JACK OF DIAMONDS

Chap 6 - Pt 2 (A PRINCESS IN INTERVENTION...)

Sonia followed Nigel around the circular driveway, looking up at the facade that was the front entranceway of Bedloe Manor. The masonry was trimmed with a light cream coloured brickwork, the building itself was brownstone; there were hedgerows and garden-beds running along the length of the foundation, as well as manicured walking paths that would have done any groundskeeper proud.

It had been a quick drive out, and she'd watched carefully as Nigel negotiated the potholes and larger puddles on the road with the ease and comfort of a practiced rider. It seemed obvious to her that he was more than capable. Because of his lead, she was able to avoid the bigger holes—still feeling the jarring jolts of the smaller potholes she was unable to avoid—most of them hidden under pond-sized puddles spanning the width of the lane in places. The spray sent up by the Bentley was a cascade of brackish water she was certain was coating the sides of the automobile—almost as if someone had thrown a can of paint at the machine.

I’ll wash it on the weekend, she told herself as she turned the key and shut off the engine. She sat back and took in the size and grandeur of the place as Nigel took his goggles off and smiled a mud smeared grin. She’d seen Manor houses before, driving through the countryside, but only from a distance; she’d never been up close to one. It was an impressive sight, she had to admit to herself. Her father would’ve appreciated the grandeur of it all; the gables and columns; the sharp edges and angles—what was the proper name for that, she wondered? She knew there had to be a proper name for it, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what it was called. There were large masonry bricks with even faces and square edges leading to oversized windows and balconies.

There must be a hundred rooms in there.

The door opened and a Butler appeared on the stairs; he quickly ran out to meet them.

“Detective,” he said, looking at Sonia briefly as he crossed the drive, approaching Nigel. “I was not expecting you today. It’s not a good time,” he added gently.

“Mr. Berry,” Nigel said, swinging his leg off the motorcycle and pulling it up on the bike stand. “I told you, I’m not a detective.”

“Constable,” he corrected himself. “You said nothing of coming back today. We’re in the process of preparing for tonight’s costume Ball.”

“We’ll try not to get in the way,” Nigel said, quickly. “But I wanted to look at the evidence before it got washed away with another rainfall,” he added, taking his riding jacket off and laying it across the motorcycle’s saddle. He looked at his mud-splattered goggles and tossed them on top of the coat.

“Evidence? What evidence would that be?”

“Physical evidence? Like footprints, perhaps? If we could see the stables, or wherever the horse was taken from, we might find evidence as to the identity of the thief.”

“Footprints?”

“Perhaps we might find tracks that might lead us in the general direction as to which way he may have gone.”

“Tracks? Do you mean from the horse?”

“It’s not unlikely with the ground being as it is,” Sonia said sensibly.

Berry looked at her.

“I’m sorry,” Nigel said quickly. “This is Sonia.”

“Sonia?” Berry said with a tilt of his head. It was obvious to her he was confused by the introduction. She wondered why it was that men didn’t feel it was necessary to introduce her properly.

“Special Constable, Sonia Nazar. I’m in from Okehampton to assist in whatever capacity I might.”

“A detective?”

“Not yet,” Sonia smiled.

“So neither one of you are detectives?”

“That doesn’t mean we’re not capable of recognizing evidence when we come across it,” Nigel was quick to say.

“And you want to see the stables?” Berry asked; he sounded somewhat doubtful.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Sonia was quick to say, smiling her best smile and knowing that was what men expected from a woman—any woman. It never hurts to give them what they want, her father told her—well, to some degree, she told herself.

One does have to know where to draw the line—as if I ever knew where the line actually was.

“Perhaps you’d like to clean up, detective?” Berry asked, looking at Nigel.

“If it’s no trouble?”

“We can go in through the kitchen; it’s around the back, if you remember? It may be a bit chaotic at the moment, but I’m sure the cook will let you use the sink to wash some of the mud off yourself,” he added, directing them to the back of the house.

