JACK OF DIAMONDS

Chap2-pt3 (IS PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS...)

iii

Somewhere a clock struck the hour, echoing through the emptiness. Artie looked at the open French doors where the moonlight slipped through the etched glass, spilling across a Turkey carpet partially covering the parquet floor, and washing up against a book lined wall. There was a large piano-forte tucked into one corner, the dark, ebony coloured legs reflecting the soft moonlight. A large harp and small chair stood nearby, along with a music stand and violin, as well as a cello and two chairs. Paintings lined the West wall, and he thought, I wouldn’t have put them above an open fireplace.

Along with the settee he was reclining on, there were two other camel-back couches and several high, wing backed chairs with low, ornate tables between them. Each of the tables had new electric lamps on them, and he reached over to turn one on.

The marvels of science, he told himself.

The walls were papered with tiny floral patterns; the ceiling high, arched, with a large chandelier and several lamps throughout the room. There was a small, recessed alcove where several bronze statues stared down at him, as well as small ornate vases and figurines.

“What is this room?” he asked, suddenly mindful of his surroundings.

“The Music room,” she responded. “Once upon a time, it used to be the East Library.”

“Library? There’s only one wall of books. I’d say that hardly qualifies calling it a library.”

“I did say once upon a time, did I not? It was one of three.”

“You have three libraries in this house?”

“Had. My great-grandfather liked to collect books. My grandfather, not so much. He thought this room was better suited as a music room, I suppose.”

“And who plays the harp?”

“My mother.”

“Which one do you play?”

“The piano-forte. It’s whispered that Hayden once played it.”

“Of course he did. I suppose one of your brothers—or your sisters—played the violin, and the other the cello? Either/or, it doesn’t matter which. You’d all have family gatherings on a Tuesday night, play Brahms, or Beethoven; maybe Mozart? Perhaps Hayden? Daddy and the other siblings in attendance, watching, along with in-laws and grandchildren.”

“My brother played the violin; my sister the cello.”

“You don’t play anymore?”

“My brother was killed in the war.”

“Sorry to hear that. I knew a great many men who died over there.”

“Where did you—”

“France,” he said quickly. “I finished up behind enemy lines.”

“You say very little about it, those of you who served,” she added softly.

“We try to forget.”

There was a strange, awkward silence that filled the room, and Artie stood up; walking to the violin he picked it up, looking at it closely. He nodded to himself as he replaced it on the stand, seeing the case nearby.

“As my new partner, maybe you should direct me to the safe?” he said, turning to look at her.

“Safe?”

“You did say your father owned the Great Eastern Railway? He’s bound to have something locked up in a safe somewhere. I'll want to see what’s in it.”

“I know nothing about that.”

“Your father has an office? Well, we could start there?”

“What do you hope to find in there? I thought you’d want my mother’s jewels, or money? That sort of thing.”

“All in good time,” he smiled, looking at the pocket watch he kept in one of the buttoned pouches of his vest. It was shortly after ten. If anyone would be returning from the Fair, it would be the servants. They’ll have to prepare breakfast for the morning and can’t afford to stay out late. Time would be a factor, and he hated the idea of leaving empty-handed.

“Fine. Yes,” he said, putting the watch away. “Take me to your mother’s room.”

They walked through a wide hallway lined with floor to ceiling windows and paintings. He thought he recognized a few different styles, but knew they’d be the generic, Salon style paintings commissioned during the last century in London and Paris. There were Classic style portraits, and Neo-Classic scenes of mythology, with rosy-cheeked cherubs and naked nymphs. There was nothing he’d consider contemporary. He supposed some of the paintings might be worth something, but he didn’t have enough time to discern what was valuable or not. Besides, he'd already decided he was going to take the violin.

It's funny how sometimes things just fall into place.

“You have a lot of paintings, here,” he said.

“My great-grandfather wanted to fill the walls—or that’s one of the stories they tell. He bought everything he could get his hands on, without regard for who the artist was.”

“You mean you don’t know what you have here?”

“Me? I don’t even look at them. My brother adored them. He wanted to be an artist. Even studied in Paris before the war.”

“As my new partner, maybe you should ask your father about the paintings? Show some interest. I know people in London who might be interested in one or two of these.”

“Here,” she said, stopping outside a room and opening the door. She leaned against the wall and waited.

