On the third day after Mr and Mrs Travers had left Mrs Hawthorne came to me with a long face and a letter in her hand.
‘My dear, I cannot tell you how annoyed I am, but I shall have to go to England at once – today. And whatever will become of you?’
It seemed that her only sister was dangerously ill, and that she was implored to go to her as soon as she could. Of course, she would have to go. I told her that it did not matter in the least about me; Mr and Mrs Travers would be back in a day or two, and now that I knew so many people in the hotel, who were all of them disposed to be friendly, I should be perfectly all right until they came. She must not allow any consideration for me to keep her for a moment from obeying her sister’s call. She left for London that afternoon; but, so far from everything being perfectly all right with me after she had gone, the very next day my troubles began.
They began in the morning. I was sitting on the terrace with a book. Mr Sterndale had been talking to me. Presently his sister came through an open French window from the lounge. Her brother went up to her; I sat still. She was at the other end of the terrace, and when she saw me she nodded and smiled. When her brother came up to her, he said something which, as his back was towards me, of course I did not catch; but her answer to him, which was very gently uttered, I saw quite distinctly; all the while she was speaking she was smiling at me.
‘She has a red morocco jewel-case sort of a thing on the corner of her mantel-shelf; I put it under the bottom tray. With the exception of that gold locket which she is always wearing it’s the only decent thing in it; it’s full of childish trumpery.’
That was what Miss Sterndale said to her brother, and I saw her say it with rather curious feelings. What had he asked her? To what could she be referring? I had ‘a red morocco jewel-case sort of a thing’, and it stood on a corner of my mantel-shelf. I also had a gold locket, which, if I was not, as she put it, always wearing, I did wear pretty often. Certainly it was the only article in my jewel-case which was worth very much; and with a horrid sort of qualm I owned to myself that the rest of the contents might come under the definition of ‘childish trumpery’. She said she had put something under the bottom tray. What bottom tray? Whose bottom tray? There were trays in my jewel-case; she could not possibly have meant that she had put anything under one of them. The idea was too preposterous. And yet, if we had not been going to St Beatenberg, I think I should have gone straight up to my bedroom to see. I do not know how it was; the moment before I had been perfectly happy; there was not a grain of suspicion in the air, nor in my mind; then all of a sudden I felt quite curious. Could there be two persons in the house possessed of ‘a red morocco jewel-case sort of a thing’, which stood on a corner of the mantel-shelf, in which was a gold locket and a rather mixed collection of childish trumpery I wondered. If I was the only person in the house who owned such a treasure, what did she mean by saying that she had put something under the bottom tray? The case was locked; I had locked it myself before leaving the room, of that I was sure. Had she unlocked it – with what key? She could not have broken it open. Was the something which she had put under the bottom tray a present which was meant to be a surprise to me?
The evening before, we had arranged to make an excursion to St Beatenberg on the Lake of Thun – five or six of us. I was dressed ready to start when Miss Sterndale came through that French window. She also was ready, and her brother. Presently the others appeared. I was feeling a little confused; I could not think of an excuse which would give me an opportunity of examining my jewel-case. Anyhow, I kept trying to tell myself it was absurd. I wished I could not see what people were saying merely by watching their lips. What Miss Sterndale had said to her brother had nothing at all to do with me. I had unintentionally heard something which I had not been meant to hear, and I was being properly punished for my pains.
My day at St Beatenberg was spoilt, though I kept telling myself that it was all my own fault, and nobody else’s. Everyone was gay, and full of fun and laughter – everyone but me. My mood was so obviously out of tune with theirs that they commented on it.
‘What is the matter with you, Miss Lee?’ asked Mrs Dalton; ‘you look as if you were not enjoying yourself one little bit.’
I did not like to say that I was not; as a matter of fact, when they rallied me I said that I was – but it was not true.
When I got back to the hotel and was in my bedroom, I went straight up to that ‘red morocco jewel-case sort of a thing’ and looked at it. It was locked, just as I had left it. Clearly I had been worrying myself all day long about nothing at all. Still, I got my keys and opened it; there was nothing to show that the contents had been touched. I lifted the two trays – and I gasped. I do not know how else to describe it
