The Sutcliffe Diamonds

Long ago…

Long ago, two little girls went with their mother to visit their grandparents in France. Their names were Laura and Emma, and their father was English, but their mother was a French countess and they had never seen their French relatives before. They were amazed at the beauty of the château and the luxury of life among the French aristocracy. They were very impressed that their grandmother knew Queen Marie Antoinette and took them to visit her at her palace at Versailles.

The queen was enchanted with the two pretty little English girls and had dresses made for them so that they looked like miniature queens. The girls thought the palace was a fairyland and they never wanted to leave, but one day their mother came to them, looking very pale, and whispered that they had to go home immediately. Their father had heard rumors that a revolution was brewing in France and their lives would be in danger. He had sent a coach to take them back to England. The little girls wanted their grandmother to go with them because they had come to love her very much, but the old lady refused to leave her home. The little girls cried as they kissed their grandmother good-bye. They cried as they kissed the pretty queen.

Don’t cry, my little ones, the queen said. See, I have a present for you. Here is the most beautiful doll in the world. Take very good care of her, for there is none like her. I may come to visit you one day, and then I want to inspect her to see that you have looked after her well.

When they had arrived safely back at their house in London, they heard that Queen Marie Antoinette had been caught trying to flee the country. Of their own grandmother they heard nothing more, but the terrible tales of revolution and the killing of the aristocrats made them fear the worst for her.

The beautiful doll sat on the shelf in the nursery and was much admired. Then one day Laura, who was older and the more curious and mischievous of the two, lifted down the doll and set her in her carriage. Emma, the obedient sister, was horrified. You’ll get her dirty, Sissy, she said. Mama wouldn’t want us to play with the queen’s doll.

She tried to put the doll back on the shelf, but Laura snatched her away and danced around the room with her.

Please put her back! Emma pleaded, and tried to capture the doll from her sister. There was a scuffle and suddenly the doll’s head came away in Emma’s hands. The two girls looked in horror at what they had done.

Maybe Papa can fix it, Laura said in a trembling voice.

They examined the doll’s body to see if the head could be put back on again. It had a hollow, porcelain body, but it was stuffed with paper. Laura pulled the paper out and something sparkling fell to the floor. A diamond necklace!

When the girls showed it to their mother, she nodded as if she understood. The queen wanted her necklace kept safe, in case anything happened to her, she said. We’ll not tell Papa about this. It will be our little secret, and we’ll keep it safe until the queen is back on her throne.

But the queen of France was never to get her throne back. Soon afterward came the news that she and King Louis had been executed and France was now ruled by the people.

What will happen to the necklace now, Mama? Laura asked, while Emma cried for the poor queen.

The countess thought for a moment. I suppose that it now should to go to the new government of France, she said, but I’ll give nothing to that rabble after what they did to my family and my friends. The necklace is now yours, my children. I’m sure the queen would have wanted you to have it. You may one day be in need of it.

Will revolution come here, too, Mama? Emma asked.

No, my darlings. You are quite safe here, their mother said, putting an arm around each of them, but you never know when it will be useful to have something of value that is entirely your own. When you grow up you will find that, as women, you have no power or rights. Your husband owns everything and makes all the decisions.

But that is not right, Mama, Laura said. No man is going to tell me what to do.

Their mother smiled. That is the way of things, she said. I have been lucky.… My marriage to your father has been a very happy one, but that is not always the case. Not all men are sweet and kind like your father. I want to make sure that you live happy lives. You must treasure this necklace. It is your legacy and your freedom. It is your power.

The children didn’t understand then what their mother meant. The necklace was hidden in the doll on the nursery shelf, waiting for the day when it would be needed.

Chapter One

ENGIAND. THE PRESENT

Boring! Laura Sutcliffe sighed, hot and sweaty in the crowded train carriage. It seemed to have taken hours to cover the journey from London to the Cotswold Hills. Laura’s grandmother had shown her the map the night before and it had looked like only about eighty miles. Eighty miles was nothing on the freeway back home, but this train stopped at every little station with names like Ogbourne St. Martin and Withering in the Marsh. Laura’s grandmother thought they were delightfully quaint. Privately, Laura thought so too, but she wasn’t about to admit it. She had made it very clear from the moment they took off from San Francisco Airport that she was coming only because she was forced to and was not, under any circumstances, going to enjoy anything about her trip to England.

