Tony never returned, yet they told me it was my turn.
I was ushered into the grand chamber, which was full. A raised stage sat to my right; nine men sat behind a table of dark wood. Bright lights shone on the entire section.
The maid directed me up three steps to a raised area just before the stage with railings round it. She opened a small gate on the side facing me. I sat in the chair provided. A row of men sat at the far wall beyond the stage in relative darkness, taking notes. A fierce-looking uniformed man stood next to the stage. Mr. Trevisane had described this man: the bailiff, who kept order.
Two long rectangular tables faced the stage. Mr. Trevisane sat at the closest table; I didn’t recognize anyone else.
Tony sat in the balcony, along with many from the other Families. But Jonathan Diamond wasn’t anywhere I could see. Why wouldn’t he be here? Was he ill? Had something happened?
To my horror, Jack Diamond stood leaning on a door-post at the back of the hall, arms crossed, head shaven, dressed entirely in white. He nodded grimly as our eyes met.
Why was Jack here? What might he do? And where was Jon?
The man sitting in the center of the row on stage spoke, but as if he had said it too many times:
“May I remind the witness and the chamber that this is a coroner’s inquest. The Coroner’s Office and Traveler’s Federation are here to determine whether the destruction of flight A26 was due to an accident or a deliberate act. If this board determines the destruction was due to a deliberate act, its goal is not to determine who caused that act. It merely transmits its factual findings and recommendations to the District Attorney. It does not determine innocence or guilt, nor does it prosecute criminal acts; that is for the District Attorney’s office. Witnesses are under oath; falsity may be prosecuted.” He turned to me. “Do you understand?”
Was this the judge? “Yes, sir.”
The bailiff appeared. “Please stand and state your full name.”
“Jacqueline Spadros.”
“Do you swear to tell the entire truth or suffer the Fire?”
“I certainly wouldn’t wish to suffer the Fire!”
Someone in the hall laughed.
“Answer the question, mum.”
“Yes, of course.”
“You may be seated.”
The chair wasn’t particularly comfortable, but I managed.
A tanned, white-haired man seated at the second table of attorneys stood. “How old are you?”
I didn’t care for the man’s manner. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, sir.”
Scattered laughter, and some applause.
The judge said, “Madam, this is the District Attorney of Bridges, Mr. Chase Freezout.”
I nodded to Mr. Freezout. I couldn’t in all honesty say it was a pleasure to meet him. “I’m twenty-two, sir.”
“And your date of birth.”
“Yuletide Center.”
Mr. Freezout appeared confused, but gathered himself quickly. “Very well. Please tell us where you were born, mum.”
“Bridges, so far as I know.”
“Where in Bridges?”
“Spadros quadrant, sir.”
“At home? In a hospital?”
Mr. Trevisane stood. “Objection. Of what relevance is this?”
The judge turned to Mr. Freezout. “This seems fair.”
“I believe my questions will become clear in time, sir.”
“We don’t have all day.”
Someone in the audience snickered.
The judge said, “Mrs. Spadros, please answer the question.”
“What was the question again?”
Scattered laughter.
Mr. Freezout said, “Where exactly were you born?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“I see. Where did you live as a child?”
“In the Spadros Pot.”
Horrified gasps from the crowd.
“I beg your pardon?”
“In the Spadros Pot, sir. To be more precise, the Cathedral.”
The audience murmured. The judge banged his small hammer, which quieted the room.
“And your birth name?”
“I don’t recall.”
Mr. Freezout blinked in confusion. “Madam?”
“I was quite small then.”
Laughter filled the hall. Tony leaned his hand on his face.
Mr. Freezout turned red. “This is a serious business, Mrs. Spadros. Do you mock the board?
“Of course not! I don’t wish to suffer the Fire, so I’m telling the entire truth. I simply don’t recall these things.”
He seemed put out. “Very well. What's your mother’s name?”
“My mother’s name,” I almost said “is” but then I remembered Molly’s warning, “was Fanny Kaplan.”
“And your father?”
“Peedro Sluff claims this. But I don’t know for certain.”
“I see.” It seemed he didn’t approve of my answer. “Can you tell us exactly what happened the day of the zeppelin explosion?”
Make him draw information from you. “Certainly.” I folded my hands in my lap.
He waited, then seemed impatient. “Would you, mum?”
“Oh! Of course. Well, first, after I rose, I had my tea and toast. If I remember correctly, I had the last of the blackberry jam. Then I read my mail, and the news. My maid and I discussed what I might wear to the Celebration. We decided on my new Spring gown. Then I took my bath, and —”
Mr. Freezout snapped, “Mrs. Spadros!” He paused as the outburst of laughter from the crowd died away. “Please limit your comments to what you saw at the zeppelin station.”
Excellent. He had leapt over the exact part I didn’t want to speak of. “Well, sir, the station was quite lovely. I arrived with one of my husband’s men in order to see off a friend. But we encountered a great deal of traffic and bother on the way and arrived after the zeppelin left. You know the rest of the story.”
“Actually, we don’t, Mrs. Spadros, which is why you’re here.” He paused. “What was your friend’s name?”
“Dame Anastasia Louis.”
