Blood Diamond: A Pirate Devlin Novel (44 page)

Mr King smiled sympathetically. ‘Tell me, John, how much coin does it take to purchase and set up such a shop? Where would you suppose a fellow gets enough gold . . . French gold perhaps, to buy a building outright as even the most briefest enquiries can discover?’

Coxon blinked.

In 1717 the pirate Devlin had stolen a chest of King Louis’s gold. Snatched it from French and English guard – from Coxon’s guard. Stolen from an unnamed island.
The
Island, as it had come to be known in his memory. A year later and the chest had turned up on New Providence, a pirate Bahama island where Devlin had left what remained, the dregs of the chest, with a young whore who died before he could return to collect it. She had bequeathed it to Coxon, the only one on Providence who had been on The Island, who had been there at its taking. He had buried it with her, knowing the pirate would be back, and would find Coxon waiting. That had been a long story and Devlin had bested them all. But he did not get the chest. Coxon was not a dishonest man and was well versed in his father’s scripture:


For nothing is secret that shall not be made manifest; neither any thing hid that shall not be known and come abroad.

He knew when he dug up the gold and gave up his commission to Governor Woodes Rogers that this day would come. But he had deserved some reward. He felt so little guilt that he hadn’t even changed his name. He absently picked up a green coffee bean from its sack, rubbing it between calloused fingers.

‘I always thought of a store in Boston . . .’

Mr Duke stepped forward and removed his hat in a flurry of powder. ‘Understand, Captain, that our visit is not paid out of any intention to discredit you. Or to mark such an illustrious career with scandal.’ That was a sneer. Coxon’s ass of a dance at Devlin’s craic had made him a laughing stock over port and cards, he was certain.

‘We sincerely need your help. Your king has need of you. There is no crime other than your refusal, for which you will be judged. But should you refuse . . .’

Mr King sniffed the cinnamon and paper air of the shop, the smell of rope and brass. ‘It is such a pretty store. You must be very happy here, John. It would be a pity to—’.

Coxon threw the coffee bean to King’s buckled shoes and rushed down from his stage. ‘Do not threaten me,
sir
!
I fought French and Spanish gods-of-men before you scuffed your first knee! Your implication belittles us both!’ He pointed to the black lines about his eyes. ‘That is powder, sir! Earned and paid for! Do not suppose—’

‘The pirate
Devlin
, Captain!’ Mr Duke shouted down Coxon’s tirade and Coxon stopped.

‘You say what now?’ A terrible recollection on his face.

‘Oh, you know the name?’ Duke put back on his hat. ‘That is the matter that brings us here. Whatever else you may fear, I pray it is not him.’

Coxon stepped back. ‘What of Devlin?’

King wiped a spot of Coxon’s spittle from his lip. ‘Patrick Devlin. Your former servant for several years. Irish traitor and once a sailor in the Marine Royale before you rescued him. Now a pirate captain. At least twice ducked away from you.’

‘The second time he had a white flag. He gave the king the secret of porcelain.’

‘Ah, yes. The price of which has dropped dramatically since. Thank you for that. I had several pieces that lost their value.’

Faces appeared at Coxon’s door, tried to push their way in. Coxon gave the empathetic look of the shopkeeper when it is time for him to close for dinner and drew the curtain across their indignation. He turned back to the black coats. Always black coats. The pawns of government standing in front of bishops, kings, queens and knights.

‘What about Devlin?’

Mr King seemed suddenly to age before his eyes. He crushed the bean beneath his heel. ‘He has committed his last deceit against his country. You could not conceive the harm he has done.’

Coxon sniffed. ‘I can imagine. If you were fool enough to trust him.’

King put his hands behind his back, spaced apart his feet. Mr Duke stifled his amusement at the pose of a ham upon the stage.

‘He must die, Captain. He will have no quarter, no card to pull from his sleeve, no purchase to buy his way out. Not even a noose. We are not interested. Just any death will satisfy, I promise. From the highest order, the
very
highest order, and you will have
carte blanche
to do whatever you deem necessary.’

Coxon too put his hands behind his back. The king himself was now standing on Coxon’s quarterdeck. ‘Are you sure? I take it that by your words you have already underestimated him once?’

‘We were wrong not to engage those who knew him best. But I have not travelled for more than a month to indulge your vanity, John. Your presence I’m sure will intrigue him, draw him out. You know him best. Knew him first. I’m sure you would like to know him last.’

Coxon looked about his small world full of Mrs Keyneses and streets that never moved and horizons that never changed. He contemplated both men and they looked back at him like birds of prey. A strong dislike was already in the air about them. The small fire in the shop spat embers from its weak sea-coal and January crept in at every window, under every gap of wood. Coxon stamped on the glowing ashes dancing on his floor.

So cold. The Caribbean so warm. He waited one minute to stoke the fire and flick at its ash then turned and tossed the poker away without a care. The violent clang and peal of it as it bounced and danced across the wooden floor made the two young officers flinch like surprised deer.

Coxon grinned. ‘If that can startle you, lads, we may have to rethink your passage into this.’ He brushed the smut off his hands. ‘I will need a week to set my affairs in order.’

Author’s Note

Diamonds. Whether a ring on your finger or the tool itself used to cut more of them from the earth, diamonds represent a portable power and wealth that has made the financial world turn since one man begged the ear of another and showed him these shining scrapings of the earth.

