John Diamond (Vintage Childrens Classics)

by Leon Garfield

  I interrupted where I could, as I felt that the dwarf was not making a good impression. Mr K’Nee was looking angrier and angrier and he kept glancing at his friend, who was fiddling with the cards in his hand and looking more mournful than ever.

  All this time we had been left standing. The servant had come in once, but Mr K’Nee had waved her away. I remember someone passed by the window in front of the house. He must have glanced in, because the white-haired gentleman smiled in a pained sort of way.

  ‘So you’ve had a bad time of it,’ said Mr K’Nee, when Mr Seed finished. ‘Well, bad times are best for the young. You would have been better off to have stayed at home and been a good son to your mother.’

  ‘I couldn’t stay—’

  ‘—Couldn’t? Come, come, David Jones’s son! Was it so hard to be a good son?’

  The white-haired gentleman put down his cards. I noticed that his knuckles were bony with pressing down.

  ‘He couldn’t!’ said Mr Seed firmly. ‘And that’s the long and short of it, if you’ll pardon the expression, Mr K’Nee!’

  ‘How’s that, Mr Seed?’

  The dwarf told him. He told him everything he knew about me. I think he told it rather well, even though he was inclined to give me the credit for better feelings than I knew I had.

  But I put up with it; and learned, with some surprise, that my chief hope all the time had been to right a past wrong and that all I’d ever wanted was to restore to John Diamond everything his father had lost. Generously he played down my interest in the ten thousand pounds and my fear and dislike of my Uncle Turner (which, I suppose, had really driven me out of my house), and represented me as quite a shining boy, such as I myself would have jeered at and poured ink in his hair at school.

  Anyway, as I listened to Mr Seed, I found my story to be truly remarkable; and I couldn’t help waiting anxiously for what would happen next.

  Mr K’Nee and his friend, however, did not seem so amazed. They nodded in exactly the same way as Mr Seed had done when I’d told him; and murmured:

  ‘Of course … of course!’ in exactly the same tone of voice.

  I began to feel that there was a general conspiracy of the old never to be surprised by the young; only to be angry and distressed. Certainly the white-haired gentleman looked to be both.

  He fidgeted in his chair, scowled at Mr K’Nee and Mr Seed, and then fixed his eyes on somewhere between my neck and the bottom of my waistcoat.

  ‘So,’ he muttered; and it was the first time he spoke to me. ‘You came across this—this Mr Robinson.’

  ‘Diamond!’ I said. ‘He was John Diamond all the time!’

  ‘Robinson. I prefer to call him Robinson.’

  ‘But his name is Diamond, sir!’

  ‘Not so far as I am concerned,’ said the white-haired gentleman quietly. He picked up his cards and studied them again. Then he said, to the cards, it seemed: ‘It looks like David Jones was lucky to the last, K’Nee. He had the Ace; and I had the Knave.’

  He looked straight into my face.

  ‘I am that—that young scoundrel’s father,’ he said. ‘I am Alfred Diamond!’

  19

  ‘WELL?’ SAID MR K’Nee, after an enormous pause in which various things sank into my mind and made a dull commotion there, like Algebra.

  For instance: the heart of the mystery had turned out to be nothing more than a bubble of peace and quiet in which two old gentlemen were playing at cards, and I was interrupting them; Mr Seed was gazing out of the window and trying to look as if he had nothing to do with me; and Mr K’Nee had just put his hands behind his back and thrust out his clenched-up fist of a face towards me as if he was going to punch me with it.

  ‘Well?’ he repeated. ‘Now you know it. The person you came to Foxes Court to find, is sitting in front of you. That is Mr Alfred Diamond. I will give you an Affidavit to that effect.’

  I felt that something extraordinary was expected of me, something to the effect that I had discovered the secret of life and was about to reveal it; otherwise, what was I doing there, standing in the middle of the carpet like an ornamental boy made out of wood?

  ‘What do you want with him?’ demanded Mr K’Nee, advancing his face another inch. ‘You may tell me. I am his lawyer. I conduct all his business. Do you want him to go to your home and justify you before your uncle? Is that what you want?’

  I examined the wall across which the dying sun had cast a pattern of the window. I got no help from it.

