The Billionaire's Curse

by Richard Newsome

  “Maybe. But what about the thin man?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Don’t you think it’s a bit odd that two people are looking for this diamond casket thing?”

  “What are you saying?” Gerald asked. “That they’re working together?”

  “Why not?” Ruby said. “Maybe the major hired the thin man to do the rough stuff. You know, to be the muscle. He’s after Gerald because he thinks Gerald knows where this casket is.”

  “I dunno,” Sam said. “The major didn’t come across as the type who’d hire someone to stick a knife in your ribs.”

  “Yeah,” Gerald said. “But I can’t figure out why the thin man isn’t interested in the diamond itself. It’s worth a stack of money.”

  “Because the major already has the diamond, dopey,” Ruby said. “Don’t you see? The major steals the diamond from the museum with what’s-his-name? Arthur Chesterfield? But he doesn’t have the casket. The buyer they talked about, he wants the diamond and the casket. So the major hires Creature Features to do whatever it takes to find the box. It’s obvious!”

  Ruby sat beaming at them, apparently waiting for applause.

  “That doesn’t explain why the thin man tried to burn the house down,” Gerald said. “And it doesn’t explain why Professor McElderry lied about the diamond casket.”

  Ruby was becoming impatient. “First, the thin man burns your house down to cover his tracks after nicking the package. And the professor? He hates kids. Simple as that.” Ruby crossed her arms and waited for a response.

  “Well, if you say so,” Gerald said. “But I still don’t understand what this has to do with me and Geraldine.”

  “What was in those envelopes?” Sam asked.

  “I didn’t even open half of them,” Gerald said. “There was one marked Family Tree, and another had a bunch of scribbles on it and I can’t even remember what was on the last one. Maybe there was something in there about the diamond casket.”

  “How did the thin man know where you’d hidden them?” Sam asked.

  “You know what?” Gerald said. “I’d like to know the answer to that too.”

  They sat without talking, accompanied by the quiet hum of the car engine.

  “That Alisha Gupta’s a bit of a snoot,” Ruby said at last.

  Gerald raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me? Where did that come from?”

  “I dunno,” Ruby said. “She just struck me as being a bit snooty. All nose in the air. She might’ve said hello or something.”

  Sam laughed. “Just because she’s prettier than you. Ow!” Ruby shook out her knuckles after scoring a good hit on Sam’s shoulder.

  “Maybe the Guptas are involved,” Ruby said. “You know, in some insurance scam or something.”

  Gerald considered this. “What? Have someone steal the diamond for them, claim millions in insurance, then head home to India with the diamond and the insurance money?”

  “Seems just as likely as anything else,” Sam said, rubbing his shoulder. “And what about that police constable, Lethbridge? He was the last one with the diamond. Maybe it’s like Mr. Gupta said—he staged the robbery and nicked it himself.”

  “And don’t forget the professor,” Ruby said. “If anyone had access to the diamond in the museum it would be him. And you have to admit, him pretending not to know about the diamond casket is suspicious.”

  Gerald totted up some numbers on his fingers. “Okay, that means we’ve blown out from a single suspect in the major to…uh, let’s see…at least six or seven people working either alone or in teams, including—if you listen to Ruby—a sixteen-year-old criminal mastermind in a green sari, who goes to the top of the suspect list because she didn’t say hello.”

  Gerald was quicker than Sam. He managed to duck out of the path of Ruby’s fist.

  “And we still have no idea what the diamond casket is,” Sam said.

  “Whatever it is, a lot of people are pretty interested in it,” Gerald grunted.

  The privacy screen behind the driver’s seat slid down a fraction.

  “We’ll be arriving at Avonleigh in ten minutes,” Fry said in a tone of dry indifference, not taking his eyes off the road.

  “Finally!” Gerald said. “We’re starving and—”

  Before he could finish the sentence, the screen had risen back to the ceiling.

  “What’s he so grumpy about?” Sam asked.

  “I guess it’s the will,” Gerald said. “He was with Geraldine for years and all she left him was a set of teaspoons.”

  “Teaspoons?”

