“I bought two bonnets, though I do not like one of them above half,” Julianne said, somewhat mollified, it seemed. “And the other is not a style that becomes me well, I fear. I bought some lengths of ribbon too. I could not decide which color I liked best so bought a length of each. Though really there was no color there that I really liked at all.” She sighed deeply. “What an insipid day!”
Her grandmother decided at that point to withdraw to her own rooms, and Judith helped her to her feet and accompanied her there.
“These earrings pinch me,” her grandmother said, pulling one off as they approached her room and wincing. “I always forget which ones do. But everything in my jewelry box is in such a jumble that I put my hand in and pull out whatever is closest to the top. I must push these to the bottom.”
“I’ll do it for you, Grandmama,” Judith offered.
But when she saw the inside of the large, ornate wooden box in which all her grandmother’s considerable collection of jewelry was piled, she could see that something drastic needed to be done about it.
“Would you like me to sort it all out?” she offered. “You see, Grandmama, the box is divided into compartments. If you used one for your rings, another for your earrings, and others for your brooches, necklaces, and bracelets, then everything would be much easier to find.”
Her grandmother sighed. “Your grandfather was forever buying me jewels,” she said, “because he knew that I liked them so much. I do keep the most precious pieces separate, as you can see.” She pointed at a wine-colored velvet drawstring bag that was almost submerged under the clutter of everything else. “Will you sort everything out for me? How very good of you, Judith, my love. I have never been good at keeping things tidy.”
“I’ll take the box to my room,” Judith suggested, “so that I will not disturb you as you rest.”
“I do need to rest,” her grandmother admitted. “I believe I must have taken a chill to the stomach while sitting outside with Sarah yesterday. I thought that perhaps my tea would settle it, but it did not. Tillie will give me a dose of something, I daresay.”
Judith took the heavy box with her to her room and tipped everything out onto her bed. Grandpapa must indeed have been besotted with Grandmama, she thought, smiling, to have given her so many and such ostentatious jewels, many of the glittering pieces almost indistinguishable from one another.
She was sorting through the necklaces, the last pile to be dealt with, when there was a hasty tap on her door and Branwell opened it and came hurrying inside even as she was calling for whoever it was to come. He was looking as pale as a ghost.
“Jude,” he said. “I need your help.”
“What is wrong?” She suddenly remembered the persistent visitor. It must be he who had upset her brother. “What did that man want?”
“Oh.” He tried to smile. “He was just a messenger. Damned impudence really. A fellow owes his tailor and his bootmaker and has to be pursued halfway across the country, as if his gentleman’s word to pay up eventually is not sufficient.”
“He was a tailor come to demand payment?” she asked him, a heavy sapphire necklace suspended from one hand.
“Not the tailor himself,” he said. “They have fellows hired for just this sort of thing, Jude. I have two weeks to pay up, he told me.”
“How much money?” she asked, her lips feeling suddenly stiff.
“Five hundred guineas,” he said, his smile ghastly. “There are fellows who owe ten times more than that, but no one is pursuing them .”
“Five hundred—” For a moment Judith thought she was going to faint. The necklace landed with a thud in her lap.
“The thing is,” Branwell said, pacing to the window, “that Papa is going to have to cough up more of the blunt. I know this is a lot, and I know I cannot do it again. I must mend my ways and all that. But it is done this time, you see, and so Papa is going to have to get me out of it. But he will explode if I go and ask him in person or even if I write to him. You write to him for me, will you, Jude? Explain to him. Tell him—”
“Bran,” she said, her voice seeming to come from a long way off, “I am not sure Papa has that much money to give you. And even if he does, he does not have anything more. He will be beggared. So will Mama and Cass and Pamela and Hilary.”
He turned paler if that were possible. Even his lips were white.
“Is it that bad?” he asked. “Is it, Jude?”
“Why,” she asked softly, “do you think I am here, Bran? Because coming to live with Aunt Effingham is my life’s dream?”
“Oh, I say.” He looked at her with frowning sympathy. “I am dreadfully sorry, Jude. I did not want to believe it. Is it really so, then? I have done this to you? Well, no longer. I’ll come about, you’ll see. I’ll pay off my debts and restore the family fortune. I’ll see to it that you are fetched home and that there are portions to attract husbands for all of you. I’ll—”
“How, Bran?” Far from feeling touched by his outpouring of remorse, she was angry. “By playing for higher stakes at the races and the gentlemen’s clubs? We would all be far happier if you settled to some respectable career and made a decent living for yourself.”
“I’ll think of something,” he said. “I will , Jude. I’ll think of something. I’ll come about and without applying to Papa either. Good Lord.” His eyes had been absently focused on the jewelry box. “Whose glitters are all those? Grandmama’s?”
“They were all jumbled together,” she explained, “except for her most precious pieces in the bag here. I offered to sort them for her.”
“There must be a fortune there,” he said.
“Oh, no, you don’t, Bran,” she said grimly. “You will not apply to Grandmama to pay your debts. These are her jewels, her mementos of her life with our grandfather. Maybe they are worth a fortune, but they are hers, not mine and not yours. We have never even paid her much attention in our lives, have we, because Papa has always given the impression that she is not quite respectable, though I cannot imagine why. She can be tiresome in some ways, always forgetting things in another room, always complaining about her health, though she has done less of that recently. But I have grown remarkably fond of her. She is fun and loves to laugh. And I do not believe she has a mean bone in her body—which is more than I can say of her daughter or ... or her son.” She flushed at having said something so very disloyal about her father.
Branwell sighed. “No, of course I’ll not ask the old girl for help,” he said. “It would be humiliating to have to admit to her that I am in difficulties, for one thing. Good Lord, though, she would not even miss one or two or ten of those pieces, would she?”
She fixed him with a severe eye.
“I was joking , Jude,” he said. “Do you not know me better than to believe I might consider robbing my own grandmother? I was joking .”
“I know you were, Bran.” She got to her feet and gave him an impulsive hug. “You are going to have to find your own way out of this difficulty. Perhaps if you call on the tradesmen involved, you can come to some agreement with them to pay them so much a month or—”
He laughed, a mirthless sound.
“I ought not to have bothered you with my troubles,” he said. “Forget about them, Jude. They are not your troubles, after all. I’ll come about. And as for you, I don’t see why you should not attract a decent husband even though you are living here without any fortune. But you will not do it looking like that. I never understood why Papa always insisted that Mama keep you in caps when the other girls don’t wear them half the time. I have never seen what is so dreadful about your hair. I have always thought red hair on women rather attractive.”
“Thank you, Bran.” She smiled. “I must finish off here and get this box back to Grandmama’s room. I confess it makes me somewhat nervous to have all this wealth in my own keeping. I wish I could help you, but I cannot.”