jack of diamonds

Chapter 16 part 5 (Skullduggery)

The night didn’t so much wear on as it did slip by, Sonia thought, sitting back and fanning herself with the bowler that came with her costume. She felt good though, better than she thought she would, considering. Considering what, she had to ask herself? The fact that Nigel has yet to display symptoms of an early withdrawal? She was grateful for that; but the promise of it was still there, she told herself, all of the chills and aches, the puking and shitting, waiting for her out there on the periphery.

She remembered him telling her earlier how he’d been unable to dance since his accident, but she’d refused to accept that as an excuse tonight. The truth, she’d soon discovered, was that he’d never learned to properly dance. She could see that almost immediately. And how could he have, she wondered? The formative years of his youth had been spent at the Front during the War. So she dragged him out on the dance floor once the American Jazz band started playing, and taught him the basic steps he needed to know for all the popular dances of the day.

“Have you been watching our man, Mr. Spencer?” Sonia asked, sitting back in her seat with one foot up on the seat of the chair beside her. She was still fanning herself with the hat, looking down the length of the table and thinking how men had it so easy.

“Watching him? Not at all,” Nigel laughed, using a napkin to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

“Let me see if I understand this? You’ve spent your evening drinking wine, eating food the likes of which we’ll never see in our lifetime, and dancing?”

He listened, nodding as she listed things off, and grinned. “Sounds about right.”

“And what will we tell Detective Inspector Biles when we see him next?”

“You mean besides telling him to fuck off? Well, how about that I’ve been eating everything I can?” he laughed, reaching across the table and emptying yet another splash of wine into his glass. She watched as he topped off her glass and sat back in his chair, watching her. She could see black flakes on the white linen table cloth and reached a hand up to the moustache they’d painted on her; it felt a little thin, she thought. She reached up and pulled the pins out of her hair, shaking her long blonde hair out, bending over so that it hung in front of her, almost touching the floor. She sat up, whipping the hair up at the same time, letting it splash down her shoulders as she picked up the bowler and began fanning herself once again. The hair framed her thin face as she sat back, the high cheekbones and soft, doe eyes somehow enhanced by the slowly disintegrating moustache.

“To be honest, I lost track of him an hour ago,” Nigel said, taking a drink.

“Well, I haven’t,” she smiled.

“You’ve been watching him from the dance floor?”

“Let me just say, I’ve been watching him,” she smiled again.

“And what have you discovered about our mysterious Mr. Spencer?”

“What have I discovered? I’ve discovered that the ladies here seem to have gravitated toward him.”

“Gravitated? That’s an interesting word to use.”

“Well, the two sisters, and their in-laws, have been dancing with him all night, as well as Chernetsov’s daughter. The men don’t look too pleased.”

“I thought Chernetsov had two daughters?”

“He does, but the younger one’s about to be married and it would be inappropriate for her to pay any attention to him. As for the others…”

“Inappropriate?”

“The social dictates for women are a little stricter when it comes to their freedom, due to the social dictates imposed by, whoever it is that imposes these things. Society in general, I suppose.”

“Social dictates? You mean like Socialism” he laughed, taking another sip of wine.

“Must you be such a boy?”

“I can’t help myself. It must be the wine,” he added, lifting his glass up in a silent salute.

“Must be,” she agreed, picking her glass up in reply.

He watched her looking down the length of the table where they could both see Artie sitting in his chair, looking up at the chandelier. Suddenly, Artie stood up, and they watched him leaving the salon, entering the foyer. He was standing under the chandelier when he was joined by Jenny Ashcroft after a short while. They spoke for a time, and Sonia noticed how he was pointing up at the chandelier. She looked, but couldn’t see anything.

A movement caught her attention at the other end of the table, and she could see that Chernetsov was staring at Artie as well. He was talking to the Baron, and several of the other Lords and ladies of the surrounding manor houses, but he kept a close eye on Artie all the same

“I think I know where the skull is,” she said, sitting back and smiling.

“What skull?”

She leaned forward in her chair and looked directly at him. “Do you seriously not know what this whole night is about?”

“Tonight? Something to do with the start of something or other. I don’t know; I can’t remember. I’ve never been one to pay attention to these things. I’m not a very big fan of the social dictates addressed by polite society, so I try to stay away from these things.”

“Well, lucky for you, I am—a fan, I mean. Tonight’s ball is the start of the Season. That’s not to say it coincides with the Season in London—”

“The Season? What do you mean by the Season? What Season?”

She shook her head slowly. “Every year, the families—the aristocracy if you will—present their sons and daughters at Court. The sons aren’t as important as the daughters, of course, but that’s because no one wants to have a daughter living at home, unmarried. With boys, it doesn’t matter, they’ll get married at some time or another, and if not, they’ll be given a commission and shipped overseas to serve in His Majesty’s service…but a daughter?”

“They still do that?”

“Yes, they still do that. It’s archaic—barbaric in fact—when you think that a girl’s future depends on her acceptance at Court—the societal pecking order and what it brings to the family.”

“What do you mean, brings to the family?”

“If she’s pretty enough, she’ll find herself a Duke, or a Count, or maybe some obscure Prince, and the family will prosper.”

“Why should the family prosper?”

“It doesn’t matter, you’re missing the point.”

“So you have a point?”

“The point is this, out here in the country, it’s always a big affair moving to the city so you can let yourself be seen. But once a girl’s betrothed, the family returns to the country and entertains those lords and ladies they’ve been in contact with, where the business of Empire building takes place. Out here though, the city comes out to the country. Most of the people here have made the trip out from London. They’ll spend the night—make a weekend of it—and then head back to London in the morning. I know, you’re going to say those days have long since passed, but some traditions never die, like the Balls the six families here in Chumley Grove have been hosting for the last two hundred years.”

“How do you know all this?”

“My late husband came from a titled family, much the same as our Mr. Spencer over there.”

“And what’s this skull you’re talking about?”

“It’s the skull of the late Lord Protector. Oliver Cromwell. It’s a sort of Scavenger Hunt they play among themselves.”

She put her hand out, grabbing Nigel by the arm. She was looking directly at Artie, and Nigel turned around to look. Artie was back at the table, undoing the sword and placing it next to his wine glass. He bent down and removed his socks and shoes before he said something to one of the women; Jenny Ashcroft put a hand to her mouth at the very moment Artie pulled his mask down, stepping away from the table. Nigel could see exactly what Artie was about to do—and so could Chernetsov. Taking the steps two at a time, he reached the top of the balcony, where he jumped up onto the wide balustrade. Three quick steps on the top of the rail and he leaped out across the distance, latching onto the chandelier. It made a distinct noise as several of the crystal ornaments crashed to the floor below. With the chandelier swinging like a pendulum, Artie let go as soon as it reached its apex, landing on the balustrade on the opposite side of the room, stepping down with Cromwell’s skull in his hands.

There was a sudden roar from the people below, and Artie took an exaggerated bow, laughing.

“Tell me one more time why he’s not our only suspect,” Sonia said.