Newt's Emerald

Chapter Two The Showing of the Emerald

The Admiral laughed, and pulled a package from inside his waistcoat.

“Thought I’d slipped my moorings, didn’t you?” he chuckled, pushing the bag over to Truthful. “Open it, my dear. But don’t put it on. You aren’t ready to wield it yet. Particularly not in a storm.”

Truthful leant forward eagerly, then deliberately slowed herself. Taking a little half-breath, half-gasp, she carefully untied the gold drawstring of the small velvet bag. That successfully done, she reached inside, and pulled out … the Emerald.

A huge, heart-shaped gem of the clearest green, it hung suspended from a silver necklace of filigreed leaves. The candle-light flickered on the silver, and small green fires danced from the many facets of the stone, hinting at the sorcerous powers that lurked within.

“It’s beautiful,” said Truthful. “Too beautiful for me. I can’t possibly wear it! Not even when I’m twenty-five.”

“You will,” said the Admiral fondly. “You have your mother’s looks, you know. A good thing too, I’d have disliked it excessively if you’d had mine.”

“Oh, father,” cried Truthful. “Don’t be silly! It must be worth too much to wear anyway.”

“At least thirty thousand pounds, I would say,” said Stephen. He held out his hand, adding, “Is it safe for me to hold?”

“Aye,” said the Admiral. “It don’t answer unless worn at the neck, and only to the family. The womenfolk. It has never answered to a man, so far as is known.”

Truthful reluctantly handed over the gem, the silver leaves trickling through her fingers as the stone dropped into Stephen’s palm. Truthful watched its slow fall, dazed at the beauty and size of the gem. Even from the brief moment in her hand she felt an affinity for it, and had to suppress an urge to ask for it back. Privately she was very sure it was far too beautiful for her to own. Let alone wear it or attempt to use its powers. Whatever those powers might be. The Admiral had never really talked to her about what the Emerald’s powers were exactly.

Stephen looked at the Emerald for several minutes, holding it close to his right eye, even dragging a candle to shine behind the gem.

“There is an ancient power in the stone,” he said. As so often, he seemed to know what Truthful was thinking and asked her question for her. “What precisely is its nature and how does it manifest?”

“Precisely never you mind,” retorted the Admiral. “Ain’t none of your business.”

Stephen smiled and passed the stone to Robert.

Robert looked at it, felt the weight, and said: “Sell it at once, and put the money into Mr Watt’s new steam donkeys.”

“Don’t be silly!” exclaimed Edmund, taking up the gem. “It’s an heirloom of the family, and besides must be a restricted item under the terms of the Sorcerous Trading Act. Besides, it will look very handsome indeed on Truthful.”

He put the gem down in the centre of the table, and pushed it a few inches towards Truthful.

“There, back to its rightful place …” he began, just as lightning struck the iron-framed windows.

Light flooded the entire room. Simultaneously, someone outside cried in pain, glass shattered, and thunder clapped. The wind and rain rushed in, quenching the candles and plunging the room into total darkness.

Truthful leapt to her feet, knocking her chair backwards. The men shouted, and crashing and splintering noises attested to their efforts to get up, knocking chairs over and sending the table sliding on its castors as they struggled to get free of the debris from the broken windows.

Lightning flashed again, further away, the instant of light showing wild figures leaping around the table, and the shapes of men grappling together outside. Then all was dark again, and thunder resounded through the room, quickly followed by the bull-roar of the Admiral’s sea-going voice of command, infused with the full strength of his native sorcery.

“Be still!”

Quiet came after his shout, the elements also bound by his command. The lightning and thunder retreated, the storm rolling out across the cliffs towards the sea. A few seconds later, a dull roar announced its departing cry. At the same time, the double doors opened, revealing Agatha holding a storm lantern, its wick turned high. Behind her stood one of the kitchen maids, with a fire bucket full of sand.

