The Adventure of the Deverill Diamonds

On the carriage ride my Father talked to me more than he had ever done in my life. He was concerned as to why I had disappeared and where I had disappeared to. It will not surprise you (used as you are by now to what a compulsive liar I am) that I lied to him incessantly. By the end of the carriage ride I had convinced him that I had stayed with a kindly old woman called Hettie Brown (the first name that popped into my mind) who had taken pity on me, made me food and given me a bed for the night.

Aunt Cordelia was oddly friendly, even smiling (well, grimacing) at me occasionally. She looked at the state of my pink dress and said she would take it, wash it and wear it herself. She would give me a different dress for the ball. A more beautiful dress and one that was not pink.

I could not believe it. My running away had been the thing they had needed to bring them to their senses! They had realised that I had been mistreated and they were determined to put things right. I cast Sam’s doubting face from my mind and sat back in the carriage, relaxed in their company for the first time. I know! I know! I was a fool. But it was born of hope - one of the more forgivable human follies.

Soon I was home in my room, in my undergarments, awaiting the new dress. Mrs Gritton had taken the pink one to clean it ready for Aunt Cordelia to wear. Moments later she bundled back into my bedroom carrying a less hideous dress. It was blue satin, with black trim and a decorative lace collar. I was washed and scrubbed, my hair was combed and styled in a kind, gentle fashion and I was not referred to even once as a “demon” or a “varmint” or a “ragamuffin”. When I looked in the mirror that was brought into my room I could not believe I was the same girl who had adjusted her hair in the window of a hospital the day before.

The rest of the day was spent in idle conversation with Aunt Cordelia and my Father. My room was not locked. I was free to come and go as I chose. I could have run out of the front door if I had wanted. But, for the first time since my Mother had died, I did not want to run away. I was even able to talk to them about the attempted murder downstairs and my thoughts on the culprit - Leland Deverill. I told them nothing of my violent run-ins with him of course.

We ate two meals, both of which I tried not to wolf down, hungry as I was from my not having eaten properly for quite some time.

The time passed and, after a short carriage ride, we were inside the grandest home I had ever seen. This, I was told, was the home of Sir Joshua Ryman, the Lord Chief Justice (the most important judge in the country). The entrance door alone was taller than my bedroom ceiling. Greek columns were everywhere and large, ornate windows looked out onto even larger and more ornate gardens.

Sir Joshua Ryman met us at the door and shook my Father warmly by the hand. He took my hand and kissed it. He was a jolly, well-fed man with red cheeks and reminded me of the Ghost of Christmas Present in A Christmas Carol (to be fair, I haven’t referred to Dickens for quite some time so I’m sure you can forgive me.) He wore tights under his pantaloons, which made him look like he belonged to quite another century. He was, it is fair to say, old-fashioned looking.

The hall where everyone had gathered was covered in paintings. They were paintings of Sir Joshua with his family. Several where Sir Joshua was surrounded by his children or his grandchildren, then more individual portraits of all of his family. In each one, his rosy-red cheeks beamed in enjoyment of his nearest and dearest. By way of contrast, marble statues of naked Greek people (their private parts delicately covered by strategically placed leaves) were scattered around the room in domed recesses and they looked down upon the mass of people milling around in front of them.

Everyone there seemed to be involved in the law in some way or another. Judges, lawyers, senior members of the police force in dress uniform were everywhere I looked.

Slipping away from my Father as he chatted with Sir Joshua I made my way towards a corner of the grand hall, where I had spotted Inspector Wakefield deep in conversation with a small group of men. Pretending to look in admiration at some of the portraits I slowly crept towards them as they talked.

“…disappeared into thin air,” Inspector Wakefield said, his handlebar moustache doing a dance on his upper lip as he spoke.

“He cannot simply have disappeared, Wakefield!” cried one of the other men.

“We’ll catch him, don’t you worry Meddings,” said Inspector Wakefield, his pride a little stung. “Contrary to popular belief, there is very little honour among thieves. One of the gang’ll rat on him before long,”

“People who “rat” on Eddie Holloway don’t have a habit of living long, Wakefield,” said another man.

