Sea Gem (18 page)

Again luck was with her because Victor spent many months travelling, advertising his hotel. She presumed he knew of her pregnancy and could only pray he thought she had succumbed to Duret again.
Perhaps it was jealous pique that kept him away. She was torn in two; wanting to see him again, yet relieved he never appeared in Cobo.

Duret had been child’s play to handle. He had been amazingly compliant which baffled Mary. Twice she felt inclined to walk to the glasshouses to question Raoul but each time she thought
better of it. Was Duret up to something? It seemed a ridiculous thought and she could only put it down to the fact he was once again lost in composing poetry.

When the baby was put into her arms she held him tightly, then dared to study his features; overwhelming relief filled her with gratitude because the child had blue eyes and fair hair. His
features were difficult to place which did not disconcert her. She knew babies had an odd way of changing month by month and hopefully any inheritance from Victor could be put down to Duret’s
share of the Penford blood. It was incredible how luck seemed to come down on her side after so many months of mental anguish.

‘Where’s Tante?’ she asked Emily in patois, surprised the old lady had not been down to see the latest family addition.

‘She called in earlier but is at home now. She said she’d see you when you are up and about again,’ Emily told her.

Mary was alarmed. Tante was acting out of character. ‘Is she ill?’

‘Not that I know of,’ Emily reassured her, ‘but she’s not so quick on her feet as she was, Mary. She is seventy-three, remember.’

Mary leaned back against the pillow and watched the baby suckle. How different he was to William. No temper, no snatching greedily at the breast. Edwin appeared to be all delicacy and gentleness
and her heart throbbed with love for this son. She lay back, making a multitude of plans for him, dreamily thinking of the future then, giving a deep sigh; she regretted Victor would never know.
How wonderful it would be if they were a family. Margaret would adore Victor, she knew. She was not so certain about William. She had a sneaking feeling that William only had time for one person,
who was himself. She wondered if he would be jealous of the baby, then shrugged. William was only a toddler, a queer one it was true but it would be up to her to guide these three children as they
grew.

With her natural good health and strength she was up in two days and five days after the birth, she walked down to the cottage, pushing Edwin in the pram. As she went up the path she saw a
curtain twitch and smiled. She was surprised and even a little hurt that Tante had not come to visit her, despite Emily’s warning.

She opened the door, pushed the pram inside then lifted out the baby and walked into the room.

‘Here, Tante! As you couldn’t come to me, I’ve come to you!’ she cried happily and turning, held out her baby, then froze.

Tante Louise sat in her rocking chair, face white, misery in her eyes. She looked over at Mary with lips which trembled. Surely those were not tears?

Mary was horrified. ‘Tante! What is it?’ she cried and, holding her baby, drew up a chair with one hand. ‘Are you ill?’

‘Oh, Mary! I’m so glad you’ve come. I couldn’t go to the house. I don’t know what you must think of me—ah! The baby!’

Mary passed the child over to Tante who gave him a cursory inspection then passed him back. Mary was stunned. Where was the detailed examination that the other children had received when born?
Indeed, where was the old interest? Mary felt alarmed. She bit her lip, then lifted Edwin and placed him back in the pram while her mind raced. Obviously Tante must be ill to be so disinterested
when family breeding had always been of critical importance.

She went back into the room and drew her chair nearer. Reaching over she took one of Tante’s hands in her own.

‘Now what is it—?’ she whispered with concern.

Two tears trickled down Tante’s leathery cheek. With a sniff and a valiant effort, Tante fought the rest. She forced her back into its usual ramrod stiffness and fastened miserable eyes on
Mary.

‘The diamonds have gone,’ she said with a break in her voice.

Mary was stunned into momentary silence. Her mind whirled while her jaw dropped with shock. Never in her wildest nightmares had she expected to hear this.

‘Gone?’ she repeated uncertainly. Had she heard wrong?

‘Stolen!’ Tante told her miserably. ‘All that family wealth.’

Mary struggled to find words. ‘Are you quite sure—?’ she managed to get out at last.

