To Make a Long Story Short

The Burgundy Chamber

THE BRISK SEMI-CHILL of late October accented the stillness of the evening. A red leaf strained against the maple tree, freed itself, and floated away on the breeze. In its place, a glint from the pale hunter’s moon flickered, threatening to disappear, then fastened itself to the tree limb. There it peeked cautiously through the windows of the old mansion, as if trying to slip in unnoticed for the party. Dark clouds scuttled across its face, a defense against the invasion.

Near the front entrance, the low voices of a half-dozen friends of the family floated in the air. A woman’s gay laughter rose over the top briefly and was quickly muffled. Jeremy slipped quietly down the drive before cutting across the maple grove to circle around by the servants’ entrance to avoid notice.

He had only just escaped for his walk. He’d somehow managed to get cut from the crowd by Elaine Ransom, the young wife of Hector Ransom who was already deep in his third martini. By young, Jeremy meant perhaps mid-forties. She was probably the closest in age to his thirty-one years of all the guests.

She’d been in his personal space, talking to him through uplifted ruby lips beneath her Sybaris mask. Most of the Venetian masks at the ball did little to hide the features of the wearer, so it was not uncommon to find garish makeup on the faces of women and even of men. Her mask was mostly an open iron filigree with inlays of blue, red, and gold enamel highlighting her brilliant blue eyes. It sat above her nose, leaving her rosy cheeks and red lips fully exposed. Her blonde hair fell in temptations around her face. He wondered if she’d chosen Sybaris specifically for its underlying meaning—opulence, luxury, and outrageous pleasure-seeking. She carried on a complex conversation, telling a risqué story of her first encounter with Hector (when he was much younger and capable of these things, she hinted), constantly pressing her breasts against his arm or chest as he backed into the dining room where he was pinned against the table by her abundant cleavage.

He could not help but look down into that valley, thinking of the pleasures it might afford. But when she pulled his face down so that she could mash her lips against his and probe his mouth with her tongue, Jeremy panicked and slipped away from her grasp, fleeing through the side entrance of the sitting room.

Try as he would, Jeremy couldn’t stand more than a few minutes in the press of “friends” that gathered every year at this time to celebrate his father’s birthday. The birthday had been celebrated with a masked ball for as long as he could remember. “People let down a world of barriers from behind the pretended anonymity of the masks,” he reminded himself, after he was sure he was out of range of the partiers’ ears. He lit his pipe and relaxed as he walked toward the orchard.

All Hallows Eve would probably be celebrated in the same way long after Dad was dead and joined Mother in the family cemetery on the hill. If Jeremy tried to throw a party to celebrate his own birthday, people would still arrive on the 31st of October. He could sell the house and move a thousand miles away and know even the spirits of the same people would gather at the same spot and at the same time of year, long after they had all vanished from the face of the earth and joined their ancestors. Woe to the poor estate owner who attempted to ban their gathering.

But it was as unlikely for Jeremy to sell the old mansion as that he would ever throw a birthday party for himself on the next day. As shy as he was, he did not know of a person he would like to invite. Perhaps one, but he had long since lost track of her. He would as soon celebrate his own birthday as he always had: quietly walking in the woods with a book, a pipe, and the solitude. Later he would sit down to his own birthday dinner in his own room and eat it alone.

Celebrating his birthday in any other way would be as unlikely as his father calling off the annual soirée in his own honor. His father would celebrate his birthday in this way as long as he was alive—forever, Jeremy assumed—and Jeremy would awake the next morning, while all the household slept off the rigors of the night before, to celebrate his own nativity—happily alone.

It was now a quarter till eight and the last guests had arrived for cocktails. At 8:30, Jeremy and his father would offer a toast and dinner would be served. There would be a steamship round, ordered from the butcher a year in advance, cut and served in the great hall downstairs. It had been cooking for the better part of two days—the aroma filtering up to his room above for hours. Having a room above the kitchen had its advantages. Jeremy had smelled so many wafting aromas through his life that few now appealed to him now. He would eat the portion of rare beef the cooks cut for him earlier in the day.

Everyone else would be served meat well done, with a selection of sauces to add flavor and texture to the bone-dry meat. His father simply did not tolerate bloody beef.

Jeremy’s portion, served on a dark rye bun from beneath the counter, would be eaten surreptitiously as he slipped back up the stairs from the great hall to the kitchen. He needed to return to the guests in the great hall by 10:00 for coffee and cheese. People would comment about how thin he was, but he felt best when very thin. He believed people didn’t notice him so much as a thin person and he could slip out of sight and back to his room without being seen.

