The Queen of Diamonds Read online

  Gardena and Tony stood a few feet apart, faces pensive. Tony seemed to be explaining something, but quietly, as if deeply disturbed, almost melancholy.

  Tony rarely showed emotion to anyone. Seeing him this vulnerable in front of Gardena ... it made me uneasy.

  I felt Jonathan watching me. The expression on his face reminded me of the little boy I saw on Market Center, the boy who looked so much like Tony's grandfather. "Jon, may I ask a personal question?"

  Jon smiled, leaning his arm on the table, his expression open and earnest, his manner comfortable and easy. "My love, you may ask anything your heart desires."

  He always could make me smile. "I saw a young boy a few weeks ago, and he reminded me of you."

  I hesitated. Did I want the answer?

  Yes. There was nothing Jonathan could have done which would make me think less of him. "Do you have a son?"

  Laughter burst from him. "Not that I know of!" He seemed astonished at the thought.

  Tony and Gardena stood silent, faces downcast.

  "Well, how about Jack? Was the boy his son? His name was Roland ... that's Jack's middle name, is it not? ... and he looks so much like you. He truly could be your son from his appearance."

  Jon chuckled, but it seemed forced. "Jack once told me that he has never met a woman who distresses him in that way. I very much doubt this boy is his son."

  I sighed. "Well, then, I don't know." I turned my chair to face the veranda, leaning my elbows on my knees. Their conversation was taking more than "a moment". Gardena said something, and Tony's mouth hung open, his eyes wide. Gardena nodded.

  Jon said. "His name was Roland? How old?"

  Gardena said something quiet but earnest. Tony replied in the same way. "Four, maybe."

  "Oh!" Jon said. "My oldest brother's son is four now. It must be him."

  Gardena's eyes went empty, and she spoke. Tony's face when he replied looked wistful, longing, nostalgic.

  "I suppose it must." I was focused on Tony and Gardena outside as I spoke, but then I realized I was neglecting Jon. "I hope you're feeling well these days?"

  Gardena's face tightened: annoyance, as if having to repeat something she had said many a time.

  Jon relaxed, turning towards me. "I'm quite well, thank you."

  Tony was in anguish at whatever Gardena said. From the way Tony's body moved his reply was vicious, and for an instant, I saw his father Roy in his eyes.

  Gardena recoiled, then slapped Tony, hard, and pointed at him. You are a coward.

  Jon stood. "This is just one reason why my father doesn't want her to visit. Stay here." He went outside, closing the veranda doors behind him.

  Why was Tony so upset? What could he possibly have said to make Gardena slap him?

  Jon faced away from me, but spoke to both of them angrily. Tony and Gardena stared in my direction, appalled.

  Could they possibly have forgotten I was here?

  Tony and Gardena exchanged words. Jon stared at Gardena, shocked. Whatever she said, Tony's face turned red and his hands balled into fists. His stance frightened me.

  Jon grabbed Gardena's arm, opened the veranda door, and dragged her inside.

  Tears filled Gardena's eyes. "Jacqui, I am so very sorry." Her voice held compassion ... and remorse.

  Why? What had she done? "But —"

  "We should go," Jon said. "Thank you for inviting us." They went round the corner and were gone.

  Tony stood outside, alone, the glare of the electric light behind him putting his face in darkness. I went to the door and opened it. "Tony? Are you well?"

  Tony shook his head, face downcast, his shoulders slumped.

  "What happened? Why did she strike you?"

  He didn't move. "Gardena Diamond is a high-strung woman who's had too much to drink."

  I took his hand and brought him inside. His cheek was red. "Gardena hardly touched her drink. Why did you argue?"

  Tony didn't answer for quite a while. Then he sighed. "It's a long story, Jacqui. Next time, please consult me before you have people over."

  I stood there, not knowing what to think or feel. It seemed as if I chose the exact wrong group of people to invite.

  Tony turned to leave.

  "Wait," I said. "I was wrong to invite who I did, but I was innocent of your Family's machinations. You even said as much. You, however, spent the entire evening trying to spite Gardena, with no regard for either my feelings or the people I invited. I don't know what happened between you two, but this is wrong."