“Here? What do you mean: ‘Here’? What’s in here?”

“My brother’s wife stays here. Agatha.”

“I thought you said your brother died in the war?”

“I have two brothers, and two sisters.”

“So what’s in here?”

“She has jewels. She likes to show them off. We all hate her.”

“And so you want me to take them?”

“Can you think of a better way to hurt her?”

“Quite the family,” he smiled, opening the door.

“And you liked yours?” she quipped.

“What was not to like?”

She was silent for a moment, watching as he slid on a pair of leather gloves, fixed with studs along the knuckles; the palms were re-enforced leather. He took a small torch out of one of the pouches of his vest and looked at it before pushing the switch.

“Is that a torch?” she asked, stepping forward to take a closer look.

“I had it made,” he said with a trace of pride. “I’ve had all my equipment made.”

“What are those things on your gloves?”

“My gloves?” He turned them over and looked at the knuckles. “Once in a while, you have to break a window; they can be quite thick. And they can pinch you by using your fingerprints. I try not to leave them behind.”

“How do they do that?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m not a Constable. I’m sure they have experts, though. I’ll bet you they have people who study that sort of thing.”

“Tell me about your family,” she went on.

“You do jump about.” He was methodically waving the light around the room.

She reached out and turned on the light switch.

“Welcome to the twentieth century,” she giggled.

Artie shook his head slowly. It would’ve been better to leave the room in darkness, in case one of the servants coming down the road saw the light and thought it out of place. She at least provided a little security, he thought. She could confess to snooping in the room and no one would know different. But would he be able to take the jewelry and not implicate her?

He found the jewel box.

It was locked.

“Do you know where she keeps the key?”

“No idea.”

“As my partner, it would be up to you to find these things out.”

“Why?”

“What’s the point in having a partner, then?” He reached inside his vest, pulling a knife out of a sheath he had strapped under his armpit.

“Does that mean you’ll show me how to climb walls?”

“I doubt it,” he smiled. He jammed the knife into the jewelry box and pried it open.

“Jack pot,” he said, pouring the contents of the box into a bag without pausing to look. He did a quick search through three different dressers, found a small purse stuffed full of bills, more jewels, and a lace kerchief with old coins.

He took it all.

“You don’t seem to care if you leave a mess,” she pointed out.

“I want her to know I was here. I want her to be afraid of the idea that I might come back. The more she feels violated, the more she’ll be afraid of me—or the idea of me.”

“You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you? So why not teach me to climb walls?”

“Have you ever climbed before? When’s the last time you climbed a tree?”

“Thirteen years ago. I was ten.”

“And you know that for a fact?”

“I fell and had a nasty break. You don’t forget that sort of thing.”

“You fall from this height and it will kill you.”

“I’m not afraid. Watch.”

Jenny pulled a chair over toward the fireplace, pushing it up against the wall. She stood up on the chair, took off her dressing gown, and tied the dress of her negligee around her waist so that the hem ended well above her knees. She pushed three small ornaments off the mantle before climbing up and walking the length of it, kicking knick-knacks to the floor as she stepped and laughing when they smashed.

Artie looked at her reflection in the large Baroque mirror, admiring the woman’s beauty, thinking even if she didn’t make a good partner, she’d make a nice distraction. He looked at the length of her thigh, noting how she was naked under the negligee, and saw the swell of her breasts and erect nipples, telling himself she was probably excited by her singular act of defiance.

He walked to the doorway and hit the light switch, plunging the room into darkness.

“What did you do that for?”

“Two reasons. You have to do it in the dark, and if someone comes back from the Fair, they might see the lights on and wonder who’s in here.”

Suddenly there was a splash of headlights in the room and Jenny froze, looking out of the window and seeing an automobile in the drive outside.

“Someone’s here,” she said in near panic.

Artie walked to the window and looked down. The automobile was around the other side of the wall, out of sight. He walked back to the mantle and held a hand up to her. She reached out and jumped down on the chair, picking up her dressing gown and putting it back on. She ran to the window and looked down.

“Did you see who it was?” she asked.

“No.”

“I have to get back to my room. Whoever it is, will naturally think I’m sleeping. They cannot find me wandering the halls.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Why?”

“I need to know which one is your room. I hardly think it wise for me to wander through the halls looking for you.”

“Hurry then.”