  ‘Or was it just to say that your poor father died regretting what he’d done? Well—we know that. David Jones was human, like the rest of us. May he rest in peace.’

  Mr K’Nee’s face came forward yet another inch, and so suddenly that I started back.

  ‘Or did you have some idea of that ten thousand pounds?’

  I had; but didn’t say so.

  ‘Well,’ said Mr K’Nee harshly, ‘there is no ten thousand pounds. There never was. It was a clerk’s dream; nothing more. Ah! You look downcast! Boys and fools will always dream of hidden treasure. That’s their nature. Grown men have better sense.’

  I began to feel very depressed. While the dwarf had told my story, I’d thought I’d made a good impression and my virtues had shone as bright as waistcoat buttons; but now the lawyer seemed to get right to the heart of the matter and I didn’t feel virtuous at all. Nevertheless, I did feel some stirrings of anger.

  ‘But—but it was you who told me about it …’

  ‘Ah! So that’s it! Well, well! I told you that Mr Diamond was dead, too! Remember that?’

  ‘But why—?’

  ‘Bring me a Subpoena! Bring me an Order of Court! Then I’ll tell you why! Until then, be satisfied that you’re still alive. You’ve done quite enough for a boy of twelve. You’ve caused quite enough distress and injury. I don’t speak of what you’ve done in your own home; I speak of here and now. You have put Mr Seed to a great deal of inconvenience and expense—’

  ‘Eleven shillings and sixpence to date, Mr K’Nee,’ chimed in the dwarf, as quickly as a shop-door bell.

  ‘Eleven shillings and sixpence,’ repeated Mr K’Nee. ‘And—and you have caused my client considerable unhappiness by reminding him of someone he would rather forget. I speak of Mr Robinson.’

  ‘That’s enough, K’Nee, that’s enough,’ said Mr Diamond. ‘The boy is very distressed. He doesn’t understand …’

  ‘What is there to understand?’ demanded Mr K’Nee fiercely.

  ‘The money—’

  ‘What money?’

  Suddenly Mr K’Nee looked furtive and almost guilty. My hopes rose.

  ‘The money, K’Nee. He’ll find out anyway. You’d better tell him.’

  So there was money after all! My heart thundered. I couldn’t help it. It was, as the lawyer had said, in the nature of boys and fools to dream of hidden treasure; and, by the brightening up of Mr Seed’s face, it was in the nature of dwarfs, too.

  But where was it? Helplessly I looked round the room and caught Mr Seed’s brightly hopeful eye. Poor dwarf! Little did he know what was coming.

  ‘Very well,’ said Mr K’Nee. ‘There is some money. As they say, there’s no smoke without fire. But before you make plans for spending it, remember that smoke often exaggerates the flame. The ten thousand pounds, David Jones’s son, is a good deal nearer two thousand. Say two thousand pounds, give or take a hundred, put out at compound interest of the imagination for twenty years, and there you have your ten thousand. Leave it another twenty years and it will be a million! So how will you have it, David Jones’s son? In bank notes, or in dreams? Take it in bank notes and it will be no more than a thousand pounds; for half of it belongs to Mr Diamond here. Take it in dreams, and you can keep it all.’

  He drew breath, and I felt that I was standing on my heart—so far had it dropped!

  Mr K’Nee went on; and he told me where and what the money really was. It was the house in Hanging Sword Alley, at the back of Twiss’s Coffee. It
was the house where Mr Seed lived. It was where my father and Mr Diamond had first set up in business; and it still belonged to Mr Diamond and my father’s estate.

  By some oversight of Deeds, it had not been included in the sale of the business to Mr Twiss. Although the premises, as bricks and mortar, weren’t worth much, it was worth a great deal to Mr Twiss; and it was he who’d offered the two thousand pounds, give or take a hundred.

  So there was the glittering dream of Mr Jenkins and Mr Needleman and maybe a dozen other dreamers round about Foxes Court. A little, little treasure, so buried under Leases and Copyholds and Covenants and Agreements that a hundred lawyers working night and day for a hundred years might not have got it out intact.

  I think Mr K’Nee had kept quiet about it because he’d feared that if my father had got wind of it he’d have come back and cheated Mr Diamond all over again. As it was, the house provided his old friend with a little income in the shape of rent from Mr Seed as the tenant landlord.