The flickering light of the lantern lit a scene of destruction. One of the unfixed shutters had blown clear through the windows, showering both glass and bits of frame throughout the room. Outside, Hetherington and three footmen slowly let each other go and stood back, scratching their heads.

“There was someone ran past us,” said Hetherington, disbelieving. “Come in with the storm, like.”

“Aye, like a cloud or smoke,” said a footman. “I thought I had ’im, but it was Jukes here.”

“I thought you was him,” said Jukes.

“Sorcery,” said Stephen. “Perhaps an adjunct of the storm . . .”

He and his brothers stood close together by the shifted table. There were glasses and dishes distributed widely among overturned chairs, several of which were smashed beyond repair. Everyone was drenched with rain, and Edmund had a small cut on his forehead, which was slowly bleeding into his right eyebrow.

Truthful looked at the wreckage, and held her hands to her face as the shock of the sudden transition from happy party to disaster took hold. In a second, Agatha was at her side, pausing only to thrust the lantern into the maid’s hands.

“You sit down, my lady,” she said, kneeling to right a chair, her voluminous skirts billowing up as she crouched down.

“Thank you,” said Truthful. She didn’t particularly feel the need to sit, but did so obediently until Agatha started to fuss about with her smelling salts.

“I don’t need smelling salts, Agatha!” protested Truthful. “I never do faint, you know that. I was momentarily shocked, but all seems to be well.”

“Hmmph,” said the Admiral, who had stepped through the broken window to investigate the damage to both building and servants. “I don’t know about this smoky character you reckon to have seen, Hetherington, but the storm has done its work. A nine-pound ball could do as much, yet I’ve seen a storm do a great deal more. Let’s straighten the table, gentlemen. We’ll adjourn to the card room. I’ll have the builders in tomorrow.”

He bent to one corner of the table, and the three brothers distributed themselves accordingly, gingerly picking their way through the debris.

“One — two — three — heave!” cried the Admiral, and the table was slid back in place. He gazed down on its polished surface happily, observed there wasn’t a single irreparable scratch, and then his smile faded like a powder dissolving in a glass. A red flush spread up his neck and across his face, and he swayed on his feet as he tried to speak.

“The Emerald! Where is the—”

This was all he got out before he pitched headfirst on to the table, his great bulk making it resound like an enormous drum.

The Admiral lay senseless for two whole days, while every inch of the dining room was searched for the Emerald, to no avail. Even the floorboards were taken up, but they revealed only several rat right of ways, a tinware spoon, and a clipped silver penny of Elizabeth’s reign.

On the morning of the third day, the Admiral awoke, and called for a hot rum punch, well-spiced with cinnamon. Truthful brought it up immediately, and was pleased to see his normal colour returning as he drank it.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said, handing the glass back to her. “A proper cast-up mackerel I must look! I hear those rapscallions have come to visit. Has one of them handed back the Emerald?”

“Rapscallions?” cried Truthful. “Oh, no, father! You can’t mean the Newington-Lacys!”

“You mean to say the Emerald ain’t back?” expostulated the Admiral, raising himself angrily up on one elbow. “Yes, I do mean the Newington-Lacys. No-one else could have taken it! I don’t hold that a smoke-devil or cloud-catcher could have done so, no matter what Hetherington thinks he saw!”

He looked fiercely at Truthful, but his eyes were focused somewhere beyond her shocked face.

“You don’t understand, Truthful,” continued the Admiral fretfully. “The Emerald isn’t just a great jewel, nor merely some sorcerous piece for working the wind and sea. It’s also the luck of the Newingtons! The last time it went missing, a hundred and twenty years ago, the whole family damn near came to an end. Two brothers killed at Marston Moor, another at Naseby … a sister dead of the smallpox … all the plate confiscated—”

“But father, you can’t say the Rebellion was caused by the loss of the Emerald,” interrupted Truthful. “Besides, I am quite certain that it has not been taken by the Newington-Lacys.”