  “Apparently it’s an old lady thing. So he got some silverware and I got, well, you know.”

  “You don’t think he was expecting to inherit a huge amount, do you? You know, enough to want to knock her off?” Sam said.

  “Sam!” Ruby snapped. “This is Gerald’s great-aunt you’re talking about.”

  “Well, it stands to reason,” Sam went on, ignoring his sister. “Servant hopes to inherit a pile of cash, gets tired of waiting for the boss to kick on. Just the two of them in that big empty house. Easy enough for him to sneak up behind the old girl and—”

  “Sam!”

  “All right, all right. But think about it. Nothing like having an inside man on the job, is there? And who better to snoop around Gerald’s room to find that package? I bet Fry even knew about that loose carpet in the closet.”

  Gerald frowned out the window at the passing countryside.

  “Terrific. Add another name to the suspect list.”

  A few minutes later the Rolls turned off the main road and they found themselves driving along a narrow country lane, bordered by fields dotted with black-and-white cows. Summer was well underway in Somerset. The grass was knee high and the livestock looked well fed. The meadows along either side of the road began to feature the occasional barn, or suddenly played host to a blanket of yellow flowers standing bright against the blue sky.

  A stone wall appeared on one side, rocks of various shapes and sizes pieced together in a giant jigsaw. Tall hedges blocked the view as they eased off the road to approach a gatehouse. The building was covered in thick ivy, but Gerald could make out patches of sandstone underneath. The car drew to a halt in front of a pair of enormous black iron gates, topped with gold-painted spikes. Set into the center of the gates was a sculpture of an archer encircled by a blazing sun—the same image that was painted on the tail of the jet that brought Gerald to London a few days ago.

  Fry opened the driver’s window and spoke into an intercom set into a mossy stone wall. There was a sharp click and the gates swung inward. Fry eased the Rolls through, the tires biting the gravel at the beginning of a long driveway lined with chestnut trees.

  Gerald lowered the window to get a better view but all he could see was tree trunks and leaves.

  After a few minutes the drive eased around to the left and then widened to reveal a broad avenue of conifers along an expanse of manicured lawns, leading down a gentle slope toward…

  “Far out,” breathed Sam.

  “Look at that,” Gerald said.

  Ruby’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh my.”

  At the bottom of the hill, at the end of the driveway, stood a vast mansion, its stonework the color of honey. The imposing building was like nothing Gerald had ever seen before. It stood four stories tall, but its pitched slate roof gave it the appearance of soaring far higher. Its facade was a masterpiece of stonemasonry and glasswork. Statues and carvings were set into the upper levels and gables. Expansive bay windows rose over two stories, the multipaneled casements a mirror to the blue sky above. Gardens and lawns stretched away either side of the north and south wings, lush in the warmth of summer. The place evoked an atmosphere of ancient wealth and power.

  “…nine, ten…eleven, twelve. That’s at least twelve chimneys,” Sam said. “It’s enormous!”

  Gerald banged his hand on the screen behind Fry’s head, and the divider slid down.

  “Yes?” Fry said
icily.

  “Is this it?” Gerald asked.

  “Not to your liking, sir? Should I have the plans for the roller coaster brought forward?”

  Gerald didn’t reply. As the sheer scale of the house sank in, he couldn’t speak. All this was his?

  The Rolls crunched to a stop at the end of the drive. Gerald and the Valentine twins piled out and stood in awe, dwarfed by the colossal mansion. Gerald noticed two lines of people, one on either side of the steps leading to the main entrance. They were dressed in uniforms and it looked as if they were going to a fancy-dress party.

  Gerald took some tentative steps toward the entry.

  A woman stepped forward from the head of one of the lines. She was shorter than Gerald and her white hair was drawn into a tight bun. She wore a neat but plain gray tunic that almost brushed the ground. Her sleeves were buttoned at the wrist and her collar disappeared under one of several chins. She gave the impression of being slightly batty, an impression that was confirmed the moment she opened her mouth.

  “Welcome, sir! Welcome to Avonleigh!” she trilled as she took Gerald by the hand and shook it with vigor. “It is an honor to have the new master with us. We are at your service.”

