JACK OF DIAMONDS

Chap 9 - Pt 3 (IS LOST TO ALL CONVENTION...)

“Excuse me, my Lord,” Berry said, bowing low but still able to watch Sonia and Nigel standing politely at the top of the wide staircase. “It seems there’s been a complication.”

With the wind was swirling about them, Artie could see Sonia fighting to hold her skirt down while Nigel busied himself scraping his pipe clean with a pocket knife; he appeared as unconcerned as Sonia was uncomfortable.

“What kind of complication would be important enough for them to break up a luncheon with my family, and a guest?” the Baron asked, keeping his voice low as he half-turned in his seat to look at the two Constables.

“They say they have some questions for your guest,” Berry nodded, looking toward Artie.

“Questions?” the Baron asked, raising his voice; everyone at the table heard him and together as one, turned to look at the two Constables.

Artie used the opportunity to adjust his chair once again, feeling his arousal mount as he did.

“This could be interesting,” Simon smiled, nodding at Artie briefly.

Berry was still bent down, whispering in the Baron’s left ear and Artie wondered what the butler was saying. He was certain it involved him and cursed himself for not thinking of a better excuse for having brought the horse. Obviously, he had not expected them to drive out and inspect the area; that was just plain dumb luck as far as he was concerned. He’d have to think on his feet

“They want what?” the Baron asked, turning to look at both Artie and Jenny.

“Looks like you won’t be getting that invite after all,” Gerald laughed, turning to look at Artie.

“How can you say that?” Agatha said.

“It looks as if this might be the beginning of a scandal? You do know how dear Poppa hates the idea of being tainted by scandal?” Gerald laughed, all of them watching the Baron throw his napkin on the table, stand up—excuse himself—and approach the two Constables.

“Any ideas as to what that may be about?” Simon asked.

“They’ve caught the thief, no doubt,” Daphne said. “It has to be that. What other reason could they have for disturbing lunch?”

“No manners?” Gerald replied with a grin.

“No, they haven’t, have they?” Jennifer smiled, and looking at Artie, opened her thighs wider. No one was paying attention to either her or Artie, and she arched her back slightly—subtly—pressing herself against his hand and letting him push his finger deep inside; he slowly began pistoning his finger into her. She reached under the table, pulling on his hand and rubbing it against herself before she climaxed behind her napkin and pushed his hand away.

She looked about and then stood briefly, sliding her dress back into place.

“I thought I dropped a shrimp,” she said, when her mother turned her head to look at her.

Artie sat back in his chair, looking at her closely before placing his wet finger in his mouth and smiled at her. He turned in his chair and faced the others.

“That’s why we use napkins, dear,” the Baroness responded, hesitating, and Artie thought for a moment she may have suspected something. But she turned to the Baron again as he made his way up the stairway to face the two Constables.

“Can someone tell me what’s so special about this Ball, anyway?” Artie asked.

“You haven’t heard?” Agatha replied, turning and looking up at him.

“About what?”

“Well, first of all, it’s a Costume Ball; the first of the year.”

“And how many are there?”

“Six. One hosted by each of the Manor Houses,” she nodded.

“All of the Houses host one Ball each,” Margaret added at almost the same time.

“Are they all Costume Balls?” Artie asked.

“Just tonight’s,” Agatha laughed. “But tonight’s Ball is special.”

“Special? What’s so special about it? Aside from it being a Costume Ball?”

“It’s Lord Cromwell’s Ball—well, that’s what we call it,” Agatha smiled.

“What does everyone else call it?”

“A waste of time,” Simon laughed, and Margaret hit him playfully.

“Why do you think that?” Artie asked.

“Because every year they hide this stupid skull in one of the Manor Houses. Whoever finds it, gets to keep the contents. But no one ever finds it,” Margaret explained.

“Maggie, please? There’s more to it than that,” the Baroness said over her shoulder, “and of course Artie’s invited.”

“No, there isn’t, and you know it,” Simon laughed.

“I’d be honoured to attend,” Artie laughed. “But I have no costume. Besides, what are the contents of the skull?”

“I’ll be going into town later. I’d be happy to drive you in and help you look for a costume,” Agatha offered.

“There’s at least two hundred gold sovereigns inside the skull,” Gerald laughed. “But no one’s ever been able to find it—or retrieve it—so no one really knows how much is in it, except the host—and whoever he assigns to hide the damned thing.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because if they see it, it’s usually impossible to get to,” Agatha added.

“Impossible how?”

“One year, it was in the hands of a gargoyle on top of a turret, at Mandalay Manor,” Margaret laughed. “We could see it; we just couldn’t get to it.”

“You mean it’s never just in the one place?”

“That’s the fun of it,” Daphne said, sounding dry.

