JACK OF DIAMONDS

Chapter 6: Passions and Resolutions

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Artemus Spencer is a cad. He’s a liar, and a cheat, as well as a womanizer, and a thief. He is proficient at “Buildering.” That’s what they call it when someone climbs up the side of a building. He’s already in trouble when the story starts, you’ll find out a little bit about that in this chapter. He will find himself involved with White Russian Aristocrats, London Gangsters, and Irish Gun-runners, murder, as well as three lustful sisters. He’s also a suspect in the break-in and theft at one of the country Manors.

The constabulary will soon be involved.

Did I tell you that it takes place in the Devonshire countryside? He’s also a veteran of The Great War, and suffers a little from “Shell Shock.”

It’s and adventurous romp through 1923 London.

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CHAPTER 6

Passions and resolutions

Somewhere a clock struck the hour, echoing through the emptiness of the big house. Artie looked at the windows where the moonlight slipped in through the panelled glass, spilling across a Turkish carpet that partially covered the parquet floor, before washing up against the book-lined wall across from him. The piano was positioned on one corner of the small stage; its dark, ebony legs reflecting the soft moonlight. A large harp and small chair stood nearby, along with a music stand off to the left. There was a violin case with a ribbon resting on a stand beside a cello and viola; there were three more chairs with music stands in front of them.

Paintings lined the far wall, and his first thought was how he wouldn’t have put them above the fireplace. Along with the settee he was reclining on, there were two other camel-back couches as well as several wing-backed chairs with low, ornate tables between them. They were all facing the small stage. Each of the tables had new electric lamps on them, and he reached over to turn one on.

The marvels of science, he thought.

The walls were papered with tiny floral patterns; the ceiling high, and arched—painted of course, who would accept anything less?—with a large chandelier and several floor lamps placed throughout the room. There was a small, recessed alcove where several bronze statues stared down at him, as well as small ornate vases and figurines.

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

“The Grand Salon,” she replied. “Once upon a time, it used to be the East Library.”

“The East Library? There’s only one wall of books. I’d say that hardly qualifies calling this a library.”

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

“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. He fancied himself like Prince Esterházy”

“Who plays the harp?”

“My mother.”

“Which one do you play?”

“The piano. They say Hayden played it.”

“Of course he did. He played in all the big houses out here, I’m sure.”

“This house wasn’t built yet—not then. But the piano was. My father bought it in London and had it shipped out at great expense.”

“You said your brother played the violin? Who played the viola?”

“My sister.”

“The cello?”

“My other sister,” she smiled

“Two sisters?”

“And another brother.”

“Not dead?”

“Not dead,” she smiled, and he was caught off guard by her beauty again.

“Let me guess. You’d all have family gatherings on a Tuesday, or a Thursday night maybe, playing Brahms, or Beethoven; maybe Mozart? Perhaps some Hayden? You have his piano. Daddy and the other sibling—”

“Gerald.”

“Gerald,” he smiled. “All of them sitting in attendance, watching, along with in-laws, cousins, maybe the older grandchildren? What? A total twenty guests from other houses, maybe?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t play together anymore, do you?”

“My brother was killed in the war.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Did you—”

“France,” he said quickly. “I was lucky. I ended up in Paris working as a translator. I was one of the lucky ones.”

“So you were never in the trenches?”

He shook his head. “I was. Almost a year. Ten months. Went over the top half a dozen times in the first three days. A man gets a whole new perspective when he kills another man. When you look him in the eyes you wonder if the terror you see in his eyes, is mirrored in your own.”

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

“That’s because we try to forget it as best we can,” he smiled lamely.

There was a strange, awkward silence that filled the room, and Artie walked over to the violin, examining it closely. He could feel her eyes on him, and heard the sharp intake of breath when he bent down to pick it up. He carried it over to the table and laid it down. He slowly undid the silver buckles and removed the ribbon.

“What are you doing?”

“I have to know.”

“Know what?”

Artie picked up the violin and held it under the light. He began reading the inscription on the inside. He nodded to himself as he placed it back in the case.

“What?”

“I’m taking it.”

“You can’t take that. It belonged to my brother.”

“This is what I came here for.”

“You came to steal my brother’s violin?”

“Someone sent me to pick it up.”

“It’s not for sale.”

“Not like that. He paid me to steal it.”

“But it belonged to my brother.”

“I understand that,” he said as he placed the case back on the stand. “I’ll just pick it up on my way out.”

