The Black Diamond

by Andrea Kane

  "Indeed they are." Julian caressed her cheek. "Very different." He paused, studying her face. "Are you up for this, soleil? I could bring you home, return tomorrow night myself."

  "No." Aurora seized the edges of his coat. "I'd be more frightened if you did this alone than I am now. At least this way I can look out for you."

  A corner of his mouth lifted. "I'm honored."

  "You're amused. Don't be. I haven't had ample opportunity to prove it, but I'm equally as determined as you to take care of those I love."

  "As I said, I'm honored."

  "And dubious."

  "No, soleil. Never dubious when it comes to you."

  Julian's head came up as a drunken sailor staggered out of the Brine. "Let's get out of here."

  "How long will it take us to get to the Cove?" Aurora inquired, following close beside him.

  "It's less than a mile away, right along the bank of the Fowey River. If we stay close to the shore, we should be able to sail upriver and dock within a half hour. We could go by foot, but I'd feel better if we avoided the riffraff we'd encounter along the way. We'll have plenty of time to deal with them once we reach the tavern itself."

  "I can hardly wait," Aurora retorted.

  * * *

  Thirty-five minutes later, they left their skiff tied at the river's edge and climbed the rickety wooden steps leading to their destination.

  The Cove, thankfully, was a bit less dilapidated than the Brine, but its patrons were equally as unkempt and a lot drunker than the others had been, probably because it was now almost an hour later, giving the sailors ample time to sink deeper and deeper into their cups.

  Again Julian checked Aurora's appearance. Then, confident that she was as concealed as her layers of clothing would allow, he drew her close to his side, holding her tightly—and possessively—as he led her through the front door and to the counter.

  "We got no rooms 'ere," the tavern keeper announced, his bloodshot gaze sliding from Julian to Aurora. "So ye'll 'ave to take this pretty morsel somewhere else." He leaned forward, his teeth so yellow, his breath so hideous that Aurora winced with disgust. "Unless, of course, ye want to share 'er with me. Then, we can take 'er to the kitchen and…"

  "I don't want a room," Julian ground out, clearly battling back the urge to throttle the man. "My wife—" He emphasized the word. "—and I are looking for someone. We want you to help us find him."

  "I sell ale, not information."

  "I want both." Julian slapped a ten-pound note on the counter. "And I'll pay for them."

  The tavern keeper's eyes gleamed. "That's a different story." He snatched up the money. "Who're ye lookin' for? And why?"

  "A sailor named Barnes. He's old, gray-haired, with a gravelly voice. A reliable source tells me he spends his evenings at the Cove."

  An assessing pause. "Ye still haven't told me why ye're lookin' for this fellow Barnes."

  "He and I have a mutual friend I have some questions about."

  "A friend? Or someone ye're plannin' to steal from or kill?"

  "A friend. Someone I want to discuss."

  "Nothin' more?"

  "Nothing more." Clearly Julian sensed victory, for he withdrew two more notes, waved them visibly about like bait, then folded them neatly and tucked them into his palm. "As I said, I'll pay handsomely. No trouble, no fights, just information. After which—if Barnes should happen to be here—my wife and I will buy him a few rounds of ale, chat with him for a time, then take our leave. Period." Julian rubbed the pound notes between his fingers. "Well?"

  The bloodshot gaze shifted hungrily to Julian's hand. "I guess a fellow 'is age can't be in any trouble," he rationalized aloud, reaching for the money. "'E's 'ere."

  "Where?" Julian's fingers inched away.

  "Over there." Scratching his bearded jaw, the tavern keeper leaned forward, pointing to a table along the side wall. "Ye can't miss 'im. 'E's tellin' 'is stories to whoever'll listen. 'E's older than all the other men combined."

  "Thanks—" Julian made a move to hand over the notes, then paused. "What did you say your name was?"

  "Rawley."

