The Billionaire’s Curse

by Newsome, Richard

  Sam said something about stupid sisters and Ruby spat back a “What did you say?” But then they settled down and listened to Gerald.

  “Okay. If they got into the museum from down here, there must be a way out from here as well. Light another candle and we’ll have a proper look around. There must be some stairs up to the street.”

  Ruby picked up the longest candle stub she could find and lit it from Gerald’s flame.

  “Here,” she said to Sam, handing him the candle, “do you think you can look after this without hurting yourself?” Then, under her breath, “Poltroon.”

  They made their way deeper into the darkness.

  “So what is this place?” Sam said.

  “Some sort of cellar, maybe?” Gerald said.

  “Must be the world’s biggest cellar—seems to go on for miles.”

  “And what’s that smell?”

  The air around them was heavy with a metallic tang.

  “Dunno,” Ruby said. “But it reminds me of something.”

  They padded along in the darkness. On one side they could just make out a gray-tiled wall. The sound of dripping water came from somewhere in the distance. They walked for what seemed an age, following bends and twists in the never-ending blackness.

  “Wait up!” Sam said suddenly. “Check this out.”

  “What is it?” Gerald asked.

  “My candle. Look.”

  The flame was flickering.

  “See! It’s moving, like something’s blowing it,” he said. “There must be some air getting in. That means a door or window or something.”

  “And a way out!” Ruby said. “Maybe you’re not such a numbnut after all.”

  Sam ignored her. “Come on, follow me.”

  He disappeared around a bend, leaving Ruby and Gerald struggling to keep up.

  “Sam!” Ruby called out. “Slow down. We can’t see you.”

  Sam’s voice came back: “Come on, you two. The breeze is stronger here. We must be near a—damn!”

  Ruby looked at Gerald.

  “Sam? What is it?” she called.

  “My candle’s blown out. Hurry up. I can’t see any—ouch!”

  “Now what?”

  “I’ve fallen into a ditch or something,” Sam’s voice echoed back. “And onto some sharp rocks.”

  “Just stay where you are, you moron.”

  Ruby grabbed Gerald’s hand. “Come on, before the idiot does himself any more damage.”

  Then, in the distance, came a screech of metal grinding metal.

  Ruby came to a halt. “What was that?”

  “Dunno. But it came from over there.” Gerald pointed toward where Sam had disappeared. The metallic shriek tore through the darkness again, this time much closer.

  “Come on!” Gerald shouted, hauling Ruby along. The screeching seemed to grow out of the blackness. They rounded a corner and by the light of Ruby’s lamp caught sight of the top of Sam’s head. He was sitting in a trench about three feet deep, dazed and with his hands on his knees. The metallic howl now surrounded them, tearing at their ears. The beam from Ruby’s flashlight was just enough to light Sam’s face—a thin trickle of blood ran down his forehead. He tried to stand, but wobbled and flopped onto his backside.

  A spotlight suddenly filled the void, blinding them. Sam was silhouetted, like a rabbit in a searchlight. Gerald looked in disbelief. A train had appeared from around a corner in the darkness and was bearing down on Sam.

  The candle tumbled from Gerald’s hand as he dived headlong across the concrete floor, his chest skidding out over the edge of the platform. He lunged down and grabbed Sam by the collar, his fingers gripping whatever cloth they could find. Hauling with all his strength, Gerald screamed at the searing pain in his shoulder. He rolled Sam up and over the edge, wrapping him in his arms a split second before the train hurtled past, inches from their heads. They could make out the faces of commuters in the train’s carriages as they flickered past.

  The train shot by them. A pale red light on the last carriage disappeared around a bend, returning them to darkness and quiet.

  Sam and Gerald lay on the cold floor.

  “You all right?” Gerald asked.

  “Yeah,” Sam panted. “Th-that was a bit close. Thanks.”

  Ruby appeared out of the darkness and dropped to her knees to hug her brother. She held him for a full minute, not saying a word.

  Sam broke the silence. “Why is there a train in a cellar under the British Museum?”