  Gerald stared at the woman as she beamed at him. He glanced across to the other people by the front doors. There were about fifteen of them, men and women, all dressed as if it was 1910. They dropped their gaze and bowed their heads to him.

  “My name is Mrs. Rutherford, sir, and I am the housekeeper here at Avonleigh. I’ve been in the employ of the Archer family at this here house for forty-five years come Feb’ry and if you need anything at all you just ask me, sir.”

  Her face radiated, as if her life had been leading to this moment. Gerald eased his hand free from the woman’s grasp.

  “Um, thanks very much. But please, don’t call me sir.”

  “Not call you sir, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, what shall I call you, sir?”

  Mr. Fry walked behind the woman, lugging Sam and Ruby’s bags toward the front door. “I could suggest a couple of things,” he muttered.

  “Just call me Gerald,” Gerald said to Mrs. Rutherford, ignoring Fry’s grumblings.

  Mrs. Rutherford did not look convinced.

  “By your first name, sir? That would not seem appropriate at all. May I at least please call you Master Gerald, sir?”

  Gerald sighed. “Yes, that would be fine. And this is Master Sam and Miss Ruby,” he said, redirecting Mrs. Rutherford’s rapt attention to the Valentines. “They’ll be staying here as well.”

  Mrs. Rutherford descended on Sam and Ruby and shook their hands. “If there is anything I can do for you…”

  “Well,” said Sam as he freed his fingers from her handshake, “we haven’t had any lunch yet.”

  Mrs. Rutherford was aghast.

  “No lunch! What has Mr. Fry been doing? You haven’t eaten?”

  She ushered Gerald, Ruby, and Sam up the steps to the front doors. Each servant bowed as they passed. “Mr. Pimbury, Mr. Partridge, see that the dining room is made ready. The master of Avonleigh is in residence!”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Sam scraped his spoon around the bowl one final time to round up the last of the custard and fresh berry pudding, then let it clatter to the bottom of the plate. He pushed himself back from the table.

  “Well, that was pretty decent,” he said.

  Gerald and Ruby had already assumed the prone stomach-rubbing position in their chairs. Mr. Pimbury, hands in white gloves, whisked away the dirty plates and left the trio alone in the dining room.

  Gerald, Ruby, and Sam sat at one end of an enormous table, large enough for twenty people. Silver candelabras, vases of freshly cut flowers, and gleaming crystal decanters ran the length of the table setting. There was a massive fireplace on one wall and, opposite, the room opened through French doors onto a large paved terrace, which in turn overlooked an expanse of lawn that sloped down to fenced meadows and a house garden.

  Ruby inspected a huge painting in a gilded frame above the fireplace. It depicted a bloody battle scene between some African warriors and British soldiers.

  “What do we do now?” she asked. “Want to explore this place?”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Sam. “Once I can stand up again. I still can’t believe all this is yours, Gerald.”

  Gerald sat silent, soaking in his surroundings: the red flocked wallpaper, the line of crystal chandeliers suspended from the oak-paneled ceiling, the intricate carving on the walnut buffet, the swirling pattern of the carpet.

  “And what a pleasure it is to have the new master at home, sir.” Mrs. Rutherford had entered the room and was fussing around the buffet, tidying and straightening.

  “Please,” Gerald said, “don’t call me that.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir…uh, Master Gerald. Hard to give up the habit of a lifetime.”

  Gerald wandered across to the French doors and looked out over the rolling lawns bathed in the buttery afternoon sun.

  “Mrs. Rutherford, how did my family ever get to own this place? I mean, look at it. It’s good enough for royalty.”

  The woman glided over to Gerald, the hem of her gray tunic sweeping the carpet. “This was the country seat of the last Duke of Avonleigh. The original house was built in the early 1600s, but His Grace the Duke made many modern changes to the place.”

  “When was that?”

  “Oh, about 1862, I’m told. A bit before my time. He made some tremendous improvements. For instance, d’you see a village down by that hillock in the distance?”

  Gerald was joined by Ruby at the terrace, but all they could see was a patchwork of fields and the odd sheep.

