JACK OF DIAMONDS

Chap 3 - Pt 1 (WHILE PARTNERS WON AND PARTNERS LOST...)

i

They ran through wide hallways hung with tapestries and paintings; cliched suits of armour seemed to lurk around every corner—every nook and cranny—with armaments, breastplates, and coats of arms hanging between the murals, paintings and tapestries. It made it easier with the hallway lit up by the new electric fixtures; they helped reveal the dirt and grime of the last century though, where cobwebs gathered in dark corners in parliamentary numbers. The hallways were panelled in Norwegian pine, for no other reason she supposed, than her grandsire admiring the colour.

When they reached her room she ran to the window, looking down over the circular courtyard as the passenger—obviously a man and obviously drunk—stumbled out of her line of sight. She let the lace curtain drop, only a crack was visible.The moon lit up the white rocks, sparkling against them, the grass beyond was wet with dew.

She watched the automobile disappearing into the distance. When she was a child, automobiles were a rarity, now, it seemed as if everyone owned one. She knew it wasn’t her father’s Daimler—she’d seen that much of it—and just by knowing that, she knew it wouldn’t have been her brother. She wondered who it could’ve been. She looked out at the white gravel again, gleaming in the soft moonlight, listening to the light fall of footsteps outside almost audible in the stillness of an echo.

“Do you see anything?” Artie asked, stepping to the window and pushing the lace curtain aside. He stood watching the car crest the hill before he turned to look at her.

“No,” she said, throwing her dressing gown on a nearby chair. “But someone’s definitely coming.”

She untied the knot in her negligee, shaking it lose and letting it fall to its full length. She looked at Artie and didn’t know if she was more afraid of the man approaching, or someone finding a thief in her room. If he should be caught in the room, she had no idea what would happen.

“Is it one of the serving staff?” he asked, and it seemed to her that he could read her thoughts.

“I doubt they’d have access to such a contrivance,” she laughed nervously.

“Contrivance? Is that what you think an automobile is?”

“You disagree with my assessment?”

“You’d rather we kept to horse and buggy, then?”

“Automobiles may be all the rage in London at the moment, but that’s simply because the streets there are cobblestoned; they’re made for travel. They're building an underground rail system—all the big cities are: Paris, New York, Moscow. In the countryside, it’s more convenient to go by horseback, than it is by automobile. These lanes are made for a horse and wagon, not an automobile. Nothing out here is cobblestoned or paved, except for manor houses like this one. If you want to drive in the countryside, you need an automobilist to take you from place to place. It’s inconvenient at best.”

“A temporary inconvenience, at best,” he said with a shake of his head. "That's the kind of answer I would’ve expected from someone older, more than a generational reflex, but a person flat-out refusing to accept the future. People our age—someone like your brother perhaps—is more likely to embrace the idea of change, and the automobile will change the world much the same as the aeroplane has. It's only a matter of time before governments realize that roads are essential to travel as well as commerce."

She could her the door open and close downstairs, and then the sound of a voice that made her stiffen.

“It’s Roger!”

“Roger?”

“My husband.”

“I thought you said he was staying in London?”

“Well, he’s not now, is he?” she said. “You have to leave. Take whatever you want, but don’t let him find you here. Please?”

“Do you expect him to come up?” he asked a little too easily.

“He’s a man of expectations,” she explained, turning the bed down.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Expectations?”

“Are you really so daft?” she responded with a smile and a slow shake of her head.

“I’m not daft, it’s just that as a man, I wouldn’t expect to come home in the middle of the night and think my wife will wake up and do her duty.”

“It’s hardly the middle of the night.”

“Are pretending to be asleep, all the same?”

“That's the plan. But you have to leave.” She pushed him toward the balcony doors, pushing them open and closing them behind him as soon as he was outside.

He knocked on the window, and she turned to look at him.

“I’m not leaving yet. I need to see what he looks like.”

“Why?”

“Why? Why not?” he replied. “You’d better get into the bed,” he added softly.

“How am I supposed to get hold of you if I need to tell you something?” she asked, listening as Roger called out her name, sounding more than just a little tipsy.

“He’s drunk,” Artie said.

“You think I don’t know that?” she said with a hiss.

He pointed at her dresser.

“Give me that deck of playing cards.”

“Why?”

“Just bring them to me. Hurry. Here,” he pulled the Jack of Diamonds off the top of the deck. “Do you ride very often?”

“Every day I can.”

“Do you know that tree at the property line—or what I’ve been told is the property line?”

“The Lightninged Tree?”

“That’s the one. Just tack this to the trunk, and I’ll see it.”

“Is that what you call yourself?”

“What?” he replied.

“Jack of Diamonds?”

“I don’t call myself anything. It was the top card. It could’ve been a three of clubs, for all I care.”

“I like it.”

“Jack of Diamonds? Why?”

“You’re a jewel thief,” she pointed out.

“I’m more partial to the King of Knaves.” He closed the door, leaving it open a crack. “Now do yourself a favour, and get into the bed.”

She could hear her name being called out, louder and sounding closer, and took a last, furtive look at the French doors. She would’ve crawled under the comfort of her blankets if she could, but she knew that would be a mistake. Roger coming home drunk was worrisome at the best of times. Usually embarrassing, because Simco, his valet, would've to take him off to bed.

Simco wasn’t here to take him off to bed, she realized.