  Tony didn't meet my eye. "I'm sorry." He walked away.

  I turned off the veranda lights and went through the preparation room. In the storeroom, boxes stood beside the stair to my left. The door out to the stables stood open; the air was cool and smelled of rain.

  A third of the way up the stair, a small figure sat slumped upon the steps.

  Moving to the other side of the stairwell, I tiptoed up, curious as to who it might be. A stair creaked. The figure wheeled to face me in the darkness, quilt flying aside to reveal a pale face and eyes, dark hair. "Who's there?"

  I crouched before him. "I mean you no harm."

  "You're her. Our lady. Mrs. Spadros."

  I sat beside him. "You're Amelia's boy."

  His head drooped. "Yes, mum."

  "What's your name?"

  "Pip, mum."

  "How old are you?"

  "Ten."

  Born about when Air died. "Aren't you cold out here?"

  He shook his head. "It's not bad."

  Crickets chirped outside.

  "Why are you here, and not in your bed?"

  Pip turned away to lean on the support. "They always argue. If I'm not around, they don't so much."

  Peter and Amelia, arguing? "Why do they argue so much?"

  Misery laced his voice in the darkness. "Because of me. They say it when they think I can't hear. If I wasn't here, they could get away from here. But they can't."

  I remembered what Pip's father Peter said, after Roy Spadros tortured Amelia ...

  "If we could leave, we would, but Mr. Roy would follow us, no matter where we went. We thought it would be better here, that Mr. Anthony could protect us. But —"

  Pip spoke as if repeating something he heard once, then took to heart. "It would be better if I never was born."

  Even in my worst days — after Air died, after I was brought here, the many terrifying days and nights — I never wanted to die. It never even crossed my mind. What happened to this boy? "I don't think it would be better if you never were born."

  He sniffled. "Really?"

  I sat next to him. "Really. You seem a good boy, always helping. I saw you playing with Rocket out in the meadow the other day." I had to ask. "Does anyone hit you?"

  Pip sat hunched over, his arms on his knees. "Sometimes."

  "It's not right for a man to hit a little boy."

  "My Daddy never hit me, mum, never!" He sounded shocked. "Daddy's good to me." He paused. "But ... Mommy doesn't like me." His little body crumpled, and he began sobbing. "Mommy hates meeeee."

  I pulled him to me and held him as he cried. I almost asked why his Ma should hate him, but he probably didn't know any more than I did.

  In the Pot, for an adult to hurt a child in any way warranted death. How was this going on in my own home?

  After a time, he wiped his face with his sleeve, pulling away to sit hunched over again.

  "Pip, when people are very sad, sometimes they don't act right. Sometimes they say and do things to hurt people, even people like you who didn't do anything wrong. It's not right for them to do these things, but it's not because you're bad. It's because ... because they're so sad."

  Pip nodded, and something in the set of his shoulders told me he never considered such things before.

  "Would you like to sleep in the men's quarters?"

  "Go away from my Daddy?" He paused. "I don't know."

  "Well, I'll ask if that might be possible. But you don't hav
e to go if you decide you don't want to." I patted his shoulder. "The beds there are better than the stair."

  A smile came to his voice. "Thank you, mum."

  "I'm going to go walk now. But I want to walk by myself. Will you promise not to tell?"

  "I will."

  "Thank you, Pip. Sleep well."

  I tiptoed down the stair, peering out of the door. No one stood there, so I slipped out, closing the door behind me.

  I walked among the horses, listening to their soft sounds as crickets chirped around us. The stars were bright, and I leaned on a post. A horse came over to sniff my hair, then retreated.

  Pip was just a boy. What could have possibly gone on between them to make Amelia beat him?

  Amelia never told me how she and Peter got here or why they stayed, even after Roy tortured her last month. She probably felt afraid to share her troubles with me.

  Amelia took great pride in her position as my lady's maid. But something in the way she spoke of it suggested she might feel as little choice in the matter as I once thought I had.

