09| Journeys End (in Lovers Meeting)

We are so accustomed to disguise ourselves to others that in the end we become disguised to ourselves.
(Francois de La Rochefoucauld)


The room was in uproar.

Pious, charitable Godfrey—their cousin—a thief! The mere thought beggared belief. And yet...

There was his luxurious lifestyle, so at odds with his moderate origins and obscure means of income... and there were rumours of debts—perhaps from gambling. Thus far they had always been contested by his glowing female admirers as patently untrue... But who did really know the man?—knew how he spent his nights in town?

"Well, I believe my work here is done," Dr Braid mildly remarked in the middle of it all. He had to repeat it once or twice again, before Betteredge, dumbfounded like the rest of them, remembered his duties and went out of the room to have the coach brought to the front door.

Blake, engrossed in professions of remorse and affection he exchanged with his beloved Rachel in a flurry of passionate whispers, suddenly became aware of Braid's preparations to take his leave. He sprang to his feet, grabbed the doctor's hand, and thanked him profusely, ending his accolade by saying, "I shall always, always be in your debt, Dr Braid—"

To which the doctor dryly remarked, "I shall very much hope that this won't be the case." However, there was a twinkle in his eye.

Blake hastily reassured him that his cheque would, of course, be delivered to the hotel first thing in the morning—and then Braid left the company to their own concerns.


Upon Betteredge's return they were six of them in the library and, with Lady Verinder still an invalid, it would be on them to decide on a further course of action with regard to Ablewhite and the Moonstone.

"What is to be done?" Rachel exclaimed. "No matter how self-interested his actions, Godfrey is another cousin, and we should give him a chance to return the diamond and mend his mistakes—if only to avoid a scandal."

"Consider how badly it would reflect on his poor innocent sisters if their brother was accused of theft!" Mrs Clack chimed in. "It wouldn't require an actual criminal charge to ruin their prospects forever."

It was a point worthy of consideration. However, there was quite another problem—

"We have no proof," Blake pointed out. "Thanks to Dr Braid we have knowledge of the sequence of events that led to the disappearance of the Moonstone on that fateful night. But we have no actual proof of it... If we were to go into London and confront Godfrey, he would simply deny all accusations—and with the Moonstone hidden away God knows where, we can't verify his guilt!"

"If the Moonstone was found on his person, that would be proof enough," Thornton pointed out.

"Wouldn't it be unlikely of him to carry it in his pocket?" Margaret mused. "Surely, he won't be that enchanted by it!"

"Not enchanted," he replied with a smile, "but, perhaps, very much in want of funds. If he were to travel abroad—say, to Amsterdam—to have the diamond cut, he..."

"... he would have the diamond on his person upon boarding the steamboat!" Blake cried excitedly. "He wouldn't entrust it to anyone else... But—" His features darkened again as quickly as they had lit up. "—Godfrey returned to London days ago. He may long be gone."

"He hasn't left London yet," Miss Verinder exclaimed. "I received a letter from my cousins this morning, telling me that Godfrey is currently preparing for an important speech in front of a newly-formed ladies' committee in Mayfair. It will be held tomorrow afternoon—and afterwards he will apparently retire to a bachelor friend's country home in Kent for some days. His sisters are not invited!"

"This must be a ruse," Blake said. "Of course, he would want to travel at the earliest opportunity, while the Indians are still in custody here in Frizinghall for another couple of days... He's well aware of the possible threat they pose." He looked at Thornton. "I must be in London by tomorrow morning, to set the trap. Will you accompany me, Thornton?—There's no-one I'd rather trust."

"I'm at your service," Thornton replied after a quick exchange of looks with Margaret. "But will there be a train at this time of night?"

Blake looked around for the steward. "Betteredge, do you know what time the late train leaves for the south?"

"Well, Mr Franklin, if you take the horses, you will just about make it."

