Diamond Dreams

by Sandra Heath

  There, a coastal vessel waited to take them around the Cornish peninsula to London, from where an ocean-going merchantman would sail for the Baltic. For the moment the horses were quiet and composed with Gwilym looking after them, and did not even twitch when something startled a moorhen into flapping noisily over the surface of the glassy water.

  Mrs. Lewis had brought a tray of tea to the workroom, to send the travelers off properly, as she said. Now the cups and saucers had been set aside, and all eyes were upon the tureen. Candles illuminated the dawn gloom as John looked proudly at his craftsmanship. “Do you think it will do?” he asked, not seeking praise, but genuinely needing reassurance.

  Athan, elegant but practical in a sage green coat and pale gray breeches, slapped him on the shoulder. “Do? My dear fellow, it’s simply the most magnificent tureen there has ever been. Well, the second most magnificent, for I think the laurels must go to the one you so kindly gave to Ellie and me.”

  Ellie lowered her eyes, for she had a little secret about her uncle’s wedding gift. Truth to tell, it no longer occupied the mantel in Castle Griffin, but had been wrapped in a woolen shawl and hidden in one of the hatboxes she was taking to St. Petersburg. She didn’t know why she was taking it with them, just that it seemed a wise precaution.

  Athan continued speaking. “And to think that such things came out of this little works. Wedgwood, Royal Worcester, Crown Derby, Sèvres, Chantilly—name them all. They can look to their laurels after this.”

  “I pray so,” John answered, “although to be sure I do not wish Worcester and Derby to ever learn who I really am.”

  “The formula is yours, not theirs,” Athan reminded him, “and you have worked so much upon it since you were employed by them that I doubt if it could be identified as the same mixture anyway.”

  “I know, but even so, they are forces to be reckoned with. The world of British ceramic ware is a small one.”

  “We will cross bridges as and when we come to them,” Athan said.

  John looked at him, an eyebrow quirked. “We?”

  “Well, we are one family now, are we not?”

  John smiled. “Yes, I suppose we are,” he replied, looking fondly at Ellie, who had blossomed in the two weeks since the wedding. There was a glow on her cheeks, a lovely light in her eyes, and even the sheen of her hair seemed more becoming. Marriage suited her, or at least, marriage to Athan suited her. Today she wore a gown and matching pelisse of worked strawberry silk, and a wide-brimmed straw hat with an ostrich plume curled around the crown.

  Athan took out his watch. “I think it’s time to leave,” he advised.

  John nodded, and with infinite care lifted the precious tureen into the crate. When it was safely embedded in the sawdust, more of which was tipped over and around it, the lid of the crate was secured in place, and two china workers carried it carefully out to the second barge, upon which all the luggage was loaded.

  Athan was about to usher Ellie outside too when she remembered something. “Athan, we haven’t told Uncle John about what we’ve heard of the bank!”

  “Damn, I’ve been so preoccupied with the journey that I quite forgot,” he replied, and turned apologetically to John.

  “Forgive me, John, for a letter arrived this morning that may be of interest to you. As you may recall, I left someone at the Unicorn Bank to secretly find out all he could about the embezzling of Josiah Rutherford’s fortune. It seems that he and Toby Richardson, an old friend of mine who happens to be a barrister, have dug to the bottom of the problem. The late Albert Forrester-Phipps, father of the ignoble Freddie, was indeed responsible for stealing Ellie’s father’s fortune. Why he did it remains a mystery, because he was always a very honest man, and was certainly not in personal financial difficulty. His only crime appears to have been in connection with the Rutherford fortune, and with bringing your name into it as well, of course.”

  John exhaled slowly. “There will be a connection with Dalmatsky. You may rely upon it.”

  “If there is, Toby has yet to find it, and believe me, he’s searched. To return to Forrester-Phipps, it has to be said that his family knew nothing of his interference in Josiah’s affairs. The first they knew of something being wrong was when he threw himself from the cliff in Kent. It is his widow’s contention that he was so guilt-ridden by what he’d done that he could no longer live with himself, and knowing what I now do of the man’s character, I have to agree. Of course, he was also gravely disappointed in his son and heir, Freddie, whom he regarded as unfit to inherit.”