What is boring? Grandmama asked.

Everything, Laura said. Every single thing since we got here. All we’ve done is look at boring old palaces and churches and castles and museums. I swear I’ll scream if I have to look at another suit of armor. Isn’t there anything fun to do in England? Aren’t there any dance clubs? Is there anybody here under seventy-five?

I’m sure there are plenty of dance clubs and every other sort of recreation you can do back home, Helen Sutcliffe said in a clipped English accent. But I didn’t bring you here to let you do what you could do at home. I brought you here so you could experience your heritage.

Laura rolled her eyes to the ceiling of the train. We both know very well why you brought me here, she muttered. The carriage was crowded, and she didn’t want the fat little schoolboy who was sitting next to her, looking ridiculous in the weirdest cap and blazer, to hear her private conversation.

Oh? Helen Sutcliffe asked with the hint of a smile.

It was my parents’ idea, wasn’t it? Laura said in a low voice. To get me away from Brian.

Nothing of the sort, Helen Sutcliffe said. I took your sister to England as a graduation present, and I make a practice of treating my grandchildren fairly.

Whether they want it or not, Laura said. I’d rather have had the money.

And what would you have done with it? Helen Sutcliffe smiled. Spent it on record albums?

CDs, Grandmama. They don’t make record albums anymore. Laura hated it when she felt that her grandmother was acting superior and laughing at her. She turned away and stared out the window. A miniature landscape flashed past: little square fields surrounded by stone walls, yellow stone cottages, tiny flower gardens—everything neat, contained, and orderly. Laura thought back to the hills at home in Northern California: sweeping grasslands that went on forever and gave her the feeling of freedom and openness. This was Grandmama’s sort of countryside, neat and orderly. Laura felt totally out of place here.

Not that she felt totally in place at home right now. In fact, she had recently begun to feel like the invisible woman in her own house. Ever since her mother had had to take a job at the department store, she was hardly ever there. When she did come home, she was exhausted and expected Laura to fix dinner while she complained about rude customers and supervisors on power trips. Laura knew, in theory, that it must be a drag to go back to work after so many years as a happy home-maker. She also knew, in theory, that it must be a drag for her father to have lost his job after twenty years with the same company, but that didn’t make him any easier to live with. He just sat around most of the day, watching game shows on TV. He hardly ever spoke, except to complain that she had left her jacket in the front hall or that she was seeing too much of Brian. When her parents did make any attempt at dinnertime conversation, it was usually about Jennifer: how well she was doing at Berkeley; how she had always kept her room clean and never broken a curfew or gotten a traffic ticket in her entire life, how all her boyfriends had been clean-cut valedictorians and future Nobel prize winners.

In a way, Laura had been glad to escape from the sitcom from hell. Still, a month in England with a grandmother whose idea of a good time was wandering around drafty old castles was not the vacation she would have chosen. She wanted to see Europe. That was the thing to do after graduation. In fact, Brian was probably there right now, in France or Spain, hitchhiking from hostel to hostel or even sleeping out on beaches.

We could head down to Spain, he had said. I know some guys who are going to hang out on the beach down there. It won’t cost a thing—we’ll just buy bread and wine … play some music … sleep out under the stars.… Sounds cool, right?

It did sound very cool to Laura. She imagined lying in Brian’s arms under the bright Spanish stars while somebody strummed a guitar and the waves broke gently in the background. Unfortunately it didn’t sound cool to her parents. They hadn’t liked Brian from day one. Her father had freaked out so much at the ponytail and the earring that he’d never bothered to see Brian’s intellectual qualities. And all her mother could do was compare him to Jennifer’s boring boyfriends, who were either computer nerds with glasses and pens in their shirt pockets or Young Republicans. Brian was different, unique. That was what had attracted her to him in the first place. He had transferred to her school in middle of their senior year, and the first time she saw him he had taken her breath away. Here was this gorgeous guy with a ponytail sitting on the campus steps playing a guitar when everyone else was in class. Laura had been on her way to an appointment with her counselor.

Shouldn’t you be in class right now? she blurted out, instantly feeling like an idiot.

