The Diamond Hunter Page 26

  ‘The North Star is a name we give to Polaris,’ she said. ‘It’s also commonly known as the Pole Star.’ She paused before grinning at him. ‘It is not, however, the brightest star in our system.’

  She heard him chuckle. ‘You’re going to correct me, no doubt, although I should warn you, I learned this from an amateur astronomer at his private observatory in Sussex.’ He packed away the flask.

  ‘Well, next time you meet you can sound knowledgeable and be accurate. Polaris is a very bright star that you can pick out easily in the northern hemisphere. But now look over there.’ She pointed. ‘There he is. Do you see handsome Sirius? He is the brightest star you can see from anywhere on earth, but here in England we have to look for him over in the south.’

  He stared and then smiled into the closing night. ‘You clever thing. And what is the Zulu name for Sirius?’

  ‘InDosa,’ she said.

  ‘I promise you that we’re going to find his grave.’

  Darkness had fallen and she was glad because it meant he couldn’t see what those words did to her. She didn’t know what to say or how to thank him.

  She didn’t need to. Will said it for her when he set aside his reservations and leaned in to the cosiness of the blanket they shared and chanced a lingering kiss. Clem didn’t fight it. There was no guilt at all; to the contrary, she defiantly fell deeper into his embrace to let Will know she welcomed his touch, his lips, his butterflies, his sunsets, his sincerity.

  When it ended, he didn’t pull away very far. They could both still taste the cognac they’d shared in the tiny breath of air between them.

  ‘Forgive me.’

  ‘For kissing me?’

  ‘For not asking —’

  ‘You need to live more dangerously, Will,’ she breathed, and this time she took control and felt his shocked thrill beneath her as she turned his polite kiss into something far deeper, filled with the underlying message that she didn’t make this gesture lightly. He returned her passion, and in the time it takes for a butterfly to flap its glorious wings, Clementine felt herself truly lost to the universe.

  She broke the kiss, feeling breathless and dizzy.

  He didn’t want to let her go. ‘Are you all right?’

  Clem nodded. ‘I am now that I have found you.’

  ‘Clementine,’ he whispered, his voice croaky with desire. ‘I don’t just want to help you. I want to be with you . . . all the time.’

  ‘That’s very demanding,’ she quipped, but gently.

  ‘Please, Clem —’

  ‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘I feel the same way.’ She didn’t have to see in the dark to know that he was smiling with relief.

  Just as he was about to kiss her again, a fresh thought erupted like a dazzling diamond catching the sunlight and splitting it into colours like the rays of Sirius. The memory made her breath hitch and she felt a pain like a thorn prick.

  ‘What?’ he said, clearly sensing her body becoming tense.

  ‘There’s something else about Sirius.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘We named a huge rough diamond after him. Apparently, it was going to make our fortune – it was worth a mint back then. But my father died the next day and I haven’t seen it since.’

  Will’s soft smile fell in the shadows.

  23

  Will arrived back at his house in Berkeley Square feeling brightly unsettled and dark of mood.

  He had listened with increasing dismay as Clementine told him the story of the magnificent stone discovered by Joseph One-Shoe at the Big Hole. She’d explained that they’d named it, and that it had been hidden to be taken home in secret. Most importantly, she’d impressed upon Will, was that as little as she was, she had been sworn to remain silent about their find.

  ‘And you’re sure he didn’t keep it?’ he pressed. ‘Your recollection could be hazy.’ He heard her take a breath of soft vexation. ‘I’m sorry, but —’

  ‘No, I can promise you that Joseph One-Shoe didn’t want Sirius. He said no white man would ever be convinced it belonged to him if he tried to sell it. Of course, he did keep some diamonds as my father insisted. They were partners. I haven’t thought about this in so long, but the diamonds were hidden in my ragdoll.’

  ‘You are certain about this?’

  ‘Yes. My father used to make me perform the power of my memory like a party trick.’

