The Moonstone

une twenty-first, the day of the birthday, was cloudy and unsettled at
sunrise, but towards noon it cleared up bravely.

We, in the servants’ hall, began this happy anniversary, as usual, by
offering our little presents to Miss Rachel, with the regular speech
delivered annually by me as the chief. I follow the plan adopted by the
Queen in opening Parliament—namely, the plan of saying much the same
thing regularly every year. Before it is delivered, my speech (like the
Queen’s) is looked for as eagerly as if nothing of the kind had ever
been heard before. When it is delivered, and turns out not to be the
novelty anticipated, though they grumble a little, they look forward
hopefully to something newer next year. An easy people to govern, in
the Parliament and in the Kitchen—that’s the moral of it.

After breakfast, Mr. Franklin and I had a private conference on the
subject of the Moonstone—the time having now come for removing it from
the bank at Frizinghall, and placing it in Miss Rachel’s own hands.

Whether he had been trying to make love to his cousin again, and had
got a rebuff—or whether his broken rest, night after night, was
aggravating the queer contradictions and uncertainties in his
character—I don’t know. But certain it is, that Mr. Franklin failed to
show himself at his best on the morning of the birthday. He was in
twenty different minds about the Diamond in as many minutes. For my
part, I stuck fast by the plain facts as we knew them. Nothing had
happened to justify us in alarming my lady on the subject of the jewel;
and nothing could alter the legal obligation that now lay on Mr.
Franklin to put it in his cousin’s possession. That was my view of the
matter; and, twist and turn it as he might, he was forced in the end to
make it his view too. We arranged that he was to ride over, after
lunch, to Frizinghall, and bring the Diamond back, with Mr. Godfrey and
the two young ladies, in all probability, to keep him company on the
way home again.

This settled, our young gentleman went back to Miss Rachel.

They consumed the whole morning, and part of the afternoon, in the
everlasting business of decorating the door, Penelope standing by to
mix the colours, as directed; and my lady, as luncheon time drew near,
going in and out of the room, with her handkerchief to her nose (for
they used a deal of Mr. Franklin’s vehicle that day), and trying vainly
to get the two artists away from their work. It was three o’clock
before they took off their aprons, and released Penelope (much the
worse for the vehicle), and cleaned themselves of their mess. But they
had done what they wanted—they had finished the door on the birthday,
and proud enough they were of it. The griffins, cupids, and so on,
were, I must own, most beautiful to behold; though so many in number,
so entangled in flowers and devices, and so topsy-turvy in their
actions and attitudes, that you felt them unpleasantly in your head for
hours after you had done with the pleasure of looking at them. If I add
that Penelope ended her part of the morning’s work by being sick in the
back-kitchen, it is in no unfriendly spirit towards the vehicle. No!
no! It left off stinking when it dried; and if Art requires these sort
of sacrifices—though the girl is my own daughter—I say, let Art have
them!

Mr. Franklin snatched a morsel from the luncheon-table, and rode off to
Frizinghall—to escort his cousins, as he told my lady. To fetch the
Moonstone, as was privately known to himself and to me.

This being one of the high festivals on which I took my place at the
side-board, in command of the attendance at table, I had plenty to
occupy my mind while Mr. Franklin was away. Having seen to the wine,
and reviewed my men and women who were to wait at dinner, I retired to
collect myself before the company came. A whiff of—you know what, and a
turn at a certain book which I have had occasion to mention in these
pages, composed me, body and mind. I was aroused from what I am
inclined to think must have been, not a nap, but a reverie, by the
clatter of horses’ hoofs outside; and, going to the door, received a
cavalcade comprising Mr. Franklin and his three cousins, escorted by
one of old Mr. Ablewhite’s grooms.

Mr. Godfrey struck me, strangely enough, as being like Mr. Franklin in
this respect—that he did not seem to be in his customary spirits. He
kindly shook hands with me as usual, and was most politely glad to see
his old friend Betteredge wearing so well. But there was a sort of
cloud over him, which I couldn’t at all account for; and when I asked
how he had found his father in health, he answered rather shortly,
“Much as usual.” However, the two Miss Ablewhites were cheerful enough
for twenty, which more than restored the balance. They were nearly as
big as their brother; spanking, yellow-haired, rosy lasses, overflowing
with super-abundant flesh and blood; bursting from head to foot with
health and spirits. The legs of the poor horses trembled with carrying
them; and when they jumped from their saddles (without waiting to be
helped), I declare they bounced on the ground as if they were made of
india-rubber. Everything the Miss Ablewhites said began with a large O;
everything they did was done with a bang; and they giggled and
screamed, in season and out of season, on the smallest provocation.
Bouncers—that’s what I call them.

