by Caleb Krisp
If only to soothe this excitable creature, I did as she asked. The diamond was large, roughly the size and shape of an egg, but flatter. Above it, a tiny clock was set into the elegant silver mounting that connected the chain to the stone.
“Day or night, sunrise or starlight—you can set your watch by that necklace,” said the Duchess. “And you will find no mechanism within the clock, nor can it be wound. Yet it has run for centuries.”
I frowned. “But how?”
“The clock is powered by the stone,” said the Duchess with eager delight. “No matter where you are in the world, the clock will adjust itself, right to the last second—as if by an unseen hand.”
I’d never heard of a diamond that could do such a thing. But I simply refused to lose my head over a silly clock. Beneath it, the stone sparkled and flared in the candlelight of the Duchess’s dim bedroom, which was probably why I didn’t see it. The next thing about the stone that made it different.
Inside, in the center of the diamond, a gray mist billowed and churned. Then, without warning, it parted, and I could see the sun high over Paris—its shimmering glow bathing the rooftops in honey-colored light. The whole city seemed to be captive inside that stone. It was remarkable, I suppose. Remarkable, but nothing more than a clever trick.
“There is even more,” said the Duchess eagerly. “When the stone chooses, it can give the one who holds it a glimpse of the past, the present, or the future. Not just their own, but others’ too. These visions can delight.” Her eyes clouded over. “And they can horrify.” Now that was interesting. I didn’t believe it, of course. But still, it was a delicious thought. “Does the stone do anything else?” I asked.
The Duchess closed her eyes. “Nothing that concerns you, child.”
I stared at the stone and began to sense an opportunity. The old woman was dying. She had sent for me. Showed me this precious necklace. Entrusted me with the key. There was only one possible explanation. “You dear, sweet, sickly old windbag!” I cried, flinging myself at her. “You are giving me the Clock Diamond! Passing this mystical legacy from one generation to the next. Bless you, dear!”
Her laughter was weak and dry, but it filled the room. “Don’t be a fool. You are right in assuming I have business with you in connection with the stone. But as a messenger and nothing more.”
“Oh.” I cleared my throat and stood up. “Of course I didn’t really think—”
“Your task is a simple one,” interrupted the Duchess of Trinity. “I mentioned the Butterfields. I wish you to take the Clock Diamond to their estate in Suffolk—it is called Butterfield Park and will be easy enough to find—and present the necklace as a gift from me.”
“A gift?” I said.
The Duchess nodded. “For Matilda Butterfield. She is about to turn twelve. You are to present the stone as a present for her birthday. There is going to be a ball in her honor—give it to her then, in front of all of her guests, and not a moment before. Do you think you’re equal to the task?”
I shrugged. “I’m sure I can manage to deliver a silly old diamond to Butterfield Park.”
“I am not finished,” snapped the Duchess. “If you accept this commission, you must understand that it comes with conditions. Strict, unbreakable conditions.” She lifted a plump finger and beckoned me closer. “You are not to try on the necklace. Not once. Nobody is to see it before the ball. And absolutely no one is to wear the diamond except for Matilda Butterfield. Do you understand?”
Frankly, I was insulted. Did this half-crazed fatso really think that I was some sort of unprincipled street urchin who would try on her precious diamond the second I was alone? The nerve!
“You must present the stone to Matilda come what may.” The old woman’s voice hissed like a rattlesnake. “In front of her guests. Do you understand, child?”
“Yes, yes, I understand. No offense, dear, but you seem rather overexcited by this whole business. That can’t be good for your health. You know, being at death’s door and whatnot.”
“Do not worry about my health,” snapped the Duchess of Trinity. She took a shallow breath. “There is a ship sailing for England this afternoon. You will be on it.”
“That’s a lovely idea,” I said, going to the window and staring out at the morning sun, “but I haven’t any money. A girl can’t sail if she can’t afford a ticket.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” said the Duchess with a wave of her hand. “Do this thing for me, and I will pay for your passage back to England and more besides.” She nodded at the table by the window. “You will find everything you need over there.”
