I laughed. I’m sure it was, Master Rainbow.
I expect nothing more from you and no one will ever learn of it from me.
That he took the time to write reassuring words touched me.
I have need to tell you more of this woman Birdie who worked with Frank Pagliacci. Yet I can never get a moment to speak with you in private. Perhaps your husband suspects more than a carriage ride to the train station with Miss Diamond occurred last month.
Here’s what I observed: she was young and lovely, perhaps your age, with light skin, blue eyes, and jet black hair. But she seemed quite definite in her bearing, as if used to commanding men. I’ve never seen such a demeanor in a woman before, and it made her rather imposing. She didn’t look like any of the Families. Her height, medium, with a fine form. She had long delicate fingers, I remember them well.
She wore red. Her accent was of Bridges; I’m sure she’s not an outsider. But there was something about her which spoke of a difference between her and most quadrant-folk.
This was a cursory observation; perhaps others may give you more detail.
I wish you luck in your ultimate goal to leave the city and be free of the Families altogether. Try not to appear so eager.
If I can get into this drawer, others can too.
Your servant, BR
This is a farewell note.
Morton must have been more disturbed by talk of the inquest than I thought. I closed the drawer, locked it, and tossed the letter into the fire.
A few minutes later, Amelia returned. “Mum, I didn’t know you were here. You should have rung for me!” She got me changed and was in the midst of doing my hair when a knock came at the door. “Bother these interruptions!” Amelia snapped. “Who is it?”
Tony’s head came round the door. “Pardon my appearance in my wife’s chambers, Amelia, but I have words for her.”
Amelia turned crimson and curtsied low. “My apologies, sir! I thought you were the footman.” She rushed past Tony.
I chuckled. “Come in.”
Tony closed the door behind him. “Master Rainbow is gone.”
“Could someone have taken him?”
Tony pulled up a chair from my tea-table, sat beside me, and held up a paper. “He left a letter.”
“Well, that’s a relief. With all that’s happened ...”
Tony peered at me, then nodded.
“Did he say why?”
“He can’t risk being called before the court or photographed: it would put his life in danger.” Tony paused. “In that, I agree. He wishes us only to refer to him as Mr. Graham Morton.”
“Surely the staff knows him as Master Blaze Rainbow.”
“I’ve warned the staff that they must not reveal Master Rainbow was here, not even to other members of the Family.”
Roy surely knew of Morton’s presence and considered him no threat, or he’d be dead by now. “He’s been a loyal friend. But I understand his predicament.”
“One more item to speak with our attorneys with.”
“So we’ll meet with them before they appear on our behalf?”
“They’ve been there from the beginning. They aren’t allowed to present evidence, but they ensure Spadros Family interests are protected.” He took a deep breath, let it out. “To answer your question, we’ll meet with them before we’re to appear. I hope you’ve told me everything. I don’t relish being surprised in front of those men.”
* * *
After Amelia finished my hair, I took care of my mail. As I suspected, there was no one in the city registered with the name Birdie, or anything similar. A nickname?
None of my contacts knew much about Marja. This didn’t surprise me. Until a few years ago, she lived in the Pot.
As I pondered my next play, I realized: Pearson would be the best person to ask about the facility. He told me about it in the first place. So I directed him to learn what he could.
Then I went to the veranda to smoke; Amelia followed me. “Mum! Come upstairs, I’ll get you into a walking dress.”
I spoke more sharply than I intended. “I’ve worn this dress an hour! I don’t need special clothes to walk in my own garden!”
Amelia flushed red and curtsied. “Yes, mum.”
I lit a cigarette. To hell with Roy and his constant meddling! At this point I hoped he would try to hit me again.
The sun was high in the overcast sky when Mary Pearson came to tell me that Master Jonathan Diamond was here to call.
“Excellent!” I was going to have him seated outside, but I remembered his health. “How did he look? Is he well?”
“He looks quite fine, mum.” An instant later, she blushed.
