The Adventure of the Deverill Diamonds

We gave it time for the hubbub inside the house to die down and to ensure that no-one was going to come out into the street in search of me. Of course, no-one did. My Father had been denied the pleasure of thrashing me himself and my Aunt the pleasure of watching him. Beyond that they were not actually concerned about where I was. After what had happened at the grand ball I expected that my Father would actually be hoping to hear that I was dead in a ditch. It would have added credence to the story he had doubtless told of my being mentally unwell.

Sam and I crept down the metal steps and ladders at the side of the house in the dark and Sam led us around to the other side of the house, under the tiny window which was outside the entrance to Mr Deverill’s rooms -the window that had been opened on the day of the attack. It was almost pitch black around this side of the house, as the house obscured what little moonlight there was peeping shyly through the clouds.

“What are we doing here, Sam?” I whispered.

Sam, true to form, did not answer. Instead, without warning, he jumped feet-first into the river. The river on this side was only shallow and the water only came up to his waist. It was still not something I had expected him to do.

“I thought you didn’t like water?”

“I don’t. But it ain’t deep ’ere.”

A pause.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

No answer. He started rummaging around at his feet, sweeping his hands through the water, trying to find something.

“What are you looking for?” I asked, annoyed by his silence.

“These!” he exclaimed, shooting both his hands out of the water.

I looked at what he was holding. I had to wait for my eyes to adjust in the darkness and to fathom out what he was holding. Eventually, they did. In his left hand he had a wooden-handled hammer and, in his right, a chisel.

“A hammer and a chisel?” I asked, perplexed, my mind drifting haphazardly back to Greek statues in domed recesses.

“Yep. Looks that way.”

“You think he was attacked with those?”

Silence.

“Sam? What does it mean, Sam?”

Another pause.

“Not a clue. Wish I ’ad,” he answered with a shrug.

“Then how did you know they’d be here?”

“I didn’t. You droppin’ that book outta the winder gave me an idea is all. That the window outside Deverill’s rooms was open because someone ’ad dropped somefink out of it and then not shut it proper ’cause they was in a hurry.”

“But…A hammer and chisel..? What have they got to do with anything? That a carpenter or a sculptor was passing the room and got fed up with carrying them? They could have been lying in the water for months or years. It just makes everything more confusing!”

“No rust. So they ain’t been ’ere long. And it’s only more confusing for now. We’ll come up wiv a reason for it, won’t we?”

I was not at all confident that we would. This clue was like Sam’s cryptic remark about Mr Deverill’s shoes having been resoled! What in Heaven’s name did any of these clues have to do with the crime? Shoes being resoled, a hammer and a chisel dropped from a window? I started to think that Sam liked to point out clues just to look clever. That he did not think they were important either but that he would make me think they were, just so he looked good.

To me the solution was obvious. It was Leland Deverill who had committed the crime. As Sam and I walked away from St John’s Wood I told him about Leland’s connection to the Red Razor Gang and to Eddie Holloway. Sam took it all in, nodding and grunting occasionally, more focused on his dripping wet trousers than what I was saying I felt.

Although he grunted he did not seem convinced by my argument that Leland was the killer, which troubled me. Again, he was trying to make himself look clever and, although I was grateful for his coming to my rescue, I was miffed at his not trusting my opinion.

“Why don’t you ever pay attention to what I say?” I asked, put out, as we walked through the dark London streets.

“I do,” came his glib reply.

“You don’t.”

“Just because I ain’t jumpin’ up and down in glee don’t mean I ain’t ’eard what you’ve said.”

“But it does mean you don’t think I’m right!”

“It don’t mean that either.”

“Well then, what does it mean?”

“We went through this earlier - about Leland. If ’e’s got the diamonds why ain’t ’e sold ‘em? Why is he still scrubbin’ decks on the Aurora? And ’ow did ’e get in the room?”

I started to respond but Sam cut me off.

“And don’t gimme that old pony about Kakana climbin’ up the side of the ’ouse on ’is back,” he said calmly.

“Alright - forget climbing up on his back! He just got Kakana to steal the diamonds and bring them to the Aurora. Leland locked them away in the chest and is waiting to sell them to Eddie Holloway! That’s the solution!”

“And I’m gonna ask you again - why? Why did ’e not just go through the front door?” he retorted.

“To give him time to set up the sale to the Red Razor Gang!”

