Voodoo Tales: The Ghost Stories of Henry S Whitehead (Tales of Mystery & The Supernatural) (18 page)

She bought it at last, counting out the money carefully lest she make a mistake, and walked out with it wrapped up, in her pocket, in whitey-brown paper.

She went straight to the hotel and took the necklace to her room. There she prepared some warm suds and soaked it. She had to change the water more than once. At last it was clean. She rinsed and dried it thoroughly. It looked much better now. There was a kind of shine to the beads which was very attractive. Then she polished the tiny gilt clasp as well as she could. She laid it away after wrapping it up, when she had it as clean as she could make it, and descended for dinner on the dot. Three days later she was
en route
for home.

She took out her necklace several times aboard ship and looked at it. On the last evening aboard, the evening of The Concert, she wore it. No one noticed it, but that did not trouble Miss Abby. She had chosen it chiefly because it was plain and inconspicuous. She declared it with the rest of her purchases at the value of two dollars and eighty-eight cents. The inspector glanced at her and then took one perfunctory glance at the contents of her grip, now covered with ‘etiquettes’ and pasted his little paster on the end, and she was ‘through’.

She was well settled into her accustomed routine by Christmas. Her tour had supplied her with culture enough and memories enough to last her for the lifetime of more or less sordid drudgery which was the best she could possibly anticipate for the future. But Miss Abby wasted no time over gloomy anticipations. She accepted all of the few joyful things that came in her way and she sang a little tune as she dressed for the Christmas party in her boarding-house. She put on the necklace last of all, and glanced at it with approval in the glass as it hung gracefully about her slim but by no means unbeautiful neck. Then, almost running, she went through the hallway and downstairs.

It was the usual country party. There were games, and a great deal of high-pitched conversation, and later, a substantial supper. It was long before the supper though that Miss Abby discovered the presence of a young man, a stranger to her, who seemed to glance at her in a certain way. She decided that the proper descriptive adjective was ‘respectful’. He looked at her respectfully, with interest. She was strong-minded and she knew that she was thirty-seven, but when she caught him looking at her for the fourth time, she could feel her heart speed up again slightly, and she said ‘Oh!’ almost out loud!

For this was a very nice-looking young man, this stranger. He was, she considered, about her own age, perhaps a trifle more mature. He was still young, though! He was dressed quietly, in good taste, and his patent leather shoes gave him, Miss Abby considered, quite an urban touch. There was a suggestion of the man-of-the-world about those shoes – a look of sophistication. Miss Abby found herself cataloguing him. He looked like someone in a bank. He looked as though he might be, on Sunday, a Superintendent of a rather modern kind of Sunday School. That kind of a young man.

Miss Abby’s heart gave an unmistakable flutter later when she observed the young man, in polite conversation with their hostess, and approaching her where she sat on a sofa, under the guardianship of a tall India-rubber plant.

‘Let me make you acquainted with Miss Tucker,’ said the landlady, on her arrival. ‘Miss Tucker, Mr Leverett, of Bellow’s Falls.’

Mr Leverett of Bellow’s Falls bowed – a very nice bow, Miss Abby thought to herself. She murmured something appropriate to the introduction and Mr Leverett sat down beside her on the sofa and began to talk pleasantly.

They put each other at ease immediately, without any conscious effort on the part of either. Almost at once the talk fell into a confidential tone, as though each had many things to say to the other – some time! Miss Abby could not help telling herself that Mr Leverett’s still entirely respectful gaze had something else behind it – something much more personal than the weather and the party, which topics had been so far exclusively discussed between them! There was a curious feeling, an indescribable kind of atmosphere, or glow, about those first few minutes of conversation, the kind of glow of which Romance is sometimes happily woven.

When Mr Leverett switched from the weather and the party and very respectfully enquired if he might ask ‘a personal question’, Miss Abby, while far from surprised, felt her heart give one of those little jumps which by now she had learned to associate with an ‘experience’. She reassured herself with the consideration that there could hardly be any ‘personal question’ of any grave import which could well be asked after five minutes’ conversation on first acquaintance!

‘Why, certainly,’ she replied, very brightly, and looked up at him almist quizzically.

Mr Leverett – he really was, said Miss Abby to herself, afterwards, a very nice young man – blushed, positively blushed.