"Right. No time to be wasted... come with me, Thornton!" He dashed to the door. In the doorway he stopped dead, turning around and searching for Rachel with his eyes. "Rachel Verinder, will you marry me?" he shouted across the length of the room.

"Of course!... I will," she cried, and they rushed towards each other. The very next moment they stood in the middle of the room locked in an embrace.

"Seems like we are not the only ones capable of making a spectacle of ourselves in public," John murmured into Margaret's ear.

A blush, and dimples showing up on her cheeks, were all the answers he got. But they spoke volumes.

"You will be careful during your London endeavour, won't you," she said eventually, her eyes pleading.

"Of course. I will," he said, grinning despite himself at the realisation that he was echoing Rachel Verinder's exact words, so applicable both to the mundane and the profound. "And I shall be back for the inquest on the day after tomorrow." A quick clasping of hands, and then it was time for him to leave.


Thornton was sipping at his second cup of morning coffee in the elegant dining room at Blake's exclusive London gentlemen's club, ruefully contemplating that he must be getting on in years. The uncomfortable night spent on the train—or rather, on several trains, as they had to change services twice—was telling on him rather badly, not to mention the five miles on horseback before they even got to Frizinghall station, making him painfully aware that he hadn't ridden a horse in ages. Therefore he had been grateful when Blake, after taking him to his club first thing upon arrival, had announced that he would go alone to the office of the Amsterdam Shipping Co. to inquire into the bookings of one Godfrey Ablewhite.

It was also yet another hour before they would meet with Mr Blake senior MP at this very club.

Blake returned from his errand rather earlier than expected, and when he entered the room he looked incensed.

"Godfrey Ablewhite wasn't on the passenger list for tonight's crossing. But you'll never guess who was," he grumbled.

"Well, tell me," Thornton replied, putting aside the morning paper he had been idly skimming.

"I was," he said, stabbing his own chest with his forefinger. "There is a reservation for a first class cabin under my name. Franklin Blake... The cheek of him!"

"Looks like he is trying to lay a paper trail that leads directly to you—though, in this case, quite a clumsy one, and easily disproved."

"Makes one wonder why he bothered in the first place—"


One look at the elder Mr Blake and it was easy to see where his son's mane of auburn hair had come from, although in the case of the elder gentleman it was heavily streaked with grey. In all his other features Franklin Blake must have taken after his mother. There were not many traces to be found of the hawkish nose and piercing, close-set eyes in the younger face, and he might want to count himself lucky for that. It seemed doubtful that Lady Adelaide had married Mr Blake senior for his looks.

He had, however, the magnificent self-assurance of a man of power. On their way down to London, Franklin Blake had warned him that his father knew all the right people—and that he knew how to pull the strings behind the scenes. About the only thing he hadn't achieved, in spite of all his connections, was to gain the dukedom he laid claim on.

It spoke for the younger Mr Blake that he was uncomfortable with the way his father exerted his influence, and yet he was prepared to cut some corners under the present circumstances. Thornton understood his moral dilemma; hadn't he done the same—in his own small way—when he had prevented an inquest in order to spare Margaret from giving evidence?

We all have our feet of clay, he mused. Just as long as we don't forget it!

In no time a plan of action was formed, and the elder Mr Blake took off again in the general direction of Whitehall, to confer with the deputy head of the metropolitan police service.

About an hour later a message arrived that a number of plain-clothes policemen were set up to watch both Mr Ablewhite's Knightsbridge home and the Mayfair venue where he was to hold his speech in the afternoon...

"... and we shall go to the customs office at the pier directly," Blake said. "Why chase when you know where you'll have to lay in wait?"


They recognised Godfrey Ablewhite the moment he alighted from a hackney. He had made an effort to disguise himself by wearing a travelling suit and overcoat in a decidedly Continental cut, and he had pulled his hat low onto his brow. There was no disguising his height and gait, however.