“Duchess,” I said casually, plonking myself back down on the bed, “when you say ‘and more besides’—exactly how much more? I only ask because my savings are rather low at present.”
“Five hundred pounds,” said the Duchess. “Fifty now. The rest payable through my lawyer, Horatio Banks, the day after the birthday ball.” She reached out and grabbed my hand (hers was astoundingly cold to the touch). “Will you do it, Ivy? Will you give me your solemn word?”
“You have it,” I declared, looking grim as an undertaker. “I will hang the Clock Diamond around Miss Matilda’s neck myself.”
“You won’t try it on, no matter how strong the temptation?” she asked sternly.
“Never,” I promised. Then a frown creased my glorious forehead. “Forgive me for asking, dear; I’m normally not one to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong—having all the natural instincts of a highland hermit—but what is your connection to the Butterfields?”
The Duchess groaned softly, her eyelids fluttering. “Matilda’s grandmother, Lady Elizabeth, is an old friend. We grew up together as girls. I’m ashamed to say we had a falling-out over a young gentleman many years ago. It seemed terribly important then, but rather foolish now. The necklace is a peace offering, I suppose. There is a letter inside the box for Lady Elizabeth—give it to her when you first arrive at the house.”
“It is a monstrously generous gift, dear,” I said with just a pinch of envy.
“Lady Elizabeth adores Matilda—all of her hopes and wishes reside in that child. You have no idea how it soothes me, as death draws near, just knowing that I can bestow this gift on her.” The old woman pointed to the box. “Come, it is time to lock the necklace away.”
I was about to hand the stone back to the Duchess when it began to pulse in my hand. Faintly, to begin with. Then with great intensity. Silvery light, soft and rippling, seemed to spill out from it, illuminating every corner of the chamber. The necklace felt warm against my skin.
“It is happening!” hissed the Duchess, trying to lift her head from the pillow. “Tell me, child, what can you see?”
At first I saw nothing; the light was too bright. But soon it dimmed and, as before, a billowing gray mist churned and swirled, then parted. I stared closely. What I saw as the mist cleared was a wide hallway. Lit by gaslight, but dim—the corridor was long, paneled in dark wood, with red carpet upon the floor. A door was revealed. A silver tray stood on a trolley beside it. I recognized it immediately. It was the door to the very apartment I was sitting in. I was about to tell the Duchess what I could see, when something moved. No, someone moved. Emerging from the shadows and stopping before the Duchess’s door was a woman, though her face was shrouded in darkness. She wore a gray dress. Dark gloves. The woman dropped down, crouching outside the door. She pressed her face to the keyhole. She was peering inside!
“What is it, child?” snapped the Duchess impatiently. “What do you see?”
I dropped the stone and raced from the bedroom. Bolting as fast as my legs would carry me—which was frightfully fast—I charged across the drawing room and threw open the door. My heart hammered in my chest as I prepared to confront the spy (for I have all the natural instincts of a secret agent). But the hallway was empty. The silver tray was there. The half-eaten bacon. But no sign of the devious woman. It was a crushing disappointment.
When I returned to t
he Duchess’s bedroom, the vision in the Clock Diamond had vanished. It now looked like a perfectly ordinary necklace. I told the Duchess what I had seen.
The blubbery old bat shivered, her eyes shifting about the room.
“I was warned . . . but I didn’t believe it,” she whispered.
“Warned about what?” I said.
“The Clock Diamond has its fierce admirers—and its enemies too. They have been after the stone since its discovery in the jungles of Budatta. I was told they would come for it before I die, but I didn’t believe it. Superstitious claptrap, that’s what I said.” She fixed her eyes upon me. “It is possible someone may try to grab the stone before you reach Butterfield Park. That is why you are the perfect person to deliver the necklace. Who on earth would suspect a humble maid, orphaned and all alone in the world?”
That sounded vaguely insulting. Then I remembered the five hundred pounds, and my desire to hit the Duchess in the head with a pillow fell away.
“Perhaps it was just a nosy maid,” I said helpfully. “Or perhaps the vision was wrong.”