  Ellie was less charitable toward Freddie’s father. “I don’t think the late Mr. Forrester-Phipps could have been such a paragon, Athan. If he were, he wouldn’t have done what he did to my father. I shall never make allowances, no matter what you may say of him now.”

  “Nor would I expect you to, my love. His actions drove your father to take his own life, and for that I cannot forgive him either. I’m just pointing out that there remains a mystery. Why did Albert Forrester-Phipps do it? Why weren’t there other embezzlements too? Why just your father? I fear we may never know.”

  John pursed his lips. “It will still come back to Dalmatsky,” he said again.

  “Maybe. Anyway, John, I want you to know that the whole matter has been settled. Albert Forrester-Phipps’s heir has made full restitution of Josiah’s fortune, and all mention of your name has been removed from the records. There have been great upheavals at the bank, where people loyal to Forrester-Phipps detected his hand in the matter and made every effort to conceal his involvement.”

  John raised an eyebrow. “Which is, I think, exactly what you are now doing for me.”

  Athan smiled, not quite sheepishly. “It may be viewed in that light, I suppose, except that you weren’t involved in anything. You had nothing whatsoever to do with the bank, beyond being the brother-in-law of one of its customers, so I see no comparison between making certain you are kept out of it and covering up Forrester-Phipps’s known wrongdoing.

  “Anyway, be that as it may, it has been made clear that from now on there is never ever to be a hint of skullduggery at the bank, no matter how slight. There is to be a fresh start for everyone, from the partners down to the lowliest clerk. Of course, it will be several months yet before the matter is entirely settled, which means that we will know nothing more until our return from St. Petersburg, but at least you can rest easy about your name having been implicated.”

  John nodded, “Thank you, Athan. It’s a weight off my mind. I confess I was afraid that maybe you and Ellie would think there could not be so much smoke without a little fire, and that I had to be involved in some way.”

  “Never!” she cried, and hugged him tightly.

  Athan ushered them both to the door. “Come on, now, or we will miss the Cardiff tide, and that won’t do at all. It doesn’t matter when we arrive in St. Petersburg, provided it’s before July tenth, but if it should be one day past Saints Peter and Paul, the czar will not be pleased.”

  Mrs. Lewis stood on the wharf as the barges moved away into the tendrils of mist that floated above the water. Seagulls flew inland overhead, and somewhere a robin was singing its heart out. Some folk from Nantgarth had gathered on the bridge to see the famous tureen on its way, and they cheered as the barges slid beneath them.

  The housekeeper gazed anxiously along the navigation until she couldn’t see the barges any more. Let them come home again soon, she prayed as she went back into the workroom to collect the tray of cups and saucers. But as she touched the cup Ellie had used, a strange sensation passed from the porcelain into her fingers, a tingle like far-off lightning. What did it mean?

  Mrs. Lewis looked into the cup, at the final drop of tea and all the tea leaves, and wondered if she would be able to see something if she upended it in the saucer. She had never been able to read other people’s cups before, just enable them to see things for themselves, but somehow this morning she felt it would be different.

  Taking a quick
breath, she swirled the cup and turned it over in the saucer. Nothing seemed to happen, but just as the housekeeper began to shake her head at her own foolishness, she heard a baby cry. A tiny baby, maybe only weeks old. Then she saw the font at St. Dwynwen’s Church. It was May Day next year, and a christening group was gathered around: among them Ellie, in the contented glow of motherhood; Athan, the proudest father in the land; and the babe in Ellie’s arms, a boy, small and helpless in a delicate knitted white shawl. They had just named him John.

  Mrs. Lewis smiled through tears, but then her smile faded. Where was the child’s namesake? Where was Mr. Bailey? She could not see his face among those around the font. What did it mean? Would he fail to return from St. Petersburg?