  Ruby swung the torch around. The beam picked out a row of bench seats along a wall, and some yellowed posters peeling at the corners.

  “It isn’t a cellar,” she said. “It’s a Tube station—it must have once operated under the museum.”

  “A ghost station,” Sam said.

  “Tube?” Gerald asked.

  “London’s underground trains,” Ruby said. “That’s what that smell is—the whole underground reeks of it. Like a mix of grease and metal shavings. There’s a few abandoned Tube stations; I think some of them were used as air-raid shelters during the Blitz and then never opened up again.”

  She inspected the cut on Sam’s head.

  “You’ll live. Come on. If this is the station platform, there must be an exit somewhere.”

  At the end of the platform Ruby saw a dusty exit sign pointing up a set of stairs. A long corridor sloped up to a pair of old wooden doors.

  They tumbled into the daylight and fresh air, and found themselves in a narrow cobbled alley lined with tall buildings. Gerald shut the doors. They were covered in years of grime and disuse. There was no sign that they led to a station below.

  “It doesn’t look like these get opened every day,” he said.

  Ruby peered at the buildings around them. Only a few small windows faced onto the lane where they stood.

  “Easy enough to smuggle a statue in here in the middle of the night,” she said. “Even an elephant. There wouldn’t be anyone around.”

  Sam dusted the last bits of gravel and muck off his jeans and touched the lump that was forming on his forehead.

  “Okay, we’ve found out how they did it,” he said. “Now what? We’re not any closer to figuring out who it was or how it ties in with Gerald’s great-aunt or that thin guy.”

  “Well, if the thieves came out here, maybe they didn’t travel very far,” Ruby said.

  “Are you kidding?” Sam said. “There would’ve been a car ready to take them straight to the airport. They could be anywhere in the world by now.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Ruby said, deflated.

  “Come on,” Gerald said. “Let’s find out where we are.”

  They wandered up the alley until it opened out onto a smart residential street.

  “We can’t be too far from the museum,” Ruby said. “But some of these roads wind around a bit. It’s easy to get lost.”

  Sam groaned. “I’m exhausted,” he said. “My feet are killing me and I’m starving. I vote we find something to eat.”

  “Okay, let’s get some lunch,” Gerald said. He pointed to the end of a row of terrace houses. “Seems to be a lot of people up that way. Maybe there’s some shops.”

  They’d only gone half a block when Sam spoke up. “Gerald, why did you stick your hand into that pigeonhole back in the museum?”

  Gerald thought for a moment. “I don’t know. I had this…vision, I guess you’d call it. One of the boxes was glowing like there was a candle in it or something. Turned out to be the right one, I guess.”

  They turned into a street, busy with lunchtime crowds and traffic. Just ahead, a cab pulled over and a man in a dark suit got out and brushed by them as he hurried up the footpath. Gerald stopped and grabbed Ruby by the arm. “Do you still have the matches? The ones from under the museum?”

  Ruby dug into her pocket and Gerald snatched the matches from her hand. A satisfied grin spread across his face. Just as the cab was pulling back into traffic, Gerald jumped onto the road, slapping his
hands on the hood. The driver slammed on the brakes. The squeal of tires echoed a half dozen times as a line of cars behind screeched to a halt. The cab driver stuck his head out the window.

  “Oi!” he yelled at Gerald. “What d’you think you’re playing at?”

  Gerald rushed around to talk with the driver, who, after a peek at the contents of Gerald’s wallet, calmed down and nodded his head. Gerald called to Sam and Ruby to get into the cab.

  “What’s going on?” Sam asked as they bundled into the back. The cab took off up the street. Horns blared from the cars behind them.

  “He’s taking us to where he picked up that guy—the one who just got out,” Gerald said, looking pleased with himself.

  The twins stared back with matching puzzled looks. “Why?” they asked.

  “Because of the tie he was wearing.”

  “What’s his tie got to do with anything?” Sam said.

  “His tie had this on it.” Gerald held up the matchbook. “The same red R. It was covered in them. The cabbie said he picked him up from some club.”

  “Club?” Ruby said. “What club?”

  The driver leaned over from the front seat.