“Every year, as the Host, you put a new sovereign in it, and at the end of the night, pass it on to the next House,” Gerald went on.

“And no one’s laid claim to it in over two hundred years? These Houses haven’t been around that long.”

“That’s because it’s been going on for longer than the houses have been here,” Gerald replied, the sarcasm obvious in his tone.

“And where is it going to be hidden this year?”

“This year?” Agatha laughed. “Why? Are you going to climb up and retrieve it for us?”

“Not for you; for me!” he laughed, watching as the Baron nodded his head, walking back down the stairs to join them.

"It seems they have some questions for the two of you,” he said, looking at Jenny and Artie once he sat down.

“Me?” Jenny asked. “Why? Do they think I have something more to say?”

“Well, there’s something about last night,” the Baron nodded.

“And me?” Artie echoed.

“Well, you brought the horse in, didn’t you? You’re probably the last one to have possibly seen him,” the Baron nodded.

“I did not see anyone—aside from the horse,” Artie explained.

“Apparently, it’s not what you saw, but more along the lines of what they failed to find,” the Baron replied, reaching for his wine with a noticeable sigh. “They simply need a better explanation and feel you were being—what’s that word she used? Elliptical.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Gerald said with a contrived laugh.

“And what did they say that might be?” the Baroness asked.

“They did not—and would not—say. She was being elliptical herself as far as I’m concerned.”

“Well then, I suppose we’d better go and get this all sorted out,” Artie said, laying his napkin on the table and standing up. He helped Jenny with her chair and then held out a hand for her, escorting her across the garden and to the steps.

“Bastard!” she said, taking her hand away the moment they were away from the table. “I hope they’ve caught you out,” she added.

“Yes, you so obviously didn’t enjoy any of that,” he smiled. “But a nice try all the same. Just remember this, if they have anything on me, they have it on you as well, because like it or not, you’re in this up to your tits.”

“Must you be so vulgar?”

“Vulgar?” he laughed. “I’ll come by and show you vulgar…later.”

“Later?”

“With all these rooms here, I’m almost certain we’ll be able to find a room to slip into and discuss events.”

“What events?”

“Mr. Spencer? Mrs. Ashcroft? I trust your husband is resting well?” Nigel asked, stepping forward and offering his hand to Artie.

Artie shook it.

“It seems we never got the opportunity to properly introduce ourselves earlier. I’m Constable Nigel Bannister, and this is Special Constable Nazar.”

Sonia stepped forward, extending her hand to Artie, then reached forward and offered it to Jenny.

“Jenny Ashcroft,” she said, smiling politely.

“Special Constable Sonia Nazar.”

“Well then, how should we do this?” Nigel asked, looking at Sonia.

“Why did you lie about the horse?” Sonia asked, looking directly at Artie.

“Lie? What are you talking about?” Artie tried smiling, looking at both Sonia and Nigel, before looking down at Jenny.

“We went out to the tree—just to have a look around,” Nigel offered.

“There were no hoof prints belonging to the horse. We took Richard out with us—the blacksmith we were talking to when you showed up with the horse—because he said the horseshoe had a mark on it the thief had no way of knowing.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Artie smiled.

“Why did you lie?” Sonia repeated.

“All right. You’ve caught me out. I did lie,” Artie said, barking out a quick laugh. “I honestly never expected you’d go out there and look. But I lied to protect my old friend Reggie, and miss Hansen,” he added.

“How could you not think we wouldn’t go out there, especially in light of what we found?” Nigel asked.

“What did you find?” Jenny asked.

“We can’t say at the moment,” Nigel was quick to say.

“That sounds rather cryptic.”

“Did you at least tell my father?”

“We did not,” Nigel replied.

“Then why is it you suspect Artie?”

“We didn’t say he was a suspect,” Sonia corrected her. “We merely have questions to ask him.”

“You’ve all but accused him of whatever it is you think you found.”

“Please, Mrs. Ashcroft,” Nigel smiled; still holding his pipe he began filling it from the pouch he pulled out of his pocket. “You both lied to us—in your own way.”

“Are you accusing me of lying?”

“We’re just trying to sort through everything,” Nigel explained.

“And yet you claim that I lied?” she asked, not so much in alarm at having been caught in a lie, but more at having been accused of lying in the first place.

“You told a lie, Mrs. Ashcroft?” Artie laughed.

“Apparently.”

“This is a serious matter, Mr. Spencer,” Nigel said, lighting his pipe and blowing out a cloud of thick smoke.

“I never said for a moment it wasn’t,” Artie replied, catching a brief taste of the smoke in the air and looking at the man, nodding slowly.

“Mr. Spencer? You’ve confessed to lying in order to protect Mr and Mrs. O’Dowd?” Sonia said, looking at her notes

“They’re not married,” Artie pointed out.

