She vanished into her room, cutting short his stammered thanks and protestations, and since he did not see her alone again that night he was unable to repeat them. He was engaged with a party of his own, but his friends found him in an unconvivial mood. His thoughts were, indeed, in a sad turmoil, and although his relief at being rid of his debt to Goldhanger had been at first overwhelming, it was succeeded, as soon as he had had time to think the matter over, by a most uncomfortable feeling of guilt. That Sophy, a mere female (and younger than himself) should not only have paid off his debt, but should also have visited on his behalf such a person as Goldhanger, made him squirm in his chair. Blue Ruin did little to clear his intellect, and when he sought Berkeley Square in the early hours of the morning he was no nearer a solution of this new difficulty than he had been at the start of the evening, the only coherent thought in his head being that in some undiscovered way he must instantly pay his cousin five hundred pounds.
Mr. Rivenhall returned from Leicestershire on the following day, arriving in Berkeley Square at a somewhat infelicitous moment. Jane Storridge, whose vigilance Sophy had not sufficiently taken into account, had not only discovered that the diamond drops were missing from her mistress’s jewel case, but had raised such a hue and cry in the servants’ quarters that Mrs. Ludstock, the housekeeper, felt herself called upon to inform Lady Ombersley that while she was sure she did not know what servants were coming to these days she would take her dying oath that none of the maids under her control had touched Miss Sophy’s earrings; and, further, that anybody might be pardoned for thinking that a lady’s maid worthy of the name would take better care of her mistress’s valuables than Miss Storridge seemed to suppose was necessary. With the gist of these remarks Dassett also wished to be identified, and so pregnant with unuttered offence was his manner that Lady Ombersley became quite flustered, realizing that she stood upon the brink of a domestic disaster. She sent for Jane Storridge, and Mr. Rivenhall arrived in time to hear the end of a dialogue between the three servants so icily civil, so bristling with veiled innuendo as to terrify poor Lady Ombersley. Before he had the opportunity of demanding an explanation, Sophy herself came in, in her walking dress, saying that she and Cecilia were going out to do some shopping, and had her aunt any commissions for them? Lady Ombersley greeted her with relief, and at once asked her why she had not disclosed the loss of her earrings.
Sophy did not start, but a very slight flush rose to her cheeks. She replied with perfect composure, “I have not lost any earrings, dear ma’am. What is this?”
“Oh, my love, your maid says that your diamond drops are gone from your case, and I would not have had such a thing happen for the world!”
Sophy bent to kiss her cheek. “Aunt Lizzie, I am so sorry! It is quite my fault for having been so stupid as to forget to tell Jane! They are not lost. I took them to the jeweler to be cleaned and reset. One of the hooks was a little loose. How foolish of you to have worried her ladyship, Jane, before first asking me if I knew where the earrings were!”
“Cleaned?” cried Miss Storridge. “Why, Miss Sophy, as though I did not take all your jewels to Rundell and Bridge to be cleaned when we first came to London!”
“Yes, but I thought on the night of our ball that those drops looked quite dull,” responded Sophy. “Go away now, Jane; her ladyship has been plagued enough!”
She was aware of her cousin’s eyes upon her face, and a swift glance in his direction had informed her that there was an uncomfortably searching expression in them. However, he said nothing, so she got rid of her maid, ascertained that her aunt had no commissions for her to execute and went off, devoutly trusting that neither she nor Mr. Rivenhall would notice the continued absence of her diamond earrings.
But on the following day, just as she had sat down to a light luncheon with Lady Ombersley, Cecilia, Selina, and Hubert, Mr. Rivenhall walked into the room and handed her a small package. “Your earrings, Cousin,” he said briefly. “I think you will find that they have now been cleaned to your satisfaction.”
For once in her life, Sophy was bereft of all power of speech. Fortunately, he did not seem to expect her to say anything, for he turned away to carve himself a slice of ham and began to talk to his mother, desiring to know whether she wished to spend any part of the summer in Brighton that year. Lady Ombersley referred this question to Sophy. Brighton did not agree with her constitution, but the Regent had made the resort so fashionable that any number of distinguished persons would flock there in June, and if Sophy wished it she would certainly hire a house there for some part of the season.
Cecilia, who had her own reasons for wanting to remain in town, said, “Oh, Mama, you know you are never well in Brighton! Pray do not let us go! I am sure there is nothing more stupid than those parties at the Pavilion, and the excessive heat in the rooms quite knocks you out!”
Sophy at once disclaimed any wish to visit the place; and the rest of the meal was spent in discussing the rival attractions of Ombersley, Thorpe Grange, and Scarborough, with some reminiscences from Lady Ombersley on a summer she had spent at Ramsgate before the Regent’s patronage of Brighton had quite cast this resort into the shade.
When they rose from the table, Hubert, who had been trying unavailingly for some time to get his cousin alone, blurted out, “Are you busy, Sophy? Would you care to stroll in the garden for a while?”
“Thank you! By and by, perhaps! Charles, may I have a word with you at your convenience?”
He met her direct gaze unsmilingly. “By all means! Now, if you wish.”
Lady Ombersley looked vaguely surprised; Selina exclaimed, “Secrets! Are you hatching a plot, I wonder? Shall we like it?
“Nothing so exciting,” replied Sophy lightly. “Merely, Charles executed a commission for me.”
She accompanied him across the hall to the library. She was never one to beat about the bush, and no sooner had he shut the door than she said, without preamble, “Now, if you please, tell me what this means. How did you know that I had sold my earrings, and why have you — as I suppose — bought them back for me?”
“I bought them back because I can think of only two reasons why you should have disposed of them.”
“Indeed! And what may they be, Cousin Charles?”
“I have never been permitted to see the bills for your ball, but I have some experience in these matters, and I can possibly guess at a rough total. If that is your explanation, you can want none from me. The arrangement was repugnant to me from the outset, as well you know.”
“My dear Charles, I have a great many expenses of which you know nothing at all! You are being absurd, you know!”
“I do not think that you have any expenses which your father would be unprepared to meet.”
She was silent for a moment. Then she said, “You have not yet told me what is the second of the reasons that occurred to you.”
He looked at her under frowning brows. “My fear is that you have lent the money to Hubert.”
“Good gracious! Banish it!” she exclaimed, laughing. “Pray, why should I do such a thing?”
“I hope you have not. The young fool was at Newmarket with a set of fellows I could wish at Jericho. Did he lose a large sum there?”
“Surely he would tell you if he had, rather than me!”
He walked over to his desk and rather absently tidied some papers that lay on it. “It may have been that he was afraid to,” he said. He looked up. “Was that it?”
“I needed the money for reasons into which I will not take you,” she replied. “I must point out to you, Charles, that you have not yet answered my other question. How did you guess that I had sold the earrings?”
“It was not a conjecture. I knew.”