  "Rawley. Thanks." He slapped the bills into the tavern keeper's dirty palm, then seized Aurora's elbow, leading her across the room to the broken wooden table in question where four men—three elderly, one ancient—sat chuckling and drinking their ale.

  Julian didn't have to guess which sailor was the one he sought.

  "Barnes?" he inquired casually, looking at the stooped old man whose gnarled fingers clutched his tankard of ale.

  "That's me. Who're ye?"

  "Someone who needs to talk with you—alone."

  "Sorry," Barnes said in that gravelly voice Stone had described. "I don't go nowhere with no one I don't know. 'Specially without a reason."

  Julian blinked. "I'm not asking you to go anywhere. Just join me at that table way over there—" He pointed. "—for a drink."

  "Nope. Can't. Talkin' to my friends. Tellin 'em about the time my brig almost capsized when we was leavin' India."

  "It'll only take a few minutes."

  "Nope."

  "Please, sir." Aurora's words emerged of their own accord. "My husband and I have searched everywhere for you. We lost a family member at sea—and no one but you can shed any light on the situation. Won't you please give us just a quarter hour of your time? I promise we mean you no harm." Gently she touched his arm. "It could make a world of difference."

  Barnes scratched his gray head. "Ye two are married?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And ye need to know somethin' about yer family?"

  Aurora nodded. "About a relative of my husband's—someone you sailed with. We need your help; you're our only hope."

  Shoving back his chair, Barnes stood. "In that case, I'll go." He glared at his friends. "Ye best not forget which part I was up to."

  Judging from their blank expressions, Aurora noted with an inner smile, they already had.

  "Over there?" Barnes asked, pointed a wrinkled forefinger.

  "Yes. That would be perfect." Aurora glanced up at Julian, grinning at how impressed he looked at her accomplishment. "You're not the only man who succumbs to my charm," she teased under her breath.

  "Evidently not." He guided them over to a corner that was as close to quiet and deserted as one could get in this pub. "Have a seat, Barnes; I'll get you another ale."

  "Don't need it." The old fellow waved away the offer. "Just tell me what's on yer mind. For a minute I was afraid ye were another one of them pirates wantin' information on the black diamond. Lots of fellas used to ask me about it. Now it's just sometimes. But like I always tell them, I don't know nothin' about it. They was all just wastin' their time."

  "Our questions aren't about the diamond," Aurora inserted with quiet candor. "But they are about the men who found it."

  Barnes's shaggy brows shot up. "I thought ye said this was about yer family."

  "It is."

  A skeptical look. "Ye sure ye aren't some privateer lookin' for that stone?"

  "I'm not a privateer," Julian assured him. "I'm Geoffrey Bencroft's great-grandson. And, while I never knew my great-grandfather, his actions have affected my entire life. I understand you sailed with him. And I'm eager to know anything you can tell me about him."

  "So yer Julian Bencroft." Barnes's dark eyes turned bright with interest, his head veering slowly toward Aurora. "If what ye said is true and ye two really are married, that makes ye Aurora Huntley." He chuckled at her look of surprise. "I may be old, but I'm not dead yet. I hear all the local gossip, same as the next fella. And a weddin' between the Bencrofts and the Huntleys is big news in anyone's book."

  "Yes," Aurora told him. "I'm Aurora Huntley Bencroft."

  "Ye sound real proud of that fact."

  "I am—for many reasons." Aurora drew a slow inward breath. "Neither of us believes our great-grandfathers were criminals, Mr. Barnes. We'd like to hear what you think, any firsthand information you can give u
s about Geoffrey Bencroft. We'll gladly pay you for your trouble."

  "Don't want yer money." Barnes straightened his stooped shoulders, regarding them both through eyes grown wise with time. "Yer the first ones who didn't call 'em thieves. I can't speak fer Huntley, but I sure as 'ell can tell ye Bencroft was a good man, a decent man." He scrutinized Julian's face. "Ye got 'is eyes, ye know. Same restlessness. Same depth. Yup. Yer 'is great-grandson, all right. Maybe if I answer yer questions, it'll give 'im peace. What can I tell ye?"

