The Adventure of the Deverill Diamonds

A half-hour passed of thinking and plotting before we agreed that the plan was just about good enough. At first, Sam had one plan and I had another. In the end we decided to put the two together. If mine did not work, we would try Sam’s. Sam’s plan involved him not getting into the room and me doing all the questioning on my own. I did not like the sound of that one little bit.

By the time the plan was set I was freezing cold from standing on the rooftop. Below I had heard no sound from Aunt Cordelia or Mrs Gritton. They evidently still thought me locked in my room, reading my book and minding my manners. The thought that I could be stood on a rooftop with a ‘street urchin’, plotting how to slip past a policeman would never have occurred to them and the thought of how annoyed they would be if they knew gave me a great deal of pleasure.

I had vowed to myself that I was never coming back to their wretched house again. As Sam and I climbed down the metal steps and ladders from the rooftop I stared at each brick, taking it in for the last time. We dropped the rope back off at Jessop’s boatyard and, as we walked away from the place I had called ‘home’ for most of my life I felt no sadness. I felt relief. Where I would sleep from now on I did not know. Who would be my companions I did not know. All I knew was that I was with someone whose company I enjoyed and who would not hit me if I upset him. That was enough for now.

We walked past the one-legged song pedlar and were soon making our way to the hospital. Sam knew London like the back of his hand (a silly phrase, I think, as I would not be able to tell you what the back of my hand looked like even if you put a gun to my head!) Anyway, Sam reasoned that Mr Deverill would be taken to the nearest hospital as his wounds were so bad. That meant the Hospital of Saint Elizabeth, in St John’s Wood. This added another complication to our planning as the hospital of Saint Elizabeth was run by the Sisters of Mercy or, as Sam said, “a bunch o’ nuns.” I started to worry about having to lie to nuns. Sam said he couldn’t care less. Sam, I suspected, did not believe in God. But then, why would he? He had never been taken to church, he had never read the Bible, he had never had it read to him.

After a short walk we found ourselves in Grove End Road, standing before an enormous hospital building. It was built of a dark brick, with thirty-eight enormous windows spread along the front of it. In the middle of the building stood a a small flight of steps leading up to a very large oak door with an ornate knocker held in the jaws of a metal lion. I knew that once we entered that door there was no way back.

I used one of the thirty-eight windows as a makeshift mirror and tried to tidy my hair up a little. The bun that Aunt Cordelia had fixed it into had come loose in all the climbing and I had to tuck certain parts of it up and out of sight before I looked what she would have called ’presentable’. The walk had blown away most of the soot from Sam’s clothing, but as for the rest of him…. I reached up and began to adjust Sam’s crooked hat before he lightly batted my hand away.

“What you playin’ at?”

“I’m making you look presentable.”

“What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“It means that, if we wish to get in that door, then past a group of beady-eyed nuns and a watchful policeman, we have to look the part.” I cocked my head to one side and raised an eyebrow at Sam as I said these last words to make sure Sam knew that, currently, he did not look the part.

Sam took in my meaning for several seconds then, rolling his eyes and sighing down his nostrils, nodded that I could continue.

I arranged his hat so that it was straight, I did his waistcoat buttons up, straightened his shirt cuffs and brushed the mud off his knees. When I stood up again I stepped back and took in my handiwork. ‘He’s hardly Lord Verisopht,’ I thought, ‘but he will do’.

“Just don’t look in a mirror,” I warned him, knowing that, if he did, he would lose what self-respect he had left and probably never talk to me again. Sam shrugged acceptingly by way of reply.

“Ready?” I asked him.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied.

We faced the door together, walked up the stairs side-by-side and both knocked on the door. Sam’s knock was loud and strong, mine feeble.

There was a brief silence, followed by the sound of footsteps coming towards us. The door creaked open and there stood - a nun. Her hair, ears and upper body were all covered by a white material so that all you could see of her face were her eyes, cheeks and chin. She had a round, chubby face, wore small oval spectacles and had very red cheeks. She looked like an embarrassed owl caught in the act of gobbling down too many mice. Her long flowing robe was a dark grey. She had laughter lines too, and that made me hope that she might not be as scary as she looked.