Eddie! Eddie Holloway! Of course! The leader of the Red Razor Gang who had just been released from prison! This was the ‘Eddie’ that Leland Deverill had been scared of! What a dolt I was! And Leland Deverill thought Eddie Holloway had sent me to spy on him for some reason. Leland Deverill had business with the Red Razor Gang. Criminal business. Perhaps he needed Eddie Holloway to sell the diamonds for him! Perhaps Holloway had ordered the killing of Eugene Deverill for some reason! Perhaps Leland Deverill was a member of this horrible gang and was holding the diamonds in the tin chest until Eddie Holloway asked for them!

Whatever the answer was Inspector Wakefield had clearly lost Holloway. The leader of the Red Razor Gang had gone underground, out of sight, and escaped the Inspector’s clutches. He was up to goodness knows what, planning criminal acts, and the police could do nothing about it. I wanted to run away from the grand house that instant and tell Sam what I had fathomed out!

But then I caught sight of my Father talking to Sir Joshua Ryman and pointing me out in the crowd. Sir Joshua was smiling and nodding. I knew I could not leave. My Father was proud to have me here. He was pointing me out and saying what a wonderful daughter I was.

The rest of the evening was a delight to me. There was a string quartet in the corner of the room who played the most beautiful music. Having not heard music in such a long time I was thrilled by it and closed my eyes as I drunk it in. Before I knew it I was in the middle of the grand hall dancing with 20 other people, swapping partners, prancing up the middle of two lines and back as people clapped. I found myself involved in a dance called the Roger-De-Coverley, which involved going from corner to corner in couples, spinning my way down a line and skipping up the middle and back. The music was beautiful and the dancing wonderful! I had no idea who Roger De Coverley was but I hopelessly wished that a marble statue to him was residing in the hall somewhere so I could bow down before him in worship and unending gratitude.

All thoughts of the theft of the Deverill Diamonds left my head and I was simply Ulysses Morstan-Eyre’s daughter, dancing at a ball held in his honour. From the walls those pictures of Sir Joshua Ryman with his children and grandchildren beamed back at me. I was part of a family. A real part of a family.

The time passed in rapture and soon it was time for speeches. Sir Joshua stood at the bottom of the Grand Hall with my Father next to him. I was stood at the front of the crowd, smiling and gazing admiringly at my Father.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Sir Joshua said in his deep voice, getting everybody’s attention, “As you know we are here tonight to pay tribute to the Chief Constable - Mr Ulysses Morstan-Eyre.”

A smattering of applause from the crowd, myself included.

“Ulysses has worked tirelessly for many years, working his way up the ranks, prosecuting many criminals and then working as Chief Constable, running a very tight ship.”

Noises of agreement came from all around me.

“But, there is another reason I have called you all here. I am delighted to inform you that I have decided, after talking with the Chief Constable tonight, to make him a judge!”

The whole room broke into rapturous applause. I swelled with pride, clapping along ferociously with the crowd. My Father - a judge! It was something he had been working for all his life.

The applause around me carried on, but a row behind me it had stopped. I heard two men’s voices talking to one another over the applause, evidently unable to see that I was stood a short way in front of them.

“He pulled it off then!” said one of the men.

“Convinced the old codger that he is a good ‘family man’!” laughed the other.

I stopped clapping.

“I told him - there is no way on earth Ryman would agree unless he showed him that he loved children as much as the old man does!”

“Everyone knows Ulysses can’t stand that backstairs daughter of his!”

“Did you see her dancing?” cackled the first man.

“Poor mite! Totally unaware that she was brought here to get him the job he wanted!”

My head swam. My heart leapt up into my throat and my breathing quickened. What I should have known all along, what Sam had known and I had ignored, that my so-called Father had only wanted me at this event to further his own career, suddenly became obvious. I felt foolish and ashamed of being so easily hood-winked. Worse, made to feel special and loved and realising I was neither.

I was dimly aware of my Father starting to speak to the assembled crowd as the applause died down. My heart was racing and my eyes started to sting with tears. I stopped myself from crying. I had wasted enough tears on that man and his mistreatment of me. I would favour him with no more.

With no care for the consequences I stepped forwards slowly, advancing as my ‘Father’ spoke. His voice stumbled and stopped as I got near him. He looked confused and concerned. Concerned for himself naturally. Not concerned about me. Some of the crowd started to whisper to one another.

“Esther, dearest…?” he said, his voice full or worry about what I was doing and what I might be about to say.

