第 九 章 · Chapter IX

June twenty-first, the day of the birthday, was cloudy and unsettled at

sunrise, but towards noon it cleared up bravely.

We, in the servants’ hall, began this happy anniversary, as usual, by

offering our little presents to Miss Rachel, with the regular speech

delivered annually by me as the chief. I follow the plan adopted by the

Queen in opening Parliament—namely, the plan of saying much the same

thing regularly every year. Before it is delivered, my speech (like the

Queen’s) is looked for as eagerly as if nothing of the kind had ever

been heard before. When it is delivered, and turns out not to be the

novelty anticipated, though they grumble a little, they look forward

hopefully to something newer next year. An easy people to govern, in

the Parliament and in the Kitchen—that’s the moral of it.

After breakfast, Mr. Franklin and I had a private conference on the

subject of the Moonstone—the time having now come for removing it from

the bank at Frizinghall, and placing it in Miss Rachel’s own hands.

Whether he had been trying to make love to his cousin again, and had

got a rebuff—or whether his broken rest, night after night, was

aggravating the queer contradictions and uncertainties in his

character—I don’t know. But certain it is, that Mr. Franklin failed to

show himself at his best on the morning of the birthday. He was in

twenty different minds about the Diamond in as many minutes. For my

part, I stuck fast by the plain facts as we knew them. Nothing had

happened to justify us in alarming my lady on the subject of the jewel;

and nothing could alter the legal obligation that now lay on Mr.

Franklin to put it in his cousin’s possession. That was my view of the

matter; and, twist and turn it as he might, he was forced in the end to

make it his view too. We arranged that he was to ride over, after

lunch, to Frizinghall, and bring the Diamond back, with Mr. Godfrey and

the two young ladies, in all probability, to keep him company on the

way home again.

This settled, our young gentleman went back to Miss Rachel.

They consumed the whole morning, and part of the afternoon, in the

everlasting business of decorating the door, Penelope standing by to

mix the colours, as directed; and my lady, as luncheon time drew near,

going in and out of the room, with her handkerchief to her nose (for

they used a deal of Mr. Franklin’s vehicle that day), and trying vainly

to get the two artists away from their work. It was three o’clock

before they took off their aprons, and released Penelope (much the

worse for the vehicle), and cleaned themselves of their mess. But they

had done what they wanted—they had finished the door on the birthday,

and proud enough they were of it. The griffins, cupids, and so on,

were, I must own, most beautiful to behold; though so many in number,

so entangled in flowers and devices, and so topsy-turvy in their

actions and attitudes, that you felt them unpleasantly in your head for

hours after you had done with the pleasure of looking at them. If I add

that Penelope ended her part of the morning’s work by being sick in the

back-kitchen, it is in no unfriendly spirit towards the vehicle. No!

no! It left off stinking when it dried; and if Art requires these sort

of sacrifices—though the girl is my own daughter—I say, let Art have

them!

Mr. Franklin snatched a morsel from the luncheon-table, and rode off to

Frizinghall—to escort his cousins, as he told my lady. To fetch the

Moonstone, as was privately known to himself and to me.

This being one of the high festivals on which I took my place at the

side-board, in command of the attendance at table, I had plenty to

occupy my mind while Mr. Franklin was away. Having seen to the wine,

and reviewed my men and women who were to wait at dinner, I retired to

collect myself before the company came. A whiff of—you know what, and a

turn at a certain book which I have had occasion to mention in these

pages, composed me, body and mind. I was aroused from what I am

inclined to think must have been, not a nap, but a reverie, by the

clatter of horses’ hoofs outside; and, going to the door, received a

cavalcade comprising Mr. Franklin and his three cousins, escorted by

one of old Mr. Ablewhite’s grooms.

Mr. Godfrey struck me, strangely enough, as being like Mr. Franklin in

this respect—that he did not seem to be in his customary spirits. He

kindly shook hands with me as usual, and was most politely glad to see

his old friend Betteredge wearing so well. But there was a sort of

cloud over him, which I couldn’t at all account for; and when I asked

how he had found his father in health, he answered rather shortly,

“Much as usual.” However, the two Miss Ablewhites were cheerful enough

for twenty, which more than restored the balance. They were nearly as

big as their brother; spanking, yellow-haired, rosy lasses, overflowing

with super-abundant flesh and blood; bursting from head to foot with

health and spirits. The legs of the poor horses trembled with carrying

them; and when they jumped from their saddles (without waiting to be

helped), I declare they bounced on the ground as if they were made of

india-rubber. Everything the Miss Ablewhites said began with a large O;

everything they did was done with a bang; and they giggled and

screamed, in season and out of season, on the smallest provocation.