“Yes?” she asked, in a kind tone, looking us up and down.

“James and Agnes Deverill, ’ere to see our poor Grandad,” said Sam, adding in a tremor in his voice on the last two words. Considering he rarely showed emotion he was very good at imitating it, I thought to myself. We had decided on the name of Agnes on the rooftop, mainly because of Agnes from David Copperfield (Dickens!). (I did not tell Sam that, of course. I just said I liked the name of Agnes).

“Your Grandfather being…?” asked the nun, smiling gently.

“Mr Eugene Deverill,” I said, trying to sound as upset as Sam had done.

“And where are your parents?” she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“Mum works the music halls and she’ll be ’ere soon.”

“And Father has been collected to God, miss, and has gone to Heaven,” I added, thinking that the mention of Heaven might make her happier and stop her eyes from narrowing. Guilt was washing over me for lying to this servant of God, but I tried to bury it deep down and put on a brave face.

“You are.. brother and sister?” she asked, her brow now furrowing as she looked from Sam to me and back again.

“That’s right,” replied Sam, “I work up the chimneys tho, while Agnes goes to a posh school.”

“Oh,” said the nun. A pause followed in which she seemed to be thinking, taking in the lie that Sam had just fed her.

Without any warning, she suddenly snapped her head around to me and asked “Which school might that be?”

For a split second I was completely taken aback. Sam and I had not discussed the answer to this question. My mind raced, hunting around for an answer to this question. I stumbled on the school my adopted mother had attended and, before I knew it, its name came tumbling out of my face.

“St Martin-In The Fields!”

The nun’s face changed immediately. Her brow straightened, her eyes opened wide again and a smile swept across her rosy face.

“The very school I attended myself!” she exclaimed, beaming.

I smiled as best I could, unsure whether this was a good or a bad thing for our plan. I had the distinct feeling that we were going to fall at the first hurdle.

“Tell me,” said the nun in an excited voice, “is Sister Nesbit still teaching there?”

My mind whirled through both the possible answers at an extremely fast pace. If I said ‘yes’, she could easily say “I made Sister Nesbit up! She has never taught there, you little liar!”. If I answered ‘no’, I might disappoint her and make her less cheerful than she had suddenly become. But if I did say ‘no’ then I would at least not fall into the ‘liar’ trap. These thoughts took a split second to rattle through my brain. I made my choice.

“No. I cannot say I have seen a Sister Nesbit.”

“No. Well you wouldn’t have done,” said the nun, smiling again with narrowed eyes, “I made her up.”

Phew! Trap avoided! But hot on its heels came another one!

“When I was at St Martin’s, they used to read the hundred and nineteenth Psalm every morning. I assume the practice has continued?”

“Absolutely,” I bluffed.

“How does it go again…? Oh, yes! “‘The sum of your word is truth….”’

For the first and only time in my life I thanked Heaven for Aunt Cordelia’s not allowing me any other books to read but Dickens, the Dictionary and the Bible. I must have read it over a hundred times, especially the book of Psalms. Without hesitation I responded :

‘“..and every one of your righteous judgements endureth forever.”’

The nun’s jaw dropped slightly. Her smug, disbelieving smile vanished from her face. She had not expected my answer. The fact that I finished her Bible quotation with speed and accuracy and thrown her completely. In her mind I was obviously telling the truth, because what little street vagabond would have known the answer otherwise?

“I am sorry for doubting you,” she said after a moment, “I was told to be especially mindful about visitors for Mr Deverill. He has been attacked, you see?”

“Yes, we know,” I said in my saddest voice, “that’s why we’ve come to see dear Grandpappa…” Sam put his arm around me, overdoing it a little I thought. But the nun was utterly on the back foot now.

“Of course. Forgive me for testing you, dear girl. You and your brother are, of course, more than welcome to come and stand by your Grandfather’s side in his hour of need.”

She smiled broadly and swung the door wide open, motioning with her hand for us to enter. We walked past her into the great hall of the hospital. It was a magnificent building. The ceiling was immensely high and the walls were filled with beautiful decorative paintings. Either side of us there were flights of stairs leading to upper floors, peppered with lots of doors leading off to what I assumed to be different wards of the hospital. The nun closed the door behind us with a loud wooden clunk. One obstacle passed, one to go.