I stopped walking and turned to face the assembled crowd. My heart was thumping loudly in my chest and my lips were dry. I spoke, the voice not feeling like mine, the words simply pouring from my mouth:

“Ladies and Gentlemen. I am this man’s unfortunate adopted daughter.”

“Esther!” exclaimed my Father and Aunt Cordelia at the same time. I ignored them both.

“It will interest you to know that, until today, I have been locked in my bedroom day and night, beaten senseless by this vile woman,” (pointing at Aunt Cordelia) “and completely ignored by this heartless man.” (pointing to my Father). A hubbub of disapproval broke out in the crowd.

“Esther!” my Father said, lunging forwards to grab me. “She does not know what she is saying, Sir Joshua! She is unwell!”

“I am perfectly well, Sir Joshua,” I said, escaping his grasp, “and, if you have given this man a job because he is a ‘good family man’ let me assure you that he is not. He is selfish, uncaring and incapable of love! If you want to give someone the job of magistrate then give it to a maggot! Give it to a rat in the gutter! Give it to the lowest, basest creature you can find - a slug, a worm, a fly that feasts on the outpourings of the business end of a dog! Anyone - but this man!”

“Cordelia!” my Father yelled, panic in his eyes. “Help me!”

Aunt Cordelia ran forwards and grabbed me by the arms, pushing me out of the door to the main hall as the general sound of astonishment broke out. The crowd were talking loudly to one another in disbelief. I could hear my Father protesting to Sir Joshua as the hall door was slammed shut behind us.

An hour later I was once again locked in the horrid bedroom of my childhood, the larger window tightly shut and locked. My Aunt, needless to say, had, despite my trying to fight her off, dragged me into a carriage by my ear and brought me ‘home’.

She had tried to thrash me with her cane but I had fought back, to her great surprise, trying to punch and kick her until, in desperation, she had forced the door shut and locked it.

“Your Father will deal with you when he is back!” she had shouted through the closed door.

“He can’t and he won’t!” I had shouted back. I had had enough and I was not scared of either of them.

She had then skulked away and left me quite alone.

I slumped down onto the bed and looked around the room for a way out. I was jiggered if I was going to sit around waiting for that man to come back and beat me! I could see no way out. The large window was locked and Aunt Cordelia had the key. The door likewise. The smaller window was too small to fit through. The only way out would be to smash the large window. Noisy, but it was my only option! I decided to do it!

Crossing the room I reached for the empty coal scuttle that sat beside the fireplace. It was metal and heavy (even without coal in it) and I knew that, if I used enough force, I could easily break the window with it.

But, as I reached for it I heard something strange. It sounded like gas escaping from a pipe. I had no gas laid on in my room, so the sound completely confused me.

“Pssssttt!”

There it was again. What on Earth was it?

“Pssssttt!”

It seemed to be coming from inside the fireplace. I stuck my head in it and looked all around.

“Esther!”

Sam’s voice! No mistaking it! I looked up the chimneystack and saw his face at the top of it, looking down on me, just as I had looked down on him in Eugene Deverill’s rooms.

“Sam!” I yelped excitedly.

“Sssshhh!” he hissed. “You alright?” he whispered.

“No, Sam.. I’m not.”

“Didn’t fink so. Want some company?”

“Always.”

“Mind out below then.”

I stepped backwards, back into my room. Seconds later the bottom of a rope fell down into the fireplace. I could hear scuffling and scraping sounds and a minute later Sam, crouching under the mantlepiece, fell into my room, covered once more in soot and grime.

I was so happy to see him that I forgot myself and threw my arms around him in a tight embrace. He did not return my hug of course. He just patted me awkwardly with one hand on the back.

I stopped hugging him and stepped backwards, a wide smile on my face.

“You came for me!” I blurted.

He held his finger to his lips to indicate that we should talk in whispers. I nodded.

“You came!” I whispered.

“Of course I came. We’re a team.”

I could have burst with joy at those words. And for Sam to say them meant a lot.

“But how did you know I would be here?” I said, noting Sam’s flushed cheeks.

“I knew somefing was up. I’ve been up on the roof for a while waitin’ for a carriage to come back. I take it the grand ball weren’t so grand after all?”