After coffee and cheese, the band would begin to play. The same people who waited for this opportunity each year would dance with anonymous partners, carrying on imaginary romances that would lie dormant again when the band stopped playing at one o’clock. Presiding over the event like a monarch, his father would rise to thank his guests and bid them return for his next birthday.

By one-thirty, all but six men would be gone: the council. They were not only permitted to stay; it was expected of them. They would retire to the Burgundy Chamber and indulge in the finest cigars and Port his father had collected over the past year.

Strangely enough, these six were the guests at the annual party Jeremy genuinely liked. They were kind and gentlemanly men. The gatherings in the Burgundy Chamber were quiet times of humor and affection, accentuating the sham of the preceding party. At two-thirty, Jeremy would rise from bed and come to the Burgundy Chamber, wearing his dressing gown, to greet the council and share a cigar and a glass of Port. He had made this customary visit to the council each year since he was four years old. That year, he had entered the room innocently searching for his father. To his surprise, he was given a cigar, a glass of Port, and was allowed to stay for half an hour. Then his nurse took him back to his room. He left with the well-wishes of the council and their invitation to return next year.

He had, and every year since. Over those twenty-seven years, his visits had lengthened to a full hour, but each was punctuated with the invitation of the council to return the next year. The word of the council had a magically mandatory effect.

Off in the distant hills, a wolf howled at the full moon. It was answered from miles away. Jeremy would talk to Garth, the estate manager, in the morning to see if his assistance was needed to control the predators. It wouldn’t do to have them closing in too close to the estate. Other landowners would join together to drive the pests back into the wilds where they belonged.

Jeremy plucked a late-hanging apple from the tree, not twenty feet from the kitchen entrance as he tapped the cold ashes from his pipe. He could see the servants finishing their tasks. In a few minutes they would all leave with trays of food and head down the kitchen stairs to the great hall. Jeremy would then slip in through the kitchen door and go through the formal dining room to the front stairs, where he would join his father in a toast and lead the grand march downstairs. He thoughtfully took a last bite from his apple and tossed away the core. How orderly life was. He liked the tightly-held routines. It freed the mind to think of more imaginative things than what mask to wear this year.

In the kitchen, the servants, all in their white jackets and plain black masks, received their final instructions from Mabel, the cook. She had given these same instructions to the servants for some thirty-five years. And half the servants had received them as many times. There was very little turnover amongst the hired help. Working at the mansion was a highly sought-after career. The servants were carefully chosen to conform to rigid standards. They were treated well and were justly compensated. There were never any grievances.

Jeremy glanced at his watch to be certain. Yes, it was ten after eight and the servants lined up to receive the trays of food and march down the back stairs to the great hall. When the kitchen was empty, Jeremy stepped out from behind the tree to follow, then stopped short. On the other side of the kitchen, the bathroom door opened a crack and a servant looked warily around. He stepped into the kitchen and tugged at his mask as if it made him uncomfortable. Must be a new hire, overcome by the pomp and preparations. He’ll recover himself soon enough and follow the others.

The novice server pulled a chair from one wall and sat in the doorway. He shook his head and buried it between his hands. Then he pulled a cigarette from beneath his jacket and lit it at the stove.

Obviously, he was a very new and nervous man. Smoking in the kitchen had always been forbidden. The servants were not even supposed to have cigarettes on their person when waiting on the guests. This was an odd one. Why doesn’t he shape up and get on downstairs?

Jeremy fidgeted with his watch. To enter through the kitchen door would be embarrassing for both him and the wayward servant. Mabel must handle a confrontation and he would discuss the matter with her in the morning. Time was growing short. In two more minutes, he needed to move in order to meet his father for the toast at the top of the stairs. Still, the servant, now looking considerably more relaxed, showed no sign of leaving to join the others.

Jeremy hated cheaters. This man was cheating his father and the other servants. But the irritation was not enough for him to risk reprimanding him. Now, the urgent matter was to get in and through the house to the front stairs to meet his father.

With the servant still in the doorway, Jeremy had to find an alternate route. Just around the corner of the house, on his father’s private patio, were the tall French windows of the Burgundy Chamber. They were always opened at six on All Hallows Eve, and left open until the council met at one-thirty. It was a little-used room and the airing served the dual purpose of freshening the air and of keeping the room cooled to a good serving temperature for the Port. The problem was that the room was also kept dark until the servants turned on the lights and lit the fire as the other guests were leaving. Then they brought refreshments for the council and two servants would remain on call all night to answer the needs of the council. The room was off-limits to the guests at large. As much as Jeremy disliked entering his own home like a common thief, the Burgundy Chamber appeared to be the only way to get to his father in time now.

