Fortune's Son

by Jennifer Scoullar

  ‘How did you manage for workers?’ Luke asked. ‘It’s hard enough finding men here, let alone in the desert.’

  ‘I used the little brown people. Just the right size to fit down mines.’

  Luke felt sick. He couldn’t bear to hear more. Instead, he poured Herman another brandy and changed the subject.

  As the evening wore on, Herman proved himself an expert player. Luke made sure not to win. He also made sure the mine owner drank up and won big.

  Eli, a novice of the game, was surprised at Luke’s bad luck. ‘It’s certainly not your night, Colonel.’ He gathered up the few notes left in front of him. ‘Nor mine, it seems. I’ll sit out the rest of the game.’

  The pile of cash in front of Herman grew, as did his confidence. ‘Don’t feel too bad, Colonel.’ He tapped his balding skull. ‘A photographic memory, you see. And no disrespect’ – this time he tapped his nose – ‘but I can read you like a book.’

  ‘You’re good, Herman, I’ll give you that.’ Luke opened his wallet and frowned. ‘Cleaned me right out. Probably for the best, eh?’

  Herman’s eyes narrowed in disappointment. ‘The night is young, Colonel. Perhaps we can come to another arrangement?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Herman. The game has lost its appeal.’

  ‘There’s only one thing that makes two-handed poker interesting, and that’s high stakes.’ Herman pointed to the grandfather clock in the corner. ‘A fine piece of furniture. My Henny has always wanted one like it.’ He pushed his pile of cash into the middle of the table. ‘My winnings, against your clock.’ He leaned closer, and Luke could smell his stinking breath. ‘Or what about your house girl? She a good fuck?’

  Luke resisted the urge to smash his face in. He studied Herman’s heavy jowls and sunken eyes. The lumpy jaw half-buried in his bulbous neck. More toad than man.

  Luke walked over to the grandfather clock as it chimed the hour. It had come with the homestead, and the agent had considered it quite a selling point. Dark mahogany, with intricate devotional carvings of saints and pilgrims, the case standing on ball and claw feet.

  To Luke it looked like an upended sarcophagus, but what did he know? The case was Queen Anne and it bore on its face the mechanically animated lunar and tidal dials that were so popular. Luke ran his fingers down the polished wood. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it? Built in 1750 and still in perfect working order. I’m told it’s of Dutch design.’

  ‘The maker?’

  ‘Gerrit Knip.’

  ‘Ah . . . Knip,’ said Eli. ‘Once the most fashionable clockmaker in all of Amsterdam.’

  ‘My good lady wife comes from Holland,’ said Herman. ‘The match arranged by our parents. Henny arrived in the Cape forty years ago as a blushing bride of sixteen. We’d never set eyes on each other until the week before our wedding.’ He sighed. ‘Henny has never been happy in Africa. The climate doesn’t suit her, but a wife’s place is beside her husband, is it not?’

  Luke refilled Herman’s glass. He doubted the climate was the true cause of Henny’s unhappiness. It was rumoured that Herman beat her, and flaunted native mistresses right under her nose. ‘Maybe now is the time to take Mrs Smit back to her home country,’ he said. ‘Fact is, I’m interested in buying your diamond mine.’

  Herman’s fleshy mouth turned down. He clearly did not welcome Luke’s offer, and would need persuading.

  ‘You want high stakes?’ said Luke. ‘Win the next hand and the clock’s yours. If I win, I get an option to buy your mine. I’ll pay a fair price. Eli, here, can give us an independent valuation.’

  ‘I can indeed.’ The banker was enjoying himself far more now he wasn’t losing money. Luke recalled the promise Eli had made him the day they met. ‘I’m eternally in your debt. If I can ever be of assistance, in any way at all, it will be my honour.’ He might need to call in that favour.

  ‘No, no my friend. Not possible.’ Herman’s voice grew husky with emotion. ‘Mining is more than a business for me. It is in my blood, it’s my life. As you can see, Colonel, I have the heart of a risk-taker, a gambler. I’ve finally dug deep enough to reach blue ground. Tomorrow could be the day I stop turning up kak and find the kind of stones Cecil Rhodes himself would envy.’