I smiled at her, amused. “Show him out to the veranda then, and bring tea. Master Diamond prefers his with milk.”
I stepped on my cigarette then went to the veranda.
Jon, a tall man of twenty and six with skin so dark as to almost be black, emerged from the house and kissed my hand. He glanced around, the ever-present brown velvet bag of vials at his left hip clinking. “Is Mr. Spadros not home?”
I glanced over his shoulder. “Mary, tell Mr. Spadros that Master Jonathan Diamond has come to call.”
Jon pulled out my favorite chair in the corner. Then he sat to my right. “I’m so glad to see you well. I’ve worried for you.”
He was such a dear man. “Likewise.”
Mary arrived with the tea-tray. “Mr. Anthony says he’ll be down momentarily.” She poured for us then curtsied and left.
I blew on my tea to cool it then took a sip. “To what do we owe the honor of your company?”
Jon smiled, turned towards me. “I wished to see you.”
I thought I’d ask before Tony emerged. “Is Gardena well?”
“She’s visiting friends in the country today.”
“And your brothers?”
Jon chuckled. “They’re well also.”
“What’s so funny?”
“You’ve never asked after them before.”
“Well, I’ve never met them before.” I considered the matter. “But I don’t believe we were ever formally introduced.” I laughed. “The whole matter was strange. Mr. Cesare had nothing but insult, and the rest stood round looking embarrassed.”
“That’s usually how things occur when with my brother.”
I chuckled. “He spoke sharply, yes, but only the truth.” I thought about this for a minute. “I think that’s why I like you so; you only speak truth to me.”
Jon turned away then, and I would swear he looked sad.
Tony appeared. “Jon! How are you?” We all rose, and the men shook hands, then we sat, Tony to my left. “You look well,” he said to Jon. “The country suits you.”
Jon chuckled. “I hadn’t been to see my nephew in some time. He loves trains, so we went to the river for a few days to visit the station. He loved the puppet show there.”
Tony leaned forward. “What else did you do?”
“He showed me his animals — pigs, cows.” Jon laughed as if taken by some amusing thought. “He tried to ride a pig and got spilled in the mud!”
I didn’t know this nephew Jon spoke of, so the conversation didn’t interest me. But Tony hung on Jon’s every word.
For an instant, I wished for brothers, sisters, cousins, nephews. Those in Ma’s cathedral were my family, but now even they were lost to me. Would I ever see them again?
Jon glanced at me. “How did you like the country?”
A mix of emotions crossed Tony’s face ... disappointment and shock, yet a sudden relief?
I smiled at Jon, hoping he might enlighten me. “Please don’t stop talking about your nephew's exploits on my account.”
“I forgot you didn’t know who I meant.” Jon leaned back. “The boy you saw on Market Center. Remember?”
“Oh!” I said. “Yes!” I pictured him falling off a pig and chuckled. “That does sound amusing. I hope he wasn’t hurt?”
“Oh, no,” Jon said.
“He’s past the age of crying with every spill. He’s a sturdy lad with a sunny disposition. One of the happiest boys I’ve ever seen.”
Out of the corner of my eye Tony turned away. “Excuse me.” He went into the house.
I turned to Jon. “Is anything wrong?”
Jon gave a one-shoulder shrug, not looking at me. He rested his elbow on the table, his head leaning on his hand. “What have you heard about the inquest?”
Tony was upset about something — but I didn’t understand what. “We’re supposed to meet with the lawyers soon. Tony seems to be dreading it.” I glanced at the open doorway; Tony was nowhere in sight. “He made me speak of my business.”
Jon’s jaw dropped. “What happened?”
“He and his men caught me coming back from a case —”
Jon gave me a quick startled glance, and I realized I hadn’t told him about anything that had happened since the New Year.
“— wearing Madame’s clothes. He threatened to send Madame and her shop girl to his father.”
Jon put his hand to his forehead. “I’m sorry, Jacqui.” He took a deep breath, let it out. “How much did you tell him?”