  Will frowned. The air of the dark carriage was filled with a new tension. Clementine was suddenly frustrated by his mistrust of her memory; only an hour earlier he’d been keen to unleash it.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He’d try to get his drinking companions to bet that I couldn’t remember ten items on a tray – coins, stamps, a photo, a letter, a comb, anything they could fit on it. If he was feeling especially confident, he’d raise the stakes and let them place twelve items. I’d be expected to recount each of those items to the last rusted nail or grubby ticket. If I got the list right, my father was assured of an evening’s drinking the following night. If not, he would be beggared for the week, as he would have to put money on the bar and buy drinks for all who participated. I’m telling you so you understand that my father was so sure of my keen memory that he was prepared to bet his livelihood on it – our livelihood.’ Her voice was now tinged with sorrow.

  ‘Did you ever lose?’

  She shook her head. ‘And before you ask, yes, I’m as certain about the diamonds hidden in my ragdoll as I’m sure that I am sitting here next to you now, Will. I just haven’t thought about them since leaving Africa.’

  ‘But they weren’t still in your ragdoll when you arrived in England, I’m guessing?’

  ‘No. When I asked Uncle Reg about them – when I was a little girl – he said if they existed, then presumably my father removed them before he died. But that’s not the impression I was given by Joseph. To be honest, though, everything was so confusing around that time. I was in shock and I hit my head on the ship. Uncle Reg says my recollections are hazy and probably wrong. I cannot deny that; I couldn’t remember my name for a whole day, and I cannot be sure that my memories aren’t just something I believe occurred.’

  Will could almost wish Clementine hadn’t discussed Sirius. The stone’s disappearance played to his worst suspicions; a convenient answer to his questions.

  They parted with a cordial kiss to Clem’s gloved hand, which lingered perhaps longer than it should have.

  She waited at the door, silhouetted by the golden light of the reception hall, and watched him depart.

  If only he’d kept going, got into the carriage and tapped on the ceiling for the man to drive on. But he paused, turned and walked back up to the doorway. He watched her smile widen at the thought he might return for one more kiss.

  She grinned. ‘Can’t stay away, Will?’

  ‘Clearly you’re an addiction,’ he quipped. ‘I thought I’d give your neighbours something to chat about over their evening meal.’ He kissed her carefully on the cheek and gave a low, delighted sniff. ‘I meant to tell you again how delicious you smell.’

  ‘Thank you. I use a perfume that has its origins in the middle centuries. Spiced roses, herbs, berries, even grasses. My mother used this same perfume and Uncle Reggie wanted to keep her alive in my mind. Thank you for today, Will, it was very special.’

  ‘I’m the one who should be grateful, because today brought me you.’ He was not used to speaking about his emotions and yet he could no more hold back his honest thoughts with her than stop breathing.

  Here was a final chance to depart on a happy, romantic note, but as usual, his sense of honour got in the way.

  ‘Clem, would you mind if I urged you not to say anything about Sirius and his companions? The matter has obviously slept soundly since your childhood – no need to wake it up in everyone’s minds.’

  Her face suddenly creased into a frown as she tried to guess at what he was not saying to her.

  ‘Despite your careful generalisat
ion, Will, I believe you don’t mean everyone, but specifically Uncle Reggie. Am I right?’

  She was no fool. Her voice was even but her tone was suddenly pointed.

  His unruly breath smoked between them in the chill night, and a sense of dread crept up to join it. He’d hesitated for too long. Before he could give her any well-constructed and elegant reassurances, she spoke into the awkward pause. ‘You think he stole the diamonds.’ The accusation felt like a knife stab.

  ‘Don’t you?’

  Instantly Will wanted to bite his tongue out. He hadn’t meant to say it but out it had flown, followed by a horribly uncomfortable silence.

  ‘Goodnight, Will,’ she finally said, closing the door on him.

  He stood there feeling faintly ridiculous, staring at the shiny black paint where a heartbeat ago she had stood smiling at him affectionately. He didn’t move even when the inside light suddenly blinked out. He imagined the woman he wanted to marry ascending the stairs in the darkest of moods.

