Chapter XIII: The Bond Street Jeweller

Richard Shrewsbury awoke next morning to suddenly remember two things--the first, that Captain Burgoyne was coming to breakfast; the second that he was engaged to be married.

Now that the first excitement was over, he found himself not a little puzzled as to how the affairs of the previous evening had come about. He was well aware that he had come to be very fond of Sylvie Walsingham’s society, that she was the most important factor in his small world, that she had become, in a sense, necessary to him, that he liked and admired her, and was always well content when he was with her, that she always amused and interested him, and that she was just the sort of smart and pretty woman that he liked to be seen about with. And he was also very well aware that when he went to her that evening the idea of marrying her had never so much as entered his head. He felt equally sure, being as yet very innocent and unlearned in the ways of the world, that it had never entered hers.

“I persuaded her,” he said to himself as he began to dress. “I expect it was one of those things that are bound to be. And after all----”

He turned to a new photograph of Mrs. Walsingham, which he had put up on the mantelpiece of his bedroom only the day before, and Kedgin having gone out of the room, he took it down and looked carefully at it. Yes, there was no doubt that he would have one of the prettiest wives in London, and she would do credit to him, and to all the finery and luxury that he could give her, and he was very, very fond of her, and they had always got on like a house on fire, and ... and then he put the photograph back in its place and wondered vaguely why he had been very much attracted to Frances Leverton, and why there was something about her that had made him feel very down in the mouth when she dismissed him so curtly and very cock-a-whoop when, through the lame girl’s intercession, he had obtained permission to call at Acacia Mansions again.

Now, he thought, that engagement would perhaps not be quite so important as it had seemed--he would have to devote himself to his fiancée more than ever; perhaps--he was well aware that there was no love lost between Mrs. Walsingham and Miss Leverton--perhaps she would not allow him to go to Acacia Mansions. At the notion of that he laughed, a little cynically, and proceeded to complete his toilet.

Burgoyne came punctually to the moment of his appointment, alert, hungry, and bustling, and gave his surroundings an all-embracing and comprehensive stare.

“You seem to have lodged yourself in magnificence, young gentleman,” he said, gazing at the pictures, the books, and the old china. “Who inducted you into all this grandeur?”

“Carsdale--the man you saw yesterday,” replied Richard. “Carsdale is an awfully useful man to know.”

“Evidently,” said Burgoyne, still looking round. “But you didn’t find all these things--the books and pictures and ornaments--here?”

“No, they’re mine--I bought ’em,” answered Richard, gazing at his possessions with the pride of a child who owns valuable toys which it does not quite understand.

“I congratulate you on your taste. And pray, who helped you to form it. Somebody who knows something about these things, I think,” said Burgoyne. “I don’t believe you brought an epicurean taste in bindings, a nice discernment in pictures, or an even superficial knowledge of old china from Trinidad, young man.”

“No,” answered Richard, frankly. “I didn’t. I don’t know much about any of those things. Mrs. Walsingham helped me in that direction.”

“Oh, Mrs. Walsingham, the lady I saw at Carsdale’s, eh?” said Burgoyne. “Then I congratulate her on her taste--I possess a little, a very little, myself--just enough, Master Richard, to know when I encounter people who have more. I think your friend, Mrs. Walsingham, must be very clever.”

Richard glanced at the door of the room in which they were standing. In the next room Kedgin was moving about the breakfast table. Richard watched him until he disappeared to other regions.

“Oh, ah, yes!” he said shortly. “Yes--I believe so. The--er--fact is, Burgoyne, I wanted to tell you--you’re the first to know, really--the fact is, Mrs. Walsingham and I are--er--engaged to be married.”

Burgoyne, who had screwed an eye-glass into his right eye in order to examine a pair of exquisite water-colour sketches, turned and let it drop.

“Oh!” he said. “You and Mrs. Walsingham are engaged to be married, eh, Dick? Ah! Really! Now do you know, when those sort of announcements are made to me, I never know how to reply to them? One is supposed to shower congratulations on the persons who make them--and that sort of thing. I never do. You see, I don’t know Mrs. Walsingham. I saw yesterday a very pretty and smartly-gowned lady--but I don’t know any more. The great thing, dear boy, is--are you satisfied?”

“Quite!” answered Richard, emphatically. “Quite!”

Burgoyne slapped his young friend’s shoulder and shook hands with him.

“Then that’s all right, and I’ll be your best man,” he said. “That is, if you’ll have me. And here’s the welcome news of breakfast.”

Over the breakfast table, the elder man occasionally stole a keen look at the youngster, as if he were endeavouring to penetrate through the air and atmosphere of cheery good-humour which hung all over Richard. He was wondering what had happened since the previous day to bring this engagement about; that it had not been then made he was quite certain, knowing well that Richard was not the sort of young man to keep secrets from his friends. But he observed that his host’s appetite was not only unimpaired, but healthy and vigorous, and from that fact he concluded that Richard’s mind was quite easy on all matters of whatever nature, and he accordingly dismissed his friend’s affairs from him, and began to think of his own.

“And so Carsdale’s a smart business man, Dick?” he asked when they had settled down to breakfast and Kedgin had taken himself away. “A really clever man at his work, eh?”

“Carsdale’s one of the cleverest men in London,” answered Richard, with deep assurance.

“Is that his general reputation, or do you speak of your own opinion?” asked Burgoyne.