‘I thought, perhaps, you wouldn’t mind my asking where you got that necklace you are wearing,’ said Mr Leverett, without more than two stammers. ‘You see, I’m in the jewelry business over at Bellow’s Falls, and I’m very much interested in anything like that. It’s rather odd, that necklace.’

Miss Abby, such is the human heart, was at once relieved and vaguely disappointed.

‘It’s only a little thing I bought last Summer in London,’ she replied, taking it off and laying it, warm from her pretty throat, in Mr Leverett’s hand. ‘It’s pretty, I think,’ she continued as he looked closely at the necklace, ‘but it was very inexpensive. It’s only a trifle.’

‘Hm!’ remarked Mr Leverett, still looking closely at the necklace, ‘do you happen to know what the beads are made of?’

‘Why, really, I don’t think I ever noticed exactly. But I’ve always supposed they were a kind of good imitation of coral, or perhaps of carnelian. I’ve thought several times I got a pretty good bargain, don’t you?’

‘I think they are something else. The beads are of a different texture from either coral or carnelian. I’d certainly like to look at them under a magnifying-glass. Would you, er – mind – ah – telling me . . . O please forgive me! You see I’m a jeweler, and I’m so much interested! I was actually going to ask you how much  . . . ’

Again Mr Leverett blushed.

‘That’s all right,’ reassured Miss Abby, in an even tone. ‘It’s a perfectly proper question, I’m sure. I paid twelve shillings for them, about two dollars and eighty-eight cents.’

Mr Leverett peered at the necklace closely, with a kind of professional squint as though he were looking at the works of a watch.

‘If it were not too preposterous,’ he said, slowly, ‘I’d say they were something like pearls, a very finely-made imitation of pearls, and colored, of course, artificially with that peculiar shade of pink which you naturally associated with coral or carnelian. Yes – very well made, indeed. You certainly got a tremendous bargain.’

‘How much should you say they might be worth?’ It was Miss Abby who blushed this time.

Mr Leverett cogitated this question, rolling the extended string of beads over and over in his hands.

‘It’s very hard to put a price on anything like these,’ he remarked at last, judicially, ‘as you can easily see. They are very fine workmanship, almost “ancient”, I should say. Beautiful work – beautiful! It is real jewelers’ handwork of the best quality. The clasp, and the metal string, and the exact piercing all show fine work. To get a set like these, made today, you would certainly have to pay – um – let me see! Well, I should be inclined to think, about five hundred dollars.’ Then, as she exclaimed, ‘I’ll tell you what to do Miss Tucker. Why not take them to Boston and have them properly valued? You could take them into one of the great jewelry stores like Muffen’s, where they would be in a position to give you a proper estimate; to look at them with good glasses and all that. You see, these might be worth even more than five hundred dollars. I only made a very rough guess.’

Miss Abby could hardly compose herself to sleep that night. Just suppose! Five hundred dollars! The complete expenses of her trip! It wouldn’t be right; it would not be fair to the man in the little shop there in Bow Lane, London! Miss Abby had a New England conscience – an old-fashioned one, in good working-order! Still, she was no fool. If they were of some considerable value, it was just the man’s sheer carelessness that had not found it out. He had confessed to having the beads for nineteen years!

It occurred to her that she had several days before school started up again, and a little money in hand. She was not saving nowadays for a Europe Fund! It doesn’t cost such a terrible lot of money to get to Boston, and she could stay with her sister in Medford. She made up her mind to go abruptly, and with this anticipated adventure clasped close, she fell quickly asleeep.

The next afternoon Miss Abby was asking for an interview with a member of the firm at Muffen’s jewelry store in Boston. She was received by a gentleman named Mr Hay. He listened gravely to her story, took the necklace, and requested her to return the next morning at eleven.

She was promptly on hand and found Mr Hay wearing an expression of restrained enthusiasm. He was very cordial, and received her as though he had known her for some time! Miss Abby sat, tight-lipped, awaiting the verdict.

‘I have made a very careful examination of your necklace,’ said Mr Hay, with some deliberation. ‘Two of our men in the store have also examined it at my request. We are at one in our conclusion. The necklace is of pink pearls, and these are among the most valuable of pearls when in perfect condition. A further and more exhaustive examination would have to be made, doubtless. But, as you said yesterday, you managed to get a real “bargain”. I think I may tell you at once that we are prepared, in case you wish to dispose of the pearls, to give you our cheque for six thousand dollars.’

