JACK OF DIAMONDS

i

Chernetsov stood on the upper floor of Marlborough Estate sipping a drink and looking down into the large foyer below. Two sets of stairs wound their way down from the balcony where a massive chandelier, hanging from a chain as thick as a man’s arm, was suspended. The chandelier was at least two hundred years old and was the first thing he’d wanted to get rid of when he bought the house. His wife, he remembered, had other ideas. He was glad she’d talked him out of replacing it. There was a large Turkey rug laying on the black and white tiled floor, with two potted urns placed under each of the winding staircases. It was a nuisance as far as he was concerned. Again, his wife had a different opinion, filling the urns with silken flowers crafted by local women.

Brilliant.

The foyer was where he and his wife would greet the first guests as they arrived tonight—or later this afternoon if last year is any indication, he reminded himself. The front of the house was made up of five floor to ceiling windows the servants were cleaning at the moment. Long sheer curtains made ghostly images of the figures outside, and he nodded his silent approval as he made his way down the stairs. The small lights he’d had installed outside would add atmosphere to the night.

His hand sliding over the wide bannister, he remembered the children sliding down at great peril to themselves. The challenge was to slide down the rails in your stockings; the challenge was not falling the wrong way, he thought, looking down at the floor twenty feet below. He smiled at the memory of the children as he made his way down the wide carpeted stairs. His grandchildren would soon pick up the mantle, he imagined.

He wasn’t yet dressed and ready for the evening’s Ball. There was still plenty of time. It was only three in the afternoon. There were so many things that had to be checked and rechecked, he told himself, and though he knew his wife managed the estate with a business acumen most men would envy, he still had to pay the bills.

He could see Anatoly standing outside in the circular driveway through the sheers of the large windows, a shadow crossing the walkway having just spoken to someone. He approached the door and in a moment stepped through, into the real world.

“Oh, Father, there you are,” he said, the surprise evident.

“Where did you expect to find me, if not in my own house?” Chernetsov smiled. It was always good to see Anatoly.

“Ready for Plymouth tomorrow?”

Anatoly was quick to take Chernetsov by the arm, leading him to a smaller, more private area in a room off the hallway. It was a small study overlooking the garden, and Chernetsov watched as one of the kitchen girls walked through endless rows of herbs and vegetables, selecting a variety for the night.

Will there be enough? Or will we run out, like last time at Mandalay?

“They found the body on one of the properties—I don’t know which. The Chumley Constabulary will be all over this, I suppose.”

“The body? How?” Chernetsov asked, his full attention on his son. “When I told you to get rid of the body, I didn’t mean in our own back yard.”

“The river overflowed its banks. It’s all this rain we’ve had.”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

“Do about it? Nothing. What can they possibly find? Any of their so-called evidence will have been washed away by the rain. Let them investigate.”

“And if their investigation leads them here?”

“They’ll have to come here—that’s only obvious. But they have to go to all the other Houses as well. It won’t take long for them to discover he’s a Russian. That means this will most likely be the first place they come to, or the second. But he’s an agitator, and it’s well known he’s been staying in Okehampton. Turn the questions around on them? How would you be expected to know a Russian agitator? I promise Poppa, we took the body forty miles up the road and buried it in the middle of goddamned nowhere. Maybe we could’ve dug the hole a little deeper? I’m sorry.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“The Solomon brothers assure me they have the gold. All I do is hand over the opium, and the gold is ours. I even have a bill of lading for the guns, so it looks legit. Motorcycle parts on their way to Finland. If the Finns win—and it’s always a big if with this kind of thing—but if the Finns win independence, we’ll have a safe port to transport our guns into, but more than that, we’ll have someplace where we can get our people out. The new Finnish government will turn a blind eye.”

“Can you trust them?”

He wanted to trust that things would go according to plan; he wanted to trust there’d be no betrayal. He wanted to trust the Solomon brothers, but the truth of the matter was he was a Russian.

I could never let myself trust a Jew—or a Finn.

“As much as you can trust anyone in that business,” Anatoly was saying. “They’re criminals; so they have no honour. If they try to double-cross us, we kill them. That’s why I hired the Italians. Sabini’s Hammerboys hate the Solomons. Charlie Sabini helped broker the deal for me with the Sicilians. I didn’t want to use him, but he speaks their language—well, I thought he did,” he smiled.

“We can’t afford any mistakes. Don’t get carried away tonight. I know you like to drink, but you need a clear head tomorrow—hell, tonight. It’s a Costume Ball, remember? With all the excitement of late, we may be attracting the fringe element.”

“Are you referring to the Jazz band?” Anatoly said with a grin. “The juggler? What about the magician? I could just imagine Momma’s face when she saw that on the list. A juggler. You and Momma have to embrace the fringe, Poppa.”

“If the Chumley Constabulary are going to investigate, what better time for them to show up, than tonight? Have you thought of that?”

“Do you really think they might?”

“How many people do you anticipate will be wearing masks?”

“Point taken.”

“And be mindful of the thief.”

“What thief?”

“Have you forgotten Roger Ashcroft, so soon?”

“Haven’t given him a second thought, to be quite honest. What about him?”

“Have you forgotten? Someone broke into Bedloe Manor last night. Roger came across him and was beaten? We talked about it at lunch? Just put someone in the Art Gallery, and we should be fine.”

“Do you really expect someone to steal one of your precious paintings?”

“A painting, no; but a Fabregé egg? Why not?”

“And what about Cromwell’s Skull?”

“I’m not too concerned about that,” he smiled, looking up at the chandelier.”It’s hidden in plain sight. It’s only the second time I’ve had to hide it. We won’t see it here for another six years. So I hid it in the same place I did last time.”

“And it’s reachable?”

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say that,” Chernetsov smiled. The skull hadn’t been found in years; he wasn’t about to have it found while it was in his care

“Visible?”

“From the right angle? Perhaps. From here? No.”

“Attainable?”

Chernetsov smiled as he carried on with his inspection. He passed through the foyer and into the grand salon where the banquet table was being polished and the place settings being laid out. Fifty chairs, twenty-four on each side, and one at both ends of the table. He’d made sure to have a clear view of the chandelier.