Another cab stopped right behind him, and out came two men. When their eyes found Blake they gave him an unobtrusive sign. They were two of the plain-clothes policemen; another two were already lounging at a balustrade by the pier.

"To the chase," Blake said sarcastically and stepped forward to approach his cousin. Thornton followed close behind. They caught up with Ablewhite a few yards in front of the customs office. "Fancy seeing you here, Cousin Godfrey," Blake said. Meanwhile, Thornton positioned himself on Ablewhite's other side.

The other man visibly started. "What are you doing here, Franklin?" he snapped.

"Seems like I have a booking to sail to Amsterdam tonight—though, for the life of me, I don't know why... Maybe you can enlighten me, Godfrey?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," he said haughtily.

"Look, Godfrey, the game is up, and now this can go either one of two ways," Blake said, his voice sharp and losing all ironic detachment. "Either you'll voluntarily hand over the Moonstone and we shall keep this under wraps, or those fine gentlemen from the metropolitan police force—" He pointed out the respective teams of two. "—will detain and search you—and then you may face a charge of theft... and considering the notoriety of the Moonstone, I daresay the press will have a field day."

"Cad!" Ablewhite hissed. But he fished a small velvet pouch out of his inside pocket and handed it over to his cousin.

"Back at you, Godfrey... back at you," Blake murmured abstractedly, checking the bag for its contents and then giving Thornton a nod. "You may wish to return to your place now, Godfrey, and remain there until I have this stone assessed by a jeweller—and those fine gentlemen over there will keep an eye on you. Afterwards you are free to do as you please... even travel to Amsterdam, if the fancy takes you."

He gave his cousin a not-at-all friendly cuff on the shoulder, and then he and Thornton left him standing there, staring after them.


Being woken by a sharp rap on the door in the middle of the morning was a novel experience for John Thornton. But, for once, he had overslept.

"Thornton?" Blake's voice sounded through the door. "I thought I might check on you as I didn't see you at breakfast... The inquest is to begin in just over half an hour."

A look at his pocket watch quickly propelled John out of his bed. "I'll be down in the lobby in twenty minutes," he called through the closed door before he started to rush through his ablutions. A quarter of an hour later saw him on his way to the lobby, with a quick detour to the breakfast room for a gulp of scalding coffee and a bite of toast—after missing out on yet another dinner on the night before due to their return journey and arriving at their Frizinghall hotel only well after midnight, he was famished.

The inquest, taking place at the Frizinghall assembly rooms, held no surprises. In the intervening days the coast had been searched at the behest of the local magistrate for several miles up and down from the Shivering Sand, but no body had been found, nor another item that verifiably belonged to Rosanna Spearman.

After everybody's testimony had been heard—Betteredge's, as head of Lady Verinder's servants, amongst them—a verdict was soon reached; the coroner pronounced Rosanna Spearman's disappearance as death by misadventure.

When they stepped out into High Street they saw that, further along, another small group came out of another building—the Frizinghall police station, in their case. It was the three Indian jugglers, finally released from custody after having been detained for a week.

"What do you think they will do now?" Blake asked quietly.

"It depends on what they are, I should say," Thornton replied. "If they are indeed temple guards whose sole purpose in life is to retrieve the Moonstone, they will continue with their quest. But so far only a legend and Mr Murthwaite's word speak for it... The only harm we have ever known those three to have done was to bore us with bad juggling tricks—and, perhaps, they are nothing but this: mediocre jugglers—" He shrugged.

"This has been a most peculiar few days," Blake sighed. Still under the impression of the inquest, he was more subdued than would otherwise have been his nature. "In some ways I do feel responsible for Rosanna's death," he said. "If I hadn't been so blind to her delusions—and heavens know I never encouraged her!—I may have been forewarned that she might act rashly... and, perhaps, I could have prevented her from running to the shore that morning."

"If you are to blame, Blake, so am I—and more," Thornton reminded him. "If I had handed over the evidence directly, on the day I found it, she would never have gone to fetch that nightshirt."

