Blood Diamond: A Pirate Devlin Novel (39 page)

People dove aside at the thunder and roar of the horses and wheels, honest carriages pulling up sharply as the runaway tore along the side of the avenue.

‘The man’s mad!’ the prince laughed. The coachman, cloaked in black, whipped his path through the crowds, pulling back the snorting white-eyed horses only as he came to the wall of the house. It was then that the prince and Walpole noticed the kerchief hiding his face but not his distinctive bald dome of a head.

The two soldiers at the gates ducked back from the hooves and the homicidal wheels, then remembered their muskets and raised them to their shoulders. The coach did not halt, slowed only enough for a door to fly open and two bodies to hit the road at the soldiers’ feet, booted out by an unseen occupant.

With the crack of whip and a bellow from the masked driver the coach ripped away, almost keeling over as it took the corner in a grating whine, the sentries finally shooting uselessly through thick dust into its disappearing back. From the floor above, the watchers saw past the dust to the black and white cloth nailed to the rear.

Walpole gripped the prince’s wrist at the sight of the grinning skull with two pistols crossed beneath, set in a compass rose, laughing its way out of the square.

‘What the devil?’ the prince exclaimed.

‘The devil is right,’ Walpole studied the bound men below, thankfully alive. ‘And that apparition, Your Highness, was my
coach from Falmouth.’

There would be nothing to fear, no sweat to bead on a banker’s brow, if the South Seas investment had been, pound for pound, coin for its paper’s worth. But in order for the stock to be made available for all, the Company had granted concessions and changed the rules of purchase. Firstly, and simply enough, women were allowed to buy stock. This single amendment changed the Company’s fortunes almost overnight, for the natural secrecy of women and the gambling tendencies of their husbands ensured that the Company now received income from both sides of the household. Secondly – the thread which spun the fate that the country now hung by – were the unheard-of terms that the Company offered.

For the first time the government and the Bank of England sanctioned a private company to extend credit to the purchase of shares. Just a ten-percent deposit could secure a hundred pounds’ worth of South Sea stock, and the phrase ‘nothing to pay for the first year’ entered the public consciousness.

Public credit grew to an unparalleled summit as even the East India Company, whose worth certainly at least existed in material things, followed suit. Credit became a byword for wealth instead of debt and a man’s balance sheet was set to be worth only the amount of credit he could muster, regardless of the weight of coin in his pockets. And if the Company failed? A company that owned the national debt, a company guaranteed by government act and the Bank of England? The corrupt triumvirate of council, finance and business would forever be linked in the public mind, and the palace of Westminster regarded as no more than a gentlemen’s gambling den. Where could the people’s faith lie if the gentry with all their education and experience had failed them?

But it would not fail. The coach was a sign, a bold one, bold as the red sash the pirate wore, and as dramatic as the final act of one of Charles Johnson’s melodramas.

And it meant the diamond was in London. Somewhere.

Excusing himself from the prince, Walpole ran to the gate of the house, dragging footmen with him to escort his men inside. Already a crowd had gathered to see the bound and gagged men flapping and wide-eyed as landed trout. He yelled for the soldiers to shut the gate and bid the footmen carry them to the servants’ side of the house.

Descending to the scullery, Walpole ordered the bound men to be carried to chairs and then pushed the footmen from the room, wiping the sweat from his face at the uncommon exertion. He waited for his pulse to return to normal and looked between the struggling forms of the coachman and his man, Dashwood, whom he had set to wait for the pirate at the inn in Falmouth.

Walpole’s chest rose and fell, and he felt a strong temptation to leave the men gagged, dreading what might spill out of their mouths. The men squirmed and complained through their linen gags and when Walpole went for perhaps too large a knife to cut their bonds they squealed louder. Walpole marvelled at the insanity of him cutting men free; his wildest dreams had never envisaged stranger. He felt his dignity to be no more elevated than the scullery he stood in.

Once free and gasping, both men begged for a drink. Walpole was only able to find some warm milk, which they drank joyfully. He took a chair opposite and waited for them to calm down. The crock jug slammed to the table. Then Dashwood took a deep breath and rubbed his wrists.

Dashwood was a scrivener, a trusted clerk who carried sealing wax in his pockets and whose hands were ingrained with blue ink. He had enjoyed the pleasure of the sea air and the hospitality of the inn at his master’s expense but he had not expected bruises and terror from the pirates as reward for his service.

His eyes were red and his cheeks flushed in the aftermath of tears.

The other man was a hired coachman and not of Walpole’s staff. He was rougher, with a bony face and hunched shoulders. His face showed the harder marks of defiance but less shame. He sat as if waiting for recompense, where Dashwood waited for sympathy.

‘Now,’ Walpole kept his tone gentle, with the same brevity as when asking a new maid where his silver spoons had gone. ‘What do you have to tell me, Dashwood?’

The coachman opened his mouth, Walpole raised his hand to silence him. ‘I will hear Dashwood.’

Dashwood exhaled, brought out a fold of paper from his coat and slapped it down on Walpole’s side of the table. ‘That is for you, Your Honour. From him.’

Walpole took the paper but did not read it. ‘What happened?’ he asked.

Dashwood shrivelled. He was twenty-four and engaged, had slept with one woman in his life, had fought with his father over his choice of trade, come to London from Lincoln and found the patronage of great men. He had three men working under him and had his eye on a small-holding in Hertfordshire. But he had almost forgotten his own name when the pirate had woken him with a pistol to his face. He began to cry again now and Walpole sighed and turned to the coachman instead.