  "You were with Geoffrey on his trip home—the one he never completed?"

  "Um-hum. I was a cabin boy on three of yer great-grandfather's voyages—includin' the last. 'E was real kind to me, told me all about the world, taught me 'ow to dream. I remember 'im standin' beside me on the deck durin' that last trip, puttin' 'is 'and on my shoulder and pointin' out to sea. 'Barnes', he told me, 'there's a world of adventure out there, dreams to be lived and treasures to be discovered. Go after what ye want. Don't let anythin' or anyone stop ye. What they think don't matter. Be true to yerself and ye'll die an 'appy man'." Barnes sighed. "Little did 'e know 'ow close 'is own death was."

  "He died of a fever?" Aurora prompted.

  "Yes, ma'am. 'Im and three-quarters of the others on that ship. But I made it my business to take care of Bencroft. I sat with 'im in 'is cabin, mopped 'is brow, and got 'im water. 'E was delirious with fever, talked about that bloody stone over and over again. Knew it was cursed, 'e did. Kept sayin' they 'ad to get rid of it. Begged 'is friend James to turn it over. Never said a mean word about the man, even though rumor had it Huntley stole the diamond right out from under 'im. Just kept beggin' 'im to give it over."

  "Those were his words?" Julian leaned forward intently.

  Barnes gave a raspy cough. "Ye're talkin' about a lot of years ago. I don't remember 'is exact words. Besides, 'e was babblin' mostly. The poor fella knew 'e was dying. 'E wanted Huntley to know it, too. Kept callin' out to 'im, tellin' him the end was near, the end was in sight, that 'e'd see James before 'e got there. I tried to calm 'im down, but 'e kept tryin' to get up, strugglin' to breathe. 'E never saw another dawn; died late that night. But ye should be proud of him—I don't care what folks say. 'E was a fine man. I'm 'onored to 'ave known 'im."

  "Thank you." Julian swallowed. "Is there anything else you can tell us?"

  "Nope. I think that's it. As I said, I 'ave no idea where James Huntley put the black diamond or if 'e really cheated 'is partner. But I don't see why Bencroft would be callin' out to 'im if 'e 'ad."

  "Thank you, Mr. Barnes." Aurora covered his wrinkled hand with her smooth one. "You've been very kind and helped us a great deal."

  "Yes." Julian extracted some bills, peeled off a hefty amount, and placed it on the table before Barnes. "We appreciate your time and your insight."

  Ignoring the pound notes, Barnes leaned toward Aurora, gingerly touching a strand of her hair that had escaped from the bonnet. "Keep yer money, Bencroft," he told Julian. "But be good to yer wife. She's a real beauty—and not only on the outside." His face creased into a grin. "'Er 'eart is in the right place. Yer great-grandfather would be real pleased with yer choice."

  Julian nodded. "I think he would, too."

  "Please, Mr. Barnes." Aurora pressed the notes into his palm. "For the peace you've afforded not only us, but our great-grandfathers—please take this. It will buy you food, ale … and a chance to fulfill any of the dreams you've yet to realize."

  The elderly sailor's eyes grew damp. "When ye put it that way … all right. And God bless ye."

  Julian led Aurora out of the tavern and into the night. "That was a lovely gesture, soleil," he said when they were alone. "The second one today, in fact. First, Emma, now Barnes." Tenderly he tucked her hair back into her bonnet. "Barnes was right. Your beauty transcends the mere physical. I'm indeed a lucky man."

  "We're both lucky," Aurora amended. "You were as moved by Barnes and what he said, as I was. 'Twas no accident, that king's ransom you just left him."

  "I won't deny being moved. It felt damned good to hear something commendable said about my great-grandfather—especially by a man who knew him personally. Still, from a more practical perspective, I'm not sure we learned anything of consequence."

  "I suppose you're right." Aurora tipped back her head, frowning thoughtfully at her husband. "We already surmised Geoffrey's urgency to reach James before he died, presumably so together they could restore the black diamond to King George." A speculative pause.