Murmurs throughout the chamber.
“I see. How long had you known Dame Louis?”
“Since my engagement dinner. We met there. I was seventeen, sir. Almost six years now.”
“And what was the nature of your relationship?”
“Sir?”
“Were you friends?”
I felt a sudden melancholy. “Yes. She was one of the few friends I had in this city.”
“I would imagine Mrs. Jacqueline Spadros has many friends.”
I smiled, feeling bitter. “You would imagine.”
“Your husband’s man who accompanied you to the zeppelin station. Would you tell us more about him?”
I shrugged. “A man like any other. In his middle thirties. A bit taller than me, brown hair. The men called him Morton.”
“And where is this ... Mr. Morton?”
“I don’t keep track of my husband’s men.”
Mr. Freezout put his hand to his chin. “How came a woman of the Pot to marry Anthony Spadros?”
“I was brought to his home as a young girl of twelve.”
More murmurs from the crowd.
“For what reason?”
“As a playmate, I suppose.”
“And you stayed there from the age of twelve?”
“No, sir. I was only there during the day, and occasionally with his family on outings and vacations. I was sent back home to my people most nights until I came to be sixteen, then I was brought to stay permanently at Spadros Manor.” More murmurs. “My husband and I were engaged to be married the year after.”
“I see. And did you agree to this engagement?”
I didn’t meet his eye. “Of course.”
“So you lived in the Pot, and were brought to Spadros Manor every day? Or just some days?”
“Some days.”
“Which
days?”
“I never knew which day it would be, sir. Mr. Roy Spadros would send his men for me.”
He went to his table, picked up a tan folder full of papers, each with a small yellow sheet stapled to it, and flipped through them. “What does your husband do, mum?”
“Do, sir?”
“How does he provide for you? Afford to hire men?”
I made my face all innocence. “Why, he’s a gentleman, sir. We have extensive holdings, and live off the proceeds.”
“Is your husband not the heir to the Spadros Family?”
“Well, he’s their only son, so ...” I paused, as if in thought. “I never considered it that way.”
“So you’re saying you’re unaware of the activities of the most powerful criminal organization in Bridges?”
The room erupted: shouts, gasps, applause.
“Objection!” Mr. Trevisane was on his feet. “Slander! Foul slander!”
The judge banged his hammer several times, with no effect.
The bailiff shouted, “Order! We shall have order!” He slammed a thick staff into the floor as he spoke, without any reduction in the noise. He then lifted a large pump-action shotgun, and racked it. At the sound, the crowd silenced at once.
The judge said, “Sustained. We’re not here to cast aspersions on the character of either the witness or her husband. Keep your personal opinions to yourself or I'll charge you with contempt.”
Mr. Freezout seemed at a momentary loss. “Very well. Mrs. Spadros, I wonder if you might explain something for the board.”
“Certainly, sir.”
He lifted the folder. “If it please the board, I wish to enter exhibits 234 through 275, letters exchanged between Dame Anastasia Louis and Mrs. Jacqueline Spadros.”
Fear spiked through me. Anastasia didn’t destroy my letters?
“Objection,” Mr. Trevisane said. “Private correspondence of a gentlewoman and an aristocrat, even one deceased, should not be a matter of public discourse.”
“Overruled,” the judge said. “Mr. District Attorney, you are only to bring matters directly related to the disaster into the public record. Are each of these letters so related?”
“Yes, sir,” Mr. Freezout said. “Every one.”
The judge said, “So entered.”
Mr. Freezout picked up a letter and said, “Now, Mrs. Spadros, I wish to discuss exhibit 234 ...”
He made me explain each letter. Of course, they were all coded, and appeared innocent, but he rightly asked about each. What dog did I refer to? We only owned one, as had been reported by our staff. What was this red dog I asked about?
At the end of the discussion, I felt fatigued. “I have trouble understanding how any of these relate to the zeppelin, sir.” Spats of laughter here and there; I imagined many of the audience felt the same way. “But I’m just a simple woman from the Pot.”
“I’m tending to agree,” the judge said. “You will show reason these are related to the event or withdraw them.”
“I wish to prove a pattern of deception and intrigue, focused on these two women.” He turned to the audience. “Clearly —” He picked up a letter. “— this letter regarding the coal-man named Frank you wished to hire — living on Pagliacci street in Spadros quadrant — is not a real letter. There is no such street in Spadros quadrant, nor anywhere in Bridges. Therefore, this is some sort of code.” He put the letter down as murmurs filled the hall.
The judge said, “Proceed.”
“Were you aware, Madam, that Dame Anastasia Louis had an intimate personal relationship with a young man calling himself Frank Pagliacci?”
“I only became aware of this shortly before her death.”
He lifted a letter up. “So this letter was not seeking a coal-man for hire, as you told the court earlier.”
Murmurs from the crowd.
“I didn’t know there was no such street, sir. A man brought a card with the address.”
“Do you have the card to show us?”
“No, sir — I’m sorry, I must have thrown it away.”
“Why were you seeking a coal-man for hire? Does Spadros Manor not have a housekeeper?”