“About the business, but I mentioned no names. He specifically asked about the night Daniel was killed. I told him what happened, and my father’s part in it.”
Jon nodded. “But not about Air.”
I laughed in spite of myself. “Pandora’s deck will never be dealt if I have anything to say about it.”
“Jacqui, sooner or later he’s going to find out. He deserves to hear it from you. It’ll be difficult —” He stopped, then let out a breath, “— very difficult, but so far as I can tell, he’s broken off with his father. Things are changing, Jacqui. If you stand with him, the two of you can get through this.” Jon turned away. “Would it help if I were there when you told him?”
“Joe says he loves me, Jon. He wants to take me and leave Bridges.” I hesitated, not wanting to cause Jon any grief. “I want to go with him.”
Jon turned towards me, concern on his face. “Jacqui —”
Tony approached the doors from inside the dining room. I called out to him. “Are you well?”
Tony nodded. “I forgot to tell Pearson something important.” He gave a fake smile, sat. “How’s your tea?”
Jon said, “Cold, most likely. I completely forgot about it.”
Pearson came outside. “Will Master Diamond be joining us for luncheon?”
Tony turned to Jon. “I’d be honored to have you.”
So we had luncheon on the veranda, a much more pleasant affair than when we hosted Josie three months before.
Tony seemed to have forgotten whatever it was that upset him so. But evidently he knew the little boy from Market Center. Why did he not say so when I mentioned him before?
The Anniversary
As Jon was leaving, Pearson approached us. “A delivery, sir.” Past him outside the open doorway, one of Tony’s men held Rocket’s leash as they walked down the front path.
“Write if you need anything,” Jon said, then followed them to his white and silver carriage at the curb.
In the entryway, four burly young men struggled to carry two black and white urns of polished marble, which held houseplants with large dark glossy leaves. The urns and plants were similar to those in the hallway at the chapel where we were married.
A middle-aged, balding man in rumpled overalls stood nearby with a clipboard. “Where do ya want them?”
“In the parlor beside the sofa,” I said, pointing the way.
I said to Pearson, “Who are they from?”
Pearson handed me an envelope holding an embossed card:
To Anthony and Jacqueline
On your anniversary
Roy and Molly Spadros
Today’s our anniversary, I thought. Four years. I’d completely forgotten. “How kind of them!” Roy and Molly had never sent an anniversary gift before. Why now? “They must be from your mother: your father would never pick these colors.”
Tony chuckled at that. “I’ll write thanking her at once.”
Tony and I were puzzled when one of Molly’s men galloped up: she never sent anything. We felt perplexed when the urns were emptied and found to contain garden dirt and houseplants.
Who sent these, and why?
* * *
Since the Kerrs had some time ago invited us to join them at the racetrack, for our anniversary Tony accepted their offer. We left the gray cobblestones of Spadros, drove through the island of Market Center, and over to Hart quadrant, which had streets of closely-laid deep red brick. It might’ve been faster to travel through Diamond, or even Clubb, but it was safer to travel this way. In any case, we had several armed outriders with us.
The racetrack was far out into the Hart countryside. At the time, I thought: This must have been part of the trip Joe took which ended in his terrible fall.
Tony said, “Any news from Master Kerr?”
I laughed. “Are you reading my mind now? No. I hope that means he’s well. Do you think his cast is off yet?”
“So he never wrote you this entire time?” Tony seemed at a loss. “I thought the two of you were fast friends.”
Indeed, I loved no one more. But my letters went unanswered. “He’s never been a letter-writer.”
I wasn’t sure he even knew how to write; I hadn’t learned until I was twelve, and he was taken from the Pot much later. “I’ll inquire when we next meet.”
Tony smiled. “I’m sure you and Josie will have much to chatter about as well.”
Josie had sent a printed condolence card for Anastasia, which was quite kind under the circumstances.
They’re grieving Marja’s loss. It would be cruel to expect them to write, when the only mother they knew had been murdered.