The old woman shook her head, and when she spoke, her voice trembled. “The stone does not deal in fantasy, child—only facts: what was, what is, and what will be.” The fear in her eyes seemed to fade. “But perhaps you are right, and it was merely a maid peering through the keyhole.” She chuckled. “They are always spying on me—hoping I will drop dead so they can steal my jewels.”
I looked at the necklace, and for the briefest moment I felt a kind of longing. A mad desire to stare into its heart again and see what it might reveal. Before I could, the Duchess had pulled it from my fingers, placed it in the velvet box, and snapped the lid shut.
“Where on earth did you get such a diamond?” I said.
She paused. Licked her lips. “An acquaintance.”
“Do you wish to write a note or a card for Matilda?” I asked.
“Give her the necklace at the ball,” she wheezed, “and tell her it is sent with the kind regards of Winifred Farris. Her grandmother will understand. Now, lock it back up.”
I took the key from my pocket and did as she instructed. “Place it in your bag,” the Duchess said. “Never let it leave your side until you reach Butterfield Park. My lawyer, Mr. Banks, will meet you in London and see you on your way.” She looked me up and down. “You can’t go on board the ship looking like that. There is a dress for you in the wardrobe. You will find a dozen others in your cabin on the Britannia.”
I clapped my hands in delight. “Duchess, you are barking mad, but wonderful!”
She huffed, yet seemed pleased.
The dress was lovely—a simple gown of white muslin with a pale blue sash—and I was lovely in it. Not like a maid at all. Like a princess. Or, at the very least, a postmaster’s daughter.
With the box safely packed in my carpetbag and the envelope with my ticket and the fifty pounds in my pocket, the Duchess of Trinity appeared to have no further use for me. Her eyes were closed again. I assumed she was sleeping.
“Good-bye, Duchess,” I whispered, watching her plump cheeks billow with every labored breath. “Enjoy the journey which awaits you. It will be thrilling, I’m sure.”
As I closed the door to her suite, I heard her voice one last time, brittle and grim. “Good-bye, child,” she whispered, “and thank you.”
I hoped the ghastly manager would see me taking my leave of the hotel in a private carriage with two horses. But he was nowhere to be seen. The carriage took me to Le Havre, and I quickly found myself among a great swell of people clamoring towards the Britannia. She was a fine ship, and I was delighted to find that the Duchess had booked me passage in first class.
As the ship wasn’t ready for boarding, I took a seat in the waiting area of the first-class lounge. The place was positively swarming with aristocrats—gentlemen in frock coats and top hats, and ladies luxuriating in furs, feathered hats, and jewels.
I had just checked my bag (I found myself checking on the jewel every five minutes), when a short man wearing a white suit sat down beside me. He looked rather crotchety and was muttering to himself with alarming frequency. Something about Paris going to the dogs.
“It’s a crying shame,” he said, to no one in particular. “I remember when you could sleep in this city with your window open. Your door unlocked. Now this. A crying shame, it is.”
“Is it?” I said, unable to resist. I have a fondness for lunatics.
“Yes indeed,” he said, shaking his head. “Just be grateful you and your family are getting out of Paris, little miss.”
“I’m traveling alone,” I said proudly.
“A girl your age? Outrageous!” He was frowning. “Main thing is, you’re getting out of this place. Shameful, it is. And at a fine hotel like the Grand.”
Suddenly I was very interested in the man’s mad ravings. “I was just there,” I said. “What about the Grand?”
“That’s where it happened. Terrible thing. Shameful!”
“Stop babbling, you nitwit,” I snapped. “Tell me what happened.”
“Murder, that’s what. The body was found this morning,” said the man. “A maid found her there, dead and all. A dagger plunged in her heart.”
A sliver of fear seemed to wake inside of me, coiling its way up towards my chest. It slithered and curled. Twisting ever higher. Ever tighter. It was heavy and cold and hungry. What I felt wasn’t easy to explain. The only way to describe it is this—I knew before I knew.
“Who?” I said faintly. “Who was murdered?”
“Nobody you’d have heard of,” said the man. “She was old, she was.”
“Who?” I repeated, this time with more urgency.
The man smiled sadly. “Very well. ’Twas the Duchess of Trinity.”
