Chapter Thirty-Nine

IT DRIZZLED ON the morning of Gregory Diamond’s funeral, enough to coat Felix’s clothes with a fine mist. He and the Diamond clan had gathered at the little graveyard between the Star and the cliff edge. Dick Tassiter stood close to the graveside. Ms Hornby attended, though she kept her distance, choosing to stand by the low stone wall next to Iron, Vince, and Sorcha.

As far as Felix could tell, every Diamond who was on Blackrabbit—and not presently resident in the gaolhouse—attended. He recognised some aunts and uncles he hadn’t seen since he was a boy in the company of few unfamiliar faces. The poor wretches they’d handfasted and dragged into the Diamond clutches, he assumed.

The family stood beneath the sprawling branches of the solitary yew tree while a veiled Aunt Alma, clad in a fuchsia gown patterned with eight long, embroidered tentacles descending from the bottom of her tangerine bodice and curling at the hem, recited a few words about the childhood she and Uncle Gregory had shared. About the importance of family. Of the strength of a blood bond. Felix paid no heed to her. It was no more than he expected from her. Instead of celebrating the life of her brother, she seized the opportunity of a captive audience to tighten her grip over the family as a whole. He felt sorry for the younger cousins, the children, the ones who would be wholly taken in by her rhetoric and swallowed up by the Diamond family lifestyle.

“No matter what differences he and I had,” she said, “he was a guiding light for the Diamond family. A permanent fixture, or so it seemed to us. There’s hardly one of us present who didn’t rely on him at one time or another. The doors to the Star may have appeared closed to us, but they would open when we really needed them to. It is my fondest wish they remain open now that he has passed. It is, I believe, what he would have wanted.”

The ceremony culminated in the placing of Gregory’s gravestone. Like all the others, the stone was a sphere, a little planet orbiting the larger stone with the names of the Diamond family ancestors engraved upon it. Nobody knew for certain if the people named were actually buried there, but they represented the noble lineage to which the Blackrabbit Diamonds belonged. Gregory’s stone read In honour of Gregory Diamond. He was the star so many of us sailed by. April 1739 - December 1781.

Dahlia might well have been the only one to shed a tear at the graveside. She had lived with him longer than anyone else. Felix put his arm around her shoulders and held her close. As the family began to disperse, Felix spoke up. “I would like to invite you all back to the Star. For one last drink to the memory of Uncle Gregory.”

As the mourners filed across the field and lane towards the backyard of the Star, Felix crouched by the gravestone. He laid his hand upon the engraving. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner. I’m sorry I left the way I did. I never got the chance to say… I…” Waves of burning heat and bone-chilling coldness washed over him in equal measure. His breathing became laboured, and he dropped to his knees, eyes stinging with tears. “You were the closest thing I had to a father, and I never said I was sorry. And now I’ll never have the chance.”

Dahlia laid her hand on his shoulder. “He talked about you often,” she said. “He used to give the rest of us a dressing down any time we made a mistake. Why can’t you make something of your life like your cousin Felix? Why don’t you get proper work, like Felix? He held you up as his greatest success. He was proud of you.”

BEFORE THE FUNERAL, Felix had set out every glass and tankard in the bar. The mourners milled in through the back door and found the tables heaving. As the family took their seats, puzzled by the way Felix had chosen to prepare, Felix himself walked among them, pouring ale with one hand and gin with the other. Dahlia followed him with a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of rum.

By the closed front doors, the young bedworker, Rudyard, sat alone with a glass in his hand. Felix had invited him and, knowing full well Rudyard would have no desire to attend the funeral, told him he could help himself to anything from the bar. When everyone had their drink poured, Felix stood before the counter and raised his glass. “To Uncle Gregory.”

The family all raised their drinks and joined in with the toast. When they were done, Felix threw his glass on the floor. It shattered into a thousand pieces. He reached behind the counter and withdrew a long crowbar. Some of the cousins jumped out of the their seats, ready to defend themselves. Felix took the crowbar and with every ounce of strength, he heaved it into the top of the bar. The bar split open and he tugged, tearing out huge chunks of wood. Dahlia produced a sledgehammer, borrowed from the cooperage across the road, and began whacking at the bar’s supports. Within seconds, the pair of them had reduced it to kindling.

Felix took the crowbar to the empty shelves lining the wall, where the glasses and tankards had once been stored. “I hope you enjoyed those drinks,” he said, “because they’re the last we’ll ever serve here. The Star We Sail By will never again be mistaken for an alehouse because it will simply no longer serve ale. Or rum, or whiskey, or gin, or any other kind of alcohol.”

Dick Tassiter’s saggy face dropped. He almost fell to his knees. “You can’t do this to me, lad.”

Aunt Alma had remained seated the entire time. She calmly pulled back her lace veil. “You’ve taken leave of your senses.”

Felix ignored her. “If I’m going to be a Diamond—and I’ve recently been reminded that I have no choice in the matter—it will be on my own terms.” He looked to Dahlia and smiled. “Upstairs will remain as a place for bedworkers to safely ply their trade. I won’t be taking the so-called Diamond Cut, and neither will anyone else.”

Rudyard, his legs crossed, cheered and held up his drink.

“The stage will be enlarged,” Felix said, “and every night, the finest acts will perform, as well as those just starting out. I believe our Dahlia to have an exceptional voice, and I strongly encourage her to perform as often as she can. As often as she is able. And as often as she wishes. It will be a consistent way to earn money and pay off any outstanding debts. Should such a thing be necessary.”

Dahlia, the sledgehammer over her shoulder, performed a short curtsy.

