<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></SPAN>CHAPTER VII</h2>
<h3>BY OUR LUCK!</h3>
<p>Depositing the desk on the seat of one of the hall chairs, Val started
toward the dining-room, a grim hole which Lucy had calmly forced the
family to use but which they all cordially disliked. Its paneled walls,
crystal-hung chandelier, marble-fronted fireplace, and inlaid floor gave
it the appearance of one of the less cozy rooms in a small palace. There
were also two tasteful portraits of dead ducks which had been added as a
finishing touch by some tenant during the eighties and which still
remained upon the walls to Ricky's unholy joy.</p>
<p>But the long table, the high-backed chairs, the side serving-table, and
the two tall cabinets of china were fine enough pieces if one cared for
the massive. Ricky's table-cloth of violent-hued peasant linen was not
in keeping with the china and glassware Letty-Lou had set out upon it.
Charity was commenting upon this ensemble as Val entered.</p>
<p>"Doesn't this red and green plaid seem a bit—well, bright?" The corners
of her mouth twitched betrayingly.</p>
<p>"No," Ricky returned firmly. "This cloth matches the ducks."</p>
<p>"Oh, yes, the ducks," Charity eyed them. "So you consider that the ducks
are the note you wish to emphasize?"</p>
<p>"Certainly." Ricky surveyed the picture hanging opposite her. "I
consider them unique. Not everyone can have ducks in the dining-room
nowadays."</p>
<p>"For which they should be eternally thankful," observed Rupert. "They
are rather gaudy, aren't they?"</p>
<p>"Oh, but I like the expression in this one's glassy eye," Ricky pointed
out. "You might call this study 'Gone But Not Forgotten.'"</p>
<p>"Corn-bread, please," Val asked, thus attempting to put an end to the
art-appreciation class.</p>
<p>"I think," continued Ricky, undisturbed as she passed him the plate
heaped with golden squares, "that they are slightly surrealist. They
distinctly resemble the sort of things one is often pursued by in one's
brighter nightmares."</p>
<p>"Do you have any really good pictures?" asked Charity, resolutely
averting her gaze from the ducks.</p>
<p>"Three, but they've been loaned to the museum," answered Rupert. "Not by
well-known painters, but they're historically interesting. There's one
of the first Lady Richanda, and one of the missing Rick. That's the best
of the lot, according to LeFleur. I saw a photograph of it once. Come to
think about it, Val looks a lot like the boy in the picture. He might
have sat for it."</p>
<p>They all turned to eye Val. He arose and bowed. "I find these
compliments too overwhelming," he murmured.</p>
<p>Rupert grinned. "And how do you know that that remark was intended as a
compliment?"</p>
<p>"Naturally I assumed so," his brother retorted with a dignity which
disappeared as the piece of corn-bread in his hand broke in two, the
larger and more liberally buttered portion falling butter side down on
the table. Ricky smiled in a pained sort of way as she attempted to
judge from her side of the table just how much damage Val's awkwardness
had done.</p>
<p>"If you were the graceful hostess," he informed her severely, "you would
now throw your piece in the middle to show that anyone could suffer a
like mishap."</p>
<p>Ricky changed the subject hurriedly by passing beans to Charity.</p>
<p>"So Val looks like the ghost," Charity said a moment later. "Now I will
have to go to town and see that portrait. Just where is it?"</p>
<p>Rupert shook his head. "I don't know. But it's listed in the catalogue
as 'Portrait of Roderick Ralestone, Aged Eighteen.'"</p>
<p>"Just Val's age, then." Ricky spooned some watermelon pickles onto her
plate. "But he was older than that when he left here."</p>
<p>"Let's see. He was born in February, 1788, which would make him fourteen
when his parents died in 1802. Then he disappeared in 1814, twelve years
later. Just twenty-six when he went," computed Rupert.</p>
<p>"A year younger than you are now," observed Ricky.</p>
<p>"And nine years older than yourself at this present date," Val added
pleasantly. "Why this sudden interest in mathematics?"</p>
<p>"Oh, I don't know. Only somehow I always thought Rick was younger when
he went away. I've always felt sorry for him. Wonder what happened to
him afterwards?"</p>
<p>"According to our rival," Rupert pulled his coffee-cup before him as
Letty-Lou took away their plates, "he just went quietly away, married,
lived soberly, and brought up a son, who in turn fathered a son, and so
on to the present day. A tame enough ending for our wild privateersman."</p>
<p>"I'll bet it isn't true. Rick wouldn't end like that. He probably went
off down south and got mixed up in some of the revolutions they were
having at the time," suggested Ricky. "He couldn't just settle down and
die in bed. I could imagine him scuttling a ship but not being a quiet
business man."</p>
<p>"He was one of Lafitte's men, wasn't he?" asked Charity. At their
answering nods, she went on: "Lafitte was a business man, you know. Oh,
I don't mean that forge he ran in town, but his establishment at Grande
Terre. He was more smuggler than pirate, that's why he lasted so long.