  “The Rattigan Club,” he said. “Exclusive place, that one.”

  A few minutes later they pulled up outside a four-story sandstone building. The front was marked by a row of tall columns, each decorated at the top with a globe of the world. To one side of the front doors was a brass plaque embossed with a single R.

  Gerald, Ruby, and Sam climbed out of the cab at the bottom of a flight of marble stairs.

  “What do you think?” Ruby asked.

  “I’d say our diamond thieves have been here,” Gerald said. He walked up the stairs and pushed against one of the large oak doors.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The heavy portal opened and Gerald led the way inside. As the door closed behind them, all noise from the outside world was silenced. Not a bird, not a car could be heard. The only sound was the dull ticking of a clock somewhere inside the building.

  They stood in a grand foyer. The floor was an intricate parquetry in a pattern of roses and ivy. In the center was an enormous green carpet with the letter R woven in red in the middle. Long green-and-gold–striped drapes lined the tall Georgian windows, blocking all outside light. The main illumination came as a restrained glow from a crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling high above. In front of them was a huge Y-shaped staircase that split left and right at the landing, leading to the upper floors beyond. The place reeked of a mixture of wood polish, stale cigar smoke, and privilege.

  Gerald, Sam, and Ruby took some cautious steps into the foyer until they were standing beneath the chandelier and on top of the red R in the carpet. Before they could decide what to do next, a sharp voice broke the silence.

  “What are you doing?” A short pigeon-chested man in a black suit with a gold fob chain suspended across his middle emerged from a vestibule tucked away on one side of the entrance. His heavy black shoes shone with parade-ground precision, and they squeaked as he walked. He carried a bright yellow cloth in one hand and a tin of polish in the other. The man reminded Gerald of a bonsai version of Mr. Fry.

  “You can’t just wander in!” the porter said as he advanced across the parquetry. “This is a private club.”

  Sam winked at Gerald and walked up to the man.

  “You mean this isn’t the…um…Ruby…the Rubicon Hotel?” Sam asked.

  “Never heard of it!” the man said. “This is the Rattigan Club. Members only. So shove off.”

  “Oh,” said Sam in a disappointed voice. “See, we’re supposed to meet our father at the Rubicon Hotel, and my sister over there—”

  “Not interested,” the man said, waving a hand as if shooing a fly.

  “My sister has an unfortunate medical condition, you see. When she has to go—”

  The man looked at Ruby. She was doubled at the waist. Her face contorted as if she was about to burst.

  “It comes on suddenly, you see, and once she starts going, well, there’s no stopping her.”

  The man’s eyes shot out. Ruby was standing right on the R of the Rattigan Club’s foyer carpet. “I can’t hold on much longer,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Not there!” the man squeaked. “It’s just been shampooed.” He rushed across and grabbed Ruby by the shoulders, pushing her in front of him like a shopping trolley. “Hurry. This way.” He bustled Ruby toward a side door, shouting back over his shoulder, “You pair stay right there.”

  “Of course,” Sam called back. “Wouldn’t dream of going anywhere else.”

  The moment the man and Ruby disappeared through the door, Sam grabbed Gerald by the elbow and dragged him toward the staircase.

  “What’s that all about?” Gerald asked.

  Sam smirked. “There’s nothing a grown-up fears more than somebody else’s kid with a full bladder. Come on!”

  “You’ve pulled that trick before, then?”

  They took the stairs two at a time.

  “That medical condition has got us out of so many history lessons.”

  They reached the second floor and paused. “You go that way and we’ll meet downstairs in ten minutes, okay?” Gerald said.

  Sam nodded and turned to go, then stopped in his tracks. “What are we looking for?”

  “I have no idea,” Gerald said. “But let me know when you find it.”

  Sam grinned and headed off.

  Gerald walked down a long corridor, his feet scrunching into thick maroon carpet. The walls were hung with rows of oil portraits of former club members, each with a brass lamp attached above it, spreading a yellow glow over the unsmiling faces. Closed doors ran the length of the passage. Above a number of the doors were small hand-painted signs. Gerald passed the Green Room and the Blue Room, and when he came to the Pink Room he decided to try the door handle. It pushed down easily and Gerald opened the door and stepped inside.