"Then why didn't you?—Frankly, this has always baffled me—"

"For the simple reason that stealing a diamond wasn't the only dishonourable motive for a man to enter a young lady's private rooms I could think of," Thornton admitted, "and I didn't want to implicate Miss Verinder in any way."

"So, the benefit of the doubt you gave me was, in fact, between being a thief and a seducer?" Blake said wryly.

"Well, what can I say—" Thornton smiled lopsidedly.

"On the other hand, you did believe in my innocence before anyone else—and for this I thank you, Thornton," Blake said sincerely. "Without your help this might have had a very different outcome... For one, I doubt that I would be engaged to be married now."

"Did you have time to tell your father while in London?"

"Only in passing, but he gave me his blessing." Blake frowned. "Come to think of it I haven't even asked my aunt yet... and Rachel is still a minor."

"I'm certain that Lady Verinder won't stand in the way of happiness," Thornton reassured him. "Come, let's get you there and you can have your say." He hailed a passing cab.


In the afternoon two happy couples were joined for tea in the library by Lady Verinder and Mrs Clack. Despite the shock of learning that a hitherto favourite nephew had turned out to be a thief, the lady of the house was much improved, a state of affairs expedited in no small measure by her daughter's engagement. Of course, Lady Verinder had been cognizant of their mutual attraction, and so she hadn't been altogether surprised that the resolution of the mystery surrounding the Moonstone had brought on an instant understanding between the two of them.

"Where is the Moonstone, anyway?" Rachel suddenly asked. "Please, tell me, Franklin, that you haven't brought it back!"

Her fiancé reassured her that he had handed it over to his father's London lawyer who, in turn, had stored it in the same bank from where it had been taken prior to its sojourn into Yorkshire. "However, what will you do with it now?"

"While you were away in London I talked at length with Margaret," Rachel said, "and she has helped me understand what might be best under the circumstances... It is such an extraordinary, beautiful jewel—" She sighed. "—but it is not worth one minute of the anxiety and heartbreak it caused ever since it entered this house. I shall not want it back! And as I cannot break the curse either by having it cut up or by destroying it—nor do I wish to pass on any unhappiness to someone else by selling it—I want the Moonstone to return to India, to the temple of the idol whence it was taken—"

There was a small gasp from Mrs Clack—after all, her young cousin had just said that she would give away a diamond worth twenty-thousand pounds, just like that!—but it was drowned by a general murmur of approval.

"I remember to have heard that Mr Murthwaite is still in the neighbourhood," Blake said. "I am sure that he will be able to give advice on how best to guarantee that the Moonstone finds its way back to where it belongs."

"Then this is how it shall be done," Lady Verinder pronounced, adding, "With everything that has happened we have entirely missed to acknowledge the beginning of the new year." Raising her teacup she beamed at her daughter and Blake, and at Margaret and Thornton, in turn. "Let's toast to new beginnings."


"Will you be our guest at dinner tonight, Mr Thornton?" Rachel asked. "It will be a quiet affair... After all the excitement of the day, mamma has returned to her room to rest and will not join us."

"Thank you, but I'm afraid not... I will have to return to Milton by the evening train." He rose from his chair. "I have left my overseer with managing mill business quite a few days longer than I intended."

"Is there anything we can do for you before you'll leave? I feel that we—Franklin and I—are greatly in your debt."

"Well, there is one thing you might be able to do for us." He took Margaret's hand. "As you probably know we shall be married the week after Easter, but neither do I have a best man, nor does Margaret have an unmarried friend who would be her maid of honour... Would you grant us the great privilege to provide those services respectively?"

"I shall be honoured," Rachel said with a smile, stepping forward and kissing Margaret's cheek.

"Of course, I will be your best man!" Blake held out his hand for Thornton to shake, adding with a grin, "But now we will leave you alone so that you can say your goodbyes."