Tante nodded dolefully. ‘I don’t know what on earth made me take that picture down and look. It was the morning of your confinement. I didn’t realise myself to start with. The
tape is still there but there’s nothing under it. I kept fingering and touching it, not able to believe my eyes, then I unfastened the tape at one end. You can see quite clearly where the
diamonds have lain for years. There are indentations on the tape’s underside but the diamonds are certainly not there.’

Mary gasped, shook her head and struggled to come to terms with this shock. She was horrified to think they had a thief. Without a word, she stood, went over and lifted the picture down and
looked for herself. What Tante had said was only too true. She noted a cobweb at the side of the picture frame so when had the theft taken place? Mary slumped down in the chair and shook her
head.

‘Your diamonds, are they safe?’ Louise asked with worry.

‘It’s funny you should say that,’ Mary replied. ‘I happened to go up into the sewing room before I came here. I wanted to check some material and, from force of habit, I
felt under the machine. I definitely felt hard lumps under the tape.’

‘Thank God, we’re not quite destitute then,’ Tante said with relief.

‘What a mercy they have always been split into two hordes. They are the family nest egg though!’ Mary said, with dawning horror. ‘Our finances have been halved at one stroke!
But who and when?’ she cried.

Tante shook her head wearily. ‘I have no idea. I do have a horrible feeling we will never see them again.’

Crime was virtually unheard of on the island. The small variety they did get was usually of the petty variety caused by youths who had drunk too much on a Saturday evening.

‘We must think!’ Mary said urgently. ‘Diamonds are not like cash,’ she said slowly, using her wits again. ‘A person cannot just walk up to someone and change a
diamond into hard currency. You told me when you wished to change one it was taken to the Continent. Surely this limits the thief’s ability to exchange them without someone learning of the
fact?’

Tante’s mind worked slowly. The shock had devastated her. She had yearned to tell Mary, to get her help but how could she at the time of a confinement? Now though, the initial telling was
over and done with, a great weight had lifted. A trouble halved was a worry shared and Mary was nobody’s fool. Louise Noyen felt her age as she looked beseechingly at the younger woman.

‘Has the Constable been notified?’ Mary asked suddenly.

Tante shook her head. ‘Only three people have ever known after my father’s death. You, myself and Sam. My father always impressed it upon me to keep such wealth a total secret. Even
my brothers were never told. I only knew because I was his favourite. He never cared for my brothers.’

‘Surely your mother knew though?’

Again Tante shook her head. ‘My parents’ marriage was not the happiest because my father brought my mother here and she hated it. I think in the end they simply rubbed along.
Certainly I was told everything by my father. He treated me like a boy in many ways and I adored him, all of which turned my mother against me because she preferred her sons. My youthful days were
not very happy ones—but, that’s all by the by. I never told Charles or Duret about the diamonds. It was so dinned into me by my father I suppose I became ultra-secretive over them. I
only told Sam because he had been with the family for such a long time and is trustworthy. Also, I felt another person should know in case anything happened to me. That’s why I told you when
you came into the family. It might not be prudent to let the Constable know. That makes the theft official. It would be all over the island in five minutes and I don’t like the family washing
out on the line, inspected by all.’

Mary bit her lip. ‘Does Sam have any bright ideas?’

‘No, he was as shocked and appalled as I was when I told him. Now you know why I’ve not been in the right frame of mind to come and see you and the baby. Forgive me, Mary, but this
has been a hard blow to take. I’m too old for shocks like this and Sam is no young man any more either. I have been waiting for you to get over your confinement and come here. I
couldn’t say anything up at the house in case Emily or Gwen overheard. My instinct tells me to keep this quiet and private in the family. Oh, Mary! What shall we do?’

‘We’re not poor,’ Mary said slowly.

‘That’s as maybe. The day may come when we need the money those stones would fetch. One never knows what is around the corner because life is strange. I feel worried sick,’ she
cried and tears sprang to her eyes . . .

Mary squeezed her hand. ‘Courage, Tante! We must think this out.’

Mary drummed her fingers on the chair arm. She listened a few moments but Edwin was well fed and slept soundly.

‘It’s either someone local or an opportunistic thief. It’s not, Sam. I’d trust my children’s lives with him. What about Emily?’

Tante shook her head slowly. ‘She’s been with me for years.’