Under cover of the noise made by the young ladies, I had an opportunity
of saying a private word to Mr. Franklin in the hall.

“Have you got the Diamond safe, sir?”

He nodded, and tapped the breast-pocket of his coat.

“Have you seen anything of the Indians?”

“Not a glimpse.” With that answer, he asked for my lady, and, hearing
she was in the small drawing-room, went there straight. The bell rang,
before he had been a minute in the room, and Penelope was sent to tell
Miss Rachel that Mr. Franklin Blake wanted to speak to her.

Crossing the hall, about half an hour afterwards, I was brought to a
sudden standstill by an outbreak of screams from the small
drawing-room. I can’t say I was at all alarmed; for I recognised in the
screams the favourite large O of the Miss Ablewhites. However, I went
in (on pretence of asking for instructions about the dinner) to
discover whether anything serious had really happened.

There stood Miss Rachel at the table, like a person fascinated, with
the Colonel’s unlucky Diamond in her hand. There, on either side of
her, knelt the two Bouncers, devouring the jewel with their eyes, and
screaming with ecstasy every time it flashed on them in a new light.
There, at the opposite side of the table, stood Mr. Godfrey, clapping
his hands like a large child, and singing out softly, “Exquisite!
exquisite!” There sat Mr. Franklin in a chair by the bookcase, tugging
at his beard, and looking anxiously towards the window. And there, at
the window, stood the object he was contemplating—my lady, having the
extract from the Colonel’s Will in her hand, and keeping her back
turned on the whole of the company.

She faced me, when I asked for my instructions; and I saw the family
frown gathering over her eyes, and the family temper twitching at the
corners of her mouth.

“Come to my room in half an hour,” she answered. “I shall have
something to say to you then.”

With those words, she went out. It was plain enough that she was posed
by the same difficulty which had posed Mr. Franklin and me in our
conference at the Shivering Sand. Was the legacy of the Moonstone a
proof that she had treated her brother with cruel injustice? or was it
a proof that he was worse than the worst she had ever thought of him?
Serious questions those for my lady to determine, while her daughter,
innocent of all knowledge of the Colonel’s character, stood there with
the Colonel’s birthday gift in her hand.

Before I could leave the room in my turn, Miss Rachel, always
considerate to the old servant who had been in the house when she was
born, stopped me. “Look, Gabriel!” she said, and flashed the jewel
before my eyes in a ray of sunlight that poured through the window.

Lord bless us! it was a Diamond! As large, or nearly, as a plover’s
egg! The light that streamed from it was like the light of the harvest
moon. When you looked down into the stone, you looked into a yellow
deep that drew your eyes into it so that they saw nothing else. It
seemed unfathomable; this jewel, that you could hold between your
finger and thumb, seemed unfathomable as the heavens themselves. We set
it in the sun, and then shut the light out of the room, and it shone
awfully out of the depths of its own brightness, with a moony gleam, in
the dark. No wonder Miss Rachel was fascinated: no wonder her cousins
screamed. The Diamond laid such a hold on me that I burst out with as
large an “O” as the Bouncers themselves. The only one of us who kept
his senses was Mr. Godfrey. He put an arm round each of his sister’s
waists, and, looking compassionately backwards and forwards between the
Diamond and me, said, “Carbon Betteredge! mere carbon, my good friend,
after all!”

His object, I suppose, was to instruct me. All he did, however, was to
remind me of the dinner. I hobbled off to my army of waiters
downstairs. As I went out, Mr. Godfrey said, “Dear old Betteredge, I
have the truest regard for him!” He was embracing his sisters, and
ogling Miss Rachel, while he honoured me with that testimony of
affection. Something like a stock of love to draw on there! Mr.
Franklin was a perfect savage by comparison with him.

