JACK OF DIAMONDS

Chapter 6 Edited version

Photo by ZHENYU LUO on Unsplash

CHAPTER 6

Somewhere in the distance a clock struck the hour, its booming chime echoing through the emptiness of the halls. Artie looked at the curtained French doors, the moonlight slipping in through the etched glass and spilling across the Oriental carpet partially covering the parquet floor before washing up against three bookcases lining the wall. There was a large piano-forte tucked into one corner, the dark, ebony reflecting the soft moonlight. A large harp and small chair stood near the piano, along with a music stand, a 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 a design of tiny floral patterns. The ceiling was high, and arched, with a large ornate chandelier and several lamps spaced throughout the room. There was a small, recessed alcove where several bronze statues stared down at him, as well as small vases and figurines.

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

“This? It’s the Music room,” she said. “Once upon a time, it used to be the East Library.”

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

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

“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 sister—played the violin, while the other played the cello? Either/or, it doesn’t matter which. You’d have family gatherings on a Tuesday night maybe, playing Brahms, or Beethoven; maybe a little Mozart? Eine Kliene Nachtmusik? Perhaps Hayden? With Daddy and the other siblings all in attendance, watching, along with in-laws, and the grandchildren.”

“My brother played the violin; my sister plays 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 in Paris, at headquarters as a translator.”

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

“We purposely try to forget, I suppose.”

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 plucked the strings and nodded to himself as he replaced it on the stand, seeing the case nearby. A Strad. He’d come by to pick it up on his way out.

Looks like Charlie’ll get what he wants.