He looked at her with raisin-dark eyes, eyes that somehow smoldered with dark inner lights. It’s government, he said. I don’t believe in government. I’m an anarchist. I believe in freedom for the people.

Oh, right, Laura stammered. Well, gotta go.

She could see he was smiling at her embarrassment. She could feel him watching her all the way across the quad. She couldn’t stop thinking about him all day: he was so different, so free-spirited … and so sexy!

They finally got together when Laura was helping with costumes for the spring play and Brian had the lead. She hadn’t thought she’d ever have a chance with him; he seemed so sophisticated and just out of her league, but he had one really quick change in the second act, and Laura had to help him. The tension of tearing off one outfit and shoving him into a new one in twenty seconds flat had made them laugh, creating a bond between them, so that he went right over to her at the cast party. Anytime you want to tear off my clothes again, just let me know, he said, his dark eyes challenging hers.

I’ll do that, she countered, smiling, her heart beating fast at the way he was looking at her. He didn’t leave her side all evening. She had never met anybody like him: He was a very talented actor, as well as a talented musician and poet, but he hadn’t decided what he wanted to do with his life yet, he told her. He was just going to live one day at a time. If he felt like going to Moscow tomorrow, he’d go. To Laura, whose life was made up of such petty concerns as what she should wear to school and whether or not she would pass English comp., he was like a visit from the gods. He was heading for Europe after school, he told her. He might stay there a month, a year, or a lifetime. He hadn’t made up his mind yet. But he wanted to experience Life with a capital L. He didn’t ever want to be tied down to the dismal routines of job and suburbia.

Come with me, he whispered, nuzzling at Laura’s ear. They had driven out to the beach on Brian’s motorcycle. Behind them the surf was pounding, and the wind tangled their hair together as they sat among the dunes, wrapped in each other’s arms.

To Europe? Laura was scared and excited at the same time.

Why not? We’re great for each other, Laura, he murmured, easing her back onto the sand. And the beaches aren’t cold in Spain. Imagine making love in warm moonlight.…

Laura had never wanted to do anything so much in her life. She was facing the bleak prospect of two years at junior college, while her parents spent the rest of their money paying for Jennifer to be brilliant at Berkeley. So she thought, Why not?

I’d learn a lot more in Europe with Brian than I ever would at a boring junior college, she told her parents. "I’d be experiencing Life. I’d know what I really wanted to do and I’d be able to make valid choices."

Valid choices, her father growled. What sort of future could you look forward to if you don’t start off with a decent college degree?

What good is a college degree? You got one and you don’t even have a job, Laura snapped back. She regretted her words instantly, but she didn’t know how to say so as she watched her father’s face go blank with hurt.

That was when Grandmama Helen came up with her invitation to England. She wanted Laura to see where the family’s roots were, she’d said. Her parents said it was a wonderful opportunity and she should definitely go. She said she’d rather be in Spain with Brian, and her father said over his dead body. Unfortunately she had no money to pay for her air ticket to Europe with Brian, and a month in England was definitely better than a month with two overstressed parents and a brilliant sister, so she agreed to go. Her secret hope was that Brian would come and save her, sweeping her away to a beach in Spain.

The train slowed to a halt at yet another little station. There was a dollhouse-size waiting room on the platform, edged with curly wooden trim and bordered with geraniums. The sign said T

READWICK

.

Grandma jumped up. Ah, here we are, she said.

Laura followed her down onto the platform. Other people were disembarking too, but they were looking around as if not sure which way to go, while Laura’s grandmother strode out to the white picket gate at the far end.

Come along, she said. We’ll take the shortcut across the field.

At the end of the station yard, a sign pointing through the trees said F

OOTPATH TO

T

READWICK

H

ALL

.

Laura sighed. Not another old house! she said. What could there possibly be at Treadwick Hall that I haven’t already seen at Buckingham Palace and Greenwich Palace and every other crummy palace?

Grandma Helen smiled an enigmatic smile. You’ll see, she said.

The path led through a stand of trees. It was soft underfoot and smelled sweet and fresh. Birdsong echoed through the treetops, and they walked in dappled sunlight.

At least it’s not raining for once, Laura admitted grudgingly. Are we going to be spending all afternoon looking at armor again?