Now came a tale by a man used to the games of hard men.

Night had brought the pirates in. Dashwood was dragged from his bed and a gold coin thrown to the landlord. A big bald bastard with a hand-cannon to match had punched the coachman from his slumber in the stable. They rode through the night, the big man at the reins, the Irish one and another keeping Dashwood and himself bound to the floor of the coach, iron at their heads. The other, the one not Irish, the one not calm, had scars on his face and blood on his grinning teeth, his hair matted with filth, his swivelling eye moving hungrily from knife, to pistol, to both of them on the floor of the carriage. The Irish one sat back in the corner, catching sleep or looking out of the window like he was to the theatre.

‘The mad one sang of ghosts. Told us the colour of rich men’s livers. Whistled a tune of his own. Begged us to go for him when his captain slept.’

Dashwood found his voice. ‘He cut a button from both our coats! He swallowed them and laughed!’ His head sank in misery. ‘He licked my face! Said he would cut my lips off if I pissed myself!’

‘But he didn’t though, did he?’ the coachman sneered.

Walpole thanked them both and peeled open the folded letter. His surprise at the quality of the hand was soon lost in the measure of the words and each line punctuated by Dashwood’s sobs from across the table.

Walpole rose with a scrape of his chair across the stone floor. ‘Stop your blubbering, Dashwood. Be thankful you are alive.’ He tossed some gold to the coachman who slammed his hand upon it as soon as it fell. ‘
You
may go. I thank you for your discretion in this matter. And if you give me cause to not thank you, know that I am aware of where I may find you, sir.’

He left through the kitchen to the servants’ stair and barked orders for food to be taken to the two before he climbed upstairs to show the letter to the prince. A long, dark night lay ahead for London, of that he was certain.

Chapter Thirty-Three

W.

I have the stone. I have lost men because of it, the cost of which you cannot count. But I shall measure it and for more than we have bargained. I do not trust to come to the house and I am sure Newgate has not forgotten me.

I will take your amnesty and your coin but the manner of its getting will be mine.

I will be on the river east of the bridge, two o’clock on the night you receive this. I keep your man Albany as surety. You can have the diamond and your man. Do not look for me. I will find you.

Bring who you may, any gun you feel, but you especially will be there. I will put the diamond only into your hand.

D.

‘He is insane!’ The prince let the letter fall to his desk. ‘His Majesty’s first minister meeting a pirate on the Thames? The arrogance of the man! It is inconceivable, Walpole.’ But still Walpole could see the amusement on the prince’s face.

Walpole needed a seat and took one without invitation. And rarely for him, he needed a drink, yet for the first time in their acquaintance he found the prince’s rooms dry.

‘Surprising he has allowed that I may have the company of arms. And I shall take that offer.’

The prince puffed his chest. ‘I will come, should he dare anything else.’

Walpole forgot his dry mouth and shifted forward in his chair. ‘His Highness will not be there.
That
I must insist on.’ The prince put his fists to his hips and glared at him.

‘That is to say it is my council that His Highness’s presence would cause undue danger to his own personage. His Highness’s kingdom will have need for him to be unharmed and unsullied by soiling his hands in such a manner. His Highness has already been too generous in his patronage in this matter.’

But the prince had adventure in his eye and Walpole swallowed a sigh, for the prince’s mind was made up.

‘Nonsense. I am sure the pirate was fond. He will have no wish to harm me. We are both men of action. We hire a wherry do we not?’

Walpole pushed himself from the seat wearily. ‘I will see to the arrangements. I have my own vessel. We can but accept. We have no means of contacting Devlin to suggest otherwise.’ He pinched his nose and reached for his hat. ‘Besides, we need the gem.’ Then solemnly, he added, ‘And perhaps the river is just the place to lose a body.’ He did not pause for the prince to interject. ‘I will supply a keen guard, but I beg Your Highness to arm himself.’ He bowed and began to back from the room, showing the prince the top of his head as he padded backwards.

‘You expect danger?’

Walpole lifted his head at the door. ‘I expect nothing else. He says he will measure the cost for more than we have bargained but he fails to allude to the price. He also talks of Albany, yet he was not in the coach with them according to my man whose story I have just heard. That concerns me. I suggest His Highness get some rest. I will return after midnight.’

He left the prince to deliberate on his parting words and pulled out his watch in order to avoid the eye of Secretary Timms in the corridor. Timms would know everything soon enough and Walpole had only hours to inform Townshend and Stanhope that tomorrow they may need a new paymaster general. The heaviness of his hand upon the balustrade as he descended the stairway was greater than he realised.

‘Ho, Edwin! Remember me?’ Edwin Tinkerman, he of the red Doggett coat, fastest wherryman on the Thames, looked up to the top of the steps and the man in the black coat beaming down at him. Edwin’s passenger also looked – but only once and then looked away, for the Irish-sounding fellow looked like he hung around the wharf taverns too much and had a worn cutlass to prove it. Edwin landed, and also avoided the second look, mainly due to the sound instinct that if a fellow asked if you remembered him the next moment would reveal a bill or knife in his hand.

He doffed his velvet cap to his passenger and took the fare hurriedly pushed into his hand. The gentleman dashed up the stairs, his hat lowered as he fled past the tall stranger.

The man stepped down. ‘I remember your red coat, my lad. Do you recall my shilling?’ It was almost dusk now, September dusk, the end of summer and the granite setts were already damp and slippery. The fog of peat and sea-coal fires smudged the gabled roofs of the Surrey side of London and people had begun already to pull their shawls and scarves tighter around them.