Chapter 19 Three Girls from School by L. T. Meade
A Profitable Transaction
Annie Brooke was the sort of girl who was sure to be popular wherever she went. She had already made many friends in the Hotel Belle Vue at Interlaken. Amongst these was a quaint old gentleman with shaggy hair, deep-set eyes, a much-hooked nose, and a decidedly Jewish appearance. Few people were attentive to the old man, and he used to be glad when Annie came and sat next him in the big lounge after dinner, and listened to his rather rambling and rather meaningless talk. But Annie Brooke was the sort of person who does nothing without intent. She never met any one without trying to learn something with regard to that person’s peculiarities, that person’s past, and, if possible, that person’s present history.
Now Mr Manchuri was a dealer in gems, and it darted through Annie’s fertile brain as she was returning to the hotel with Lady Lushington and Mabel that she might do a little stroke of business both for herself and her friend if she showed the precious necklace to him. The more she thought on this, the more did this idea fascinate her. It would be very, very much better than taking the necklace back to Zick or offering it for sale to some other dealer at Interlaken. The jewellers there were not so clever with regard to the true value of gems as was Mr Manchuri; and besides, it was quite on the cards that they might exhibit the necklace in their windows for sale during the afternoon of that same day, and there was also a possibility that Lady Lushington, who was always rather wayward and uncertain in her movements, might postpone going to Zermatt for a day or two; in short, it would be very much safer to consult Mr Manchuri with regard to the necklace. He was going to return to England that very afternoon. If he took the necklace with him all would be safe; but Annie did not dare to confide her thoughts to Mabel. She was certain Mr Manchuri would not betray her, but she had to act warily and with tact.
Now Priscie had gone for a long walk into the mountains, and when she came back she was very tired. She went accordingly to sit in the lovely shady garden which was one of the principal features of the hotel. She chose a comfortable rustic seat under a wide-spreading tree, and sat for some time with a book on her knee lost in thought. By-and-by Annie entered the garden. She saw Priscilla, and was much annoyed. She knew that it was Mr Manchuri’s custom to smoke in the garden before lunch. She meant to join him and have a pleasant little talk. But the most shady seat—the seat, in fact, which he generally occupied—was now filled by the—to Annie—ungainly figure of Priscilla Weir.
“Oh dear me, Priscilla!” said Annie, pausing when she saw her friend, and looking at her with a great deal of exasperation.
“Yes,” said Priscie; “what is the matter?”
“I want to sit just where you are.”
“Well, I suppose you can; there is room for two.”
“But there isn’t room for three,” said Annie.
“Three?” said Priscilla. “Who is the third?”
“Oh, never mind,” said Annie; “I suppose we’ll find another seat. It is Mr Manchuri; he is going to England, you know, to-day. He is such a nice old man, and I did think I could send a little present by him as far as London, and then it could be posted to dear old Uncle Maurice. I wanted to give him a special message about it. But there, never mind.”
“I will go in if I am in the way,” said Priscie. She rose hastily and went towards the house. She felt that Annie was becoming almost unendurable to her. Such a queer, sore sensation was in her heart that she almost wondered if she could live through the next term at Mrs Lyttelton’s school in the presence of this girl—this girl so devoid of principle. But then, where were Priscilla’s own principles? What right had Priscilla to upbraid another when she herself was so unworthy? She crushed down the dreadful thought, and went back into the house feeling limp and miserable.
Meanwhile Mr Manchuri walked slowly down the garden in his meditative, cautious fashion, never hurrying in the very least, and gazing abstractedly at a view which he did not in the least admire, for he had no eyes for the really beautiful things of nature. Nevertheless he considered the strong, sweet air of the Swiss mountains good for him, and as such was the case, was satisfied with his surroundings. Presently he caught sight of Annie’s white frock. He liked Annie Brooke; she was a pretty little thing, very good-natured and amusing. He thought to himself how much nicer she was than any other girl in the hotel. She had no nonsensical airs about her, and could listen to an old man’s maunderings without showing the slightest sign of weariness. Her eyes were very blue, too, and her hair golden. He did not consider her pretty; no one ever thought Annie Brooke quite pretty; but then she was charming, and had a way of making a man feel at his very best while he talked to her; and she did not object to his smoking.