Bouncers—that’s what I call them.

Under cover of the noise made by the young ladies, I had an opportunity

of saying a private word to Mr. Franklin in the hall.

“Have you got the Diamond safe, sir?”

He nodded, and tapped the breast-pocket of his coat.

“Have you seen anything of the Indians?”

“Not a glimpse.” With that answer, he asked for my lady, and, hearing

she was in the small drawing-room, went there straight. The bell rang,

before he had been a minute in the room, and Penelope was sent to tell

Miss Rachel that Mr. Franklin Blake wanted to speak to her.

Crossing the hall, about half an hour afterwards, I was brought to a

sudden standstill by an outbreak of screams from the small

drawing-room. I can’t say I was at all alarmed; for I recognised in the

screams the favourite large O of the Miss Ablewhites. However, I went

in (on pretence of asking for instructions about the dinner) to

discover whether anything serious had really happened.

There stood Miss Rachel at the table, like a person fascinated, with

the Colonel’s unlucky Diamond in her hand. There, on either side of

her, knelt the two Bouncers, devouring the jewel with their eyes, and

screaming with ecstasy every time it flashed on them in a new light.

There, at the opposite side of the table, stood Mr. Godfrey, clapping

his hands like a large child, and singing out softly, “Exquisite!

exquisite!” There sat Mr. Franklin in a chair by the bookcase, tugging

at his beard, and looking anxiously towards the window. And there, at

the window, stood the object he was contemplating—my lady, having the

extract from the Colonel’s Will in her hand, and keeping her back

turned on the whole of the company.

She faced me, when I asked for my instructions; and I saw the family

frown gathering over her eyes, and the family temper twitching at the

corners of her mouth.

“Come to my room in half an hour,” she answered. “I shall have

something to say to you then.”

With those words, she went out. It was plain enough that she was posed

by the same difficulty which had posed Mr. Franklin and me in our

conference at the Shivering Sand. Was the legacy of the Moonstone a

proof that she had treated her brother with cruel injustice? or was it

a proof that he was worse than the worst she had ever thought of him?

Serious questions those for my lady to determine, while her daughter,

innocent of all knowledge of the Colonel’s character, stood there with

the Colonel’s birthday gift in her hand.

Before I could leave the room in my turn, Miss Rachel, always

considerate to the old servant who had been in the house when she was

born, stopped me. “Look, Gabriel!” she said, and flashed the jewel

before my eyes in a ray of sunlight that poured through the window.

Lord bless us! it _was_ a Diamond! As large, or nearly, as a plover’s

egg! The light that streamed from it was like the light of the harvest

moon. When you looked down into the stone, you looked into a yellow

deep that drew your eyes into it so that they saw nothing else. It

seemed unfathomable; this jewel, that you could hold between your

finger and thumb, seemed unfathomable as the heavens themselves. We set

it in the sun, and then shut the light out of the room, and it shone

awfully out of the depths of its own brightness, with a moony gleam, in

the dark. No wonder Miss Rachel was fascinated: no wonder her cousins

screamed. The Diamond laid such a hold on _me_ that I burst out with as

large an “O” as the Bouncers themselves. The only one of us who kept

his senses was Mr. Godfrey. He put an arm round each of his sisters’

waists, and, looking compassionately backwards and forwards between the

Diamond and me, said, “Carbon, Betteredge! mere carbon, my good friend,

after all!”

His object, I suppose, was to instruct me. All he did, however, was to

remind me of the dinner. I hobbled off to my army of waiters

downstairs. As I went out, Mr. Godfrey said, “Dear old Betteredge, I

have the truest regard for him!” He was embracing his sisters, and

ogling Miss Rachel, while he honoured me with that testimony of

affection. Something like a stock of love to draw on _there!_ Mr.

Franklin was a perfect savage by comparison with him.