  He stepped lightly into the carriage and closed the door, not giving in to the temptation to look at an upstairs window. He rapped on the window. ‘Drive on. Mayfair, please.’

  Now, at home by the warmth of the fire, he stared out across the gardens of Berkeley Square. He sipped his Armagnac, swirling the spirit around the balloon glass. He wasn’t sure he necessarily liked it more than cognac, but he took pride in knowing the difference. Right now he needed the higher-alcohol kick of the Armagnac and its ability to instantly warm him.

  His mind wandered along with his gaze. It followed the curve of the plane trees cloistered in the Berkeley Square Gardens and he was prompted to consider the proposal to put up iron railings. It would look attractive, no doubt, but he wondered about the cost. He was aware that during the Regency days, Berkeley and Grosvenor squares had battled it out to be the most fashionable. He didn’t know which had the upper hand at present, nor did he care nearly as much as his father did. His father lived at Grosvenor Square. Will had inherited the house out of the family holdings as he turned twenty-five and came into his trust. It was his home. He thought no more of it – didn’t boast about his address or make mention of it in conversation, as so many others might. The gas lamps were burning gently around the square and the golden glow lit the gardens handsomely; the trees were naked, so he could see all the way through to the statue of the nymph that graced the fountain.

  Her pretty female form reminded him of Clementine. He shouldn’t expect her to accept his theory simply because he couldn’t rid himself of the notion. He would have to prove his point – but how would he achieve that? Where would he get his evidence?

  The clues were there. Reggie had been broke in 1872. He’d taken the helm of an empire facing bankruptcy. Fact. In this same year his sister had died and he was sent to retrieve the child, the sole heir to her mother’s private funds, her grandmother’s private funds and whatever could be salvaged from the extensive and complex Grant businesses. He remembered Clem’s comment that her uncle had not touched her inheritance, and yet somehow he had returned from Africa and saved the company so it could continue to trade. Will’s father remembered all too well how strange it had been that Reggie produced the required funds so quickly. Whenever Will spoke about doing business with him, his father would reinforce the point that something was bent about Reggie Grant.

  And now the Grant empire was in trouble again. Will knew it and so did Reggie, as did some cluey people in financial circles, but apparently Clem was none the wiser.

  How had Reggie survived? Where had the cash injection come from on his return from Africa? It had to be the diamonds from Clem’s doll. It simply had to be, Will thought. And yet Reggie had nonchalantly passed off the cache of diamonds he’d liquidated as a matter of being in the right place in the right moment.

  ‘Balls!’ Will said in an uncharacteristically vulgar outburst, as he raised his elegant glass of Armagnac, backlit by the window of his Mayfair mansion. ‘I’m not going to let you take her down with you.’

  There was still the question of the Sirius diamond: if Will was right, this was still in Reggie’s possession. From Clem’s description, that stone would create a stir no matter how secretive Reggie might be. People in the know would hear about it.

  And if I am right, any time now you’ll need another injection of cash. I’m onto you, Reggie.

  Will knew what he had to do. It would be painful for Clementine, and he may well lose her respect and certainly her affection in the process, but he didn’t think he could lie straight in his bed if he didn’t pursue his suspicions.

  He checked his watch. It was not yet seven. Hardly late. If he dressed quickly, he could still make it to his club and hunt down his old school chum Billy Maidstone. He’d be able to connect Will with the people he needed to talk to.

  Will drained the final sip of Armagnac, the double distilled cognac’s flavours of fire and earth echoing Will’s mood. He was about to burn down a name, an empire – one that was rotten at its core.

  Clementine couldn’t know where Will’s thoughts were ranging but her mind was navigating similar terrain in Holland Park, where she was sipping cocoa and hugging her knees to her chest. She had retired early and was in her bed, leaning against her green velvet headboard shaped like a leaf. Her grandfather had found this intriguing piece in France and fashioned a small suite of rooms around it for his daughter, which his granddaughter now called her own.