  The vision faded, and the housekeeper looked anxiously around the workroom, a place so personal to him that she could almost hear his voice. “Please return safely, Mr. Bailey,” she whispered, and with shaking hands picked up the tray to hurry out of the room.

  * * *

  On reaching London a week later, Ellie, Athan, and John learned it would be several days before the merchantman, the Good Intent, sailed for the Baltic, so they took rooms at a comfortable inn. London held sad memories for Ellie, but a visit to the Unicorn Bank reassured her that all stains on the Rutherford name had definitely been erased forever.

  John was similarly reassured about his own name, which, of course, was now once more without blemish. Not only had his debts been settled, but he had also learned that his old employers, Royal Worcester and Crown Derby, were no longer interested in preventing him from using his formula.

  Another snippet of information elicited at the Unicorn Bank, where the name Forrester-Phipps continued to be of intense interest, was that Fleur and Freddie had married secretly, each under the impression that the other had an income that was at least comfortable. This grave error of judgment was soon borne in on them both, and their parting had been so acrimonious as to be likened in some quarters to a caterwaul.

  The discovery that Fleur Tudor was really Blodyn Evans had rubbed salt into Freddie’s self-pity. Feeling that she had not only cheated him, but made a fool of him too, he bewailed his plight loud and long throughout London. This resulted in contempt for himself and ridicule for Fleur, who with her mother in tow had prudently left the country and was now said to be running a small lodging house somewhere in the far southwest of Ireland.

  Freddie languished in jail for having brawled with the cousin who’d inherited the Forrester-Phipps fortune. A mere brawl might not have resulted in arrest, but the theft and subsequent selling of the cousin’s fob watch was another matter.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Ellie saw St. Petersburg at last on the morning before the feast of Saints Peter and Paul. The vessel Good Intent had not made good time from London, but just as the party from Nantgarth began to fear they would be too late for the all important day, a sea breeze picked up and carried the merchantman swiftly for the final few leagues.

  The Good Intent carried too deep a draft for the shallow water and sandbanks at the mouth of the Neva, so had to be left before the fortifications of Kronstadt Island, which guarded the approaches to the capital. The weary travelers, including the czar’s horses, were transferred to one of the many flat-bottomed lighters that flocked to carry goods and passengers the remaining distance.

  From the deck of the lighter Ellie could see that the shingled shore to the south was forested, especially with birch, and there were palaces and estates where fountains played in wonderful gardens. There were also numerous small islands, where it appeared to be the thing to enjoy picnics, especially at this time of year, when these northern climes experienced the phenomenon of the White Nights.

  For weeks on end the sun did not dip low enough beyond the horizon for there to be true darkness, which was a very strange thing indeed for visitors accustomed to each day being duly followed by a proper night. Ellie had been on the Good Intent’s deck at midnight and not been able to see a single star in the clear ivory-colored sky, but since leaving Denmark behind, she had seen a double rainbow, and once, briefly, the aurora borealis. And could it really be that on midsummer night, she and Athan had noticed the exceedingly out-of-season fragrance of snowdrops in their cabin ... ?

  St. Petersburg, the world’s most northern city, lay low upon the horizon, a thin line of green, blue, and gold turrets, domes, and spires caught between the sea and the wide northern sky. The closer the lighter sailed, the more the city’s ramparts seemed to rear to its defense, not from attack, but from winter flooding, which was an all too frequent danger to a capital that was built upon a river delta only a few feet above sea level.

  The wide Neva, thronged with the smaller vessels that could negotiate the bar, was blue and crystal clear as Ellie, Athan, and John were rowed ashore at midday toward the steps at English Quay, just as the traditional noon cannon was fired farther upstream at the Peter and Paul fortress, opposite the Winter Palace.

  A second rowing boat followed them, bringing their luggage, including the hatbox containing the second tureen, the presence of which was still Ellie’s secret. She gazed around, taking in the splendid waterfronts, busy quays, and the spacious streets of colorful stucco buildings with lavish embellishment. English Quay itself seemed almost pearl and gold in the peculiarly brilliant sunshine. It was hard to imagine this place trapped in ice so thick that carriages could be driven from island to island.