Miss Abby uttered a little gasp. Her eyes were shining. But she was careful, even in that overwhelming moment, not to interrupt Mr Hay, who had only paused, and seemed about to continue.

‘At the same time,’ he added, ‘we feel unwilling to take any undue advantage of our comparative ignorance of the true value of the necklace. We therefore feel that we should advise you, definitely, to take this course – ’ Mr Hay paused again, and continued.

‘We suggest that you allow our offer to stand. We are ready to carry through that arrangement at any time. But we suggest to you that you take the necklace first to New York, to Dufane’s, where Dr Schwartz, the pearl-expert is employed. Show the pearls to him and get his valuation. We do not imagine that it will be less than ours; it may very likely be more. In that case, it will be to your advantage to sell them elsewhere.’

Mr Hay bowed Miss Abby politely out, and she emerged upon the street walking on air. She wasted no time. This was sound advice and she knew it. The next morning she bade her relatives goodbye and took the early train to New York.

Her interview with the great pearl-expert proved a very simple matter. She went straight to Dufane’s, and told the first person she saw that she was bringing some pearls from Muffen’s in Boston to Dr Schwartz for valuation. She had not meant to deceive her inter-locutor, but he gathered the natural impression that she was in the employ of the Boston jewelers, and she was shown in to Dr Schwartz at once. He took the pearls and gave her an appointment for the next afternoon at two o’clock.

Leaving the great store she took, for the first time in her life, what she called ‘herdic’, or four-wheeler cab, and was driven to the Grand Union Hotel. After dinner there, being tired, she said her prayers and retired at eight o’clock.

The next morning dragged. She had arisen, according to her habit, bright and early, made her bed, eaten breakfast at an hour when no one else except an early-starting commercial traveler or two was in the dining-room, and was engaged in addressing picture-postal cards when the hotel chambermaid came in about ten o’clock. The maid gasped and beat hasty retreat, never before had she known a guest to ‘do’ her room herself!

Miss Abby, somewhat appalled at the prices in the hotel dining-room, took her lunch at a small restaurant, and shortly thereafter went to keep her appointment at Dufane’s.

She was agreeably surprised on entering that great store to be addressed by name. Wondering somewhat at this distinction, she followed her guide to the sanctum of the pearl-expert. Here a surprising exercise was taking place. It was a good-sized room, up three flights in the elevator, and it was filled with men; filled almost uncomfortably. There were men with beards and men without; tall, thin men, and short, fat men. She counted nineteen, though she could not be certain she had included them all, for they kept moving about in the most extraordinary way. Little groups and knots of men kept forming, breaking up, and re-forming again. Everybody seemed to be talking in every imaginable language, including the Scandinavian! But this was only the impression she got on her arrival. The talking and the group-shifting stopped abruptly at her arrival, and everybody present turned to stare at her. Miss Abby had never been so embarrassed in her life! Then Dr Schwartz rescued her and showed her to a seat at the end of the long table which ran down the length of the big room.

The pearl-expert coughed slightly and said, ‘Will you please oblige us, Miss Tucker, by telling us about this necklace; and first, if you please, how it came into your possession?’

Miss Abby told them.

When she finished her brief and matter-of-fact recital there was a moment of silence, silence that is like the calm before the storm. Then the storm broke. A kind of roaring hum burst forth simultaneously from the throats of all the men present. Everyone was talking at once; nobody listening. Miss Abby tried to listen, but it was too much for her. She was completely nonplussed for the very first time in her life. It seemed to her that some of these men whom she had never seen or heard of before were shouting at her! It was dreadful! It was like being plunged suddenly into a meeting in a madhouse. The little groups formed afresh, only more rapidly now. Men gesticulated, and shouted at the tops of their voices. Two dark-skinned gentlemen who gesticulated more than any of the others seemed at one moment to be about to begin a duel, but they ended this demonstration very queerly, Miss Abby thought, by clasping each other in their arms and kissing each other! A phlegmatic gentleman with a thick, guttural accent, was waddling up and down the whole length of the room, much like a caged polar-bear, and waving his arms like flails all the time. He was rumbling, in his deep voice, ‘incredible, incredible, incredible,’ over and over again.