“West wing of the house burned down,” continued the Admiral, his eyes rolling back and forth like an unsteady deck. “Before that, when the Emerald was misplaced for a week, Sir Tancred Newington broke both legs. My brother pledged it at play once, died of a fever … Emerald. Bad blood in the Lacy family …”

“Father!” exclaimed Truthful, as the tirade continued unabated, becoming more and more incoherent as the Admiral began to thrash about in the bed, despite her efforts to calm him. Finally, she managed to get him to drink a draught of laudanum. As he grew quieter the gaze of reason came back in his eyes.

“Just tell the boys to put it back,” he whispered, holding out his bear-like palm. “Put it in my hand.”

Truthful put her small gloved hand in his, and said, “Yes, Papa.”

A second later, the Admiral lapsed back into sleep. Truthful let her hand rest in his for a moment, then withdrew it gently, and went downstairs, her head bowed in thought.

The Newington-Lacys were waiting for Truthful in the yellow drawing-room, each with a large glass of Hetherington’s punch in hand, a half-empty silver bowl on the table indicating that they had been waiting for some time. Truthful darted a glance at the faithful retainer who stood by the bowl, hoping to judge both the strength of the punch and how much Hetherington had himself “tasted” before serving it to the visitors. There was certainly rather a strong aroma of rum in the air, suggesting that the “three parts strong” of the punch recipe might have been overdone. Hetherington himself, as a former navy man, could put away vast quantities of rum without immediately obvious effect, but the young gentlemen certainly weren’t used to such stuff.

“I trust you haven’t been waiting long,” she said anxiously.

“Not above an hour,” said Edmund. He stood up carefully and set his glass down on the table. He didn’t seem to be drunk, Truthful noted, but she was a little alarmed at how slowly he was moving . . .

“Hetherington made us a punch,” said Stephen, indicating the bowl.

“A very good punch,” said Robert, beaming.

“Oh dear,” said Truthful. “I think Hetherington, you had best bring coffee now. Lots of coffee. And take this punch away!”

“Aye, aye, milady,” said Hetherington. But he didn’t move. He just stood there blinking, his eyes glassy.

“Oh, he must have drunk at least two bottles,” said Truthful with a sigh. She went to the corner and pulled on the bell-rope. “You should know you must never let Hetherington make a punch without my father present. He will drink the rum straight.”

“Very good punch,” said Robert.

“I am sure it is an excellent punch,” said Truthful. “But I do wish you had all drunk rather less of it!”

“Not drunk,” said Edmund carefully. “A trifle bosky, perhaps.”

“We do beg your pardon,” said Stephen. “Suspect the punch a trifle stronger than expected.”

“Very good punch,” said Robert.

A footman appeared at the door, his face professionally blank, though he couldn’t help his eyes shift towards Hetherington.

“Jukes, I’m afraid Hetherington has sampled too much of his . . . mixture,” said Truthful. “If you could assist him, and ask Ellen to bring up a large . . . no, several large pots of coffee.”

“Yes, milady,” said Jukes stolidly. He went to Hetherington’s side and took his elbow. “This way, Mister Hetherington, that’s it. One foot after the other.”

“How . . . how is the Admiral?” asked Edmund. He was clearly making a tremendous effort to talk.

“Have you found the Emerald?” asked Stephen.

“Very good punch,” said Robert.

“Father is extremely unwell,” said Truthful, sitting down with a spiritless thump. “And there is no sign of the Emerald.”

“Decidedly odd,” said Edmund. He blinked several times and added, “Odd.”

“It’s worse than odd,” said Truthful. “Father’s not quite right in his mind. He thinks losing the Emerald means the end of the Newingtons . . . and he thinks one of you took it.”

“What!”

Edmund and Stephen spoke together. Robert smiled at them, apparently not having heard a word.

“Us!” exclaimed Edmund, scandalised. “Us! Steal the Emerald?”