  As Mr K’Nee said this, I looked uncomfortably at Mr Seed; and Mr Seed looked uncomfortably at me. I knew he was thinking that I was his part landlord; and he was inwardly waving goodbye to his eleven shillings and sixpence.

  ‘Well?’ said Mr K’Nee. ‘Will you have it in dreams, or in cash?’

  ‘In dreams,’ I said; not because I wanted to, but because I didn’t seem to have any choice.

  Mr K’Nee shrugged his shoulders and went over to the window. Mr Diamond reached forward and touched my arm, as if to wake me up.

  ‘I was sorry,’ he said, ‘to hear of your father’s death. He was a good friend of mine.’

  ‘But—’ I began.

  ‘Oh yes! He cheated me. I forgot. It was such a long time ago. Now I just remember that he was my friend and that you are his son. And I’m glad to meet you, William Jones.’

  We shook hands. I was relieved as the thought had crossed my mind that he might hate me worse than his son had done. But it seemed that hatred was only alive in the second generation.

  Mr Diamond, guessing what I was thinking, blamed himself for his son’s violence, in spite of interruptions from Mr K’Nee who kept snapping out that John Diamond was a bad lot and that Mr Diamond had been the best of fathers and should stop reproaching himself.

  ‘No, no, K’Nee! If I hadn’t told John about David Jones, if I hadn’t planted that seed in his mind, he might have grown up quite differently. I blame myself … myself!’

  ‘Blame David Jones, rather!’

  Again my father! Again the footsteps and the sighs. His guilt was deeper than I’d supposed; deeper, perhaps, than he himself had known. No wonder his ghost still walked!

  The blackest of gloom came over me as I realized this new—or new to me—consequence of what my father had done; and I wondered why it was that wrong seemed to breed wrong so much more easily than right bred right, as if there was something in our constitution that made such good soil for plants of the more poisonous variety.

  I wondered if my father had known all along about John Diamond and that was why he’d left it to me to put matters right … as if he felt that it would be easier for one son to approach another. If so, I hoped that his ghost had seen what had happened on London Bridge.

  Mr Diamond rang for his housekeeper and asked her to bring in some cake. He smiled knowingly at Mr Seed and Mr K’Nee and said that he felt sure that cake would cheer me up. He was one of those kindly old gentlemen who think that they know all about boys and that a boy’s heart desires nothing more than cake and that, in all probability, the affair of Cain and Abel would have turned out better if only Cain had been given more cake.

  At about five o’clock, when it was getting quite dark, Mr K’Nee’s carriage called to take him back to London. He offered to drive me and Mr Seed back to Hanging Sword Alley as it was too late for me to think of going back to Hertford that night.

  I said I hadn’t been thinking of it. Mr K’Nee said it was high time that I had. Did I know that inquiries had been made after me in Foxes Court? I told him that I did know.

  ‘How?’

  ‘I had a letter, Mr K’Nee.’

  ‘What letter?’

  I showed it to him. He read it through and called Mr Jenkins, whose hand and style he recognized, a stupid little scoundrel and a damned idiot. He began to make plans for having Mr Jenkins committed to Newgate for the rest of his natural life when suddenly his hand shook and he bunched up his face so fiercely that his nose almost met his chin.

  ‘What is it, K’Nee?’ asked Mr Diamond curiously.

  ‘Nothing … nothing.’

  ‘What is it, K’Nee?’

  ‘He’s gone there. Your—your Mr Robinson. He’s found out where the boy lives. He’s gone there, Diamond!’

  At once Mr Diamond uttered a frightful cry and hid his face in his hands! Mr K’Nee turned on me in absolute fury.

  ‘You fool! You stupid little fool! Now do you see what you’ve done by coming to London? Now do you see what you’ve awakened! Do you suppose that it was only you that—that Mr Robinson wanted to destroy? Do you suppose a lifetime’s hatred was to be satisfied with the death of a boy? When did you get this letter?’

  ‘This—this morning, sir.’

  ‘This morning? Then maybe there’s still time. Maybe. You’d better stay here, Diamond. The boy and I will go—’

  ‘No—no! I must come! He is my son, K’Nee!’