“Mr Deverill has his own room on the second floor,” she said, kindly, “up the stairs to the right, third door on the right, down the corridor to the very end and you’ll see the policeman guarding the door.”

“Thank you so much,” I said, turning to smile angelically at her. It must have been a stomach-churning sight but she took it well and smiled back.

“Ta,” echoed Sam, forcing himself into a half-smile.

We walked to the right staircase and began to climb, waiting until we were out of earshot of the bespectacled nun before we started to talk in whispers.

“ ’Ow the ’ell did you come up wiv that?” Sam hissed under his breath.

“I’ve read the Bible a few times,” I lied. Sam did not need to know the true conditions of my life I thought (especially as I had now left that life behind for good.)

Sam looked at me, not believing me but, again, allowing me the lie.

We reached the landing and headed down a carpeted hallway with doors on the right, a bannister stopping us from plummeting back down to the tiled floor of the great hall on the left. I stayed to Sam’s right and ignored the drop to the left. I had had enough of heights for one day. We walked down to the third door on the right in silence where we both stopped.

“My plan first,” I said.

Sam nodded. He did not look even remotely scared that he was about to come face to face with a policeman who might arrest him for pretending to be someone he wasn’t. I dare say he had come across quite a lot of policemen in his time and was used to outwitting them. I tried to soak up some of his courage as I opened the door and we both walked through.

The corridor was very wide and paintings of religious figures dotted the walls on both sides. It was also completely empty of other people, which made our plan a little easier to carry out. At the end of the hallway, a long way off, stood a bearded policeman, checking a fob watch and paying little attention to his surroundings. Thank Goodness that it wasn’t P.C. Burdon or all our planning would have been for nothing! Burdon was physically slender, but his brain and wits were first-rate.

I stood in the doorway as Sam walked a long way ahead of me. When I thought the moment was right I started walking slowly in the same direction as Sam. I saw him reach the bearded policeman, who looked up, startled that anyone should have been walking his way. The policeman’s voice was loud and gruff and travelled towards me as I walked down the corridor.

“Who are you?”

“Me name’s James Deverill,” replied Sam on his best behaviour, “I’m ’ere to see me Grandad.”

“Your Grandad?” The same tone of disbelief that the nun had used. I had evidently not done enough to make Sam look respectable. Given that minutes before he had been covered head to foot in soot though, I had done my very best.

“Yeah,” Sam continued. “Me Mum’s ’Ettie Deverill. Works the music halls. I work up the chimneys. Me poor old Grandad’s been attacked ain’t ’e?”

I was nearly down their end of the corridor. I slowed my pace. Our plan had been a) if it’s going well, speed up b) if it isn’t, slow down. Judging from the policeman’s tone it was not going well.

“Who you tryin’ to kid, sonny? Get out of ’ere before I clobber ya!” yelled the policeman, raising his truncheon.

My plan had failed. Time for Sam’s plan. The plan that meant I alone would be trying to get the truth out of Eugene Deverill.

Sam turned away from the policeman, looking at me as if he was seeing me for the very first time, then ran hell-for-leather at me (just as we had rehearsed on the rooftop), knocking me to the ground as he passed and fled down the corridor and through the end door.

“Help!” I yelped in my poshest voice. “He’s stolen my bag!” (I did not have a bag of course, but the watch-watching policeman would not have seen that.) “Help!”

The bearded policeman ran towards me and away from Mr Deverill’s door. I was flat out on the ground, holding my arm up as if it was injured.

“You alright, missy?” asked the policeman, fear in his voice.

“He stole my bag officer! Please, it has all my jewellery in it!” (Sam had suggested this addition as he said the police officer was more likely to chase after a bag filled with precious jewels than just a plain old bag.)

“Don’t worry, missy ! ’E won’t get far!” declared the policeman and he ran off in high pursuit of Sam, through the end door and out of sight, proving Sam completely right.