Just wait and see, her grandmother said, still smiling annoyingly. Then she stopped with a wistful look on her face. There it is, she said. That’s Treadwick.

They stepped out of the trees into a wide meadow. There were horses grazing, their manes blowing in the breeze, and at the far end of the meadow was an elegant gray stone house. It was built in an E shape with wings at either end and a pillared porch jutting out to make the middle stroke of the letter. There were stone balconies at the upper windows, and carved stonework decorated the lower windows. Laura looked at it without interest. It was not as big or impressive as some of the monuments she’d already seen but more like the sort of home a movie star would have built in California.

So? she said, bored and eager to get the whole painful process over with. What’s this house famous for?

This, Grandma Helen said, not taking her eyes off the house for a second, used to be my home.

You’re joking, Laura said, giving her grandmother a sideways glance.

Indeed I’m not, Grandma said. This is Treadwick Hall, my family home. Your ancestral home, Laura.

Laura’s mouth twitched in an uneasy grin. She still wasn’t completely convinced that her grandmother wasn’t kidding. The English had an odd sense of humor, she knew that.

Come along, Grandma said, picking up the pace again. We want to be in time for the three o’clock tour.

You mean you have to pay to go on a tour of your own house? Laura asked. You would think they’d let you in for nothing whenever you wanted.

Grandma Helen shook her head. Unfortunately new people bought the house a couple of years ago, she said. I knew the previous owners but I have no knowledge of these people at all. I don’t know what they’ve done to Treadwick or what we shall find. We’ll just have to see.

She strode out so eagerly that Laura could hardly keep up with her. In spite of her gloomy mood and her determination to have a miserable time, she found herself smiling fondly as she watched the tiny woman in her mid-seventies striding along in military fashion, her face glowing with anticipation, and she told herself to shut up for the afternoon. If Grandma really believes it was her house, then I should go along with the fantasy.

The path through the fields came to an end and they found themselves in a big courtyard at the front of the house. Just as they arrived a bus drew up and people streamed out of it. It was the first hint that Treadwick Hall wasn’t a normal private house anymore.

Grandma Helen sighed. It costs so much to keep these big houses going that they have to be turned into tourist attractions to support themselves. And to think in my day we had about ten maids and five gardeners and coachmen and stable boys. Half the village worked for us and that was considered normal.

Laura wondered if her grandmother was fantasizing again. Then how come we’re not rich now? she said.

Grandma sighed. Ah, it’s a long story, she said. I’ll tell you sometime but not now. Now is the time for remembering how we lived in our glory days, when all this was ours.

Grandma Helen took Laura’s hand and led her up the front steps behind the party from the bus.

This way for the tour, ladies and gentlemen, a young woman was saying. Pay at the ticket booth on your right, and the tour starts at the bottom of the stairs.

Go and tell them that this was your house and see if we can get in for free, Laura whispered.

Grandma shook her head. I’ve no wish to make a fuss, she said. We’ll pay like everyone else.

They bought tickets and joined the crowd in the high-ceilinged entrance hall. The large number of people made surprisingly little noise, everyone speaking in hushed voices, as if they were in church. They were clearly overawed by the grandeur, the marble pillars, the giant portraits, and the inevitable suits of armor.

Laura nudged her grandmother. Did your father ever wear this stuff? she whispered. Which suit was his? Did they make minisuits for the kids?

Grandma shot her a disapproving look as the tour guide began to speak. The tour was pretty much like all the other tours they had been on: boring facts that meant nothing to Laura.

Treadwick Hall was the home of the Treadwick family for over two hundred years. The house was built by the third viscount Treadwick in 1725 and the family continued to improve upon the house until they sold it in 1929.

Aha, Laura thought, smirking to herself. Grandma’s name wasn’t even Treadwick. It was Henderson. I bet if she lived here, she was one of the maids’ children.

They passed through the salon with its elegant brocade-covered sofas, gilt-framed mirrors, and huge marble fireplace, then the wood-paneled morning room with leather armchairs and hunting pictures on the walls. Then came the dining room with a polished table long enough to sit sixteen people, decorated with ornate silver candelabras. They were shown the dumbwaiter—the little elevator that brought up dishes from the kitchen—and then they toured the dark, cavernous kitchens and the