  “Um, no.”

  “Exactly. His Grace had the village moved behind that hill. Spoiled his view, you see,” Mrs. Rutherford said.

  “He moved the village?” Ruby said in disbelief. “Bit extreme, isn’t it? Just to get a view.”

  “Well, that’s the rich for you,” Mrs. Rutherford said. “Beggin’ your pardon, Master Gerald. No offense meant.”

  Gerald stifled a grin. “None taken, Mrs. Rutherford.” He was getting to like the strange woman.

  “Anyways, it was your great-aunt’s father, the late Mr. Dorian Archer, who bought the place from the duke’s family. It was a far larger estate back then, but when His Grace passed on, his family had to split it into two properties and sell them to pay the death taxes. Mr. Dorian bought Avonleigh, and the Archers have been here ever since.”

  “But it must have cost millions. Where did the money come from?” Gerald asked.

  “Do you not know about the Archer fortune, Master Gerald?” Mrs. Rutherford said.

  “Turns out I don’t know much about my family at all,” Gerald replied.

  “Teabags.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “The Archer fortune was built on teabags. Or rather, on the little staple that attaches the string to the bag.”

  “You’ve lost me. How does a staple become a twenty-billion-pound fortune?”

  “Your great-grandfather Dorian Archer invented a process that made it safe for staples to be used in hot water. The old staples were made from lead and had a nasty tendency to poison people. So his invention revolutionized the tea business.”

  “Even so, it’s only a staple.”

  Mrs. Rutherford raised an eyebrow. “Only a staple? Mr. Dorian licensed his invention to the industry. Every time someone uses a teabag, a fraction of a penny comes to you.”

  “And?”

  “I believe that translates to about one hundred and fifty million pounds a year from England alone.”

  Gerald looked around the room and at the view across the terrace.

  “A lot of teabags have gone into this place then,” he said.

  “Yes, Master Gerald. A lot of teabags indeed.”

  There was a sudden clatter of what sounded like a stack of frying pans falling down a flight of stai
rs, followed by a muffled oath.

  Mrs. Rutherford darted from the room. They could hear her chiding one of the servants in the hallway.

  “Take care, Mr. Partridge. I want those bags and boxes out of this house as quickly as possible, but without you hurling them down the stairs, if you please.”

  Her cheeks were flushed when she returned to the dining room.

  “Terribly sorry about the inconvenience, Master Gerald,” she apologized. “The removers’ van is due any moment and I don’t want delays.”

  “Removers? Who’s moving out?”

  Mrs. Rutherford became flustered for a moment.

  “Didn’t Mr. Prisk tell you? Your uncle Sidney and his—ahem—children have moved out of Avonleigh and into more appropriate accommodations in town.”

  Gerald looked surprised. “Sidney, Octavia, and Zebedee were living here?”

  Mrs. Rutherford nodded, and shuddered. “And pardon me for being so bold, Master Gerald, it was a happy day when we got the call from Mr. Prisk to say you were coming. Mr. Sidney is not a pleasant man, and as for Miss Octavia and Master Zebedee…” Mrs. Rutherford drew her lips in over her teeth as if she’d been sucking on a lemon. “Let’s just say that a little bit of them goes a long way.”

  Ruby had been listening with interest.

  “Octavia and Zebedee?”

  “My cousins,” Gerald said. “I met them for the first time at the funeral. Bit painful, actually.”

  Sam piped up from his seat at the dining table, still digesting his lunch. “Well, if I got kicked out of this place, I reckon I’d be pretty painful too.”

  Ruby looked thoughtful. “Gerald, what did your great-aunt leave Sidney in her will?”

  Gerald frowned as he tried to recall the events from the church hall a few days before. “I remember he was really angry—he only got a million pounds.”

  “Only a million quid, eh?” Sam said, shaking his head. “No wonder he was cranky.”

  “Do you think your uncle expected to inherit this place?” Ruby asked.

  “This place and a good sight more!” Mrs. Rutherford said sharply. “Beggin’ your pardon, Master Gerald, but he is a most unpleasant man.”