  ‘What, like this one?’ Luke took a jewellery box from his pocket and snapped it open. Belle’s diamond ring shone with such brilliance, it lit up the room. Herman’s eyes bulged as Luke handed him the box. ‘Perhaps you’ll reconsider the wager? An option on your mine against my clock . . . and I’ll throw in the ring.’

  Herman swallowed, a struggle showing on his face. Lips twisting, pursing, puckering. Luke held his breath. Would he take the bait?

  At last Herman extended an arm. ‘You have a deal.’ They shook hands. ‘Hope you’re not too fond of this gem.’

  Luke tried not to grin. He didn’t intend to lose Belle’s ring. Herman had been cheating all evening. Nothing very elaborate, simply hiding cards in his hand, but skillfully done. He had the two aces – hearts and clubs – up his sleeve right now. But two could play that game. Luke surreptitiously opened the side-table drawer, confirming it contained paper and a fountain pen. Then he indicated for his guest to give the jewellery case back.

  Herman did so grudgingly, and Luke picked up the cards.

  ‘Not so fast, Colonel.’ Herman held up his palms. ‘I’ve no doubt you’re an honourable person, but we’re men of the world, are we not? We must set down our agreement before we play.’

  The last piece of the plan was falling into place. Luke feigned offence. ‘Surely a handshake is enough between gentlemen?’

  ‘Perfectly sufficient for me, Colonel, but if your luck should change and you win the bet, Eli may require proof of the wager before transferring the mine. Isn’t that right, Eli? I’m trying to protect you, my friend.’

  Luke ummed and aahed for an appropriate period of time, before retrieving the pen and paper from the drawer. ‘You do the honours.’

  Herman went to sit at the leather roll-top desk in the corner, a look of eager concentration on his face. ‘The diamond. I must make an accurate description.’

  ‘Of course.’ Luke handed him the ring.

  Herman extracted a jeweller’s loupe from his pocket and examined it with an expert eye. ‘How many carats? Three and a half? Four?’

  ‘I bought it as a four-and-a-half-carat stone.’

  Herman sighed like a man in love. ‘Such symmetry, such clarity . . .’ It was plain his passion for diamonds was real. ‘This gem will have lost much of its weight in the cutting, you know. The Koh-i-Noor from India was 793 carats in its raw state, yet cut out at only 186.’ He chortled. ‘Listen to me – only 186 carats. I should find such a stone.’

  Herman examined the ring a final time, then snapped the loupe shut. He gave Luke a searching look. ‘There is a story behind this beauty, eh?’

  Luke shrugged. ‘A girl, years ago . . .’

  ‘And you still keep the ring? Ah, my friend, she is not worth it.’ Herman put on his reading glasses and began to write. ‘Time to move on. I will do you a favour by taking this sad memory off your hands.’

  Luke excused himself and went to fetch Tau. If things went according to plan, it might help to have backup.

  When he returned from the fresh night air, it was to the stale stink of brandy and cigars. Luke read the agreement Herman had drawn up, re-read it, and signed it with a flourish. Eli witnessed it, then Luke closed the roll-top over the document and locked the desk.

  He sat back down at the table and toyed with the mine owner. ‘Do you wish me to count the cards?’

  Fear flashed across Herman’s face and his forehead beaded with sweat. A card count would reveal the missing aces.

  ‘No, Colonel. I have complete faith in your honesty.’

  More fool him. Herman thoroughly shuffled the pack. Then it was Luke’s turn. ‘Not overhand,’ said Herman. ‘Riffle.’ He flicked his thumbs together.

  It was almost impossible to stack the deck with a
riffle shuffle. Almost. Luke had mastered the art as a starving boy back in the prison camp, when winning meant extra food, and being caught cheating could cost your life. Luke shuffled precisely six times and prepared to deal.

  ‘Wait.’ Herman indicated for him to lay down the deck. Luke would have preferred Herman didn’t cut the cards, but this was only a small obstacle for an expert sharp. He swept the top half of the deck from the table into his left hand, then appeared to sweep the bottom half on top in the same manner. In reality he slid the second half underneath, with his right hand covering the move. The cards remained in the same order as before.

  Tension filled the room, along with the smoke from Herman’s cigar. Luke dealt, checked his hand and frowned. A disparate collection: jack of diamonds, three of spades, four of clubs, plus the five and two of hearts.