  John had been very quiet since first glimpsing the city spires on the horizon, and now that he was on the Neva he was positively withdrawn. Ellie and Athan did not try to lighten his mood, for they knew he was remembering that Nikolai had drowned in these waters, hounded to his death by Prince Paul Dalmatsky. John’s mood also served as a reminder to them that their business here was not entirely without danger to themselves. Athan remained confident in his plan to enlist the czar’s protection, but if it should go wrong, anything might happen.

  Gwilym and the horses remained on the lighter until the czar’s requirements could be established. The Imperial Stables were situated on the Moika Canal, and Athan would go there as soon as possible. The milk white mare and colt had already aroused a great deal of attention, and Gwilym was unable to resist making them do things at his silent behest, from rearing prettily like circus horses, to nipping the posterior of a particularly officious Russian who had shared the lighter.

  These amusing antics attracted attention from passengers on a ferry that was also crossing toward English Quay, among them a pretty young woman of about seventeen, in traditional Russian dress, with a ribboned kokoshnik on her honey-colored hair. She wasn’t upper class by any means, more probably a maid or seamstress, but her shy smile captured Gwilym’s attention.

  He abandoned the tricks with the horses in order to stand at the rail of the lighter to watch the ferry. The young woman turned to gaze back at him, and to his delight made so bold as to give a little wave. Hesitantly he waved back. There was a movement in the Neva below where he stood, then a flash of silver as an eel leapt briefly into view before plunging down into the depths again.

  Gwilym knew St. Dwynwen was watching over him, and in his mind’s eye could suddenly see the young woman’s face as clearly as if she were on the lighter beside him. Her name was Tatiana Demidova, and he realized not only that she was a maid at the Brasier residence, but that she would have much bearing on the outcome of this visit to St. Petersburg—much bearing too on his own future and happiness.

  Athan helped Ellie and John out of the boat when they reached the steps, where a cluster of small boats rocked at their moorings, among them two belonging to Athan’s brother-in-law, Charles Brasier. For a minute or so the trio were too unsteady to climb the steps. Everything seemed to sway after their being so long at sea, but at last they felt able to ascend to the quay, at a place almost directly opposite the house occupied by Athan’s sister Louise and her husband, Charles.

  But between the steps and the house there was a roadway that was
under considerable repair, as was most of St. Petersburg in the summer after the great damage done by the Russian winter. A small army of bearded workmen labored with the dislodged and very uneven cobbles. They wore loose trousers and coarse shirts that were tied at the waist with sashes, and had open, good-humored countenances, but did not seem to bother about the cleanliness of their clothes.

  There was constant traffic, all of it apparently determined to be somewhere as quickly as possible. A hooded two-wheeled vehicle drawn by four horses abreast approached at such speed that it seemed it must capsize at the repairs, but somehow it skimmed through, only to halt by the steps in a cloud of dust. The driver, a shadowy figure beneath the hood, seemed to find it amusing as the horses pranced and capered to such an extent that Athan had to pull Ellie back for fear she would be trampled. Looking angrily at the driver, Athan was startled to gaze into Valentin’s shining dark eyes.

  Paul’s nephew, as splendid as ever in his uniform, his hair boasting side-plaits, accorded him a cool nod. “Lord Griffin.”

  “Andreyev.” Athan did not return the nod.

  Valentin smiled, and addressed him in French. “It is pleasant to see you again, my lord.” His dark, shining glance encompassed Ellie for a moment. “Lady Griffin, I presume?” he murmured. “My congratulations upon your marriage, my lady.”

  As Ellie wondered how he knew about the marriage, since he’d left Britain before it had even been planned, let alone taken place, Athan stepped protectively in front of her. “State your piece, Andreyev,” he said shortly.

  “My piece? Why, my lord, I rather thought you would be thanking me for my assistance.”

  “Assistance?” The word was uttered coldly.

  “If it were not for my services, you might by now have been married to that Tudor trollop.”