“The Red Razor Gang sell drugs, illegal drink and threaten people into givin’ them money. They don’t buy and sell diamonds however much Eddie Holloway might want to. And certainly not these diamonds. Whoever stole ’em would ’ave to sell ’em abroad, or one at a time at a load of different pawn shops.”

“Alright! Who do you think it is then clever-clogs?”

“Someone came and went via the chimney. It’s the only way it coulda been done, right? Right?”

“Yes,” I snapped, stopping myself from adding “Kakana.”

“Someone what needed the money. Someone who thought that if she was caught she’d get cut outta the will.”

“It’s not her.”

“Someone whose son is a chimney sweep.”

“It’s not her, I’m telling you.”

“She gets James, the son, to climb in and grab the diamonds. She’s expecting the old man to be out shoppin’ maybe and finks the place is empty. But it ain’t. Eugene catches ’im in the act. In desperation little James coshes the old geezer over the ’ead and legs it back up the chimney wiv the diamonds. ’E runs ’ome to Mummy and tells ’er what’s ’appened. She goes to the ’ospital to see what the old man knows. To make sure ’er little boy ain’t in danger. She’s in the Theatre and maybe ‘er show’s goin’ abroad soon.”

“You don’t know that! And, anyway, why doesn’t she just sell the diamonds then? Why is she still working at the Theatre?”

“Is she still workin’ at the Theatre?”

“…I don’t know. But what have the shoes, the chisel and the hammer got to do with your fantastical theory?”

“Nuffink, so far.”

“Ha!”

“You don’t want it to be ’Ettie ’cause you’ve taken a shine to ’er.”

I was completely taken aback. My heart started pounding again and I could feel my cheeks reddening in embarrassment.

“What are you bleating on about?” I said, a slight tremor in my voice.

“Every time you talk about ‘er you get this look in your eyes. Like you’re rememberin’ ’er face.”

“That’s what people do when they remember people!”

“Not like you do.”

“No, you don’t, because you don’t remember people! You just think about you!”

“Is that right?”

“Yes!”

“Like tonight when I come to rescue ya?”

“What do you want - a medal? I’ve said ‘thank you’!”

He did not deserve that. But he had wounded me by talking about Hettie Deverill and I had lashed out. The peculiar truth was that he was right and I knew it. Ever since I had met Hettie Deverill I struggled to get her face out of my mind and I loved, in idle moments, to call it into my minds’ eye and gaze over it in rapture. What was wrong with me? Perhaps I just needed a mother and she seemed to fit the bill? I was a mystery to myself sometimes.

“Yes, you ’ave said ‘thank you’” said Sam, possibly a little hurt, but hiding it as ever like the oddbod that he was.

He suddenly stopped walking and I took a few more paces before I realised he was not beside me.

“What’s the matter?”

He pointed down a dark alleyway.

“What’s down there?” I asked, worrying slightly about what might lie down in that dark alley, remembering the body of Mr Riley Brocklehurst from our last investigation with a shudder.

“Me gaff,” he said.

“You gaff? What are you…?”

“Me ’ouse. Me ’ome.

“Oh,” was all I could say.

“Thought you might want somewhere to stay, seein’ as ’ow I don’t fink you should stay at your gaff no more.”

“Oh,” I repeated, slightly taken aback by the kindness of his offer, especially in light of my recent rudeness to him.

“So, ya comin’ in? Me Mum’s lookin’ forward to meetin’ ya properly. She’s got you a bed ready and everyfing.”

The last time I had seen Sam’s mother it had not been in the best of circumstances. Sam and I had been examining the body we had found in the alley and she had walked in on us rifling through the corpse’s pockets. After all we had been through in that case I did not feel I could look her square in the eye again.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” said Sam, beckoning with his hand for me to follow him.

Several minutes later I found myself inside Sam’s house, sitting in front of a meagre, but welcome, fire which I suspected Mrs Wiggins to have lit in honour of my arrival. The living room was one of the smallest rooms I had ever seen. In fact, to my shame, I think the whole house would probably have fitted into my bedroom in St. John’s Wood. There were a few items of furniture in the room including, slap-dab in the middle of the it, an iron bed which Mrs Wiggins had told me was where she slept. A rope was stretched around the ceiling of the room and from it hung washed clothes and sheets, slowly drying in the air. Sam’s wet trousers had joined the hanging garments and he was wearing another pair, which were even more scruffy than the wet ones.

Mrs Wiggins herself was just as I had remembered her. Like Sam she had bright blue eyes and blond hair. Unlike Sam, her hair was tied into a ponytail with faded ribbon and was tinged with specks of grey. She had a tired expression, looking much older than her years, but, when she smiled, her premature wrinkles crinkled into the friendliest face you could ever hope to see.