  Herman stole a glance at Luke’s face, and his mouth turned up in satisfaction. ‘I’ll take two.’ When Herman picked up the new cards he made the switch. The two aces formerly up his sleeve were now in the palm of his hand. He’d given up all attempts at keeping a poker face.

  ‘Four,’ said Luke.

  ‘Four?’ Herman could not conceal his glee. ‘Bad luck, my friend.’

  Luke shrugged and drew the cards.

  Herman took a cigar, snapped the seal with his thumbnail and put it between his lips without lighting it. Then he laid down his hand with a flourish: three aces and a pair of jacks. ‘Full house.’

  Luke paused, drawing out the moment, savouring Herman’s impatience. Finally he showed his hand, all those diamonds. A straight flush.

  The cigar slipped from Herman’s lips as the colour drained from his face. He blinked stupidly at the cards on the table, struggling to process what they meant. He would not be going home with the grandfather clock and the beautiful diamond – and he’d lost the mine to boot.

  ‘My god, Colonel,’ said Eli. ‘You’ve won.’

  Luke kept a keen eye on Herman’s right hand, ready to act should he foolishly reach for the pistol concealed in his belt. Herman glanced around the room. Searching, no doubt, for the letter of agreement he’d pressed so hard for, the letter that lay safely locked in the desk. How he must be kicking himself.

  ‘Come now, Colonel,’ said Herman in a wheedling tone. ‘You can’t possibly believe I’d bet my mine on a single hand? A device designed to spice up the game – nothing more.’ His eyes darted to and fro like a cornered jackal.

  ‘I won fair and square,’ Luke said. ‘You will honour our wager.’

  Herman sat for a while, digesting Luke’s words. Then he jumped drunkenly to his feet, overturning the table and roaring like an animal. ‘You’re a fucking cheat, Colonel – your fingers too fast and your palms too sticky. Nobody swindles me.’ Stumbling to the desk, he tried to force the roll-top open. When that didn’t work, he reached for his gun.

  Luke leapt to Herman’s side, seizing his wrist, disarming him, and emptying the bullets from the pistol. Herman swore and swung at him wildly. Luke easily countered the punch with one of his own. Herman crashed to the floor with a thud.

  The ruckus brought Tau running. Herman clambered to his feet, wearing a mask of hatred and baffled rage. ‘What’s that filthy Kaffir doing here? Should have shot him when I had the chance.’

  Luke grinned at Tau. ‘Will you do the honours, please?’

  Tau gripped Herman by the back of his belt and his collar, half-strangling him in the process, and propelled him from the room, down the hall and out the front door. Luke and Eli followed, enjoying the spectacle.

  Herman sprawled on the front verandah, a string of vile curses escaping his lips. Tau planted his bare foot on the man’s backside and shoved hard. Herman rolled down the steps, landing at the bottom in a heap, quivering like a blancmange.

  Luke shook with laughter. ‘Goodbye, Herman. It’s been a pleasure doing business.’

  He slammed the door shut, went back to the parlour, unlocked the desk, and re-read the letter of agreement. He passed it to Eli. ‘Is this enforceable?’

  ‘It most certainly is. You have a guaranteed option to buy based on my valuation. Do you intend to exercise it?’

  ‘I most certainly do.’

  Eli shook Luke’s hand. ‘Congratulations, Colonel. You’re the proud new owner of the Superior Diamond Mine.’

  CHAPTER 44

  A cold April sun streamed through the bedroom window. Belle idly rubbed her belly, once again big with child. Why did she have to be so damned fertile? Why couldn’t she be like Whisky? Six years of running with Eddie’s Arabian stallion and her palomino mare had only produced one foal. Belle wished she knew Whisky’s secret. After six years of marriage, she was soon to give birth to her third baby. She loved her children, of course she did, but Belle wanted more from life than being a mother.

  Eddie was thrilled, of course. He saw six-year-old Robbie and three-year-old Clara as just the beginning of the big family he wanted so badly. Belle smiled when she thought of Clara. Such a bright little thing, and the apple of her grandparents’ eye. Daniel was always calling by to steal her and whisk her away to Binburra.

  Eddie didn’t seem to mind. He knew Clara had a special relationship with her grandfather and loved their visits. It would be different, Belle knew, if Daniel had wanted to borrow Robbie. Eddie was completely devoted to that little boy and didn’t like sharing. Not even, it sometimes seemed, with his own wife.