Guilt flowing over me, I rose to my feet. First I had lied to a nun, then a policeman. For a moment I stood there, worrying over what I had done. But then I thought ‘did I want to be a detective or not?’ This was just the kind of trick that a real detective might have to have in their repertoire! I put my arm back by my side and ran to the door that the policeman had been guarding. Sam would give him the runaround for as long as he could. That was all part of his plan.

I reached out my hand to the doorknob and turned it. The room was large, like a bedroom in a stately home and the view from the window was tremendous. This window was obviously one of the thirty-eight I had seen from outside. In the centre of the room was a comfortable looking bed, covered in white sheets and, in the bed, was the bandaged form of Eugene Deverill. He looked terrible, his thin face very pale, but no longer covered in blood at least. His eyes were open and he turned to watch me as I entered.

“Who are you…?” he croaked.

“It’s Esther, sir. Esther Morstan-Eyre.”

“Esther… I don’t know any Esther…”

“Yes you do, sir. You’ve lost your memory is all. I am your neighbour.”

“Neighbour?” he said, suddenly raising his voice and getting quite agitated. “I am not allowed any visitors except family!” His voice was really quite loud now and I felt that, at any minute, someone would come to investigate. Obviously, telling the truth was the wrong tack to take. I had to act fast.

“No! It’s alright! I’m not your neighbour. I just made that up! I’m Agnes. Your grand-daughter. Remember?”

(Desperate, but I had no choice!)

“Remember, Grandfather? Agnes,” I repeated, smiling.

He looked at me with those empty, glazed eyes for a moment and then, just as suddenly, his agitation passed.

“Of course.. Agnes…”

His voice trailed away and he gazed out of the window, his shoulders relaxing and a calm drifting over him. I took the opportunity to pull up a chair to his bedside. His head remained turned away from me, surveilling the window.

I coughed lightly and said “Grandfather?” in a peaceful tone.

His bandaged head rolled back around to look into my eyes.

“Can I ask you some questions, Grandfather?” I went on, feeling like the worst kind of liar.

“Of course…Of course…”

“Did your niece come to visit you this morning ? Hettie?”

“Hettie…?”

“Yes, your niece. Did she come and visit you this morning?”

A great effort of thought, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. Then :

“I don’t remember…”

“Alright. What about her son, James? Did you see him this morning?”

Another effort, followed by “I don’t remember… I don’t remember anything…. ”

This was hopeless. Mr Deverill’s memory was clearly gone. But I had just lied to a nun and a policeman and I could not give in so easily. I leaned in and took his hand.

“Please Grandfather, try to think.. This morning.. Your diamonds were stolen. You had just had a letter from your niece - Hettie..”

A vacant silence, then : “What did you say your name was…?”

“It’s Agnes,” I replied, smiling again and trying to get eye contact with him as his eyes gazed into the air beside my head. “Your Grand-daughter, Agnes. And you are Mr Eugene Deverill.”

“Deverill…” he whispered.

His eyes glazed over and he lost his focus again. Any ideas that Sam might have had about him pretending to have been attacked were nonsense. I knew that now. Mr Deverill had been attacked, his memory was lost and he was definitely not pretending. No actor could have faked that hollow look in his eyes or the pools of liquid swimming in them. The only other option was that he had attacked himself and lost his memory, but then where were the diamonds? I dismissed him from my mental list of suspects. My thoughts again turned to Hettie Deverill, her son James and the chimney. That must have been the way it was done.

I knew it could take weeks for Mr Deverill to get his memory back. Maybe even months. He did not remember anything, let alone what happened this morning and how a would-be murderer had got in and out of his locked and barred room. We had gone to all this trouble for nothing. Sam was being chased by a policeman for nothing. All we had proved was that Eugene Deverill had not done it himself to get the insurance money. And I had never really believed he had done so in the first place. I had to get out, find Sam and rescue him from whatever scrape our pointless plan had got him into.

I rose, turned away from the bed and made for the door. I reached my hand out to the doorknob but, as I did, the door swung open and there, before me, was the scowling face and enormous figure of a dark, looming man. I would like to pretend that I kept my composure and play-acted my part to a tee. Sadly, however, I did not.

Instead, like the worst kind of lily-livered twerdle, I screamed.