At the side of the house, Jeremy found the French windows open as expected. A cloud crossed the moon, casting the patio in darkness. A light leap from the ground and he was in his father’s private space. He stood in the opening of the windows, brushing the dust from his tuxedo and hands. He took a moment to adjust his Venetian Lorenzo mask, then strode toward the hall door.

Where the hands came from that were suddenly caressing his back, or the lips that were pressed passionately against his own, he hadn’t the presence to think. She had darted from nowhere as soon as he rounded the sofa. Her hair beneath his fingers was soft as silk. The smell of her cheeks was fresh and clean. A feather on her mask tickled him. Her lips caressed his with soft patterns that bade him do nothing but yield.

Jeremy was so surprised and caught up in the stimulation of his previous kiss that he responded vigorously to the kiss, allowing her to guide his hands to her breasts as they fought with their tongues. Her own hands slid down his front to stroke his rampant manhood.

Well, if Elaine had gone to the trouble of blocking the kitchen door and waiting for him in the Burgundy Chamber, he was not going to reject her advances here. His hand slid down the front of her low-cut ball gown and cupped the breast beneath its covering. The kiss increased in passion as she sped the stroking of his cock. He lightly pinched her nipple as she squeezed with her hand.

“Oh, Jer, my darling. I was afraid you had changed and would not come. I’ve done all you asked, but I don’t love him like I love you. Please, make love to me.”

“I…” Jeremy began. The voice did not exactly sound like Elaine’s. “Excuse me but I’m afraid…”

“Oh!” the woman exclaimed as she jumped back away from him. His hand on her breast followed of its own accord. “You’re…!” She turned and ran through the hall door even as he tried to hold her. It slammed behind her.

Jeremy stood, shaken. Never had he been kissed like that. Never had he felt such vibrant passion from a woman, unleashed toward himself. At least, not in many years. When he was still in his teens, Louisa had followed him through those same French windows and up the spiral staircase to his bedroom. There, they had discovered secrets of the human body as he immersed himself in her virginity. He had gone on to the University. She had attended a college far away and he had never seen her again. If she were back to visit her parents, she might have used this very entrance to crash the party. Could it be he had just molested his childhood friend and lover?

Or… Had it been Elaine after all, not accepting his refusal and coming seeking him? It might have been her voice in the throes of passion. He staggered toward the door and fumbled with the light switch, finally managing the power. The chandelier flickered and then began to glow. Yes. There he was, in the Burgundy Chamber—a moment ago, the scene of a scarlet dream. He touched his lips tentatively, afraid he might brush away the trace of her taste. In the dark hallway, there was no sign of the woman who had shown so much passion only moments before.

He closed the door and looked around the Burgundy Chamber. Perhaps there would be a clue to the identity of the mystery maiden. He would hate to make a suggestive remark to Elaine if it had not been her breasts he had groped. His heart thumped as he thought of discovering the woman and opening a conversation with her that would lead to a repeat of the event just passed.

She had called him by name. It was a game. Perhaps his childhood playmate had returned to surprise him. He knew how her heart was turned to him, but he would have to discover her. Or perhaps it was another partier who had bolstered her courage with alcohol and come here to meet him. A strapless gown. That would certainly be a clue when he greeted the rest of the guests.

He would not leave the party so early this evening. She—whoever it was—must be leaving clues for him, if only he could discover them.

In the shimmering light of the electrified chandelier, the Burgundy Chamber took shape. The glasses for Port were set on the library table near the windows through which he had entered the room. The deep burgundy walls provided an elegant background for his father’s priceless collection of artwork. The fire had been laid in the fireplace but not yet lit. The high-backed red leather furniture was all in order. The circular stair led to the library gallery above the room. Jeremy moved to it. If she had not come in through the windows, this was without a doubt how she had entered the room. She would not have risked being seen in the hall. He was on the steep narrow stair when he realized no woman could have negotiated the stairs in her long formal dress. It would, however, provide a vantage point for surveying the room.

He turned. She had approached him from behind the sofa as he passed. They had kissed just there. Several chairs were arranged in an arc around the fireplace. That was where the council would sit. And then he saw, below him in one of the great leather chairs, his father. The time suddenly dawned on him as the grandfather clock struck the half hour. His father must have come in quietly, looking for him to lead the toast and procession down to the great hall. What a sight Jeremy must have been, running up the staircase in search of clues to a vanishing lady. He knew better than to make excuses. It would probably be the topic of discussion when the council met late that night. He would come in at two-thirty and be asked to tell of his interest in the staircase of the Burgundy Chamber.

