, darling? Tell me. Tell Rose Ellen.”

Peter kissed the hand that was wet with his tears, choked back a sob, sat up, and caught Rose Ellen in his arms.

“Oh, Rose Ellen, you do, don't you?” he said. “You do love me? I'm a damned fool, but I love you
frightfully
.”

CHAPTER XXXVI

“You didn't say if you liked my flowers,” said Peter presently. “Did you like them? Did you? Did you know what I meant when I sent them?”

Rose Ellen nodded, with her head against his shoulder.

“I liked the bit about the pink ones immensely,” said Peter. “I never heard it before. I had a dream about it when I was in that beastly cellar. There was a hedge of the blue ones as high as a house; and you said, ‘Forget me not'; and I wanted to say ‘No, never'; and I couldn't, because I couldn't find any pink ones. It sounds mad, but it was like that in the dream. I want you to say it now. Look at me and say it.”

Rose Ellen sat up and looked at him. There was a lovely carnation colour in her cheeks. Her eyes were like peaty pools with the sunlight on them; they shone as they looked at Peter.

“Forget me not,” she said, and then quite suddenly she hid her face, and Peter's arm was round her again.

“No, never,” he said. “No, never, never, never. There, I made up my mind I'd say that to you. And when we're married you shall have a bunch of the blue ones, and I'll have a buttonhole of the pink no-nevers. I think that's a top-hole idea, don't you?”

Rose Ellen sat up and looked at him again, very seriously this time.

“But I haven't said I'm going to marry you, Peter de—ah,” she said.

Peter hugged her.

“Little liar. Years and years ago you said you would. Don't you remember when we ran away? You said you wanted to be really and truly Rose Ellen Waring; and I said you'd better marry me, and you jumped at it, you simply jumped at it.”

“Peter, I didn't.”

“You did. Don't you remember?”

“You
forgot,” said Rose Ellen, very low.

“It was there all the time really,” said Peter, “and I'm never going to forget any more. When will you marry me, Rose Ellen? It must be soon, or the forget-me-nots will be over.”

“I haven't said I'll marry you, Peter,” said Rose Ellen again.

“But you will.” He laughed, and then he stopped laughing because there was something in her face which he didn't understand.

Then Rose Ellen said a very surprising thing. She said quite gently and firmly:

“I'll marry you if you'll give me the Annam Jewel, Peter.”

“I've given it to you already,” said Peter. “Why? Why did you say that, Rose Ellen?” He frowned, and his voice changed.

Rose Ellen picked up the little handkerchief with the net border and unknotted it. The Jewel fell upon a bare patch of sand, and lay there in the sun.

“You didn't think I wanted it to keep?” she said. She looked at him in distress. “You didn't think that? Peter, whom does it really belong to?”

“I suppose,” said Peter, “that it really belongs to me; at least, I don't suppose it belongs to anyone else.”

“What did you mean to do with it?”

“I don't know,” said Peter. “We might sell it—it's worth a lot of money, you know. Henders offered me fifteen thousand for it, only I think he's a bit cracked about it. Anyhow, I'm hanged if I'd let him have it at any price. But we could sell it to someone else. What do you think?”

Rose Ellen shook her head.

“Why not? The money would be quite useful.”

Rose Ellen's hands were holding one another again.

“Oh, Peter, give it to me,” she said. “As long as it's anywhere in the world, people will go on doing dreadful things because of it. Look at your uncle, and your father, and Mr. Hendebakker, and Sylvia. If we sold it, there would be more dreadful things—more people stealing, and murdering, and cheating because of it. Please give it to me, Peter de—ah.”

“But what will you do with it, Rose Ellen? You say ‘as long as it's in the world'. You can't take it out of the world. What would you do with it?”

“I should throw it into the sea,” said Rose Ellen, with calm decision. She rose on her knees, and beckoned Peter to look over the parapet. “Do you see that pale line in the water? Look, you can follow it quite a long way. I always think it looks like a piece of ribbon. It comes in round the point there, and then goes out to sea again. Well, it's a most dreadfully strong current. They call it the Smuggler's Race. No one can bathe here because of it; anything that gets into it is never seen again.” She caught his arm with both hands. “Peter, if I were to throw the Annam Jewel into that current, I think it would be out of the world.”

Peter stared at the Smuggler's Race. It fascinated him, that pale, bright ribbon rushing mysteriously faster than the surrounding water. The tide stood high against the cliff. It would be easy to drop the Jewel into that swift stream and be rid of it.

After a moment they turned away. The Jewel lay on the sand where Rose Ellen had dropped it.

“It's very beautiful,” said Peter regretfully.

“Yes,” said Rose Ellen. She picked it up and held it in the palm of her hand. “It's not its fault,” she said.

They stood in silence and looked at it. Then Rose Ellen spoke again.

“Peter,” she said; and Peter came close to her and put an arm about her shoulders. “Peter, I was thinking—”

“What were you thinking?”

“About something in your father's book; he said your uncle kept on saying it.” She repeated the words very low:

“‘The blue is the Celestial Heaven; the red is the Elemental Fire; the green is the Living Earth; and the gold is the Ray of Wisdom in the heart of man. Can these things be taken by violence?'”

Her voice trembled and stopped. She leaned against him, and he held her tight. “Peter,” she said at last, “do you see? It's beautiful, but it's not so beautiful as the sky, and the sunset, and all the little green things that grow in spring; they're much more beautiful really, and people don't steal and kill and tell lies because of them; they're for everybody.” She gave a little laugh. “Nobody murders because of a red sunset, or tries to steal the sky, Peter de—ah. The Jewel's only a picture, and I like the real things best. Will you give it to me to throw away, Peter de—ah? I can't marry you unless you do, I can't really.”