I told him what had happened and what I had said in front of all those people. He half-smiled at some things I said and looked concerned and sad at others. His favourite bit seemed to be the “outpourings of the business end of a dog” where he almost broke into a laugh. (I was quite pleased with that bit myself to be honest.)

He looked around my room then looked me in the eyes, a bashful quality in his own. I had never seen him look shy or unsure and it took me by surprise.

“I didn’t know,” he said at last. “That it was like this… Your life I mean.”

“Why should you have?” I responded.

“If I ’ad known I wouldn’t’ve let you go….You know that, don’t cha?”

I was deeply touched by this. More than I could ever have told him. More than he could ever have accepted. I could not find any words, so I smiled and I nodded.

“You ’ide it well.”

“Hide what?”

“This. Good at actin’ ain’t ya?”

“I suppose we both are. In our own ways. We have to be.”

He seemed to accept this and his expression changed back to his usual tough, unflinching exterior. He looked towards my empty bookshelf.

“Normally full of Dickens,” I said. “The Bible and the Dictionary.”

“Right. What’s that one then?”

He was pointing over to the bed where Routledge’s Book of Etiquette for Ladies lay.

“It’s a book of Etiquette,” I explained. “A rare ‘present’ from Aunt Cordelia. And here is what I think of it. And what I think of her.”

I picked the book up, opened my tiny window and dropped the wretched book out of it. It landed in the water below with a tiny, but satisfying, ‘splosh!’

I shut the window and turned to face Sam with a big beam on my face. Expecting him to half-smile at me I was shocked to see that his face had completely frozen. His eyes were fixed on the window, his brow was furrowed and his mouth was gaping.

“What?” I asked. “What is it?”

He did not answer. He was lost in thought. Something had occurred to him. Something to do with the Deverill case!

“What are you thinking?” I asked, urgently.

Suddenly I heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs and the voices of Aunt Cordelia and Father getting nearer. His carriage had come back without me noticing! They both sounded in a spitting fury.

“Quick!” I barked at Sam, dragging him, mouth agape, to the fireplace. “Come on! We need to get out of here! Come on Sam!”

He snapped out of his fixed state, realised the scrape we were in and pushed me into the fireplace before him.

“Climb!” he urged. “Don’t bring your knees up too high or you’ll get stuck!”

I reached for the rope, throwing my hands around it and, pushing my knees against the walls, I climbed for all I was worth. I was several feet up when I felt the rope tighten beneath me. Sam was climbing too. We were like two caterpillars working our way up that dark chimneystack. Knees moved up and pushed against the wall, hands reached up and pulled the body upwards.

I could dimly hear the voices nearing my bedroom door. My hands were starting to hurt from grasping the coarse rope and from carrying my own weight. My shoulders were aching and it felt like my arms were being torn from their sockets.

The door was unlocked beneath us!

We climbed on, through the soot and the grime. It was terrible. The space was confined and I struggled to get a good breath in my lungs so I could carry on. This was why the beautiful Hettie Deverill wanted her son James to leave the chimney-sweep trade! If this is what he had to do every day then it was no wonder she wanted a different life for him!

Voices beneath us! They were in the room and wondering where on Earth I had gone!

I reached the top and scrambled out onto the roof. Looking behind me I saw Sam nearly at the top. I plunged my hand back down into the chimneystack to find him. He reached up and gripped my hand tightly. I pulled with all my might and he too fell out onto the rooftop.

I grabbed the rope and yanked it, feeding it through my hands.

The voices below were making their way over to the fireplace. They sounded furious and there was a lot of shouting going on.

I pulled at the rope as fast as I could, reached the end of it and threw it onto the roof just in the nick of time as I heard my Father’s voice coming from the chimneystack.

“No! She couldn’t have got out this way!” he shouted, his voice echoing. “You cannot have locked the door properly Cordelia!”

Aunt Cordelia’s voice bit back at this and they argued for a minute or two. It was pleasing to hear the bile they had built up to hurl at me being hurled between them instead. Soon, their voices faded away and the door slammed shut again.

I looked over to Sam, his clothes, his arms and his face as black as night.

“Let’s get out of here!” I said.

“Not just yet,” he replied, the strange look back on his face.

“Why not?”

“Somefing we’ve gotta check out first.”

“What have we got to ‘check out’?”

“Why the tiny window was open, of course.”