As they walked toward the back of the house, Sonia looked up at the high walls of the Manor. Many of the windows on the top floor were open, the lace curtains flowing gently in the breeze, and she marvelled that any man could scale to such heights, unaided.

“You say the man climbed up the walls unaided? Without the use of a rope?” she said, shaking her head in wonder.

“Yes,” Nigel said, looking up at the sheer walls. “Quite the daunting task if you ask me.”

“How did he do it?”

“With a lot of daring, if I may say so, Miss Nazar,” Berry smiled.

“But how would he get from the one landing to the other? There are no visible handholds I can see from here.”

“He jumped,” Nigel said. “I’ve seen it done.”

“Jumped? But that must be six feet, if not more.”

“It’s what our witness claims.”

“Ah yes, the witness,” she said gently.

The kitchen certainly was in state of chaos. There were maids and servants and scullery maids, three cooks in addition to the head cook, who seemed to know what was going on and who was doing what. Sonia was amazed at the size of the place. It was larger than her two bedroom flat in Okehampton. The heavy cast iron stove was larger than her kitchen table. There was the scent of fresh bread—a heady perfume that reminded her of her childhood—the sound and smell of sizzling bacon, as well as onions—forty individual meat pies prepared and waiting to be put in the oven.

“You say there’s a Ball tonight?” Sonia asked Berry as Nigel scrubbed himself clean in a large washtub.

“It's not here, but yes. We have one every year after the Fair; in celebration of the Hunter’s Moon.”

“The Hunter’s Moon?”

“Surely you’ve heard of it?”

“I have. I’ve just never heard of a costume Ball celebrating it.”

“It’s tradition, and around these parts, the Manor houses like to keep up with traditions.”

“So they all have a Ball?”

“It’s hosted by a different House each year. This year's will be hosted by Prince Igor.”

“Prince Igor?”

“I don’t really know him by any other name but that. He’s a Russian. Some say he’s a Prince, though I highly doubt it. He came here before the War, and they say his family lost everything during the Revolution. Who can say what’s what about anything going on out there?”

He looked at Nigel, wiping his hands on a small rag.

“Well, all done then, sir?”

“Take me to the stables,” Nigel said with a grin.

The sun was bright in a clear blue sky when they came out of the kitchen. Sonia had to hold her hand over her eyes, and thought it was a small price to have to pay if they wanted to have clear skies for the day. A light breeze from the North whispered a lonely song through the trees, the only sound to accompany it, the sound of distant birds.

Richard the StableMaster, was also the Blacksmith, and stood almost a head taller than both Nigel and herself, Sonia noted; his thick, tattooed arms looked bigger than Nigel’s thighs. His face, what little was seen under the large beard he had, appeared ruddy; his nose, what her father called a Drinker’s Nose, was red and swollen. He dropped a horseshoe into a bucket of water as they approached—a hissing plume of steam enveloping his bearded face—and as the three of them approached he stood silent, wiping his forehead with a dirty rage he took out of his back pocket.

He walked to the paddock and leaned against the rails, watching a young stablehand in the large, enclosed paddock, holding a long lead and letting a young colt run the circuit. The horse was kicking and whinnying, and the boy let out more rope. Richard wiped his hands on the rag he was holding before stuffing it in his back pocket and turning to face his visitors.

“She’s beautiful,” Sonia said as they approached.

“That she is,” Richard said. “But she’s wanting her momma’s teat. And what brings you out here, Murray, me lad?” he grinned.

“Richard, these Constables would like a word with you concerning the horse that was taken last night.”

“Isobelle,” the man said with a slow nod.

“Isobelle?” Sonia echoed.

“Lady Jenny’s horse,” he smiled. “Her father bought her for her fifteenth birthday as I remember. Isn’t that right, Murray?”

“Uhm, yes. I believe that’s correct.”

Richard laughed.

“You do, do you?”