"Do you think they will be shocked when they'll see just how middle-class our wedding will be?" Margaret asked with a worried frown, once the others had left the room.

"They might... My sister will see to it," John grinned. "But I am sure they will rally admirably... However, for now, let's think of other things—"

With the tip of his forefinger he raised her chin, and then... Well, gentle reader, I believe you may imagine what happened next.


"And when evening came she set me
In a vase
All of rare and radiant metal,
And I felt her red lips settle
On my leaves till each proud petal
Touched her face."

(George B. Miles, 'Said the Rose')


"Will you finally tell me about my engagement ring?—about the mystery that surrounds it?" Margaret asked John who was sitting next to her on the sofa.

He had come to see her in Bayswater; it was the Easter weekend and the last time they would meet at Mrs Clack's London home. A week hence and Margaret would come into Milton for their wedding. The previous weeks had been spent in a frenzy of preparations, but now—so close to the event—they had entered an unexpected pool of calm.

After returning from a walk in Regent's Park for a first glimpse at the daffodils, they had repaired to the back parlour. Mrs Clack—as usual—was somewhere about the house, giving them privacy.

John chuckled, a little wistfully.

"As mysteries go, this is a rather trifling one, I'm afraid... but here we go." He cradled her hand—the one with the ring—in both of his, slightly turning it this way and that, and softly brushing the gemstone with his thumb. "When I first returned from London after we had sorted out the difficulties surrounding our engagement, I went to my mother to ask for her engagement ring... As you know, I hardly had any money of my own at the time, and my mother never wore that ring. She refused, on grounds of deeming that ring cursed. It had an opal as its centre stone—which she told me was singularly unlucky in an engagement ring—and that she had the broken promises and heartache at the end of her marriage to prove it." He sighed. "Then she gave it to me anyway."

"But this is not an opal!" Margaret pointed out.

"She gave it to me under condition of getting the ring altered, and the stone replaced by a different one," John explained. "She also gave me a pair of gaudy cufflinks my father had won at a card game. They were gilt silver, with a rhinestone in each of them... She said they might pay for the cost of having the ring remade."

"I see—"

"So, the gold in your ring comes from my mother's engagement ring; but imagine my surprise when the jeweller told me that the stones in the cufflinks were actual diamonds... They became another part of your ring." He indicated the tiny diamonds to the left and right of the centre stone.

"And the aquamarine?"

"Well, the opal wouldn't quite pay for it, so I gave up my own 'fifty-seven pounds'—" He looked at her intently, and she understood that he had spent the last of his savings on it, just as she had given him all her available money with her loan, down to the last fifty-seven pounds. "—so you see, in a way, this ring really is a family heirloom, and yet it is entirely new."

"It is perfect," Margaret said softly. She raised her luminous eyes to him. "You may remember that I once told you jewels don't have meaning unless we give it to them... You gave this ring a world of meaning, John."

His mother's sorrow, his father's easy charm and recklessness, and, at its heart, his own steadfast dedication—the things that define him as a man. Moving closer, into his waiting arms, she whispered, "Thank you... for entrusting yourself to me."

And, for once, it was Margaret who sought his lips in a kiss.


A/N:

Well, that's it... End of story.

Those who know the novel 'The Moonstone' will be aware that I took many liberties with the plot. For one, I shortened it a lot, but I also prevented at least two more deaths, and the resolution of the case not only came two years earlier than in the original (and so I kept the story from dragging its feet quite a bit), but also happened in a different manner. Let me say as much: Dr Braid was not involved.

My focus with this story has always been on the crossover—on achieving to insert Margaret and John as smoothly and seamlessly as possible into an entirely different story—and, for once, I've wanted to write a story where 'Mr Thornton saves the day' (He'll go through enough drama in most of my upcoming stories, poor man. LOL).

I hope that you've enjoyed the reading of it half as much as I enjoyed the writing. If so, please don't hesitate to comment! I'm very much looking forward to your reviews!