“I won’t let you take it.”

“I thought you would’ve at least waited until morning,” Artie said with a sigh.

“What are you talking about?”

“I thought you would have waited a little longer before you betrayed me. You’re my partner now. You don’t do what you did in order to be my partner, and then turn around and tell me I can’t steal something because it has sentimental value, deeming it priceless to you. If I don’t return to London with that violin, I’m a dead man. And so is my sister in all probability. Do you think I’m going to leave it behind?”

“What do you mean you’re a dead man?”

“The man that wants that violin promised to kill me if I don’t bring it to him. That specifically, particular, instrument. He knows that it’s here. He sent me to pick it up for him.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh!” he said. “Now, are you still my partner, or just another lonely, neglected wife living out a fantasy?”

“How dare you,” she said, staring at him.

“How dare I?” he laughed. “Are you trying to sound indignant? Because I refuse to believe that, coming from you. You said you wanted to be my partner. You proved to me you wanted to be my partner. You have to decide right now, then. Do you really want to be a thief? Are you willing to betray your family? Your husband? What about your son? There’s always a possibility that you could be arrested. This isn’t something you approach lightly.”

“Are you asking me to run away with you and join the circus?”

“As my new partner, could you direct me to the safe?” he said, “and betray your father?

“What safe?”

“I believe, earlier, you said your father owned the Great Eastern Railway? He’s bound to have something locked up in a safe somewhere.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that, or where it is.”

“I suppose he has an office? Maybe we could start there?”

“Why? What could you possibly hope to find? Money? He’s a businessman, not a banker. It’s not like he keeps my mother’s jewels in there.”

He smiled, looking at the pocket watch he kept in one of the pouches of his vest. It was shortly after nine. He knew if anyone was to return early from the Fair, it’d be one of the kitchen staff hoping to make preparations for breakfast in the morning. Whoever it was couldn’t afford to stay out too late. Time was a factor; it was always a factor. He hated the idea of leaving without his own booty.

“Fine. Yes,” he said, putting the watch away. “Take me to your mother's room.”

“What about the safe?”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“Really? What about my sister-in-law’s room, then? It’s closer.”

He nodded, and motioned her ahead.

They walked through a hallway lined with floor to ceiling windows, mirrors and paintings. The moon came out from behind a bank of clouds, slicing across the floor in front of them as they walked. It was just as quick to disappear behind the clouds again. He thought he recognized a few of the different styles among the paintings, but told himself they were probably generic, Salon-style paintings commissioned during the last century. There were Classically styled portraits, and Neo-Classics with Biblical scenes, along with mythological heroes, each with their rosy-cheeked cherubs and naked nymphs. There was nothing to see that he considered contemporary. Which he supposed was a good thing. He imagined some of the paintings might be worth something, but he didn’t have enough time to figure out what was valuable, and what wasn’t.

Besides, he came for the violin.

It’s funny how things just fall into place sometimes.

“You have a lot of paintings,” he said.

“My great-grandfather—well, that’s one of the stories they tell us. He bought everything he could get his hands on, with no regard to the artist. Not a nice man.”

“You could have anything here.”

“I don’t even look at them. My brother. He adored them. He wanted to index them by artist, before the war.”

“As my new partner, maybe you should do it? I know someone in London who might want one, or two, of these. I also know someone in insurance. I might be able to help you out. We could split the profits. That’s what partners do. Who knows, maybe you will want to run off and join the circus?”

“Here,” she said, stopping outside a room and opening the door. She leaned against the wall and waited.

“Here? What do you mean: ‘Here’? What’s in here?”

“I told you. My sister-in-law’s room.”

“Oh. The War Widow?”

She nodded. “There’s only Gerald now. And my sisters,” she added.

“So what do you want me to take?”

“She has a lot of jewels my brother bought her before the War. She likes to show them off. We hate her for it.”

“And by we, you mean you? You want me to take them?”

“Can you think of a better way to hurt her?”

“Quite the family,” he smiled, stepping through the door.

“And you like yours?” she quipped.

“What’s not to like about them?”

She was silent for a moment, watching him in the doorway as he slid on a pair of leather gloves. They were fixed with heavy studs along the knuckles; the palms were made of re-enforced leather. He took a small torch out of one of the pouches of his vest, and looked at it before pushing the button down.

“Is that one of those new torches?” she asked, stepping forward to take a closer look.

“I had it made,” he said with a trace of pride. “I’ve had all my equipment made.”