“What would you have me say?” Berry said quickly. “See here, Richard, I have to attend to my duties in the big house. Do be kind enough to show them about, let them see what they wish, and direct them back to the house when they’re done, would you?”

He watched as Berry walked back to the house after excusing himself.

“Ah, Feast Week,” Richard laughed. "It's the arrogant little shit's time to shine one would think."

“Feast Week?” Sonia asked.

“That’s what we call it. It starts with the Fair. Every weekend after that—leading up to Christmas—every house holds a major Ball. Tonight's is supposed to be the first of the season, as they like to call it. Imagine that? Having a season of Balls and celebrations just because you can,” he said with a slow shake of his head, taking the heavy leather apron off he was wearing.

“You don’t approve?” Nigel asked, stuffing his pipe again.

“It does little to interfere with my day out here,” he smiled. “I make certain the horses are fed and ready to go out in case someone needs a horse, or cab. But people are more likely to bring their own automobiles now. Riding is more for pleasure these days, than necessity.”

“And you have automobiles on site here?” Nigel asked, bringing his pipe to life.

“We do. Five of them.”

“Then why take the horse?” Sonia asked, sounding as if the question was something more of a curiosity.

“It does seem strange,” Richard agreed.

“Were there any automobiles here? I mean, if they used them to drive out to the Chumley Fair?”

“There were still three left behind,” Richard pointed out.

“And the keys?” Sonia asked.

“On a hook tacked to the wall,” he nodded.

“Again...why take a horse?” Nigel asked.

“The roads up in the hills ain’t much good, and worse still in the night when you can’t see but for the moonlight.”

“You mean he took it for practical reasons?” Sonia smiled.

“That’s what I’d do; it’s easier to go overland than use the muddy lanes.”

“If he went overland, we should be able to follow the hoof prints then?” Nigel said, looking down at the slick mud of the yard.

“Shouldn’t be too hard to follow.”

“Wouldn’t there be other hoof prints out in the fields? I mean, I don’t know if I’m right, but don’t people in the country go out for a ride all the time?” Sonia asked.

“That they do. But it shouldn’t be too much trouble sorting out who belongs to what when it comes to this weather.”

“And why’s that?” Nigel asked.

“I put a knick on all my shoes.”

“A knick?”

“We sometimes let the horses run free. It’s not intentional, mind you,” he said with a grin. “But there are times when someone’s out riding, and, well, to put it delicately like Mr. Berry would have me say, they have to answer the call of nature.”

Nigel laughed, which only seemed to encourage the man.

“They don’t properly tie the horse up, on account of them being in such a damned rush with it all. Oh, not the women,” he said, looking at Sonia. “No proper woman would ever let herself be caught like that.”

“Just the men?” she smiled. Having gone through the war, she knew to what extents men would go when it came to relieving themselves.

“And so the horses wander off?” Nigel smiled.

“And so the horses wander off,” he agreed.

“But you came up with a solution?” Sonia said. It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement of the obvious; why else bring it up, she thought?

“I did.”

“Are you going to tell us?” Nigel asked.

“Can’t a man gloat for a moment?”

“Of course,” Sonia laughed.

“I put a notch on the horseshoes.”

“A notch?” she said.

“Like this,” and he reached into the water and took out the horseshoe he’d been working on. He turned it over and they both leaned in closer, seeing the notch, which was about the width of a nail.

“And that leaves a mark on the ground?”

“See for yourself,” he said, and guided them around the corner of the smithy where they could see hoof prints in the mud, as well as the obvious notch.

“We could follow those prints up into the hills?”

“You could, or else you could just wait until the horse shows up.”

“Why do you think that would happen?”

“Because there’s a man riding in over the hills with it right now,” he laughed, pointing behind them. Sonia turned and saw a man coming in over the hill at a lazy pace. It was difficult to see who he was, but from the way he sat on the horse she could see he was familiar with the animal.