Mary bit her lip. ‘But we have to consider her though.’

‘Never Emily,’ Tante said firmly. ‘With all due respect to dear Emily, she is not terribly worldly wise. If she saw a diamond lying around, she’d think it nothing but a
glass bead.’

Mary considered and agreed. ‘That only leaves Raoul and Gwen,’ she said grimly. ‘Gwen has been down here to help you.’

‘That’s true,’ Tante said slowly, ‘but she’s never been alone. I’ve always been around. Raoul has never set foot in this cottage. There was never any reason
for him to come here. I’d say he was honest. Have you ever found him fiddling the glasshouse takings?’

Mary shook her head. ‘Then who?’

Tante pulled a face. ‘It must be an outsider, perhaps at some time when I’ve been up at your house.’

‘On a Sunday when you came for lunch?’ Mary said, frowning. ‘That has to be it.’

‘Often with this door unlocked too,’ Tante agreed miserably. ‘Whoever heard of doors being locked on this island and on a Sunday. Oh, Mary! This is too awful for
words.’

A little colour had come back into Louise’s face now she had unburdened herself though there were trembles in both hands.

With a pang Mary understood how she had come to admire Tante’s fortitude. Past acts that had angered her were dismissed. Tante had only acted for the best and no one was perfect.

‘There is something else I’ve wanted to discuss with you for a while but I couldn’t bother you in your pregnancy,’ Tante said slowly.

Mary flinched uneasily. What was coming now?

‘I’m worried about what is happening in England,’ Tante started slowly. ‘I think matters are going to get worse before they get better. This means our island will be
affected too. It was the war, all that fighting, those terrible casualty lists—to make a land fit for heroes they told us. Some heroes! Ex-servicemen begging on the streets, holding little
trays trying to sell matches and shoe laces. Look at the poor devils incarcerated in hospitals for life. What about those who have lost arms and legs; the men who have become insane? War is bad
enough but I think winning it can be worse. The payment is at too high a price. Sometimes I thank God Charles was killed outright and Duret’s injury did not maim him. At least it removed him
from those ghastly trenches. What I’m trying to say is that England’s economy is bad and could well get worse—yet there is money around for some. It was because I was thinking so
much about money that I lifted down the picture to check upon the diamonds. You see, it has been in my mind for a while that we should extend the glasshouses. Food will always be wanted when
factory produce might not.’

Mary’s eyebrows shot up with astonishment. During the past few months she too had been thinking about expansion. Tante awaited her reaction with interest.

‘I agree with you,’ Mary replied. ‘Apart from the glasshouses we should start to buy up little cottages as and when they become available for sale.’

‘Do you have something specific in mind?’

Mary nodded eagerly. ‘People! Look at Victor. How well he has done with his hotel and it would never surprise me if he does not buy another. He is so go ahead and it’s no good
scowling, Tante, because I’ve mentioned his name. We should copy him but in another direction. Those people with money whom you mentioned could well want to spread their wings now the war is
history. We can offer a lot for holidays. Although we are British we are not English. We are unique. We have a different atmosphere here but speak the same language, use the same kind of money,
drive on the left and have policemen with helmets. We have the same pillar boxes even if they are a different colour. We have great beauty around our coast. There is swimming, boating and fishing;
other islands to visit like Herm, Sark and Alderney. People with money will pay to come to a cottage where they can pretend they are at home. Buy their own food and look after themselves casually.
No dressing up as is expected in an hotel. We buy the cottages, furnish them and let them out. Advertise in England.’

‘Well!’ Tante gasped.

‘We would have to use a good lawyer, though.’ Mary added.

Tante nodded thoughtfully. As long as there was correct, registered title, a property was a solid investment that might well increase in value.

‘Get rid of the rest of the diamonds now,’ Mary told her. ‘Use their proceeds for this purpose.’

Tante licked her bottom lip. She was struck with admiration for this idea but now they contemplated disposing of their last asset, she had to be sure in her mind.

‘Sam would have to go over to France,’ Mary continued in full spate, ticking points off on her fingers. ‘Change the diamonds into hard cash, invest the money somewhere safe and
we’d not be looking over our shoulders, worrying about theft.’