She had evidently scrubbed the house from top to bottom, as well as herself, to make it, and herself, look what Aunt Cordelia would call “presentable”. I felt terribly guilty that she had gone to so much effort for me, as if I was some kind of royal visitor. To have said so would have been plain rude however, so I refrained and just felt pleased she thought me worthy of such efforts.

She brought me a freshly brewed cup of tea in a cracked cup and we all sat on her bed, stretching out our legs and warming our toes on the hearth.

Sam and I told Mrs Wiggins all about our investigation and everything we had been through so far.

“Don’t you go draggin’ our Esther into trouble, Sammy,” she said, wagging her finger at him.

“I won’t.”

“I want trouble!” I said, to make sure she didn’t think I was a precious china plate that would smash if mishandled.

“I know you do, love,” said Mrs Wiggins, putting her arm around me and pulling me in towards her. As she did I felt all the cold inside me leave me. It was the embrace of a mother. An embrace of protection. “You’re made of strong stuff, ain’t ya? You both are!”

“Yes, Ma.”

“You need ta be careful, you two,” she said in a kind, loving voice as she gently squeezed my upper arm. “That Red Razor gang are up to no good again and, if that sailor’s a part of it…”

“We don’t know that ’e is, Ma,” said Sam.

“Sounds like ’e is to me,” she said.

“And me!” I said, thrilled that she agreed with me. “And he attacked his uncle!”

Sam sighed in exasperation as he stood up to look at me.

“What’s up wiv you, misery-guts?” asked his mother.

“He does not want to entertain the idea that I might be right, Mrs Wiggins,” I proclaimed, sitting up straight again. “We should go and see what Leland Deverill is up to! He could be meeting with Eddie Holloway at any moment to sell the diamonds!”

“No.”

“Then I’ll go alone!” I said, sounding like a spoiled child.

“You made a promise. We agreed that everyfing we’d do we’d do togevver. No-one does nothin’ alone.”

I let the double-negative pass as it was an argument I was never going to win. I folded my arms and sat looking at him indignantly.

“I’m off to bed, Ma,” he said, still looking at me.

“Alright, Sammy. Give your Ma a kiss.”

He leaned down and pecked her a kiss on her head.

“Tomorrow, we go after Hettie Deverill,” was his parting shot to me. I sucked my left cheek and raised one eyebrow at him defiantly. He climbed the rickety stairs and was out of sight. Moments later we heard an upstairs door shut.

“Don’t you mind our Sammy, Esther,” said Mrs Wiggins gently, “He’s not the politest of creatures is he?”

“I’m sure you brought him up well, Mrs Wiggins.”

“Thanks love. I reckon I done my best. Trouble is wiv Sammy is ’e’s a devil to read. Hard to understand. Always has been. A closed shop since ’e was a nipper.”

“I assumed that was just from… well, from working on the streets for as long as he has?”

“I’ve worked on the streets a damn sight longer and I ain’t like Sammy. I’m a regular weeper I am. Wear me ’eart on me sleeve. ’E was always an odd kid. But very smart, Esther. Very smart. Always wanted the answer to everyfing. Always wanted to understand everyfing. ‘E’s always been the same. Brilliant brain, but not much of a clue when it comes to people. Still waters run deep tho’ love. Don’t you be fooled. It’s all goin’ on under the surface with ’im.”

She looked over at a photograph frame on the mantelpiece. She took it in for a moment, lost in thought, and then let out a deep sigh as she started to play with her hands nervously.

“There are some fings I wish he would talk about, Esther, that’s the truth.”

“Like what, Mrs Wiggins?”

“Like ’is Dad, Esther. ’E told you what ’appened to ’im I dare say?”

I shook my head.

“ ’E was murdered Esther. Knifed on a bridge and chucked into the Thames.”

I did not know what to say. “I’m so sorry,” was what came out of my face. I was shocked. Admittedly I had not known Sam for long but I was surprised he had never told me this. Then I thought about his character and was surprised at my surprise. Sam did not tell anyone anything, even his own mother. But to have lost his father in such a brutal way must have been a terrible burden for him and it was one I wished I could have shared.

“There was one witness, Esther. Saw from a way off. Said a man wiv one eye ’ad done it. I don’t mean like a Gorgon. I mean ’e ’ad two eyes, but one of ’em was covered over with scars and skin.”

“Goodness. When was this?”

