The Black Diamond

by Francis Brett Young

‘I must think it over,’ she said.

In the end she consented to his staying—happily for herself since otherwise life would have been almost impossible. During the three weeks that passed before George’s trial, they settled down into a new and orderly condition, living poorly, it is true, but contentedly, and aided by the attentions of their neighbours. Mrs Mamble, perhaps at Mary’s request, often softened the awkwardness of the situation by dropping in about supper-time and staying to talk over the fire, and old Drew was continually giving the children presents of eggs from his own fowl-yard, farm-produce from the land on which he worked, and even some of the milk which, according to the custom in those parts, he received in part payment of his wage. Mary could not refuse these gifts so beautifully given; she could not even return him adequate thanks; but she tried to add a little to the comfort of the rooms in which the old man lived, and offered to attend to his clothes, an attempt in which she failed, since Drew always locked his door when he left it in the dawn, resenting, in the manner of many bachelors, the least interference with his own homely dirt, and wore in winter every shred of clothing that he possessed.

The sense of an obligation unfulfilled would have made them awkward if the old man had not accepted the help of Abner in his garden, a proceeding that he watched with suspicion, being as fidgety as any old maid, and that of Mary in the feeding of his fowls. Within a few weeks, indeed, the inhabitants of Wolfpits had settled down into a kind of communal life that was happy if only for the fact that its existence implied so much goodwill.

The subpoenas for the assizes arrived, and with them a new wave of rumour and excitement troubled the villages. It was agreed that George had no chance of being acquitted, but those who had experience of the law vied with those who had none in predicting the term of his sentence. Through the medium of Susie, Pound House gossip filtered back to Abner, and in this way he learned that Mrs Malpas had managed in spite of her loss to brief a barrister named Rees, who had a great reputation for skill in criminal defences on that circuit. A week before the trial Abner received a note from the lesser of the two local solicitors, who, being a liberal and a nonconformist, had nothing to lose by an implied opposition to the squire. Together with Mick Connor and Atwell, Abner repeated his version of the affair to this man.

‘I shall let Mrs Malpas, senior, know by wire when the case is likely to come on,’ he said, ‘and you, of course, will hold yourselves in readiness.’

A fortnight later Mrs Malpas sent up a message by a small boy from Chapel Green to Wolfpits, telling Abner that it would be necessary to set out for Shrewsbury on the following morning. The message made no mention of Mary.

‘But I shall go all the same,’ she said.

They left Wolfpits in darkness, whispering their farewells to Mrs Mamble for fear of waking the children, whom Mary, dressing quietly, had left asleep. The nearest station to Chapel Green was that of Llandwlas, a minute hamlet hidden amid the springs of the Barbel, a little to the north of the single line that winds painfully out of Wales between the dominant masses of the forests of Radnor and Clun. From Wolfpits, cross-country, this made a five-mile walk. A dripping mist hid the land, and they saw no soul until they reached the station. There, on the raw, deserted platform, where the porter had lit a single oil lamp to show that the day had begun, they waited, walking up and down to keep themselves warm. They were early, and the only other sign of life was the yellow square of the stationmaster’s bedroom in the adjoining cottage. Even if daylight had come, the density of the mist would have given them the same sense of isolation. Little by little the place became alive: first a float drove up with a couple of milk-cans; next came a gnomish figure who carried a stick, with dead rabbits slung from it over his shoulder: then a noisy party of two, whom Abner recognised as his fellow-witnesses.

‘That’s Connor and Atwell come up,’ he said.

‘Let’s keep at the other end,’ Mary whispered, moving away.