  "But…?" Julian prompted.

  "But I have the nagging feeling we learned something more, something we have yet to discern. Maybe it's because Mr. Scollard guided us in this direction, and he never does that without having a specific purpose in mind. So why would he want us to find Mr. Barnes only to learn what we already knew? No, I suspect there's more to this than we've yet…"

  "'Elp! Please 'elp me!" A smudged, scrawny boy of about eleven barreled down the path, nearly crashing into them in his haste. "Sir, ma'am, ye gotta 'elp me."

  Aurora caught his flailing arms. "Help you? What's wrong?" She scrutinized the deserted path; then, seeing no one, she turned her attention back to the ragged urchin. "Is someone trying to hurt you?"

  "No. It's me little sister. She's in that alley." He pointed. "She fell. She's bleedin' real bad. I can't get 'er to wake up. She's only four. Please…" He tugged at Aurora's sleeve. "Ye've gotta come."

  "Where's your mother?" Julian demanded.

  "'Ome. Takin' care of me dad. 'E's sick. I was supposed to get bread and watch me sister at the same time, to bring 'er 'ome safe. And now she's 'urt—bad. Please—'urry." The boy started back, gesturing frantically for them to follow.

  "Julian, we've got to help him." Aurora had already gathered up her skirts to rush after the lad.

  "Wait." Julian caught her arm, eyes narrowed on the deserted path and the remote alleyway entrance that seemed to disappear into nothingness. "I don't like this. He could be a thief or Lord knows what else. We need more information before we go tearing after…"

  "We'll have to take that chance. I can't leave a four-year-old child in that horrible alley, alone and injured." Wrenching her arm free, Aurora sprinted off after the boy.

  "Dammit." Julian shot after her, unwilling to let Aurora out of his sight—although his instincts screamed their conviction that this whole situation smelled rotten.

  A minute later his suspicions were confirmed.

  Rounding the alleyway entrance just behind his wife, Julian had scarcely taken a dozen strides when the lad—now twenty feet ahead—came to a screeching halt, spinning about to face them, an expectant look in his eyes.

  There was no little sister.

  In a rush Julian acted, grabbing for Aurora, simultaneously groping in his coat pocket for his pistol.

  He never reached either.

  Abruptly he was struck from behind, a sharp glancing blow between the shoulder blades that left him reeling. Before he could recover, he was shoved head-on against the brick wall. Reflexively his elbows came up to take the brunt of the impact, his ears ringing with Aurora's sharp cry of distress.

  That sound was enough to supplant the pain lancing through his arms and back. Julian whipped about, only to see a glint of metal, feel the piercing point of a sword as it jabbed against his throat.

  "At last, Merlin." The swarthy, venomous man at the other end of the sword was as familiar as his voice. "The day of reckoning has come."

  "Macall," Julian acknowledged, noting that the bastard was grasping Aurora's arm with his thick, filthy fingers. Swiftly he inhaled, fighting back the instinct to lunge forward and snatch his wife away. It would be the stupidest move he could make, resulting only in getting her and himself killed. No, he had to stay calm, remain perfectly still as he tried to assess the extent of his enemy's irrationality. "I heard you were looking for me."

  "And I found you." Macall spat at Julian's feet, then glanced at the restless urchin who hovered about, waiting. "Th
ere." He jerked his head in the direction of a small pouch of coins hanging from his coat button. "Take it," he ordered. "Then get out of here."

  "Yes, sir." The urchin yanked the pouch free and bolted without so much as a backward glance.

  "So this is your wife," Macall muttered, his gaze flickering over Aurora. "Tell me, is she any good? Or did you marry her just for the diamond?"

  Julian scarcely blinked. "Let her go, Macall. Your fight is with me, not Aurora." He swallowed past the sharp pressure in his throat. "You want to kill me? Fine. Release my wife. Then you can use two hands to drive me through."