  He found himself in a room decorated in a dozen shades of pink. Pink roses woven into the carpet, pink striped wallpaper, pink curtains, a pink upholstered sofa, and pink armchairs. In the middle of the room was a square dining table set for two (pink tablecloth to the floor, pink napkins), and along one wall was a buffet, covered with a selection of cold meats, salads, and desserts. Gerald glanced at his watch—it was almost two o’clock and he realized that he was incredibly hungry. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and his stomach was crying out for something. He picked up a plate and piled on some chicken legs and dinner rolls. He sank his teeth deep into a drumstick.

  Behind him, the handle on the door started to turn. Gerald let out a high squeak through a mouth stuffed with chicken meat. His eyes darted about the room. There was another entry on the wall opposite the buffet but it was too far away. The door opened an inch. The curtains only came halfway down the wall so there was no chance of hiding there. A dusty brown shoe appeared through the gap. The only place to hide was under the dining table. Half a leg clad in tweed trousers emerged through the doorway. Grabbing his plate, Gerald dived under the tablecloth just as the door to the pink room swung wide. He sat hugging his knees, his plate balanced on his shoes. Two voices floated over from the direction of the buffet.

  “Get yourself some lunch, Arthur,” said a gravelly voice, sounding like the product of a lifetime of whiskey and cigarettes. “There’s a lot to go over.”

  Plates clattered and serving forks scraped before two sets of shoes appeared on the carpet on either side of Gerald—a pair of old brown shoes belonging to the tweed trousers and a pair of pointed black boots that came connected to legs in a black pinstripe suit. It was Tweed Trousers who sounded like he’d swallowed a distiller’s ashtray.

  “Glass of claret, Arthur?”

  “No, thank you. Never before five.”

  “Don’t mind if I help myself, do you? I can barely hold off till noon most days.”

  The man didn’t wait for a reply. There was a sound of bottle cl
inking crystal and a generous glush of liquid, followed by an equally generous slurp and a deep “Aaaah.”

  “That’s more like it. Sure you won’t have one? No? Well, eat up anyway.”

  Under the table, Gerald shifted from side to side. His buttocks were going numb. He looked at the chicken legs on the plate balanced on his feet but didn’t dare touch them. Above him, food was being stuffed into hungry mouths.

  “So, Major,” Pinstripe Trousers said eventually, “the…uh…thing, you know…it’s all secure? Got it safely locked away?”

  Tweed Trousers let out a moist belch then took another long slurp. “You mean the diamond?” he asked.

  The black boots under the table shot up and almost collected Gerald’s ribs. Gerald’s eyes bulged. Did Tweed Trousers just say diamond?

  Pinstripe Trousers gagged. “Don’t say that! We agreed to only talk about…you know…it…remember? Who knows who could be listening?”

  The sound of bottle on crystal rang out again.

  “Don’t be such a big girl’s blouse,” the major gargled through his drink. “You’re worse than your father. Yes, it is locked away at Beaconsfield. I’m heading down tomorrow to make sure everything is in order.”

  “Excellent,” Pinstripe Trousers said in a calmer voice. Then even softer, “We need to keep this between you and me.”

  Tweed Major grunted. “I only got you in to help because I’m getting too old for this,” he blustered. “And I owe your father a favor.”

  Pinstripe Trousers bristled. “And a large sum of money, too.”

  The major lowered his voice to a doglike growl. “I haven’t forgotten. You and your father will get your cash.”

  There was an uneasy pause in the conversation as a knife scraped across china. Pinstripe Trousers was first to speak again. “Well, what about the…you know…other item? What’s the latest on that?”

  “Other item?” the major rumbled. “You mean the diamond casket?”

  A black boot threatened to take out Gerald’s front teeth. A bread roll bounced off his plate onto the carpet and Gerald scooped it up just in front of Pinstripe Trousers’ flailing feet.

  “For pity’s sake, will you stop doing that,” the younger man demanded.