  It was the most restrained decor in the London house, not because it lacked ornamentation– quite the contrary, as it was a bold design – but due to the fact that it favoured a single main colour. For this, Clem was sure, her grandmother Lilian had been responsible. The walls were exquisitely painted with willowy branches and small leaves, as though her bed sat in the middle of a copse. She could sit in bed and almost feel the swaying of saplings when her window was open to let in a breeze. The pale background paint colour was somewhere between soft sage and tea. She slept in white linen and her nightdress was the softest pure white cotton. Among this calm, her mind fizzed and simmered, not only with disappointment at Will’s attack on Uncle Reggie but because of what his remark had stirred up.

  She couldn’t let it go now that it had been aired. The more she turned it over in her mind, the less she was convinced that her father had moved the diamonds.

  Will’s suggestion that Uncle Reggie had stolen the diamonds was heinous, but the scenario was not implausible. But had her father told Reggie about Sirius? And if he had, his only chance to move them would have been on the night of his death. But that scenario was impossible. He’d died at the Big Hole. He had not returned and could not have moved the diamonds. That left Joseph or Clementine herself, the two other people who knew about them. She hadn’t moved them, and she doubted with every ounce of her conviction that Joseph would have so much as touched them. He hadn’t wanted any more than the few he’d agreed to keep. Besides, he had made a point of communicating to her where the diamonds had been hidden when he said goodbye to her. It was a clever ruse – few would think to check the little girl’s toy. Her thoughts rambled but came full circle, back to Will’s intimation that her Uncle Reggie had not only known about the diamonds but had taken them after her father’s death, perhaps while they were en route to England.

  It sat trapped in her throat. Could Uncle Reggie have done this and lied to her? Why would he have done that? And if he had, what had happened to the roughs . . . and to Sirius?

  Even the cocoa began to taste sour and she set it aside, leaning her chin against her knees, her arms wrapped around her legs. The quilted coverlet billowed around her and the fire in the grate began to lose its pop and crackle, dying back to glowing embers with the odd eruption of a flame. She could request more fuel, but why wake the household? Besides, she didn’t feel like talking to anyone while she was still rigid with internal rage.

  Why had Will stirred this wasp nest? Now those buzzing thoughts were angry, looking to strike. Clementine turned to face
the fireplace and became lost with her wasps until the coals had burned down to little more than ash. Shivering, she ignored the pressure on her bladder and snuggled under the coverlet. She had a plan now. She knew what she had to do.

  24

  Clementine spent the first part of the morning cajoling her neighbour to play chaperone on her trip into the City, with the promise of a visit to Charbonnel et Walker afterwards. She knew Mrs Chattoway would not be able to resist the exquisite chocolates and bonbons of the Parisian-born confectioner in fashionable Bond Street.

  In the meantime, a telephone call meant the gentleman she needed to see would meet her at short notice.

  As the carriage slowed, Mrs Chattoway immediately recognised their destination as Izak’s, one of the finest jewellers in London.

  ‘Good gracious, Clementine. I had no idea you were bringing me into Hatton Garden. What a surprise. I do believe Charles bought my wedding rings here.’

  Clem nodded. ‘He’s our family jeweller.’

  Mrs Chattoway looked intrigued. ‘Are you having a ring made? Is Will Axford —?’

  ‘Er, no. I’m just having some of my mother’s jewellery remodelled,’ she said airily, hating to lie but the fib was necessary to protect everyone involved. As they emerged from the carriage, she added, ‘So, perhaps half an hour? Would that be fine for you, Mrs Chattoway?’

  ‘Certainly. Plenty to enjoy around here, my dear. And do call me Elspeth, darling. I shall meet you back here in forty-five minutes. Is that suitable?’

  ‘Thank you. I am already anticipating a violet-scented cream.’

  ‘I can’t wait.’ She pecked Clementine on the cheek. ‘Diamonds, darling – don’t hesitate. You can never wear too many.’