“Not at the time, sir. I’ve since promoted our Keeper of the Kitchens to that role.”
Mr. Freezout took up another paper. “I wish to enter exhibit 276, a letter found on the ground near Gate 19 after the disaster.”
“Objection! We weren’t informed of this,” Mr. Trevisane said.
“May I remind you, sir, for the last time,” the judge said, “that this is not a court of law. Mrs. Spadros is not on trial. The coroner’s office has no obligation whatsoever to inform you of its evidence.” He turned to Mr. Freezout. “So entered.”
Mr. Freezout read, “I quote: ‘Dear Anastasia, I wish you the best of success. Please accept this token of my esteem. Yours truly, Jacqui.’” He looked at me. “Did you send this letter?”
“No.”
He returned to his table, took out a form. “I have here exhibit 277, an invoice for the movement of three tons of ammonium nitrate to a ...” He peered at the paper, “Bryce Cemetery —”
Hearing the name sent a shock through me, and I stared at him in disbelief.
“— in the city of Dickens, for shipment on March first, 1899 — the day of the disaster. This shipment was scheduled for flight A26, the exact flight which now lies destroyed.”
Murmurs ran through the hall.
Placing the paper on the table, he said, “The scheduling of this shipment was at special request and signed by your husband. Had you any knowledge of this?”
“No, sir.”
“What if I told you an analysis of the handwriting suggests you wrote both this letter to Dame Anastasia and the invoice?”
Alarm struck me. “What?”
“Do you deny it?”
“Most certainly!”
“As you deny knowledge of the streets in your own quadrant? As you deny knowing your home doesn’t use coal?”
Fear struck me. Of course our home didn’t use coal; Spadros Manor sat on top of the Magma Steam Generator. How could I have been so foolish?
“Objection!” Mr. Trevisane howled. “Badgering the witness.”
“Sustained,” the judge said, but the damage had been done.
Why didn’t Anastasia destroy my letters?
“I have no further questions for this witness,” the lawyer said.
“We will recess until tomorrow,” said the judge.
I sat unmoving, feeling wobbly. Staring out at the crowd, I saw Jack staring back at me. I expected he might gloat, but he instead fixed me with a level, determined look then turned away, an attendant opening the door for him.
The maid led me back to the small chamber.
Tony came to me then, and with his men helped me to our carriage. “I’m sorry, Jacqui,” he said, once the doors were shut.
“What did they ask you about?”
“Letters, invoices ... I told them about the letters your friends stole from you. Pearson told them the same.”
“Pearson was there?”
“He went early on; we were still at the Country House. The house staff have already testified.”
“Tony, why did Ottilie, Treysa, and Poignee steal the letters?”
“Your kitchen maids?” He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Did you not have them questioned?”
He put his head in his hands. “No.”
“Why not?”
He raised his head. “They were your friends, Jacqui! You wanted me to put them to the question?”
“I didn’t want you to torture them, but ... if you would have tried to get answers from them before you had them killed, we might know more of who they were sending my letters to.”
“I didn’t know anything about the letters.”
It was true; I only learned of them after Pearson had their rooms searched. “We are truly f —” I only stopped myself in time.
Ton
y nodded. “I know.”
We sat there to the sound of hoofbeats. Tony took my hands. “No one has charged us with anything. But if they do, we can fight this. Don’t lose heart.” He kissed my fingers. “You did nothing wrong. Our lawyers can find a way through.”
I didn’t see how things could get any worse.
* * *
When we returned, I had a glass of bourbon while Amelia did my hair. After tea, Tony decided to go for a walk, taking several of his men with him. I sat in my study with a drink, the window open to let in the breeze. Amelia sat in the corner, mending.
I drained my glass, poured another. If Anastasia wanted to keep my letters, why didn’t she take them with her?
Or did someone in her household steal them too?
“Mum,” Pearson said, “Master Joseph Kerr here to see you.”
Relief washed over me. Finally, something was going right today. “Please send him in.”
Amelia focused on her mending, so I toasted Amelia and Pearson both, and drank to his arrival.
I pretended to keep writing, but in truth, I felt all a-flutter at the thought of seeing him. When the door opened, I rose. “Joe! How good to see you!” I offered him a seat on the sofa, sitting across the low coffee table from him. “How can I help you?”
He glanced in Amelia’s direction. “I need to speak with you on a matter of some delicacy.”
Ah. “Amelia, would you excuse us for a few minutes?”
She stood, put her mending aside, and curtsied. “Yes, mum.”
“Go to my room and take your mending. I’ll be up shortly.”
“Yes, mum.”
When the door closed, we both stood. He came to me, speaking in a whisper. We didn’t touch, yet he stood so near I could feel the heat of his body. “Jacqui, I have terrible news. My cousin is a secretary for the coroner’s board. He records all that’s said, both in the grand chamber and in the back room. He told me a meeting just took place to finalize the board’s report.”
Joe looked so alarmed that I felt afraid. “What did they say?”
Joe took my hands. “They believe you bombed the zeppelin.”
Joe covered my mouth. “No one must know, not even your maid. That was my cousin’s price for telling me.”
“But why? Why would they think that?”
The Ace of Clubs Page 20