“Yes,” said Truthful sadly. “Of course it’s silly, but the shock . . .”

“We shall be infamous if this comes out,” muttered Edmund. He made as if to slam his fist on the table, but stopped when it was clear his balance wasn’t up to it. “Our name blighted!”

“Not as bad as that,” said Stephen. “I mean . . . what do I mean? Lord, we need that coffee, Newt! Where was I?”

“I don’t know,” said Truthful crossly. “I think it is very unhelpful of you all to be so drunk when I need sound advice.”

“Not drunk,” said Edmund. “Told you. Just a little . . . ah . . .”

“Astray,” suggested Stephen. “Ah, I remember! Who will find out? The Admiral won’t be receiving, not if he’s touched in the rafters, begging your pardon Truthful. I meant unwell. When he gets better, he won’t talk such nonsense.”

“Lady Troutbridge is visiting this afternoon,” said Truthful gloomily. “She said she wants to lend father her witch-cook, for she has one who is very good with strengthening broths. But you know what a gossip she is.”

“Send her away,” said Stephen. “Say the Admiral can’t receive. Family only.”

“She is family, at least she’s some sort of connexion,” replied Truthful. “Not quite a distant enough one.”

“Then it will be all over the county in a week, and the metropolis the week after,” said Edmund. “Think of what it will do to Mama!”

Everyone fell silent at that, for Lady Newington-Lacy was a dear parent to her sons, and in many ways a surrogate mother for Truthful.

“Very good punch,” said Robert.

“Oh, do be quiet, Robert!” begged Truthful.

“There’s only one thing to do,” said Edmund, drawing himself up to his full height, only spoiling the effect a little by staggering against the wall. “Emerald’s been stolen by a damned storm-sprite or something, beg pardon, Truthful, naughty, I mean naughty storm-sprite. Never get it back from one of them. So I must go forth and find an acceptable substitute. Family honour and all that.”

“Oh, I am sure no-one will really think you stole it …” Truthful began, but an image of Lady Troutbridge flashed across her mind, and she realised others would think the worst. Lady Troutbridge would be delighted to believe the scandal, and would repeat it.

“No other way, Newt,” said Edmund, making a grandiloquent and rash gesture that nearly undid his precarious regained balance. “No other way. I shall leave tomorrow! Yes, tomorrow. Or the day after. And I will not return unless it is with a gem of equal beauty and monetary worth.”

“Flummery,” said Stephen. “I will divine the location of your Emerald! Have to consult old Flammarion in Paris, I expect. Expert on cloud-catchers and that ilk. Or the Greek fellow in Constantinople. Magister Makanios. Start tomorrow. Or the day after.”

“You want a new Emerald?” asked Robert dreamily. “Mine one! Why, there’s a flooded shaft in Golconda just needs pumping out, and a steam donkey is just the way to do it. I’ll go there, fix it up, fetch you a new Emerald!”

“Where is Golconda?” asked Truthful uneasily.

“India,” said Robert. “Wonder if they have punch there?”

“That’s settled then,” said Edmund. He sat back down, looked alarmed as the chair proved lower than expected, and grabbed at the air. Coughing to cover his embarrassment he added, “I’ll go to China. Bound to be emeralds lying about the place there. You’ll get an emerald one way or another, Newt!”

“Oh no!” exclaimed Truthful. “You can’t all go away! Think of your mother!”

“Glad to see us away from the scandal,” said Edmund breezily.

“Only be away a year,” added Stephen. “Nothing to it.”

“Back in an ant’s whisker,” said Robert. “And I shan’t have to return to Harrow.”

“If you are going to search for the Emerald or a replacement,” said Truthful, “then so must I.”

“Ridiculous!” snapped Edmund.

“Unnecessary, my dear Newt,” said Stephen.

“Waste of good punch . . . I mean time,” announced Robert.

