“Do you know what this is?” Rupert turned the circlet around in his fingers.
“No.” Ricky was still dangling the earrings before her eyes.
“It is the wedding-ring of the Bride of the Luck.”
“What!” Val leaned forward to look down at the plain circle of gold.
Even Ricky gave her brother her full attention now. Rupert turned to Charity.
“You probably know the story of our Luck?” he asked.
She nodded.
“When the Luck was brought from Palestine, it was decided that it must be given into the hands of a guardian who would be responsible for it with his or her life. Because the men of the house were always at war during those troublesome times, the guardianship went to the eldest daughter if she were a maiden. By high and solemn ceremony she was married to the Luck in the chapel of Lorne. And she was the Bride of the Luck until death or a unanimous consent from the family released her. Nor could she marry a mortal husband during the time she wore this.” He touched the ring he held.
“This must be very old. It’s the red gold which came into Ireland and England before the Romans conquered the land. Perhaps this was found in some old barrow on Lorne lands. But it no longer means anything without the Luck.”
He held it out to Ricky. “By tradition this is yours.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I want that, Rupert. It’s too old—too strange. Now these,” she held up the earrings, “you can understand. The girls who wore them were like me, and they wore them because they were pretty. But that—” she looked at the Bride’s ring with distaste—“that must have been a burden to its wearer. Didn’t you tell us once of the Lady Iseult, who killed herself when they would not release her from her vows to the Luck? I don’t want to wear that, ever.”
“Very well.” He dropped it back into its bag. “We’ll send it to LeFleur for safe-keeping. Any scruples about the rest of this stuff?”
“Of course not! And none of it is worth much. May I keep it?”
“If you wish. Now let’s see what is in here.” He drew the second box toward him and forced it open.
“Money!” Charity was staring at it with wide eyes.
Within, in neat bundles, lay packages of paper notes. Even Rupert was shaken from his calm as he reached for one. Outside of a bank none of them had ever seen such a display of wealth. But after he studied the top note, the master of Pirate’s Haven laughed thinly.
“This may be worth ten cents to some collector if we’re lucky—”
“Rupert! That’s real money,” began Ricky.
But Val, too, had seen the print. “Confederate money, child. As useless now as our pretty oil stock. I told you that things always turn out wrong in this house. If we do find treasure, it’s worthless. How much is there, anyway?”
Rupert picked up a slip of paper tucked under the tape fastening the first bundle. “This says thirty-five thousand—profit from a blockade runner’s trip.”
“Thirty-five thousand! Well, I think that that is just too much,” Ricky said defiantly. “Why didn’t they get paid in real money?”
“Being loyal to the South, the Ralestones probably would not take what you call ‘real money,’” replied Charity.
“It’s nice to know how wealthy we once were,” Val observed. “What are you going to do with that wall-paper, Rupert?”
“Oh, chuck it in my desk. I’ll get someone to look it over; there might be a collector’s item among these bills. Now let’s have the joker out of this bundle.” He plucked at the fastenings of the felt bag.
When he had pulled off its wrappings, a silver tray with coffee- and chocolate-pot, cream pitcher and sugar bowl stood, tarnished and dingy, on the floor.
“That’s more like it.” Ricky picked up the chocolate-pot. “Do you suppose it will ever be possible to get these clean again?”
“With a lot of will power and some good hard rubbing it can be done,” Val assured her.
“Well, I’ll supply the will power and you may do the rubbing,” she announced pleasantly.
Rupert had opened the remaining packages to display a set of twelve silver goblets, one with a dented edge, and a queerly shaped vessel not unlike an old-fashioned gravy-boat. Charity picked this up and examined it gravely.
“I’m afraid that this is pirate loot.” She tapped the lip of the piece she held. The metal gave off a clear ringing sound. “If I’m not mistaken, this was stolen from a church. Yes, I’m right; see this cross under the leaves?” She pointed out the bit of engraving.
“Black Dick’s work,” agreed Ricky complacently. “But after almost three hundred years I’m afraid we can’t return it. Especially since we don’t know where it came from in the first place.”
Val looked about at what they had uncovered. “If you are going to take all of this in to LeFleur, you’ll have to get a truck. D’you know, I think this place might turn out to be a gold-mine if one knew just where to dig.”
“We haven’t found the Luck yet,” reminded Ricky.
Val got clumsily to his feet and then gave Charity a hand up, beating Rupert to it by about three seconds. “As we don’t even know whether it is still in existence, there’s no use in hunting for it,” Val retorted.
Ricky smiled, that set little smile which usually meant that she neither agreed with nor approved of the speaker. She got up from the floor and shook out her skirt purposefully.
“I’ll remind you of that some day,” she promised.
“I suppose,” Rupert glanced at the silver, “this ought to be taken to town as soon as possible. This house is too isolated to harbor both us and the silverware at the same time. What do you think?” Ignoring both Ricky and Val, he turned to Charity.
“You are right. But it seems a pity to send it all away before we have a chance to rub it up and see what it really looks like!”
“By all means, take it at once!” Val urged promptly. “We can always clean it later.”
Rupert grinned. “Now that might be a protest against the suggestion Ricky made a few minutes ago. But I’ll save you some honest labor this time, Val; I’ll take it to town this afternoon.”
Ricky laughed softly.
“And why the merriment?” her younger brother inquired suspiciously.
“I was just thinking what a surprise the visitor who dropped his handkerchief here is going to get when he finds the cupboard bare,” she explained.
Rupert rubbed his palm across his chin. “Of course. I had almost forgotten that.”
“Well, I haven’t!
