The Black Diamond

by Francis Brett Young

There was no moon, but the sky, even at this early hour of the morning, was full of a curious shimmer of light reflected mirage-like from the upper air clothing Europe to eastward of the English lands. At that season of the year sunlight was never distant. Now, every moment the stars shone fainter, and the slate roofs of the houses seemed to gather light. Abner stood looking up and down the Stourton Road. He did not know which way to turn; he was dazed by the suddenness with which the freedom so long and so patiently awaited had come to him. In the bewilderment of the moment he could scarcely even realise that it was sweet. He had planned it differently and anticipated the day so often that its violent arrival took him off his feet. He had expected to leave Mawne deliberately in his own time and carrying his savings in his pocket. Events had cast him out violently and penniless . . . not quite penniless, for he still had a little change left from the money he had taken to the Wakes. He remembered with regret that he had been fool enough to give Alice the two sovereigns he had won in the boxing-booth. They would have come in handy; but reflection told him that Alice would need them a great deal more than he.

A man began to cough in the front bedroom of the house before which he was standing. People upstairs were beginning to wake. A cock crowed dismally. He had better make up his mind, for day was beginning. Eastward the Stourton Road led to Coventry, westward to Wales. Whichever way he went his lack of money would compel him to walk. He wasn’t afraid of walking or, for that matter, of sleeping rough; and yet he felt that he was at sea and incapable in his present condition of making up his mind. His head and body ached with Garside’s blows, for the bruised muscles were beginning to stiffen. He was sleepy, as well as tired, and couldn’t remember one thing that seemed to be calling for recognition in the back of his mind. He went on walking aimlessly towards Halesby; the motion set his mind working once more and he remembered the thing that had baffled and escaped him. Tiger. . . . He couldn’t very well leave the dog on Mrs Moseley’s hands. At the same time he didn’t want to frighten the old woman by disturbing her before daylight. To do so would entail explanations, possibly arguments on the subject of his filial duties. It would mean another good-bye, and he wanted to get away quietly without anything of that kind. Still, he meant to have Tiger as much for his own comfort as for Mrs Moseley’s. He determined to see what could be done.

The old woman’s house was the last on the right of a steep, cobble-paved street climbing at right angles to the Stourton Road. He turned up it, his hob-nails raising stinging echoes on the stones. He felt as if he must surely wake every one that slept there. Mrs Moseley’s house was as quiet as the rest. He surveyed it strategically. At the back of it lay a little yard that in happier days had been used as a fowl-run. To advertise the presence of these treasures within, her husband had prevailed upon the landlord to top the wall with fragments of broken bottles. This barrier now confronted Abner. Luckily he was tall enough to reach the top of the wall with his hands, and he soon discovered that time and weather had taken the nature out of Mr Moseley’s mortar so that it crumbled easily and allowed him to remove the glass from a foot of the coping. In two minutes he had done this, straddled the wall, and dropped down softly on the other side. Tiger, bad watchdog that he was, still slept. Abner came softly to the door of the washhouse and tried it. There was no fear that Mrs Moseley would leave a door unlocked at night even behind a glass-topped wall. The only other aperture in the scullery was a window that was too small for him to get through and set very high in the wall. With his pocket-knife thrust through a broken pane he lifted the hasp and opened it. Tiger gave a sharp bark.

‘Ss . . .’ Abner whispered. ‘Tiger. . . . Good dog. . . Come on then.’

Tiger, with a snuffle of recognition, came out of his hole and yawned. The next moment he was jumping up towards the window, anxious to get at his master and whining like a baby because the window was too high for him. Time after time he leapt and failed to reach the sill. The wall was too smooth, and the space of the washhouse too cramped to give him a run for his jump. He grew excited and inclined to be noisy, and at last Abner, seeing no other way out of the difficulty, put his arm as far as he could through the window, and when the dog jumped caught blindly at the loose skin of his back and hauled him through. Tiger trembled with gratitude and the anticipation of new joys. He licked Abner’s face as he lifted him up and put him on the top of the coping. He jumped over into the road and Abner followed him. A policeman, attracted by the strange phenomenon of Tiger’s egress, watched him as he dropped over. He was a young man, a football player, who knew Abner, and when he saw Tiger’s master emerge he grinned.

‘Got him out without waking the old woman,’ said Abner.

‘Rabbits?’ said the other, with a wink. Abner laughed. Both of them knew that the game-laws do not run in colliery districts. ‘Looks as if ’e knows all about it,’ said the constable at parting. Tiger was already nearly out of sight, sniffing the grass as he went. Since Abner went back to work at the pit he had been deprived of hunting at this ideal hour.

It was extraordinary how Tiger’s company restored Abner’s confidence. He felt no longer alone and worried by indecision. Tiger had gone so far that it was useless to call him back. He had chosen his own direction, and Abner was content to follow him. What he wanted most of all, he decided, was a sleep.

Beyond the level of Mrs Moseley’s cottage the houses thinned away and the ground fell steeply to the fields above the Stour, the scene of Abner’s walks with Susan more than a year before. Dawn came, heralded by no fierce splendours, white light stealing from the east over a cloudless sky. The birds were already awake, but the hush of August held them, so that the warblers were silent. Larks there were, lost in the sunlit levels above the whiteness; thrushes made subdued domestic noises in the hedgerows; linnets already flocking for the early harvest of seed, rustled the hawthorn thickets, chaffinches sang boldly in a more vulgar strain. A soft air bloomed the drowsy hedges. Elder blossoms and slender umbels of parsley flower gleamed like dull ivory. Light, and more light came welling over the world. When Abner had reached the plank bridge over the Stour where Susan first had kissed him, the edge of the woodland rose up black beyond the stream, the water gleamed beneath the alders, and the hills, that had lain folded in night, lifted their heads. Now the birds were silent. Only the larks still sang. Walking behind the ecstatic Tiger through a green lane in Uffdown Wood, Abner saw the peak of Pen Beacon before him smitten with fire. The sun was up. Gigantic shadows dappled and barred the grass. Tiger, dancing from side to side, pursued a phantom hound. They left the woods and dropped over a stile into a winding road. As yet the sun had no real heat: colour it warmed, but the air was cool, cool and clean as the surface of this rocky road so often scoured by torrents. The heavy odours of the woods belonged to night, but the smell of the road was one of morning. Gradually the banks released the peculiar perfume of a hill-country in sunshine, a lovely, healthy savour of thyme and bracken and dry heather. A breeze swept the harebells. Still they climbed the path towards the top of Uffdown where the sun came first. Even at this hour pods were snapping amid the almond scent of late gorse blossom. In the shadow of a hedge where prickles were few Abner threw himself down propping his head on a tussock of thin grass. He closed his eyes, and was soon asleep, and Tiger, having smelt and scared innumerable rabbits, came at last to lie beside him, propping his slender lower jaw upon the smooth of Abner’s thigh.

He did not sleep for long. His watch had stopped, and he could not tell the time, but from the height of the sun he judged it to be between eight and nine o’clock. The grass of that southern hedge-side was already warm and fragrant, and the mistiness of the Severn plain beneath him promised another day of broiling heat. He was horribly stiff and lay on with a sense of lazy luxury, letting the sun warm his bones. Sprawling there with his eyes closed he now began to consider where he should go.