All three glared at her, their rum-affected countenances rather more florid than would normally be the case. Truthful bowed her head under their very brotherly approbation. Truly, she felt like their pet name for her: a newt, under the gaze of several large, sanctimonious and more senior amphibians.

“It just seems to me,” she said in a small voice, “I could go looking for the Emerald in London. Someone could have sent that cloud-catcher to steal it, you know, and then they’d have to try and sell it somewhere. I thought I could go early to Great-aunt Ermintrude, I was going next month anyway, for my coming-out …”

“Oh, London,” said Edmund, in a relieved tone. “That’s different.”

“No harm in Newt going to London,” added Stephen. “Most sensible. Might even discover something.”

“Lot of steam donkeys in London,” muttered Robert. “Experimental Railway. The Hordern Press. That exacavatin’ circulator thing . . .”

“All the places you mentioned are very far away,” said Truthful doubtfully. “Are you sure you should be going?”

All three young men laughed, caught up in the dream of adventure.

“Must do something,” declared Edmund.

“Hear him, hear him,” joined in the brothers.

“Should have a toast,” said Robert, struggling to his feet.

Truthful interposed herself between him and the punch bowl.

“A toast with coffee!” she said. “It will be here directly!”

“Can’t toast with coffee,” grumbled Robert, but he shambled back and fell into his chair.

Truthful looked anxiously at the door and wondered why the coffee was taking so long. She had to distract her cousins somehow. If only she’d thought to ask Jukes to take the punch bowl away!

“I shall miss you very much you know,” said Truthful. “You are so much more to me than mere cousins. I shall always think of you as brothers!”

“Of course,” said Stephen, as if Truthful had just stated the most commonplace fact.

“Might as well be our sister,” exclaimed Edmund. “Still see you in my . . . what’s it called, memory-thing . . . like a window . . .”

“Mind’s eye?” suggested Truthful.

“That’s the article! See you in my mind’s eye in a pair of Stephen’s old breeches, your pig-tail done up navy-fashion by Hetherington, with your front tooth missing, both front teeth, and the freckles, oh lore, remember the freckles—”

“Don’t look like that now though,” interrupted Stephen. Even in his current rum-addled state he perceived that some of this fraternal honesty was damaging Truthful’s pride. “But having thought of you as a sister since we were in short pants … might as well be a sister. I mean our sister.”

“Going to marry a Marquis at least,” said Stephen.

“Who?” asked Truthful.

“You,” said Stephen. “Top of the tree for Newt.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” replied Truthful, laughing. “I have no desire to marry a Marquis. Or anyone! Particularly not now.”

“Thought you were looking forward to being presented and all that,” said Edmund. “Surprised. Bored by it all myself. Almacks very dull. Balls very dull. Frightful crushes. Some of those girls were positively terrifying. And their mothers! Take Lady Godalming for example—”

“I was looking forward to coming out,” said Truthful, interrupting a flow of what looked to be a compromising anecdote. “But it is of no consequence now. Finding the Emerald is all that matters.”

“Or a reasonable substitute,” said Edmund. He fumbled at the fob pocket of his waistcoat and produced his watch. “Good God, it’s late! We must be off at once.”

“No, no,” exclaimed Truthful. “You must have some coffee first. And surely none of you will go without saying farewell to your mother!”

“Farewell?” asked Edmund. “Going to see her now! Gave us strict instructions to be back by two!”

“Won’t leave on our . . . our quest till tomorrow,” said Stephen. “Or the day after.”

“We’ll have to tell Father,” said Edmund thoughtfully. “He won’t be happy, but …”

“There’s simply nothing else to be done,” growled Stephen, in a fair imitation of his father’s voice, uttering one of that worthy’s frequent maxims.

They all laughed at this, Truthful’s silvery peals sounding over the top of the deeper laughter of the young men. She was to remember that moment of laughter all her life, and the way it echoed out into the clear Spring morning, for it heralded the beginning of her own adventures.