  Sarah finished filling the tub in the adjoining bathroom. Belle pulled off her lace nightgown, slipped in and closed her eyes. The scented water was deep enough to float a little. Deep enough to lift the weight from her weary bones. She almost felt like a girl again. Her mind floated too, drifting back. Back to a fern-fringed mountain pool, ringing with birdsong. To a shining waterfall, fresh with snowmelt. To Luke’s strong arms round her waist, as they made love in the shallows. To whispered words of love. Her body responded to the memory, as it always did.

  Belle sat up with a guilty jolt. She was trying to make this marriage work, she really was, and she did love Eddie in a way. How he would hate to hear that qualification. Just as well he couldn’t read her mind.

  Edward was a good man. He’d never once thrown the circumstances of their wedding in her face. He was caring and respectful. A wonderful father, accepting Luke’s child as his own in spite of everything.

  Robbie was different from other boys his age. Belle hadn’t noticed at first, having no other children to compare him with. But since Clara, she knew. Robbie had been slow to walk and slow to talk, and he still wasn’t good at dressing himself. He tantrummed like a two-year-old. He spent endless hours marching battalions of toy soldiers and ships into war. He preferred playing alone, although sometimes Clara was allowed to join in, on his terms. He knew the rank of each little metal figure, the dates of each English battle, and could replicate those battle plans in elaborate detail. Yet when Belle brushed his hair or read him stories, he remained unengaged, in another world. It made him difficult to love.

  After Belle’s second child, she’d tearfully spoken to her mother. ‘What’s wrong with me, Mama? Why don’t I love Robbie like I do Clara?’

  Elizabeth soothed and reassured her. ‘There’s nothing wrong with you, darling, and it’s not a competition. I blame Edward. Snatching Robbie away to a wet nurse like that, preventing you from properly bonding with your baby. It was sad for you both. And that terrible birth, the cord around his neck . . . It affected Robbie, made life harder for him than for other children.’

  ‘If I were a proper mother, that would make me love him more.’

  Elizabeth hugged her tight, like she had when Belle was little. ‘There’s no right or wrong way to love, Belle. Don’t be so hard on yourself. That little boy is very lucky to have you.’

  Maybe. Luckier, perhaps, to have Edward. With him, there was no holding back. That man loved Robbie with every fibre of his heart, loved him with a fierceness that put Belle’s imperfect affection to shame. He spent every moment he could wi
th the boy. Tolerating his tantrums. Teaching him how to ride a bicycle, make slingshots and play marbles. He took Robbie to the mine to see what gold-bearing ore looked like. He took him to the wool sales to see the difference between a Corriedale and a Merino fleece. He took him to the sawmill to see raw logs turned into timber. Robbie was his father’s shadow. Perhaps she should make a greater effort with her son before this new baby stole away her time.

  Belle climbed from the tub with a soft sigh, and wrapped herself in a robe. The water was growing cold and there was an oily slick on its surface. She couldn’t relax anyway. Too much tangled thinking.

  Sarah came in with Belle’s clothes, looking more worried than usual. ‘You’re out of your bath already, ma’am. Is there something wrong?’

  ‘Why do you always imagine there’s something wrong? It makes me cross.’

  Sarah’s face crumpled, and she made a clumsy curtsey. ‘I’m very sorry, ma’am.’ She looked as if she were going to cry.

  ‘And stop apologising all the time.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am . . . Should I help you dress?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Sarah, I’m not helpless.’

  Another curtsey. ‘No, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.’ Sarah put the clothes down and fled the room.

  Belle sat on the bed, feeling a little ashamed. Why had she spoken so harshly? The girl always seemed half-terrified of her as it was. Belle didn’t like the person she became around Sarah. The truth was that she blamed poor Sarah for not being Millie. She wanted to be called ‘Miss Belle’ again. She wanted to laugh and joke. She missed Millie’s smile, her funny comments, her cheeky disrespect. She missed Millie’s friendship.

  Staff weren’t friends at Canterbury Downs. At Binburra, they’d been part of the family. Not here. Here they knew their place. A yawning divide existed between them and the Abbotts. Belle hated it. Sometimes she saw the servants looking at her with a veiled hostility.

  Sarah’s tentative knock came at the door. ‘Miss Clara wants to see you.’