He accordingly made his way as straight as an arrow from the bow to the comfortable seat where Priscilla had been reposing, and which Annie had left vacant for him. Annie was seated on a far less comfortable chair herself. She was looking straight before her, her hands lying idle in her lap, her hat slightly pushed back. She did not appear to notice Mr Manchuri until he was close to her side. But when he said, “Hallo, Miss Brooke!” she looked up, and a happy smile parted her childish lips.
“Oh, now, this is nice!” she said. “I was wondering if I should see you before you went.”
“I am not going until late this evening,” was the answer.
“I thought you were going this afternoon.”
“No; I have decided to travel by night. It is too hot for day travelling at present.”
He sank into a seat and began to pull at his pipe vigorously. Annie gave a gentle sigh.
“What is the matter?” he asked.
She looked at him, glanced round her, and then, dropping her voice to a whisper, said:
“I wonder if I might confide in you.”
“Of course you may, Miss Brooke,” he said.
“But it is,” said Annie, “a most sacred confidence. I mean that if I tell you, you must never tell anybody else.”
“I am very honoured, I am sure,” said Mr Manchuri. “Now what is this confidence, young lady?”
“You will respect it?” said Annie.
“Here is my hand on it,” he said; and he laid his wrinkled hand for a minute in her little white one.
“Then it is just this,” said Annie. “I have a dear, dear uncle in England—Uncle Maurice. He is a clergyman; he is awfully good and sweet, and he is not at all well, and he is not rich, although he has enough. I am most anxious to send him a little present, something all from myself. Now I happened to get this to-day,” and she took a box from where it lay concealed in the folds of her dress. “I got this to-day at Zick’s, the jeweller’s. You must not ask me what I paid for it. I assure you it was not a great deal, but I am under the impression that it is worth far more than Zick has any idea of. I—I want to sell it in order to send a little present to dear Uncle Maurice, and you are such a judge of gems and precious stones of all sorts. May I show it to you? The fact is, I got it as a great bargain; but if you could tell me what I ought to ask for it, it would be such a help in disposing of it again. Do you think you could—and—would?”
Mr Manchuri gave Annie a long glance. It was the first very observant glance that he had given her. Hitherto he had simply regarded her as a nice, well-mannered, pleasant little girl, who did not mind amusing an old man with little nothings of conversation and little scraps of local news; but now it seemed to him all of a sudden that he saw something more in her face.
“And how,” he asked after a pause—“how is it, Miss Annie Brooke, that you happen to know that I am a judge of gems and precious stones?”
Annie did not expect this question, and in consequence she coloured very vividly. After a pause she said:
“I am always fond of putting two and two together; and don’t you remember that evening when you told me the wonderful story of the Duchess of Martinborough’s bracelet, and—and—about the ring that was stolen and sought for afterwards by the Secret Service people?”
“Yes, I remember quite well. Well, go on.”
“I thought what a lot you knew about those things. Don’t you?”
“Bless your heart, child!” he said, “I am in that trade myself; I have made a pretty snug fortune in it. Yes, I can glance at your little bargain and tell you, if you like, whether it is a bargain or not.”
“And you remember your promise; you will never tell any one?”
“Honour bright,” was his answer.
She then put the box into his hand. He opened it, and took out the old necklace with its pearls of various sizes and different shapes, and its very quaint, old-world setting. Annie glanced at him and saw a subtle change creep over his face. He had hitherto regarded the whole thing as a joke. Annie Brooke, child as she was, could not possibly know a bargain when she saw it, and those Swiss fellows were as sharp as knives and never let anything good escape them. And yet, and yet—here was something of real merit. Those centre pearls were distinguished—round and smooth and of the most exquisite colour.
He dangled the thing lightly in his hand.
All the tricks of the trade, all that which had made him the rich old man what he was, rushed quickly through his brain, and yet he looked again at Annie Brooke. For the life of her, Annie could not keep the eagerness out of her eyes.