  Some small animal rustled in the straw beside me as I passed.

  That afternoon in Jack Diamond's factory basement showed me I did have a choice. David and I could have died that day, or still be held by Frank Pagliacci and Jack Diamond, undergoing some horrific torture. I chose to fight back.

  But how could I fight Roy Spadros? It seemed impossible.

  I leaned against a post, watching the trees sway in the distance. Could Joe really get us out of Bridges?

  I didn't want to even consider it until Joe was well. To have my hopes dashed again ... I didn't know if I could take it.

  To know he might still love me was enough for now.

  I closed my eyes, remembering Joe's strong fingers in mine. I'd almost forgotten who I was, but Joe's words and Kitty's innocent questions reminded me.

  Darkness ... candlelight ... ancient voices chanting ... Ma's arms round me as I lay curled upon her lap. I felt warm, safe.

  "We are the Dealers' daughters, ever grateful for their sacrifice, bound to keep faith until the land is restored. May we prove worthy of our mothers' courage, showing the Dealer's love to all who enter."

  The memory seemed a thousand years ago.

  One of Tony's men patrolled the street, far off to the right. His cigarette's light gave his face an orange glow. The wind blew chill.

  Shivering, I returned to the stair. Pip was gone, so I crept up the stair, through the sheet-covered shapes in the storeroom, and into the hall. Blitz Spadros, our night footman, held a candle as he walked the hallway, and he smiled and nodded when he saw me.

  Tony lay in my bed, asleep. His roses stood in a vase on my dresser, their thick perfume filling the air. After a few minutes' struggle to get out of my finery and jewels, I lay beside him, placing my hand so our fingers barely touched.

  My husband was an ordinary-looking man, but I loved to watch him sleep. His guard vanished; his face took on a peace which no one else ever saw.

  I kept revisiting the scene on the veranda ... last month in his study. The way Tony's voice changed when he spoke of Gardena, the way he looked at her, the way he lay his heart open to her ....

  Tony loved Gardena.

  Tony was in love with Gardena.

  In the Pot we had no such thing as marriage. Until recently, my feelings for Tony had been what I might offer a brother, or a friend, such as Jonathan. I grew up in a brothel; a person might have many relationships in the Pot, even at the same time, without causing offense. But I could see how this might upset a quadrant-man such as Tony, who had been raised in a different way.

  But for them to argue so as to come to blows made no sense. And then for him to offer such a bold lie, casting the entire blame on her? Something deep ran between them, something old and powerful which turned love to hate, at least on her part.

  You are a coward.

  Perhaps this deep secret was the reason Jon and Gardena's father Julius Diamond hated Tony so.

  Tony lied to me, cast blame on others, provoked Gardena to violence. None of this was like him. Something happened. No, something horrible was happening to him, something he felt too terrible to tell me. Had the fear of his father's wrath for my inviting Jonathan and Gardena pushed him too far?

  Tony lay facing me, his cheek pink, his side bruised brown and yellow from the beating he took during the ambush six weeks ago, his black hair tousled. I felt deep compassion for him. I couldn't think of a way to let him know he had my support no matter what calamity had befallen him.

  I put my hand over Tony's. He mumbled, "no ... no," his face in deep distress.

  Tears wet my pillow. I knew all about nightmares.

  The News

  The next morning, Amelia came in as usual, and over my morning tea, I watched her.

  Why would she beat her son? Why would he think she hated him? Why was Peter not intervening?

  The Golden Bridges had a disturbing article: Hart merchants were discussing a protest against the Hart Family for non-payment of bills. A spokesman for the Harts said the purchases were made without their knowledge or consent.

  Could Charles Hart be in financial difficulty? At the Grand Ball, he seemed relaxed, even jovial. Why wouldn't he pay what he owed? What would it mean if his quadrant rose against him?

  And Tony had spoken for them.