* * *
The buildings at the racetrack were red brick trimmed in white, a black wrought iron fence round the whole complex. It reminded me of the fence surrounding the Pot since the Coup.
When we arrived, men dressed in the red and silver livery of the Hart Family unhitched our horses. Our guards flanked us as we followed a man in Hart livery up the red brick steps carpeted in brilliant red to a set of glass-paneled white doors, similar to the doors leading out to the veranda at Spadros Manor.
Silver and crystal chandeliers hung from the white vaulted ceiling several stories above us. Dozens of men, women, and children traversed the cherry-paneled hall while a man’s voice spoke rapidly overhead. Many stared at Tony as we passed.
I giggled, taking Tony’s arm. “You’re quite the attraction.”
Tony rarely smiled in public; he was a master at not revealing how he felt. “This building is astonishing. I find it difficult not to goggle like a tourist at the sight.”
I patted his arm. “You’re doing quite well.”
A short, broad flight of white steps rose to a landing with many sets of glass-paneled white doors. These stood open, dozens going through. Our guide led us to an immense stadium.
Horses ran in the distance. Tens of thousands of cherry-stained wooden seats teemed with parasols and top hats, Derby hats, and caps. Children frolicked on the wooden steps, while the man’s voice — now broadcast over the crowd — continued its rapid pace. The crowd cheered. “This is spectacular.”
“This way, mum,” our guide said. Everyone stood waiting.
I turned to Tony. “I suppose now I’m the tourist.”
Tony’s eyes flashed amusement before his mask reappeared.
We followed to the left, then up a long flight of white steps. Finally we came to glass-paneled white doors.
To our left, picture windows showed the entire raceway. A buffet lay along the far wall. To our right, windows displayed the countryside. The announcer’s voice continued its rapid assessment overhead, delicious smells filling the air. The room — thrice the size of our dining hall — was full of people. The tables and chairs were of cherry-wood, with seats cushioned in silver and red b
rocade.
Charles Hart, portly and red-haired, moved toward us as we entered. He shook hands with Tony, kissed mine. “How good of you to come!” He gestured to the room. “My home is yours.”
I glanced back. “Where’s Honor?”
Tony chuckled. “Forgive my wife, sir; she has far too much regard for her servants.” He leaned toward me. “Our men are well, my love.”
A trio of musicians began setting up next to the buffet.
Mr. Hart bent closer, his voice conspiratorial. “The servants’ accommodations are the best in Bridges. They can drink a pint and bet on the games, shout when they win and curse when they lose — without having to worry about our tidy disapproval.”
I laughed. We were a rather prim lot. “I like you, Mr. Hart.”
At this, he seemed touched. “And I like you too, my dear.”
“Look,” Tony said, “your friends.” He pointed to our right.
Joe and Josie sat at a corner table across the room with several others. With her back to the large picture window, Josie made a lovely portrait with her golden curls and clear blue eyes. She nudged Joe, and he looked to her, as if taken off guard.
Joe grasped crutches standing against the wall, gazed at me with those beautiful green eyes, and smiled.
Joseph Kerr’s smile held the life and gladness of a summer day, the joy and ease usually only found in the smallest of children. It was innocent and earnest, lighting up the room.
Our eyes met, and I felt that electric shock to my soul.
Gods, how I loved him.
“Mr. Spadros,” Charles Hart said. The unease in his voice startled me away from Joe’s magnetic gaze. “Perhaps we might sit here? I have a table prepared.”
Tony said, “We should go to them, rather than force them to come to us.” He took my arm. “Excuse us, sir.”
“Not at all.” Mr. Hart’s face was grim. “Enjoy your friends.”
We crossed the room past tables full of people smoking, chatting, eating, and drinking. Most had reddish hair, but some had the straight heavy black hair of Mr. Hart’s ancestors.
“Tony, should we have spurned Mr. Hart’s invitation?”
The Ace of Clubs Page 7