My heart began to pound.
“She was once a very great lady,” muttered the man. “But I don’t suppose a girl like you would have ever heard her name.”
“I knew her,” I said. “I mean . . . I knew her name.”
“Don’t look so grave, little miss,” said the man. “You’re not to trouble your mind with murder and mischief. Leave that to the grown-ups, you hear?”
He was right, of course. I was a junior lady’s maid. Brilliant and beautiful. But still just a child. What did I know of murder and mischief? Of daggers plunged into hearts? Nothing, that’s what. Until now. Until right now.
“Promise me you won’t worry about this awful business.” He patted my arm, his eyes filled with fatherly concern. “Do you promise, little miss?”
I tried my best to smile. “I promise,” I said.
3
The ship had just set sail. I sat on a deck chair overlooking the sea and tried to think. Which I normally did stupendously well—for I have all the natural instincts of a philosophy professor. Or, at very least, an assistant librarian. But not now. I was terribly anxious. My hands were trembling. They never trembled. My mind was a tangle. People were gathered like lemmings at the railing, watching the final glimpses of the coast. Yet all I saw was the Duchess of Trinity lying in her bed with a knife in her chest. And while stabbing was a marvelously interesting cause of death, it was no way for a genuine duchess to kick the bucket. She deserved something far more dignified. Like choking on a lobster claw. Or being crushed beneath a falling chandelier.
The facts were as follows. A woman near death—she hardly expected to live out the week—had been killed in her bed. Why? And by whom? I thought of the vision in the stone—the woman crouched at the Duchess’s door, peering through the keyhole. Was she the killer? A shiver rattled my bones. There must be some connection between the Clock Diamond and the Countess’s gruesome death. Hadn’t the old bat warned me that nefarious fatheads were after the one-of-a-kind stone?
“Did you hear about the Duchess?” shrieked a woman with a glorious overbite and a neck like a giraffe, as she and her lump of a husband stopped at the railing in front of me. “It’s utterly shocking!”
“Too m
uch money,” said the husband. “Rich folks like that always meet a grisly end.”
The wife gasped (she sounded like a horse with a nail in its hoof). “Don’t be beastly, Angus! It’s terrifying, that’s what it is. I only pray they’ve caught the killer by now.”
“The murderer’s still at large,” came the reply.
The wife gasped again. “Angus, you don’t suppose he’s here on the ship?”
“Highly likely, I should think,” said Angus.
His wife clutched her chest. “I’m going to faint! I’m sure of it! Oh Angus, I won’t sleep a wink knowing there’s a killer on—”
“Don’t be absurd, you abominable nitwits,” I said, getting out of my chair. “The killer is probably miles away by now. Of course, if he didn’t find what he was looking for, he may be searching elsewhere, but as for him being on this ship—it’s a violently stupid thought.”
The wife looked relieved. The husband frowned.
“You seem to know an awful lot about it,” he said, looking at me with interest. “Where are your mother and father, young lady?”
“My parents fell into a volcano,” I said. “My mother was blown deep into the Congo, where she now lives with a tribe of vegetarian pygmies, and my father had the good sense to explode on impact.”
The silly creatures looked positively bug-eyed. Which was the perfect moment for me to pick up my carpetbag and set off in search of my cabin.
I found it in no time. The room was small but perfectly comfortable. Though, to be honest, first class wasn’t nearly as luxurious as I had expected. I lay down on the narrow bed, my mind a jumble of thoughts.
“Well, Ivy,” I said, “what on earth are you going to do?”
I could abort the mission. In the envelope the Duchess had given me was the business card of her lawyer in London. Mr. Horatio Banks. I could take the necklace to him. Wash my hands of this murderous mess, and walk away. Nobody would think me a coward. Of course, there were other options. I could throw the Clock Diamond overboard and pretend I’d never had it to begin with. Or hand it over to the police when we docked in London. But then I thought of the Duchess—and the five hundred pounds. I had accepted the mission, hadn’t I? Sworn an oath and whatnot. It was probably the last promise anyone had ever made to the Duchess. Surely that meant something. To me. To her.