“Good morning, Miss Mortimer,” said Virgil P. Hendebakker. “I'm real sorry if I intrude.”

Rose Ellen stepped away from Peter, with the Jewel in her hand. Neither of them had heard Mr. Hendebakker come down the path between the tulips; his step had been light upon the gravel, and silent on the sand. He stood a few yards away, and smiled, as who should say, “I, too, have been in Arcady.” Peter looked at him with a scowl.

“You've nothing whatever to say to Miss Mortimer,” he said. “You get out of this, and quick, Henders, or you'll be sorry.”

“Now, Waring,” said Hendebakker, “you're riled—and I'll allow that you've reason to be riled. As soon as I found you'd gone I came after you to finish our little business conversation. You made a real smart getaway, didn't you? You're one up on me over that.” He waved a hand towards Rose Ellen. “I presume that you've put Miss Mortimer wise, and that she's in on this deal.” His eyes were fixed upon the Jewel. Rose Ellen closed her hand upon it.

“The Jewel belongs to Miss Mortimer,” said Peter. “I've no business with you, Henders, and you've no business here.”

“Now, now,” said Hendebakker soothingly, “just one moment, if you don't mind. I'd like a word with Miss Mortimer. Very happy to meet you, Miss Mortimer.” He bowed. “Now, about this Jewel—why can't we come to terms? You're liable to have trouble if you keep it. What do you want with a thing that'll only bring trouble? I offered Mr. Waring fifteen thousand last night in peculiar circumstances. Well, I'll rise to twenty. It's a crazy price, but you can have it. Now, I put it to you, isn't twenty thousand pounds a whole sight better than you freezing on to a thing that's bound to get you into trouble?”

Rose Ellen spoke, not to Hendebakker, but to Peter.

“Is it really mine?” she said. “Have you given it to me?”

Peter nodded without speaking. His heart beat hard against his side. He knew what Rose Ellen was going to do, and he found the moment an emotional one.

Hendebakker was puzzled. There was something in the air; he did not know what; but there was something.

“Is it a deal?” he asked.

Rose Ellen spoke to him for the first time, looked at him for the first time.

“No,” she said; just the one word, clear and hard as crystal.

She turned then, quietly and without haste, moved a step nearer to the parapet, and, before Hendebakker had the slightest idea of what was going to happen, she lifted her right arm and threw, as Peter had taught her to throw in the long-ago days when they were brother and sister. She threw, and the throw was strong and true. The Jewel left her hand, rose a little, flashed once in the sun, and fell clear into the blue rush of the Smuggler's Race. It was gone; with the merest flicker of spray it was gone; the pale current took it, and it was gone.

Rose Ellen laughed. She said, “Oh, Peter de—ah,” and clapped her hands. She turned to him laughing, with the lovely colour in her face and happiness in her eyes.

In the same moment Mr. Hendebakker lost his temper suddenly and completely. For an instant Peter saw what Sylvia had once seen. Something made him look—for all his life he was thankful that something made him look—and he saw a horrible fury break up the genial smoothness of Hendebakker's face. Peter made a dash at him, saw his hand go to his hip; and, as the hand went up again and a shot rang out, he closed with the man, and they came down together on the sandy grass.

Rose Ellen cried aloud and ran towards them. She had seen the pistol aimed at her. Her ears rang with the noise that had made her cry out. She did not know that she owed her life to Peter's rush—Hendebakker didn't miss what he fired at. She reached the struggling figures. Peter had his knee on Hendebakker's chest, and was strangling him; he was as white as a sheet, and he knew nothing in the whole world except his desire to kill Henders here and now. Rose Ellen was calling to him, catching at his shoulder; she was trying to prevent him from killing Henders; she was calling to him in an agony; her arms were round him, she was trying to get between them.

“Peter, I can't bear it. Oh, Peter, you're hurting me, you're hurting
me
!” It was the voice and almost the words of the little Rose Ellen who had pleaded for the life of her doll. “I can't bear it, Peter.”

And just in time, voice and words pierced through Peter's madness to Peter's self. His hands relaxed their dreadful grip. He stared at Hendebakker for a moment, and said in a hoarse whisper:

“Have I killed him?”

Rose Ellen said, “No—no—no,” with a sob between each word. She pulled him towards her, and when he got to his feet she leaned against him and wept bitterly. After a moment he put his arms round her and they stood there until he asked:

“Are you sure I haven't killed him?”

“No—no—no,” said Rose Ellen again. “Of course you haven't. Look for yourself.”

She stepped back, and Peter saw that Hendebakker had rolled over and, still gasping and choking, was trying to rise.

Rose Ellen made a swoop, picked something up, and ran to the parapet. When she came back Hendebakker was sitting up and rubbing his throat.

“You've got me beat,” he said at last. “You've got me beat.”

He looked at Rose Ellen as he spoke, but it was Peter who said in a slow, controlled voice:

“Henders, if you had hurt her—”

“Well, I didn't,” said Mr. Hendebakker. His voice came more easily now, and he spoke with a singular composure—afterwards Peter gave the man credit for his self-command.

“Well, I didn't,” said Mr. Hendebakker. “I'm liable to lose my temper, and I'll admit I lost it just now.” He stroked his throat, and swallowed.

“Nobody's sorrier than I am, for it's clean against all my principles. Losing your temper don't pay, and it's dead against my principles. Now, if I had shot Miss Mortimer just now—well, she'd have been at the end of her troubles, and I'd have been right at the beginning of mine. I'm real glad you spoilt my aim, real glad. See?”

“Look here, Henders,” said Peter. “I've had about enough of you. You get out.”

“All in good time,” said Hendebakker.

He controlled a disordered collar, and smoothed his hair. Then his hand went to his hip, and he looked about him.