Jack of Diamonds

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

~May 11~

The next night, Mr. Meir was waiting in the far corner of the taproom of the Angel when John came in. No matter how early John came, Mr. Meir was always at the same table. John wondered if the fellow didn’t stay at the tavern while he was in London. He didn’t think there were rooms for rent, but perhaps he was mistaken.

“Good evening,” the man said as John approached the slender gentleman dressed all in brown.

“A good evening to you, sir.” They almost never used names, nor did Mr. Meir even call John “my lord.” It was safer that way. No one listening to their conversation would be able to say who they were.

“Have you had a good week?” Mr. Meir asked, raising a finger to call the barmaid over. His wire-rimmed spectacles magnified the size of the gentleman’s eyes giving them an odd, distorted sort of look.

“I have, thank you.” John waited while two ales were ordered and then delivered.

He took a long draft of his once it was set in front of him. When he put his mug back down on the table, he made sure the paper packet he’d slipped onto the table was well hidden behind both the large tankard and his arm.

When his companion put his own mug down, the packet had shifted to behind it, and within moments it had disappeared altogether into a pocket of the man’s greatcoat. Hardly a minute had passed between the time John had removed it from his own coat and the time it had disappeared again.

“My friend greatly appreciates the quality you are able to procure for him,” Mr. Meir said.

“I’m glad to hear that. And also happy that he does such fine work as well,” John commented. Mr. Meir’s “friend” was a jeweler in Amsterdam who took the pieces John provided him, broke them apart, resold the diamonds, and melted down the gold for reuse. No one would ever be able to trace the stones back to their source, and no one in London would ever know what happened to the pieces that disappeared from time to time among the ton. It was a foolproof operation, and John felt lucky to have fallen into it.

An envelope appeared on the table in front of John. He quickly and unobtrusively slipped it into his pocket.

“For the packet you delivered last time,” Mr. Meir said with a pleasant smile. He looked like a man John could potentially become friends with.

He had an agreeable disposition and shared an interest in the fascinating history of the Holy Roman Empire. Once their business had concluded, they’d spent a number of very pleasant evenings discussing the various emperors and the benefits, or lack thereof, of additions to the empire over the years.

The man’s sunken cheeks filled out pleasantly when he smiled, and his dull gray eyes positively twinkled when he became passionate about whatever point he happened to be arguing. But before they could move on to more pleasant topics, it seemed as if he had something more he needed to convey to John.

The man fiddled with his tankard of ale. “My contact has written to me and wishes me to return as soon as possible. He’s eager for what you’ve brought,” Mr. Meir said before lifting the mug to his lips.

John nodded.

“But I need more to make my trip even more worthwhile. You understand, I’m sure,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

John drew his eyebrows down over his eyes. “I’m not certain… How much more?”

“At least three, perhaps four more pieces. Can you do that?”

John sat back and thought about what events were coming up on the social schedule. There weren’t many to which he was invited—one of the drawbacks of being an unassuming person. At least he still had friends from his university days who still remembered him fondly and the way he used to be. Perhaps now, however, he should use a different tactic. Perhaps something a little more direct than merely taking what was on offer at society parties.

“I’ll see what I can do, but you understand that I can’t make any assurances,” John said.

“Naturally,” his companion nodded.

John drained the last of his ale. “Very well, then. I’ll send word if I am successful.”

Mr. Meir nodded and then gave John a little smile. “On to more pleasant subjects?”

John gave a little laugh and a nod.

Mr. Meir proceeded to regale him with all that he’d read in a book he’d recently purchased, a new work focusing on the reach of the Holy Roman Empire into the more northern countries of Europe.

After an hour or so of very pleasant conversation and debate, John finished off his second tankard of ale and said goodnight to his companion. He still had some work to do that evening before returning home.

He stopped for a word with the proprietor of the tavern, leaving some coins with him should there be any sort of emergency that needed to be handled when he wasn’t around. They’d gotten to know each other well over the past few years, and John trusted him enough to look after the interests of the people in the neighborhood. They were Mr. Miller’s clientele. If they suffered, so did he.

John’s stroll through the Rookeries afterward churned his stomach and not just because of the stench of gin and humanity. It was the women and babes huddled in doorways, the street urchins who attempted to pick his pockets of anything of value, and the men staggering down the alleyways having just drunk their day’s wages, their hungry families be damned.

There were too many. He couldn’t possibly help them all. John knew that, so he did what he could with the money he got from his thievery. He didn’t keep a penny of the money he earned from Mr. Meir, but gave it all to those who needed it the most.

A discreet knock on a door next to a grocer’s brought the man to the door. He wore neither a coat nor waistcoat. His shirt was untucked and open at the neck.

“Good evening to you, Mr. Cartwright,” John said with a smile.

“Ah! Good evening, good evening, sir!” The man lost the suspicious look on his face immediately upon seeing who it was banging on his door so late at night.

“Would you have any outstanding debts owed to you this evening?” John asked as he always did.

“I do. Just one moment and I’ll get my books. Come in,” he said, stepping back and inviting John into the hall. Stairs led straight up to the grocer’s apartments above the shop. John followed the gentleman up and into a cheerful, if dingy, little drawing room. A boy of about four sat playing on the bare wooden floor with a small wooden horse. Two stones stood in for more horses, and John made a mental note to himself to pick up a few more toys for the lad the next time he was on Bond Street.

The boy’s mother sat stitching, leaning dangerously close to a candle, the only source of light in the room.

“Good evening, Mistress Cartwright,” John said, giving her a small bow.

“Oh, good evening, sir, how lovely it is to see you,” she said, smiling up at him. “You will forgive me for not getting up?”

“Of course. You go on with your work. I will be gone in but a moment after I have done some business with your husband.” He turned toward the child and knelt down next to him. “And I brought a little something for you if your mother doesn’t mind.” He pulled a napkin from one of his pockets and handed it to the child.

“Thank you, sir!” the child said, opening it. A pile of fruit tarts spilled out, but John caught them before they hit the floor.

“I think there might be enough there for you to share with your parents if you are of a mind,” John said with a wink.

“Oh, you are too good to us, sir, too good!” his mother said with a chuckle.

“It’s my pleasure.” John stood up and turned toward the grocer who had come in with his account books.

“Here you are, sir. Mrs. Brown, Mary Small, and little Johnny No Ear each owe us for groceries for the past two weeks totaling twelve shillings, four pence.” The man showed him the accounts.

John looked them over briefly and then handed over a pound. “That should take care of that, and keep the extra so Mrs. Cartwright can have another candle or two.”

“Oh, you are so good to us, sir. Thank you,” the lady said with a giggle.

“Indeed. It’s much appreciated,” the grocer added, taking the money.

“Well, then, have a good night. I’ll be back when I can.” John ruffled their son’s hair and started down the stairs with the family calling out their thanks and good wishes to him.

One more such visit to the owner of a secondhand store where many residents of the neighborhood bought their clothes, and finally he made a quick visit to the local parish church. The vicar there would distribute money directly to the people who needed it most. John’s pockets were nearly empty as he headed home, but his mind was content.