“Three months ago, Esther. ’Is Dad and me ain’t lived togevver for a long time, but Sammy still saw ’is Dad from time to time and loved him. Matter of fact, that night ’is Dad ‘ad been crossin’ the bridge to come and see Sammy. I fink Sammy feels guilty about it, but I can’t get ’im to talk. It’s made ’im clam up even more if anyfing.”

“I didn’t know Mrs Wiggins. I am so very sorry.”

“The fing is, Esther,” she began, and I knew from the tone of her voice that this was tantamount to a confession for her, “truth be told, Sammy was closer to ’is Dad than ‘e is to me. Sammy was a chip off the ol’ block, ya see ? When they was togevver, they was a team. Thick as thieves. You couldn’t get between ’em. And, when ’e died, it was like a part of Sammy died too. ’E felt betrayed. As angry as ’e was wiv ’is Dad’s killer, he was just as angry wiv ‘is Dad for not bein’ around anymore. For leavin’ the team. Does that make sense?”

Grief, I knew, was a terrible, terrible thing. I had also, from time to time, felt angry with my parents. Foolishly, pointlessly angry at their being dead. At their not being around to comfort and protect me. Angry that they had left me in such a mess. Anger in grief is unwarranted and completely irrational, but I knew the feeling well enough to recognise what Sam was going through.

“He will come out of it. The anger won’t last, Mrs Wiggins. He will remember what a fantastic team he and his Father were one day. And he won’t be angry anymore. I know it.”

Thankfully, she did not ask me how I knew it. She just nodded and smiled.

“Thanks, love.” She squidged me again and gave me a kiss on the head. “You’re a good ’un, you are. Come on. You better get to bed. You’re in ‘ere lovey. I’m goin’ in Jack’s room. I know it ain’t much but it’s all we got.”

“I think it’s a lovely home, Mrs Wiggins.”

She snorted slightly down her nose in a laugh. She evidently thought it anything but lovely.

“I’ve left some of me bed fings out for ya,” she said pointing to some clothes on a small table.

“Thank you.”

“You get in ’em and I ’ope you sleep tight, lovey.”

She stood up, turned around and kissed me on the head once more.

“You’re a good ’un, Esther. Sammy’s lucky to ’ave you as a friend.”

“And he is lucky to have you as a Mother, Mrs Wiggins,” I said. “Very lucky.”

“Sleep tight, petal,” she said, leaving the room and climbing the rickety staircase.

I climbed into the bed things. Mrs Wiggins had evidently washed them expressly for me. They were beautifully pressed and soft to wear. I climbed into the bed and pulled the blankets over me.

I lay back and looked up at the ceiling. The sheets hanging down from the rope made me think of Leland Deverill, the Aurora and Kakana. I cast all thoughts of them away and lay on my side. The embers of the fire were a deep, dusky red as they crackled in the grate. I thought of Sam’s father and his horrible death at the hands of a one-eyed assassin on a dark bridge. I thought of Sam and how he must be feeling. Of what must be going on under that unruffled, cold exterior. Then I thought of Mrs Wiggins and how much she loved him. Despite the strange quirk of character that stopped him showing his emotions it was clear to me just how much he loved his mother and how much she loved him back.

The Wiggins family had nothing, where I had everything. They did not have enough money, and I had more than enough. They had to work their fingers to the bone for everything they had. My aunt and I had never worked for anything. But they had each other. They had their love. And they had been kind enough to share that love with me in their different ways - Mrs Wiggins through her embraces and pecks on the head, her washing her bed things for me, her tidying of the house, and Sam through rescuing me from a beating and being my partner in crime-solving. That love, I thought as the embers glowed warmly in the fire, made this the only real ‘home’ I had ever known.

‘Oh dear Lord!’ you are thinking! ‘She’s gone into a reverie and forgotten the case! She’s tucked up in bed and that’s supposed to be the end of a chapter! She’s never going to find the thief and assassin! She’s talking about sheets and kisses for cripes’ sake!’

But wait dear reader. You have come along with me this far so you must trust me by now in some way, shape or form. This chapter ending is merely the calm before the storm. Take a sneaky peek at the title of the next chapter and you will see that what I’m saying is true. See? This night in the Wiggins household was the last night of peace. From here on in the case was packed with peril - criminal gangs, murderers, chases, shootings, narrow escapes - all the goodies that I know you are craving.

So take a deep breath as I did in the bed that night, savour the moment of tranquility….

There. That’s better. Now, are you ready?

Good.

Because from here on it’s danger all the way.