“Is it a bargain, or is it not?” she said. “Have I been fooled about it?”
“Will you tell me in strict confidence what you gave for it?” he asked.
Annie had hoped he would not put this question to her.
“I was a little mad, I think,” she said. “I gave my all for it.”
“That tells me nothing. What is your all?”
“Forty pounds,” she said in a choked sort of voice.
“Were you not rather unwise to part with your last penny?”
“You don’t understand,” said Annie, who, having at last declared a part of the truth, felt better able to go on. “I have studied pearls a great deal; and Uncle Maurice, dear Uncle Maurice, has taught me their true value and something of their history, and I guessed that this was really cheap, and thought I could sell it for more.”
“By Jove!” said Mr Manchuri, “you are the sharpest girl I ever saw. How old are you?”
“Seventeen,” said Annie.
“God help the man who marries you!” said Mr Manchuri under his breath.
“What did you say?” asked Annie.
“Nothing, nothing, my dear. Of course I admire your cleverness. Well, you have come to the right person. I will give you one hundred pounds for this necklace; there, now.”
“And you won’t say anything about it?” said Annie, who felt at once faint and delighted, overpowered with joy, and yet subdued by an awful weight of apprehension.
“Nothing to any one in this hotel. But the thing is a curio, and I shall probably sell it for double what I give you. I do not conceal anything from you. Miss Annie Brooke. You might try for ever, and you would find it difficult to get your forty pounds back. But I, who am in the trade, am in a different position. Had I gone to Zick before you, I would have probably bought the thing for thirty pounds and thought no shame to myself for doing so. But I won’t cheat a young lady, particularly such a very clever young lady, and you shall have your hundred pounds at once. Here; I have notes on my person. You would prefer them to a cheque?”
“Oh yes, please!” Annie trembled with joy.
Mr Manchuri counted out ten ten-pound notes, and Annie gave him the quaint pearl necklace.
She then lingered a little longer trying to talk on indifferent matters, but her interest in the old Jew was gone, and, as a matter of fact, she did not want to see him any more.
As to the old man himself, he felt that he hated her; but he was glad to have made a good stroke of business, although he was very rich. That was always worth something. He would in all probability clear one hundred and fifty pounds on the necklace, which would more than pay for his trip abroad and for the benefit he had derived from the air of the Swiss mountains.
Annie went into the house, rushed up to Mabel’s room, and, taking three ten-pound notes out of her pocket, said exultantly:
“There, I have done it! Now who is clever?”
“Oh, you are,” said Mabel. “But where did you sell it, and to whom? We must keep Aunt Henrietta from going to any of the shops to-day.”
“Oh, we will easily manage that,” said Annie. “She is going to have a little drive after lunch, and I am going with her—trust me. We must get to Zermatt to-morrow. Now I am going to write a long letter to Mrs Priestley enclosing this. I shall barely have time before déjeuner.” When that day Annie Brooke did sit down to déjeuner she considered herself a remarkably wealthy young woman, for she had in her possession nearly eighty pounds, every one of which she intended to keep for her own special aggrandisement; and Mrs Priestley was paid—paid in full, with a long explanatory letter desiring her emphatically to send an account to Lady Lushington which would only amount to forty pounds.
Annie was exceedingly pleased. The colour of excitement bloomed on her cheeks; her eyes looked quite dark. At these times she was so nearly pretty that many people remarked on her and turned to look at her again. She was in her wildest, most captivating mood, too, and Priscilla looked by her side both limp and uninteresting. If only Priscilla would go. Her very face was a reproach. Annie wondered if she could accomplish this feat also. Mr Manchuri could take her to England. What an excellent idea, if Annie could only work it!
“I have had everything else I wanted to-day,” thought the girl, “and if I can do this one last thing I will see the pinnacle of my success reached.”
“You will come for a drive, won’t you?” said Annie, bending towards Lady Lushington as the tedious meal of déjeuner was coming to an end.
Lady Lushington yawned slightly.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said; “the heat is so great that I have not energy for anything. I wonder if I ought to travel to-morrow.”