  Even then I didn’t fully understand what was happening, and my chief fear was for the wrath of Mr K’Nee. I remember as we left Club Cottage and got into Mr K’Nee’s carriage I felt thankful that Mr Diamond was coming after all as I thought that his presence would help to shield me from the enraged lawyer.

  He put his arm round my shoulder and urged me not to blame myself. He said it was he who was to blame because he had hidden himself away.

  ‘Don’t say that, Diamond!’ cried Mr K’Nee. ‘I forbid you to say that! Would you take upon yourself the guilt for the murder of a whole household?’

  It was only then, when Mr K’Nee said that, that I realized the full extent of what I’d unleashed! Mr Diamond’s guilt and even my father’s were as nothing compared with mine!

  20

  WE GOT TO Hertford at about ten o’clock. If only the journey had been as quick as it is to say it!

  If only we hadn’t had to wait so long at Waltham Cross to rest Mr K’Nee’s horses! If only it hadn’t been a pitch-black night so that we had to keep stopping as Mr K’Nee was sure the coachman had got lost! If only the coach-lamps hadn’t blown out at Wormley and taken an age to light again! If only we hadn’t taken a wrong turn at Ware! If only—if only—

  Every second of the way I was haunted and terrified by what John Diamond might be doing in Woodbury. Already I saw all my family lying dead and most horribly slaughtered—most likely by Liverguts’s hook—and only my Uncle Turner left alive.

  I never thought of him dying, partly because he was only related to my father by marriage and so had nothing to do with his guilt, and partly because I felt that nothing good could ever happen to me again.

  Mr Diamond and Mr K’Nee had come away in such a hurry that they were still holding their cards. There was an old watchman’s lantern inside the coach and Mr K’Nee was all for finishing their game. This was because he wanted to take Mr Diamond’s mind off what might be happening in Woodbury. So far as my mind was concerned, I think he was of the opinion that it could go to the devil. He was only concerned about Mr Diamond, who was his client and his friend.

  It turned out that he’d always done everything in his power to protect Mr Diamond from the consequences of his dangerous son. It was he who’d made John Diamond change his name to Robinson and, I believe, had threatened him with legal proceedings if he dragged his father’s name any further into the filth.

  I picked all this up in scraps of conversation with Mr Diamond as we rattled along through the dark.

  ‘Pay attention, Diamond!’ Mr K’Nee kept snapping. ‘I played a
trump!’

  Cards were Mr Diamond’s passion; and I think it was something to do with gambling that had allowed my father to take advantage and cheat him out of the business. I don’t know for sure; but I think so.

  ‘Ah!’ said Mr Diamond, losing a trick. ‘There he is! There he is!’

  Mr K’Nee had just played the Knave of Diamonds, and the old gentleman stared down forlornly at the smiling face on the card. It didn’t look much like the Jack of Diamonds I knew; but I, too, thought of him, and of blood running out of the windows of my home.

  Poor Mr Seed had a terrible journey. He was so short that he was bounced about like a rag doll, and never stopped inquiring dismally if we were there yet.

  After Hertford I had to direct the coachman through the winding maze of country lanes. I hardly recognized them, as they looked so strange and sudden in the burrowing coach-light. Turnings appeared that I’d forgotten; and deep, obscure tunnels opened up through ghastly trees.

  I was on the box, straining my eyes for the crossroads I knew so well, when Mr K’Nee said suddenly, ‘Are we still in England?’ He was poking his head out of the window as far as it would go. ‘Or is this the other side of the world?’

  ‘Why? What do you mean?’

  ‘There’s another sunset,’ he said. ‘Over there. Through the trees.’

  ‘That’s not a sunset, Mr K’Nee,’ said Mr Seed. ‘That’s a fire.’

  Had the coach wheels not been making such an uproar, we would have heard it, crackling and roaring. Had the wind been blowing in another direction, we would have smelled it, suffocating the air. Had all the things that had happened to us on the way not happened, and we’d been half an hour sooner, we might have stopped it. As it was, we were too late, too late. My home was burning down to the ground!

  I remember, as I saw that redness glimmering through the trees, where there should have been only darkness, a thousand horrible fears rushed through my mind, together with a huge hatred for John Diamond who had done it.