  Tony seemed tired at breakfast, and he spoke little. I didn't ask about the events of the night before; he didn't mention them. He left after breakfast, telling me to run the morning meeting without him. But it was simple matter, just giving the staff their orders for the day. I sat and smoked for a while after he left. As I rose from the table, I decided to visit Dame Anastasia for tea, and hear her interesting information. Before the business with David Bryce, I called on her almost every week.

  On the way down the stairs, I heard our chef shouting, "How can I work in this disorder?"

  "If you would clean after yourself, Monsieur," a woman said, "the disorder wouldn't exist."

  "Damnable woman!" Monsieur roared. I heard him stomp up the stairs to the courtyard.

  I chuckled, recognizing the woman's voice. When I went past the kitchens, Anne — a sturdy brown-haired spinster in her middle thirties — winked when she saw me. Whatever disorder Monsieur might have detected in the kitchens, I couldn't see it.

  After the meeting, I went to Pearson. "I have a situation I must discuss."

  He followed me up to my study, closing the doors behind us. "How may I help, mum?"

  I took a deep breath. "Pip Dewey."

  Pearson's expression didn't change. "What about the boy?"

  "I believe you know very well what. The child's situation is unacceptable. I don't know what has gone on, but —"

  "You're correct, mum. You don't know what has gone on."

  I stared at Pearson in surprise. He spoke gently, but his words bordered on insubordination. I turned away. "Who is it you fear, I wonder." The list was very short. "The boy may stay in the men's quarters, if he agrees, and a place can be found. If someone has concerns about the matter they may speak with me." I faced him. "Is that suitable?"

  Pearson stood for a moment, his face unchanging. "That is quite suitable, mum."

  "That is all." He turned to go. "No, wait. Someone needs to speak with his father."

  "I'll do that, mum."

  "Thank you, Pearson."

  The door shut behind him.

  At least I had done something useful today.

  Pearson didn't seem to think Pip's abuse was worth notice. The people here ... none of this made any sense to me.

  Shaking my head, I sat at my desk, surveying my calling list. I had sadly neglected my social duties during the past two months.

  Most of the women I visited were cold, and I heard many a one call me foul names in secret — or even to my face — "Pot rag whore" being the kindest.

  It amused me. Pot rag was a foul title, to be sure, but whore was the second highest calling
someone in the Pot might have. Where they thought to give insult, I saw it as praise. But though they meant insult, I had to pretend I wanted to call on them. We held the quadrant. But if I offended the wrong women, it could cause their men to look elsewhere for leadership.

  I collected my notes, the list I made a few weeks earlier, and the pile of cards left while I was ill, and began to sort it all. I didn't care about these women; they didn't care about me. Why did they play this game? Joe was right: everything these people did trapped themselves, confined themselves so that they could hardly move without causing offense. At times, I felt I could hardly breathe.

  But Roy said I must do this. Molly and Tony agreed. I opened my calendar and set to work.

  ***

  The afternoon was overcast yet warm, with a gentle breeze, so I walked the mile to Anastasia's home, my day footman Honor three paces behind.

  This was new. I normally walked without escort so close to our home. But with the attack on Tony on New Year's Day and the events since, Tony decided I was to go nowhere unescorted.

  Who was a fit escort confused me. No man seemed to be sufficient except family members or servants. Tony was driven almost to terror at my visit to the Inventor's Laboratory below our home, even though the Inventor himself accompanied me, an elderly man of the highest honor. Yet a young, attractive male servant walked behind me without arousing any comment. None of it made sense. And while Skip Honor was a pleasant enough fellow, his presence felt like another bar in my cage.

  Dame Anastasia didn't mind Honor's presence; she asked her butler to show him downstairs for tea with the other servants. Then she brought me to her parlor and we sat. Anastasia collected clocks of all kinds, and they ticked merrily as we talked.

  "Thank you so much for coming last night," I said. "I hope you enjoyed yourself."

  She smiled. "Dinner was delicious and the entertainment lovely ... although I found your friends rather impertinent."

  This irritated me when I remembered Gardena's tears. But perhaps Anastasia didn't understand the situation. "I'm sorry. I'll have to have you over again under a more pleasant environment."