“Oh yes,” said Annie; “it will be cooler at Zermatt.”
“That is true; but the journey—”
“We have taken our rooms in the hotel, have we not?” said Annie.
“Well, that is just it; I am not sure. I telegraphed this morning to the ‘Beau Séjour,’ but have not had a reply yet. I insist on staying at the ‘Beau Séjour.’ There is no hotel like it in the place.”
“There are such a lot of us, of course,” said Annie; “but Priscie and I do not mind sharing the tiniest little room together; do we, Pris?”
Here she glanced at Priscilla. Priscilla looked up.
“I don’t want to be unpleasant,” she said, “but I certainly should like a room to myself.”
“Of course, my dear,” said Lady Lushington.
“Dear, dear! I must consult with Parker. There’s a room for me, a room for Mabel, a room each for you two girls—that makes four; and Parker’s room, five. You two girls would not by any chance mind sleeping in another hotel, would you?”
Here she looked first at Annie and then at Priscilla.
“Certainly not,” said Annie. “I do not mind anything.”
Priscilla was quite silent. Just then one of the waiters appeared with a telegram. It was to Lady Lushington. She opened it. There were only four bedrooms available at the “Beau Séjour.”
Annie spoke impulsively. “I tell you what,” she said. “I won’t be in the way; I won’t. I will go back to England to-night. I can go with Mr Manchuri, that funny old Jew gentleman whom I have been so friendly with. I know he will let me travel with him. It is just too bad, Lady Lushington; you must let me. I have been, oh! so happy, and it will be a cruel disappointment to go; but I will. Yes, I will go.”
“Seeing that your uncle is ill, perhaps—” began Lady Lushington.
“Oh, please don’t think that it is on account of that. Uncle Maurice constantly has these attacks. He is probably as well as ever by now; but it is just because I won’t crowd you up.”
“But, Annie,” said Mabel in a troubled voice, “you know I can’t live without you.”
“It is very awkward indeed,” said Lady Lushington—“very awkward. The fact is, I can’t very well spare you; you are of great use to me.”
Priscilla rose from the table. She had scarcely touched anything during the meal.
“I think I know what Annie Brooke means,” she said. “She means that one of us two girls is to offer to go back, and she naturally does not intend to go herself.”
“But I offered to go. How cruel you are!” said Annie. “I will go, too,” she added, pouting and looking at once pretty and petulant. “Yes, Lady Lushington, I will go.—Mabel, I can’t help it. You are my very dearest ownest friend; but I won’t crowd you up. You will have Priscie.”
“No,” said Priscilla mournfully; “I am no use. I don’t think at present I love people, and I can’t talk much, and I can’t wear”—she hesitated—“the dresses that other people wear. I will go. I have had a beautiful time, and I have seen the mountains. It is something to have had even a glimpse of the higher Alps; they are like nothing else. A little disappointment is nothing when one has had such great joy. I will go to-night if Mr Manchuri will let me accompany him.”
“It does seem reasonable, Miss Weir,” said Lady Lushington. “We can’t stay on here, for our rooms are let, and I won’t go anywhere at Zermatt except to the ‘Beau Séjour.’ As to one of you girls sleeping out it cannot be thought of, although I did propose that two of you might—that is, together; but there seem to be difficulties. You have not been very happy with us, have you, Miss Weir?”
“You have been the cause of great happiness to me, and I thank you from my heart,” said Priscilla.
“Well, my dear, I will of course pay your fare back. I hope we may meet again some day. Then that is settled.—Annie, please go at once and wire that we will engage the four rooms, and—who will see Mr Manchuri and arrange with him to let Priscilla accompany him to England?”
“I will do both,” said Annie.
She hastily left the salle-à-manger and ran through the great lounge with a sort of skipping movement, so light were her steps, and so light and jubilant her heart. The old Jew did not make any demur when he was told that the tall, slender young lady was to accompany him home.
“I will look after her,” he said. “Don’t thank me, please, Miss Brooke; I don’t suppose that she will be the slightest trouble.”
Priscilla went up to her room, flung herself on her bed, and wept.