JACK OF DIAMONDS

A SERIAL NOVEL

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Someone talked me into giving out little snippets of my story, rather than telling the reader what’s going on with the updates I sometimes put up. This entry is 3000 words, and the FREE access blurb is 1000, so that seems like a pretty good trade.

Anyway, you should upgrade. You’re 22 chapters into the story at this point. What are you waiting for? There’s a lot left still. You can pay $5/month, or else save yourself by doing the math and subscribing for a year at $30 (Can.)

CHAPTER 22

MRS. O’DOWD’S PIES

“Tell me about—what did you say his name was? O’Dowd!” Nigel asked. “Tell me about this O’Dowd fella,” he asked Richard.

They were in the Bentley again. Sonia had pulled the top up and Nigel was grateful, feeling the cold seep through his wet trousers and reminding him of what the cold could be. He’d heard that some automobiles now came equipped with gas heaters, just for such occasions, he told himself, trying to suppress a shiver.

But of course the Bentley doesn’t. It doesn’t matter how much you spend, you always forget something. But who forgets the heater?

“Yes, Reggie,” Richard replied. “Nice enough fella, I suppose, but Reggie O’Dowd’s an outsider. Always will be. He showed up here after the War, claiming to be a nephew of one of the two previous owners—or something like that—at any rate, he said he’d inherited the place with their passing. No one seemed to care much.”

“Why? You don’t think it was true?”

“No one thought to question it,” Richard said with a slow shake of his head. “No one cared enough.”

“But you did,” Nigel said.

“It hadn’t been looked at for years. It weren’t worth much, and I didn’t have much. But I seen some London city geezers nosin’ about.”

Nigel could see that Richard probably had his eye on the property.

“Everything seemed to be in order, from what I’d heard,” the man added, but it was almost  as if it was an afterthought, Nigel noticed.

“In order?” Nigel echoed. “And what year was that? When the previous owners passed, I mean?”

“The Urquharts? That would’ve been Ray and Heather…so it would’ve been a year or two before the Great War…I’d say maybe…1912? 1913? The farm never made a great deal of money for them. So like everyone else around here, they were deep in debt. A lot of them were quick to go for a shit after the War, on account of a lot of the boys not coming back.”

“Who owns the land out here if it isn’t owned by the local Lord? What’s his name?” Sonia asked, quickly flipping through the pages of her notebook.

“That would be His Majesty the King,” Richard smiled.

“This is Crown land?” Nigel said, looking up. “O’Dowd’s farm, too?”

“Crown land. Baron Geurnsy, the Earl of Aylesbury,” Richard replied, “doesn’t own this far out; at least, not yet. But that’s only a matter of time now, isn’t it? He would’ve owned it already, but for the War.”

“And the farm sat empty?” Sonia asked.

“The entire length of the War,” Richard smiled, nodding his head at the irony. “The whole four years. He’s not much of a farmer, this O’Dowd fella, not from what I know of farming, which isn’t much,” he added with a chortling laugh. “I’d raise horses out here. But even so, I know more about farming than he does.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Why?”

He turned to look at Nigel again.

“He’s one of those London types—no-necks, if you know what I mean? That’s how he strikes me as. He came here after the War, to try and make a honest go of it. He had no idea of what needed to be done. Don’t know much else about him, really. Nice enough bloke, all the same. Easy to talk to. He never brought his wares to market when he got his first crop, because he didn’t have enough to spare. That’s when he met Claire. She came over to help him with the canning.

“His is an example of subsistence farming at its worst,” Richard grinned. “But he never gave up, the fella, I’ll give him that. He’s learned, over the last five years. He was selling his wares to some of the Manor houses about, I heard, instead of taking everything to Market once he’d figured out how to do it.”

“When did you say he first got here?”

“I didn’t.”

“But it was after the War?” Sonia pointed out.

“Aye, that it was.”

They were headed in the opposite direction, toward the O’Dowd farm, with Nigel hoping he’d feel the automobile’s natural heat coming through the carriage from the large engine. It was another half hour of tortuous track, and there were several times when Nigel thought they’d have to get out and push, but Sonia was able to sort things out thanks to the weight of the Bentley.

The sun was well over the hills, the glare winking against the larger puddles and making it almost unbearable Nigel thought, wishing he’d had his riding jacket so he’d at least have his sunglasses. He smiled when Sonia reached for her purse and began sorting through it, looking for her own sunglasses.

He laughed when she looked at him, looking up from the mess of her purse on the seat.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’ve just never met a woman like you,” Nigel pointed out.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Women around here don’t drive,” he counted off.

“Not out here, no Mum,” Richard added,

“And they certainly don’t drive Bentleys,” he said.

“Only Lords an’ Ladies drive Bentleys,” Richard said.

“And the contents of her bag? Never,” Nigel said with a laugh.

“A lady never shares the contents of her handbag,” Richard echoed.

“I told you, my father bought me this auto.”

“Your father the doctor?” Nigel asked.

“You don’t believe me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well you don’t sound convinced. He doesn’t sound convinced, does he Richard?”

“No, Mum, he doesn’t,” Richard smiled.

“Well, if you’re going to take her side, at least give me some warning,” Nigel said.

“I’m going to take her side,” Richard said, leaning forward and smiling.

“Why?”

“Why? Because we should’ve been out pushing at least three times that I’ve seen, and we haven’t. She’s not like other women,” the large man said, sitting back into the comfort of the seat. “Not like no one around here. A lot like that Miss Hanson, beggin’ your pardon, Mrs. O’Dowd.”

“Thank you, Richard. I think,” she added, putting her sunglasses on and turning her head with a haughty pose as she concentrated on the lane ahead of her. Nigel sat back and sighed, smiling. He closed his eyes against the sun and she gave him a sidelong glance, smiling to herself as she brushed the hair out of her eyes…