“What are those things on your gloves?”

“My gloves?” He turned them over and looked at the knuckles. “Once in a while, you have to break a window; they can be quite thick. I learned that the hard way by breaking a knuckle. And they can pinch you by your fingerprints. I try not to leave them behind.”

“How do they do that?”

“How would I know? I’m not a Constable. I’m sure they have experts, though. There’s always one who likes that kind of shit, isn’t there? I mean, people actually study that sort of thing.”

“Tell me about your family,” she said.

“You do jump about.” He was methodically waving the light around the room.

She reached out and turned the light switch.

“Welcome to the twentieth century,” she giggled.

Artie shook his head. It would’ve been better to leave the room in darkness. Again, what if one of the servants coming down the road saw the light and thought it looked out of place? She at least provided a little security, he thought. She’d have to confess to snooping about in the room, of course, knowing no one would say any different. But how could he take any jewelry and not implicate her?

He found the jewelry box.

It was locked.

“Do you know where she keeps the key?”

“No idea.”

“It’s in your best interest to find these things out.”

“Why?”

“What’s the point in having a partner, then?” He reached inside his vest, pulling his knife out of a sheath he had strapped under his armpit.

“If I’m your partner, does that mean you’ll show me how to climb walls?”

“I doubt it,” he smiled. He jammed the knife into the jewelry box and pried it open, ruining the box.

“Jack pot,” he said, pouring the contents of the box into a bag without even pausing to look. He tossed the box to the floor and did a quick search through three different dressers. He tossed things aside, pulling the drawers out and looked underneath to see if there was something tacked to the panel. He ended up finding a small purse stuffed full of bills, more jewels, and a lace kerchief wrapped around a selection of old coins.

He took it all.

“You don’t seem to care if you leave a mess,” she pointed out.

“I want her to know I was here. I want her to think I might come back. The more she feels violated, the more she’ll be afraid of me—or the idea of me.”

“You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you? So why not teach me to climb walls?”

“Have you ever climbed before? When’s the last time you climbed a tree?”

“Fifteen years ago. I was ten.”

“And you know that for a fact?”

“Of course. I fell and had a nasty break. You don’t forget that sort of thing.”

“You fall from this height, and it’ll kill you.”

“I’m not afraid. Watch.”

Jenny pulled a chair toward the fireplace, pushing it up against the wall. She stood up on the chair, took off her silk dressing gown, and tied the dress of her negligée around her waist so that the hem ended well above her knees. She pushed three small ornaments off the mantle before climbing up and walking the length of it, kicking knick-knacks out of the way and laughing when they smashed on the floor—each ornament singing out its own melody.

Artie looked at her reflection in the large Baroque mirror, once again, admiring her beauty. He thought if she didn’t work out as a good partner, at least she’d make a nice distraction. He looked at the length of her thigh in the reflection, and noticed how the light of the reflection showed her naked figure under the negligee. He smiled as he saw the swell of her breasts, her nipples erect, telling himself she was probably excited by her sudden act of defiance.

He walked to the doorway and turned the light switch, plunging the room into darkness.

“Why did you do that?” She stopped in mid-step, before slowly placing one foot in front of the other, as if she was a ballerina on a stage. She waited as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, which evolved into a semi-darkness as the light of the moon appeared from behind the skirting cloud cover.

“Two reasons,” Artie said. “You have to do it in the dark. What if someone comes back from the Fair? They’d see the lights on and wonder who’s in here.”

“Except the road is on the other side of the manor,” she smiled.

“And you thought of that before you turned the light on?”

“As my partner, you should always point that out to me before I act on impulse,” she smiled at him.

“I’ll do my best,” he laughed.

There was a sudden splash of headlights in the room and Jenny froze. She stood silent, looking out of the window and seeing an automobile in the drive outside.

“Someone’s here,” she said in near panic.

Artie walked to the window and looked down. The automobile went around the other side of the wall and out of sight. He walked back to the mantle and held a hand up to her. She reached out and jumped into his arms. He let her slide down his torso. She kissed him lightly, and picking up her dressing gown, put it back on. She ran to the window and looked down.

“Did you see who it was?” she asked.

“No.”

“I have to get back to my room. Whoever it is, will naturally think I’m sleeping. They cannot find me wandering the halls.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Why?”

“I need to know which room is yours. I hardly think it’s wise for me to be wandering through the halls looking for you.”

“Hurry then.”