“I can only tell what I know,” answered Richard. And he entered into a plain account of what Carsdale had done for him in the way of investing the major portion of his fortune, not forgetting to repeat the encomiums passed upon the transaction by the highly respectable bankers. But in detailing the magnitude and the soundness of this transaction, he forgot to mention that he had given Carsdale ten thousand pounds to play with, and Burgoyne was consequently impressed.

“Well, that seems highly satisfactory,” said Burgoyne. “Carsdale may be of use to me. I want some man of his sort as a sort of medium. I meant, of course, to go to Leverton.”

For a moment Richard’s thoughts turned to Frances Leverton. Here was a chance of introducing business to her. Carsdale, whether by intention or not, had taken away his, Richard’s, business from her; it would be doing her a good turn to get Burgoyne to give her a chance.

“Miss Leverton is carrying on some part of her father’s business,” he said. “I don’t quite know what she does, but I think she advises people about investments, and----”

“No!” said Burgoyne. “I wouldn’t employ a woman in business matters under any consideration. But I think Carsdale might do for what I want.”

“What do you want?” asked Richard.

“To form a company for developing the district which I’ve been exploring,” replied Burgoyne. “There’s an enormous trade to be done in that corner of the world. Oh, I’m going to do it, of course! I shall put a good deal of money into it myself, now that I’ve come into this rather unexpected wealth. You’d better come in with me, Dick. In two years any company formed on lines I propose, and with the capital I’m thinking of, will be getting twenty, aye, thirty per cent. on its money. There’s a veritable virgin gold mine there.”

“Oh, I’ll come in,” said Richard. “That is, of course, if Carsdale approves. I’ve left everything in his hands, you see.”

Burgoyne smiled.

“I think Carsdale will see the possibilities when I talk to him,” he said. “I must make an appointment. For a few days I’m about filled up.”

“Can you give me half an hour this morning?” asked Richard, a little shyly and diffidently. “Do, if you can, Burgoyne.”

The explorer pulled out his watch.

“I’m due at the Royal Geographical Society’s place at half-past eleven,” he said. “And it’s now half-past ten. What is it, Dick?”

Richard laughed and looked somewhat shame-faced.

“I--well, I suppose I’ve got to buy an engagement ring,” he said. “I thought perhaps you’d go with me to Levanter’s place in Bond Street.”

“That’s on my way,” answered Burgoyne. “Levanter’s, eh? That’s a very swell establishment, isn’t it? Perhaps they could do something for me. I want to have my necklace valued--the expensive luxury which I redeemed yesterday, you know. I really don’t know what it’s worth, and I believe I shall sell it.”

“Sell it to me!” said Richard, eagerly. “I’ll buy it.”

Burgoyne gave the young gentleman a queer look. He was not precisely aware of the full amount of Richard’s fortune, and it seemed to him that the buying of diamond necklaces was not a thing to be lightly entered upon.

“What would you do with it?” he asked, smiling.

“Why give it to Sylvie, of course,” answered Richard.

“A pretty name,” commented Burgoyne, and secretly wondered who Mrs. Walsingham had been. “Well, we’ll see, Dick. Of course, if you want to buy diamonds----”

“All women love diamonds,” interjected Richard, with an air of wisdom.

“True, my son,” said Burgoyne, gravely. “They do. And,” he added to himself, “they love young men who can afford to give them diamonds. Well,” he said aloud, “suppose we go round, then?”

“But--your necklace?” said Richard.

Burgoyne laughed, and tapped the breast of his buttoned-up coat.

“I have it--here,” he answered. “Here, in a wash-leather bag. The fact is, I’ve never had it off me since I took possession of it again, yesterday. I--slept with it under my pillow. I’m not sure that I didn’t dream of it.”

Closeted with the Bond Street jeweller, who already knew him very well as a good customer whose purchases so far had been chiefly for himself in the way of sleeve-links, scarf-pins, and such-like adjuncts to a rich young man’s personal adornments, Richard proved hard to please.

He asked Burgoyne’s advice, he asked Mr. Levanter’s advice; he endeavoured to combine their ideas and their taste with his own. Finally he decided on a plain ring in which were set five stones of the purest quality. The price made Burgoyne jump, but Richard drew out his cheque-book, and paid the sum demanded without comment. He put the ring in his pocket, and rose with a sigh of relief.

“Now it’s your turn,” he said, looking at Burgoyne.

“And you’ve been so long at making up your mind that you’ve left me no time,” said Burgoyne. He drew out his wash-leather bag from an inner pocket of his vest, and handed it to the jeweller. “I want you to do something for me, Mr. Levanter,” he said. “In this bag, which, as you see, is sealed, you will find a diamond necklace which has been in my family for about a hundred years and is now my property. I’ve never had it properly valued, and I want to know what it is really worth. Look it over this morning. I can’t stay now, but I’ll come in before lunch.”

Then he got Richard out, bidding him carry his newly-acquired bauble to his fiancée, and he himself hurried away to his appointment. He was kept by it longer than he had anticipated; then a fellow-explorer carried him off to lunch at the _Bristol_; it was not until the middle of the afternoon that he remembered the jeweller and the task he had entrusted to him. He went off to Bond Street, and entered the shop with a careless smile.

“Well, Mr. Levanter?” he said.

Mr. Levanter led him into the room in which Richard had inspected the rings, and unlocked a safe. He took out the wash-leather case and looked at Captain Burgoyne with a curious expression.

“You meant me to value these as--as diamonds?” he said.

“As diamonds? Why, of course!” answered Burgoyne. “Of course! Diamonds!”

“Well, Captain,” said Mr. Levanter, drawing out the necklace, “I thought so. But these, sir, are not diamonds. These things are paste!”