“Why, there might be a difference of opinion,” said Mr. Couch; “for my part, I would price the rubies highest.
But there is family feeling about the pearl collar.
Your grandmother, Mrs. Ambrose Ashley, wore it first as a bride, at the Court of St. James.
Then your aunt, Mrs. Philip, had it given to her, as a matter of course, when the estate passed down to your uncle.
Various members of the family have worn it on their wedding day.
Your own mother was among them; in point of fact, I think she was the last to do so.
Your cousin, Mr. Ambrose Ashley, would never permit it to go out of the country, when there were weddings elsewhere.”
He held the collar in his hand, and the light from the window fell upon the smooth round pearls.
“Yes,” he said, “it is a beautiful thing.
And no woman has put it on for five-and-twenty years.
I attended your mother’s wedding.
She was a pretty creature.
It became her well.”
I put out my hand and took the collar from him.
“Well, I want to keep it now,” I said, and I placed the collar with its wrappings in the box.
He looked a little taken aback.
“I do not know if that is wise, Mr. Ashley,” he said.
“If this should be lost or mislaid it would be a terrible thing.”
“It won’t be lost,” I answered briefly.
He did not seem happy, and I made haste to go, lest he should produce some argument more forceful.
“If you are worried what my guardian will say,” I told him, “please rest assured.
I will make it right with him when he returns from Exeter.”
“I hope so,” said Mr. Couch, “but I had preferred it had he been present.
Of course in April, when you come into the property legally, it would not matter if you took the whole collection, and did as you wished with them.
I should not advise such a step, but it would be strictly legal.”
I held out my hand to him and wished him a pleasant Christmas and rode home, much elated.
If I had searched the whole country I could not have found a better present for her.
Thank heaven pearls were white. And it made a bond to think that the last woman to wear them had been my mother.
I would tell her that.
Now I could face the prospect of Christmas Eve with a lighter heart.
Two days to wait… The weather was fine, the frost was light, and there was all the promise of a clear dry evening for the dinner.
The servants were much excited, and on the morning of Christmas Eve, when the trestle tables and the benches had been set down the room, and the knives and forks and platters all laid ready, with evergreen hanging from the beams, I asked Seecombe and the lads to come with me and decorate the tree.
Seecombe made himself master of the ceremony.
He stood a little apart from the rest of us, to give himself a longer view, and as we turned the tree this way and that, and lifted one branch and then another, to balance the frosty fir cones on it and the holly berries, he waved his hands at us, looking for all the world like the conductor of a string sextet.
“The angle does not please me, Mr. Philip,” he said, “the tree would appear to better advantage if moved a trifle to the left.
Ah! too far… Yes, that is better.
John, the fourth branch on the right is bent.
Raise it somewhat.
Tch, tch… your touch is heavy.
Spread out the branches, Arthur, spread them.
The tree must seem to be standing as nature placed it.
Don’t stamp upon the berries, Jim.
Mr. Philip, let it stay now as it is. One further movement, and the whole is wrecked.”
I had never thought him to possess such a sense of artistry.
He stood back, his hands under his coattails, his eyes near closed.
“Mr. Philip,” he said to me, “we have attained perfection.”
I saw young John nudge Arthur in the ribs and turn away.
Dinner was set to start at five.
The Kendalls and the Pascoes would be the only “carriage folk,” as the expression had it.
The rest would come by wagonette or trap, or even on their own feet, those who lived nearby.