Even the most respected tradesmen had dealings with him. Why, he used to
post notices right in town when he held auctions at Barataria, listing
what he had to sell, mostly smuggled Negroes and a few cargoes of
luxuries from Europe. He was a privateer under the rules of war, but he
was never a real pirate. At least, that's the belief held nowadays."</p>
<p>"We can't turn up our noses at pirates," laughed Ricky. "This house was
built by pirate gold. We only wish—"</p>
<p>From the hall came a dull thump. Ricky's napkin dropped from her hand
into her coffee-cup. Rupert laid down his spoon deliberately enough, but
there was a certain tension in his movements. Val felt a sudden chill.
For Letty-Lou was in the kitchen, the family were in the dining-room.
There should be no one in the hall.</p>
<p>Rupert pushed back his chair. But Val was already half-way to the door
when his brother joined him. And Ricky, suddenly sober, was at their
heels.</p>
<p><i>Zzzzzrupp!</i> The slitting sound was clear as they burst into the hall.
On the fur rug by the couch lay the writing-desk. Its lid was thrown
back and by it crouched Satan industriously ripping the remnants of
lining from its interior. As Rupert came up, the cat drew back, his ears
flattened and his lips a-snarl.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN name="ianrl127" id="ianrl127"></SPAN> <ANTIMG src="images/ianrl127.jpg" alt=""/></div>
<h4>Zzzzzrupp! <i>Satan was industriously ripping the remnants
of lining from its interior.</i></h4>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p>"Cinders! What has he done?" demanded Charity, swooping down upon her
pet. At her coming, he fled under the couch out of reach.</p>
<p>Rupert picked up the desk. "Nothing much," he laughed. "Just torn all
that lining loose, as I had planned to do."</p>
<p>"What is this?" Ricky disentangled a small slip of white from the torn
and musty velvet. "Why, it's a piece of paper," she answered her own
question. "It must have been under the lining and Satan pulled it out
with the cloth."</p>
<p>"Here," Rupert took it from her, "let me see it."</p>
<p>He scanned the faded lines of writing. "Val! Ricky!" He looked up, his
face flushed with excitement. "Listen!"</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>"Gatty has returned from the city. The raiders calling themselves
the 'Buck Boys' are headed this way. Gatty tells me that Alexander
is with them, having deserted the plantation a week ago. Since his
malice towards us is well known, it is easy to believe that he
means us open harm. I am making my preparations accordingly. The
valuables now under this roof, together with the proceeds from the
last voyage of the blockade runner, <i>Red Bird</i>, I am putting in
that safe place discovered by me in childhood, of which I have
sometimes spoken. Remember the hint I once gave you—By Our Luck.
Having written this in haste, I shall intrust it to Gatty—"</p>
</div>
<p>"That's the end; the rest is gone." Rupert stared down at the scrap of
paper in his hand as if he simply could not believe in its reality.</p>
<p>"Richard wrote that." Ricky touched the note in awe. "But why didn't
Gatty give it to Miles when he came?"</p>
<p>"Gatty was probably a slave who ran when the raiders appeared,"
suggested Rupert. "He or she must have hidden this in here before
leaving. We'll never know."</p>
<p>"But we've got our clue!" cried Ricky. "We knew that the hiding-place
was in this hall, and now we have the clue."</p>
<p>"'By our Luck.'" Rupert looked about him thoughtfully. "That's not the
most helpful—"</p>
<p>"Rupert!" Ricky seized him by the arm. "There's only one thing in this
room that will answer that. Can't you see? The niche of the Luck!"</p>
<p>Their gaze followed her pointing finger to the mantel above their heads.</p>
<p>"I believe she's right! Wait until I get the step-ladder from the
kitchen." Rupert was gone almost before he had finished speaking.</p>
<p>"Oh, if it's only true!" Ricky stared up like one hypnotized. "Then
we'll be rich and—"</p>
<p>"Don't count your chickens before they're hatched," Val reminded her,
but he didn't think that she heard him.</p>
<p>Then Rupert was back with the ladder. He climbed up, leaving the three
of them clustered about its foot.</p>
<p>"Nothing here but two stone studs to hold the Luck in place," he said a
moment later.</p>
<p>"Why not try pressing those?" suggested Charity.</p>
<p>"All right, here goes." He placed his thumbs in the corners of the niche
and threw his weight upon them.</p>
<p>"Nothing happened." Ricky's voice was deep with disappointment.</p>
<p>"Look!" Val pointed over her shoulder.</p>
<p>To the left of the fireplace were five panels of oak, to balance those
on the other side about the door of the unused drawing-room. The center
one of these now gaped open, showing a dark cavity.</p>
<p>"It worked!" Ricky was already heading for the opening.</p>
<p>There behind the paneling was a shallow closet which ran the full length
of the five panels. It was filled with a collection of bags and small
chests, a collection which appeared much larger when it lay in the gloom
within than when they dragged it out. Then, when they had time to
examine it carefully, they discovered that their booty consisted of two
small wooden boxes or chests, one fancifully carved and evidently
intended for jewels, the other plain but locked; a felt bag and another
of canvas, and a package hurriedly done up in cloth. Rupert spread it
all out on the floor.</p>