“They’re not?” Sonia asked, referring to her notes, flipping through the pages.

“Does it matter? Look, we were coming back from the Fair—me and Reggie—and there was this horse, just standing there at the side of the road. Reggie said it looked like one of the horses he’d see Mrs. Ashcroft riding from time to time. So I took it, and tied the reins to the wagon. Reggie was furious, saying people would accuse him of stealing it; I told him I’d return it first thing in the morning. I didn’t want anyone thinking I’d stolen it, or that Reg stole it; I’m sorry, I made up the part about finding it tied to the Lightning Tree—that’s what the locals here call it, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Jenny nodded.

“But Reg said the tree was supposed to be the edge of the property. Apparently, there are no real property lines out here. There’s never been a need for it before, I imagine. I thought, if I told you I found the horse there, no one could say it was stolen, because it was still on the property.”

“And the card?” Nigel asked.

“The card?”

“The jack of diamonds tacked on the seat?” Sonia reminded him.

“Oh that. Yeah, that was on the saddle. I didn’t lie about that. I thought it rather strange when I saw it.”

“So you just took the horse home, and thought you’d bring it out in the morning?”

“Yes.”

“And you were no where up near the tree?” Sonia asked.

“It’s not near the road we were on, so no, I wasn’t. Why?”

“And where’s Mr. O’Dowd? He wasn’t there when we went out to question Miss Hansen.”

“Reggie? Off to London by now, I imagine.”

“For what?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, ‘why’? What business of mine what he does? Or where he goes, for that matter? He said he had business to take care of in London; what does it have to do with me?”

“ Did he tell you that he had business in London?”

“Well, he told me he was going there, so I suppose he did. You can ask him when he gets back. Why are you asking me all these questions?”

“And when will that be?”

“When he gets back? He’ll get back when he gets back, I suppose. Ask Claire. She’ll know more about why he went there than I do. Do you have any more questions?”

“I may have, depending on what we find. You’re not leaving soon, are you?” Nigel asked.

“Leaving? I doubt I’d be able to leave, even if I wanted,” Artie laughed.

“And why’s that?” Sonia asked.

“Well, it’s the start of the season, isn’t it?”

“Season? What season?”

“ ‘The Season of the Skull.’ Isn’t that what they call it?” he turned, asking Jenny.

“For lack of a better term, I suppose,” she said. “Now, will you tell me what you say the lie is, I told you? Is it the part where my husband is beaten half to death by a thief who climbed up the walls like a capuchin monkey? The part where the man broke into my bedroom? The part where he rode the horse out of the stable—”

“Wait! What?” Artie said quickly. “You don’t think I stole the horse, you think I broke into the house and beat her husband. You think I’m the thief?”

“There’s more to it than that,” Sonia said softly, almost sounding apologetic.

“Is there? Then tell me; maybe I can help you figure it out?”

“I’m sorry. This next part’s a little delicate,” Nigel responded.

“Delicate? How can her husband being beaten up, be considered delicate?”

“Special Constable Nazar? Perhaps if I could ask you to talk to Mrs. Ashcroft in a way that won’t be misconstrued as indelicate?”

“Indelicate?” Artie laughed. “You certainly have a way of beating around the bush, don’t you? It must be what you’re putting into your pipe that gives you so much insight.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sonia asked.

“Can’t you smell it?” Artie smiled.

“Smell what?”

“That isn’t just tobacco he’s got in there.”

“No?”

“A fine Constable you make,” Artie laughed. “Perhaps Gerald’s right?” he said, looking at Jenny. “It’s opium!”

“Opium?”

“Go ahead, tell her I’m wrong,” Artie said, confronting Nigel who appeared speechless.

“My doctor prescribed it after the accident I had last year.”

“ ‘Last year’? Do you mean he gave it to you for the pain?”

“What else would it be for?”

“But it’s been over a year?”

“What difference does it make?”

“Were you at the Front?”

“It wasn’t injured during the War.”

“I didn’t ask you that,” Artie pointed out.

“I was a motorcycle courier.”

“Do you know what happened to those soldiers who were given too much morphine?”

“I saw, yes.”

“Come along, Mrs. Ashcroft, we’re done here. I think it would be in everyone’s best interest if you call the Constabulary in Okehampton and ask for someone who’s not addicted to opium.”

“That will take days,” Sonia said quickly, looking at Nigel and shaking her head. “I can run the investigation. I still have questions.”

“You?” Nigel protested.

“They obviously have no confidence in you,” she retorted.

“You can’t do that!” Nigel said, ignoring her and calling out to Artie. “You’ll ruin my career.”

“You were about to accuse me of breaking into her bedroom and beating her husband half to death. What do you think that will do to me?”