In the British Museum, after you’ve taken a breath at the beauty of the building outside and dropped a few pounds into those massive perspex drums, you must choose which of the hundreds of rooms to enter and survey the wonders of the world bequeathed to you.

In the ‘Enlightenment’ room, in a most inauspicious glass and wood case, you can see the replica of the Pitt diamond which features in this story and did indeed cost five thousand eighteenth-century pounds to create (approximate to £400,000 today). It is made of paste, which may make a modern reader scoff, although at the time paste diamonds were an artisan’s craft almost of equal intricateness and value to the lapidary’s art in cutting the ‘real thing’ – hence the price-tag. Interestingly enough, the diamond in the Louvre with the remaining French crown jewels is also a paste replica, as much as the one displayed beside it in the royal crown. The real diamond is locked safely away, mainly because the visitor may stand next to the display case, as opposed to straining for a distant glimpse of the Mona Lisa. And it would be unwise to openly exhibit a diamond valued at between £40–50 million.

Today the Regent diamond is largely a forgotten wonder, except to aficionados. Diamonds like everything else have their fashions, and coloured diamonds have been the favour in the collector of the twentieth century – a trend that appears to be continuing into the twenty-first.

But there is something intrinsically romantic about these gems and I do not know a single one of the great diamonds of the world that does not have a string of tales attached to it that are so full of sorrow and drama that one couldn’t imagine them more so.

But I did try.

As for the Pitt-Regent, it was indeed the ‘First Diamond of the World’ for almost two hundred years, when India was the place to find such stones and before the empires of the world began to exploit the African continent for raw materials instead of slaves.

The story of the Indian slave who gouged a hole in his leg to smuggle the diamond from the mine and buy his freedom is most likely true, as is the part in it of the sea-captain who hung himself in remorse. Also true is that Pitt never slept in the same bed twice and took to disguising himself until he was rid of the diamond; but after our story ends the diamond’s adventures continued.

Without the modern connotations of the emotive phrase ‘Blood Diamond’, its archaic reference is to the death and bad luck that often seemed to plague the owners of great gems. In addition to the death of the slave who originally took the Regent from the mine, and the death of the captain who murdered him, the luck of some of the principal characters of the diamond’s story was not good, either.

John Law, himself almost a victim of smallpox as a youth, watched his favourite son contract the disease shortly after negotiating the sale of the diamond to the French. His decision to remove his wife and family to one of his country estates at least saved his life. His luck, however, took a plunge after the fall of the French Bank Royale and the collapse of his American companies.

John Law died in poverty and alone (the worst word in any language) from pneumonia in a Venice hotel in 1729. Curiously, he had in his possession a brilliant cushion diamond which he had carried with him from France when he had fled the financial collapse. He had pawned the diamond many times but always redeemed it thanks to his skill in gambling, which floated him for his remaining years. Why he never sold the diamond is matter for his own unwritten memoirs. I had hoped that I might wrangle into my story that Law’s diamond was the original Regent, but that seemed just a little too far-fetched. I recall from my researches that Law’s smaller diamond turned up first in the Austrian crown jewels and later the Russian, Tzarist ones, where it remains today and has blood enough for its own story.

Law was pardoned for the crime of murder under the grace of Robert Walpole and after the collapse – and after our story ends – he initially ran to England. There he stayed for nine months until disgrace and shame forced him to hide in the more forgiving realms of Europe.

Philippe, the French regent, suffered his own tragedies once he had taken possession of the diamond. He lost his beloved daughter and unborn grandson, as recorded in my story, but also almost lost France. As for the hints in the story that he may have had an incestuous affair with his daughter and was thus the father of her unborn child – this is, horribly, almost considered true by contemporary accounts. We do not have the Duchess of Berry’s or Philippe’s confession, but the supposition among both courtiers and commoners was widespread enough.

Philippe died in the arms of his eighteen-year-old mistress – an exemplary demise for a libertine – shortly after the ascension to the throne of the boy king in 1723, after which the diamond officially became part of the crown jewels. Half a century later, Marie Antoinette wore it in the crown of a black velvet hat; and Napoleon carried it in the pommel of his imperial sword from 1812 until 1814 and his exile to Elba. I doubt anyone would disagree that those years did not bring him much luck. In short, seven of the owners of the gem before Napoleon met their deaths on the guillotine.

At first glance it would seem that Thomas ‘Diamond’ Pitt himself escaped any unusually bad luck concerning the diamond, unless of course one considers financial and social ruin after the ‘South Sea Bubble’ burst in London.

In the months after the South Sea collapse his son-in-law Lord Stanhope died, followed by his daughter Lucy, Stanhope’s widow, in childbirth. His eldest son Robert, who smuggled the diamond from Madras to England in a hidden compartment in the heel of his shoe, passed in 1727. ‘Diamond’ Pitt himself died the year before.

His son Lord Londonderry, who features briefly in the story and who, with John Law, was a protagonist in selling the diamond, worked with Law consistently afterwards in trying to restore his family’s fortune. He died in 1729, in the same month as John Law.

As for the South Sea Bubble, I had intended this financial cataclysm to hover in the background of the story and not to make it a linchpin. There have been many novels which have used the disaster as a catalyst and I didn’t want it to be anything more than a minor ‘character’. But I have to say that it was part of my intention to show how our present, disastrous financial circumstances have occurred again and again and will continue to do so (almost inevitably every hundred years) for as long as a few hundred men are in control of the world’s finances.

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