<p>"Well," he hesitated, "where shall we begin?"</p>
<p>"Charity thought about how to open it, and it was her cat that found us
the clue—let her choose," Val suggested.</p>
<p>"Good," agreed Rupert. "And what's your choice, m'lady?"</p>
<p>"What woman could resist this?" She laid her hand upon the jewel box.</p>
<p>"Then that it is." He reached for it.</p>
<p>It opened readily enough to show a shallow tray divided into
compartments, all of them empty.</p>
<p>"Sold again," Val commented dryly.</p>
<p>Carefully Rupert lifted out the top tray to disclose another on which
rested three small leather bags. He loosened the draw-string of the
nearest and shook out into his palm a pair of earrings of a quaint
pattern in twisted gold set with dull red stones. Charity pronounced
them garnets. Though they were not of great value, they were precious in
Ricky's eyes, and even Charity exclaimed over them.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN href="images/ianrl009.jpg"><ANTIMG src="images/ianrl009.jpg" alt=""/></SPAN></div>
<p>The second bag yielded a carnelian seal on a wide chain of gold mesh,
the sort of ornament a dandy wore dangling from his watch pocket in the
days of the Regency. And the third bag contained a cross of silver,
blackened by time, set with amethysts. This was accompanied by a chain
of the same dull metal.</p>
<p>Putting these into the girls' hands, Rupert lifted the second tray to
lay bare the bottom of the chest. Here again were several small bags.
There was another cross, this time of jet inlaid with gold and attached
to a short necklace of jet beads; a wide bracelet of coral and turquoise
which was crudely made and might have been native work of some sort.
Then there was a tiny jewel-set bottle, about which, Ricky declared,
there still lingered some faint trace of the fragrance it had once held.
And most interesting to Charity was a fan, the sticks carved of ivory so
intricately that they resembled lacework stiffened into slender ribs.
The covering between them was fashioned of layers of silk painted with a
scene of the bayou country, with the moss-grown oaks and encroaching
swamp all carefully depicted.</p>
<p>Charity declared that she had never seen its equal and that some great
artist must have decorated the dainty trifle. She closed it carefully
and slipped it back into its covering, and Rupert took out the last of
the bags. From its depths rolled a ring.</p>
<p>It was plain enough, a simple band of gold so deep in shade as to be
almost red. Nearly an inch in width, there was no ornamentation of any
sort on its broad, smooth surface.</p>
<p>"Do you know what this is?" Rupert turned the circlet around in his
fingers.</p>
<p>"No." Ricky was still dangling the earrings before her eyes.</p>
<p>"It is the wedding-ring of the Bride of the Luck."</p>
<p>"What!" Val leaned forward to look down at the plain circle of gold.</p>
<p>Even Ricky gave her brother her full attention now. Rupert turned to
Charity.</p>
<p>"You probably know the story of our Luck?" he asked.</p>
<p>She nodded.</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>He held it out to Ricky. "By tradition this is yours."</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>"Of course not! And none of it is worth much. May I keep it?"</p>
<p>"If you wish. Now let's see what is in here." He drew the second box
toward him and forced it open.</p>
<p>"Money!" Charity was staring at it with wide eyes.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"This may be worth ten cents to some collector if we're lucky—"</p>
<p>"Rupert! That's real money," began Ricky.</p>
<p>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?"</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>"Thirty-five thousand! Well, I think that that is just too much," Ricky
said defiantly. "Why didn't they get paid in real money?"</p>
<p>"Being loyal to the South, the Ralestones probably would not take what
you call 'real money,'" replied Charity.</p>
<p>"It's nice to know how wealthy we once were," Val observed. "What are
you going to do with that wall-paper, Rupert?"</p>
<p>"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
<i>this</i> bundle." He plucked at the fastenings of the felt bag.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"That's more like it." Ricky picked up the chocolate-pot. "Do you
suppose it will ever be possible to get these clean again?"</p>
<p>"With a lot of will power and some good hard rubbing it can be done,"
Val assured her.</p>
<p>"Well, I'll supply the will power and you may do the rubbing," she
announced pleasantly.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>"We haven't found the Luck yet," reminded Ricky.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"I'll remind you of that some day," she promised.</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"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!"</p>
<p>"By all means, take it at once!" Val urged promptly. "We can always
clean it later."</p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>Ricky laughed softly.</p>
<p>"And why the merriment?" her younger brother inquired suspiciously.</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>Rupert rubbed his palm across his chin. "Of course. I had almost
forgotten that."</p>
<p>"Well, I haven't! And I wonder if we have found what he—or they—were
hunting," Val mused as he helped Rupert wrap up the spoil again.</p>
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