At the end of half an hour, I presented myself, as directed, in my
lady’s room.

What passed between my mistress and me, on this occasion, was, in the
main, a repetition of what had passed between Mr. Franklin and me at
the Shivering Sand—with this difference, that I took care to keep my
own counsel about the jugglers, seeing that nothing had happened to
justify me in alarming my lady on this head. When I received my
dismissal, I could see that she took the blackest view possible of the
Colonel’s motives, and that she was bent on getting the Moonstone out
of her daughter’s possession at the first opportunity.

On my way back to my own part of the house, I was encountered by Mr.
Franklin. He wanted to know if I had seen anything of his cousin
Rachel. I had seen nothing of her. Could I tell him where his cousin
Godfrey was? I didn’t know; but I began to suspect that cousin Godfrey
might not be far away from cousin Rachel. Mr. Franklin’s suspicions
apparently took the same turn. He tugged hard at his beard, and went
and shut himself up in the library with a bang of the door that had a
world of meaning in it.

I was interrupted no more in the business of preparing for the birthday
dinner till it was time for me to smarten myself up for receiving the
company. Just as I had got my white waistcoat on, Penelope presented
herself at my toilet, on pretence of brushing what little hair I have
got left, and improving the tie of my white cravat. My girl was in high
spirits, and I saw she had something to say to me. She gave me a kiss
on the top of my bald head, and whispered, “News for you, father! Miss
Rachel has refused him.”

“Who’s ‘him’?” I asked.

“The ladies’ committee-man, father,” says Penelope. “A nasty sly
fellow! I hate him for trying to supplant Mr. Franklin!”

If I had had breath enough, I should certainly have protested against
this indecent way of speaking of an eminent philanthropic character.
But my daughter happened to be improving the tie of my cravat at that
moment, and the whole strength of her feelings found its way into her
fingers. I never was more nearly strangled in my life.

“I saw him take her away alone into the rose-garden,” says Penelope.
“And I waited behind the holly to see how they came back. They had gone
out arm-in-arm, both laughing. They came back, walking separate, as
grave as grave could be, and looking straight away from each other in a
manner which there was no mistaking. I never was more delighted,
father, in my life! There’s one woman in the world who can resist Mr.
Godfrey Ablewhite, at any rate; and, if I was a lady, I should be
another!”

Here I should have protested again. But my daughter had got the
hair-brush by this time, and the whole strength of her feelings had
passed into that. If you are bald, you will understand how she
sacrificed me. If you are not, skip this bit, and thank God you have
got something in the way of a defence between your hair-brush and your
head.

“Just on the other side of the holly,” Penelope went on, “Mr. Godfrey
came to a standstill. ‘You prefer,’ says he, ‘that I should stop here
as if nothing had happened?’ Miss Rachel turned on him like lightning.
‘You have accepted my mother’s invitation,’ she said; ‘and you are here
to meet her guests. Unless you wish to make a scandal in the house, you
will remain, of course!’ She went on a few steps, and then seemed to
relent a little. ‘Let us forget what has passed, Godfrey,’ she said,
‘and let us remain cousins still.’ She gave him her hand. He kissed it,
which I should have considered taking a liberty, and then she left
him. He waited a little by himself, with his head down, and his heel
grinding a hole slowly in the gravel walk; you never saw a man look
more put out in your life. ‘Awkward!’ he said between his teeth, when
he looked up, and went on to the house—‘very awkward!’ If that was his
opinion of himself, he was quite right. Awkward enough, I’m sure. And
the end of it is, father, what I told you all along,” cries Penelope,
finishing me off with a last scarification, the hottest of all. “Mr.
Franklin’s the man!”

I got possession of the hair-brush, and opened my lips to administer
the reproof which, you will own, my daughter’s language and conduct
richly deserved.

Before I could say a word, the crash of carriage-wheels outside struck
in, and stopped me. The first of the dinner-company had come. Penelope
instantly ran off. I put on my coat, and looked in the glass. My head
was as red as a lobster; but, in other respects, I was as nicely
dressed for the ceremonies of the evening as a man need be. I got into
the hall just in time to announce the two first of the guests. You
needn’t feel particularly interested about them. Only the
philanthropist’s father and mother—Mr. and Mrs. Ablewhite.