“Ms Hornby, of course, will be welcome here, if she wishes to remain. And furthermore, to my cousins, I say this: the Star has played an important role in our lives. It isn’t simply a place where our parents could dump us. It is an opportunity to see what life could be like. It offered us a way out. And so long as it remains in my hands, that’s exactly what it shall always be.

“Uncle Gregory wanted the Star to be an anchor in the lives of the Diamond family, but he kept most of you at arm’s length. For what might well be very good reasons, he didn’t trust you, and so it pains me to say he was always doomed to fail. In his spirit, though, I make this offer. Should any of you need work—good, honest work—you will always find it here. Anyone willing to make an honest go at turning their lives around will find a place on the staff. However. I remind any of you who take me up on my offer with an eye toward causing trouble that I am on friendly terms with Vince Knight. Make of that what you will.”

At the back of the room, Vince straightened his back, his face completely expressionless.

“Mr Tassiter, I’m very sorry for your loss. Perhaps I can put in a good word for you at the Salt Pocket or the Lion Lies Waiting?”

Dick’s voice thinned to the point of breaking. “Won’t you reconsider?”

“The Star is mine,” Felix said, “and I shall run it as I see fit.”

Aunt Alma set down her glass, brushed her dress, and rose to her feet. Felix spread his weight, preparing for a verbal onslaught.

Instead she simply laid her hand on his shoulder, leaned down, and kissed him on the cheek. “You have some of the Diamond fire in you, after all,” she said. “There’s hope for you yet.”

The cousins followed her out, with Clarity and Slate dawdling behind.

“I might just take you up on your offer,” Clarity said. “And him too.” She jabbed her thumb to Slate, who quickly nodded and looked to the door, afraid of being seen.

“You’d be very welcome to,” Felix said.

The cousins slithered out the door to catch up with the rest of the family.

Tenner arrived back from the privy to find the rest of the family had left without him. He muttered under his breath, and he made for the front door.

“That’s how little they think of you,” Felix said to him as he passed by.

Tenner paused and spun to stare Felix in the eye. “What did you say, Lucky?”

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Felix said. “We used to get along when we were children.”

“That was a long time ago. A lot has changed since then.”

“There’s no reason for you and me to fight,” Felix said. “Whatever Aunt Alma says, we’ve never had reason to quarrel, have we?”

Tenner’s jaw clicked as he ground his teeth. “Not directly.”

“And indirectly?”

Tenner rocked on the balls of his feet. He turned this way and that, making for the door then changing his mind. “I thought we were going to be friends,” he said. “When we were young, it was always you, me, and Dahlia. We did everything together. I thought I had a friend for life. Another brother. But then you left. You got out, and I was left behind. I had to pull your weight. They had plans for you, you know. Gregory, Alma, the others. They had plans for all of us. With you gone, I had to be the fighter. I had to be the one to take the lumps. And every time, every single time, someone landed a punch on me I’d think that was meant for Lucky. I’m nothing but Lucky’s bleddy punching bag.” He sniffed away a tear, angry at its very existence. “What makes you so damn special? What makes you think you had the right to turn your back on this family?” He gritted his teeth and sized up to Felix.

From the corner of his eye, Felix could see Vince clenching his fists, readying himself. “There’s nothing special about me,” Felix said, as calmly as he could. “I simply wanted more from my life. And you can have it too. I’ve been talking to Sorcha and Iron; the town needs more lamplighters. I suggested you.”

Tenner’s eyebrows squashed together. His hands fell open by his side.

“I had the chance of a different life, a better life, by going to sea. Now I get another chance with the Star,” Felix said. “Dahlia has a chance with the stage, with her performances. Why shouldn’t you have a chance as well? A chance to earn an honest living.” He held up his hand for Tenner to shake. “Maybe this can be your way out.”

Tenner stared at Felix’s hand and then at the other people in the room. He leaned forward, as if to come closer to Felix, but instead, he turned and burst through the front door out into the road.

“He’ll come round,” Dahlia said. “Just give him some time.”

Felix put his arm around Dahlia’s waist and hugged her. “He’s right, the three of us used to be inseparable. I’d forgotten that. He only lived here for a couple of years, but he felt like…like…”

“Like he belonged,” Dahlia said. “Like he was the missing piece.”

“Well, that was all frightfully tense,” Rudyard said. “Mr Diamond, I look forward to getting back to the sailboat balcony.”

“And I look forward to working with you,” Felix said.

Rudyard gave him a friendly squeeze on the bum and winked at Iron on his way out.

Vince kicked some of the broken counter. “Hope you know what you’re doing, lad.”

Felix exhaled loudly. “I think I do. With no alcohol, Aunt Alma won’t want to come here. The cousins won’t want to either. They can’t ply people with drink and rob them when they’ve had too much. They can’t swindle people at cards without those looking glasses overhead. The Star is a playhouse. I’m just putting it back the way it always should have been.”

“How can you afford to?” Sorcha asked. “I thought Gregory didn’t leave any money?”

Felix looked around to make sure none of the family had returned. “Admiral Boon paid me a visit. She was concerned about what Jason Sparrow might have said to me. When I told her what he had revealed about… Well, never mind the details. Suffice it to say the admiral was keen for me not to tell the Blackrabbit Courant about it. So keen, in fact, she offered me quite a bit of money to keep it to myself.”

“Isn’t that blackmail?” Sorcha asked.

“No,” Felix said. “It’s business. And she did offer first. Besides, the greencoats can afford it.”

Vince put his hands on his own hips. “Hope you like running a playhouse. Doubt you’ll ever sail on a greencoat vessel again.”