At the end of half an hour, I presented myself, as directed, in my

lady’s room.

What passed between my mistress and me, on this occasion, was, in the

main, a repetition of what had passed between Mr. Franklin and me at

the Shivering Sand—with this difference, that I took care to keep my

own counsel about the jugglers, seeing that nothing had happened to

justify me in alarming my lady on this head. When I received my

dismissal, I could see that she took the blackest view possible of the

Colonel’s motives, and that she was bent on getting the Moonstone out

of her daughter’s possession at the first opportunity.

On my way back to my own part of the house, I was encountered by Mr.

Franklin. He wanted to know if I had seen anything of his cousin

Rachel. I had seen nothing of her. Could I tell him where his cousin

Godfrey was? I didn’t know; but I began to suspect that cousin Godfrey

might not be far away from cousin Rachel. Mr. Franklin’s suspicions

apparently took the same turn. He tugged hard at his beard, and went

and shut himself up in the library with a bang of the door that had a

world of meaning in it.

I was interrupted no more in the business of preparing for the birthday

dinner till it was time for me to smarten myself up for receiving the

company. Just as I had got my white waistcoat on, Penelope presented

herself at my toilet, on pretence of brushing what little hair I have

got left, and improving the tie of my white cravat. My girl was in high

spirits, and I saw she had something to say to me. She gave me a kiss

on the top of my bald head, and whispered, “News for you, father! Miss

Rachel has refused him.”

“Who’s ‘_him_’?” I asked.

“The ladies’ committee-man, father,” says Penelope. “A nasty sly

fellow! I hate him for trying to supplant Mr. Franklin!”

If I had had breath enough, I should certainly have protested against

this indecent way of speaking of an eminent philanthropic character.

But my daughter happened to be improving the tie of my cravat at that

moment, and the whole strength of her feelings found its way into her

fingers. I never was more nearly strangled in my life.

“I saw him take her away alone into the rose-garden,” says Penelope.

“And I waited behind the holly to see how they came back. They had gone

out arm-in-arm, both laughing. They came back, walking separate, as

grave as grave could be, and looking straight away from each other in a

manner which there was no mistaking. I never was more delighted,

father, in my life! There’s one woman in the world who can resist Mr.

Godfrey Ablewhite, at any rate; and, if I was a lady, I should be

another!”

Here I should have protested again. But my daughter had got the

hair-brush by this time, and the whole strength of her feelings had

passed into _that_. If you are bald, you will understand how she

sacrificed me. If you are not, skip this bit, and thank God you have

got something in the way of a defence between your hair-brush and your

head.

“Just on the other side of the holly,” Penelope went on, “Mr. Godfrey

came to a standstill. ‘You prefer,’ says he, ‘that I should stop here

as if nothing had happened?’ Miss Rachel turned on him like lightning.

‘You have accepted my mother’s invitation,’ she said; ‘and you are here

to meet her guests. Unless you wish to make a scandal in the house, you

will remain, of course!’ She went on a few steps, and then seemed to

relent a little. ‘Let us forget what has passed, Godfrey,’ she said,

‘and let us remain cousins still.’ She gave him her hand. He kissed it,

which _I_ should have considered taking a liberty, and then she left

him. He waited a little by himself, with his head down, and his heel

grinding a hole slowly in the gravel walk; you never saw a man look

more put out in your life. ‘Awkward!’ he said between his teeth, when

he looked up, and went on to the house—‘very awkward!’ If that was his

opinion of himself, he was quite right. Awkward enough, I’m sure. And

the end of it is, father, what I told you all along,” cries Penelope,

finishing me off with a last scarification, the hottest of all. “Mr.

Franklin’s the man!”

I got possession of the hair-brush, and opened my lips to administer

the reproof which, you will own, my daughter’s language and conduct

richly deserved.

Before I could say a word, the crash of carriage-wheels outside struck

in, and stopped me. The first of the dinner-company had come. Penelope

instantly ran off. I put on my coat, and looked in the glass. My head

was as red as a lobster; but, in other respects, I was as nicely

dressed for the ceremonies of the evening as a man need be. I got into

the hall just in time to announce the two first of the guests. You

needn’t feel particularly interested about them. Only the

philanthropist’s father and mother—Mr. and Mrs. Ablewhite.