He descended the stairs quietly and straightened his tie. His father did not move from the great chair nor speak. Jeremy could not even see him now that he was behind the back of the chair.

“I’m ready,” he said.

There was no answer.

“Father?”

There was still no sound.

Jeremy went to the chair and looked at his father. The man sat with his eyes looking blankly at the fireplace. Blood. It streamed from a wound near the back of the left side of his head. It had already stained the collar of his formal shirt. It darkened the leather chair with a glossy sheen. It fell upon the expensive Turkish rug beneath the chair, ruining the delicate patterns. His father’s expression was warm, with just a hint of surprise in the unblinking eyes.

“Father!” Jeremy touched his face, but the life was gone.

He was stunned. The Burgundy Chamber held too many surprises for one night. He fought to regain his senses. This was an emergency. He could not risk panicking the guests or losing one suspect in his search. The guests! It was now eight-thirty-five. The guests would be gathered at the top of the stairs waiting for the birthday toast and procession to the great hall. Jeremy formulated his plan quickly. He left the Burgundy Chamber and made his way to the stairs where the crowd had gathered. People called to him and a general cheer went up.

“I’m sorry things are late,” Jeremy said as the server handed him a glass of champagne for the toast. “I know Dad usually gives the signal for the feast to begin, but he’s indisposed and asked me to get things going. After the toast, you can go ahead down to dinner. If I could see the council for a moment before you go down, please. So, here’s to Dad’s birthday. Good health to all!”

The toast was drunk and the crowd began to move down to the great hall. The council descended on him and he led the way back down the hall to the Burgundy Chamber.

“What is it, Jeremy?” asked one.

“This has never happened before,” declared another.

“And it can never happen again,” Jeremy said as he opened the door to the Burgundy Chamber. “He’s dead.”

The council rushed in. Jeremy’s father sat yet, untouched, unmoved. Jeremy’s brave front collapsed as he did in a chair on the far side of the room. The council examined the body, each man being careful not to disturb it. Jeremy waited as they turned to him.

“What happened, son?” The first to speak was Dr. Matthew Stein, PhD, Professor Emeritus of the Classics, who had rooms at the university. Jeremy had taken classes from him during his own studies and quite enjoyed the tales the old man told. The voice was kind and not prodding, but for the first time, Jeremy realized he himself must be considered suspect. At the very least the council was already assuming he had witnessed the event.

“I wasn’t here when it happened. I found him.”

“Yes, of course. We understand that, Jeremy. But how did you chance to find him? Do you usually meet here to come for the toast?” This speaker was Gene Desmond, a lawyer of about sixty years of age. Jeremy’s father had frequently called upon Desmond without the other five. It was Jeremy’s understanding that Desmond held the documents of the estate: the will, deeds, and all other legal papers for his father. While other lawyers Jeremy knew carried with them an aura of mistrust, Desmond had always been a friend above the legal aspects he managed. Jeremy would gladly trust his life to the man.

“No. We usually meet at the junction of the two main halls just before we get to the stairway. I usually come in from the orchard at a quarter past, through the kitchen and main dining room. I don’t know where he came from, but we always met just there at twenty-five past eight.”

“That doesn’t bring you anywhere near the Burgundy Chamber,” Garson Drake, a retired military man, said. He tended to be more brusque than the others, but was still a big-hearted gentleman. He could not hide the suspicion in his voice.

Jeremy cautiously told the rest of the story, carefully omitting the episode with the woman. He didn’t know how to address it. It was still like such a dream. He could not imagine that she might be related to the terrible deed.

“Jeremy,” Father Carney said, “have you never met your father in this room before the toast? He’s never been seen during the half-hour before the toast in the past, and neither have you. I’d always assumed you met together to prepare your speeches.”

“I didn’t know Father ever left his own party. I always slip out the side entrance after I’ve greeted the guests—about 7:30 or 7:45. I take a walk and have a pipe before coming in through the kitchen from the orchard.”

“I’ll vouch for the time of leaving,” Jon Gratz, a local businessman who owned the largest department store in the city, said. “I sit beside the side door with Miss Milborne each year as soon as I arrive. Jeremy has never failed to leave by that exit at just 7:30.”

“And I’ll vouch for the walk,” said Willy Moore. He was Mr. Gratz’s partner in the business and seldom agreed with the other man. Their arguments with each other were part of the standard entertainment wherever they went. “I was standing on the front steps when Jeremy walked up the drive in the shadows.”

“Gentlemen,” said Father Carney, “I think we can believe Jeremy and can throw our lot in with him. He’s been open and honest with us and we ought to take him on faith. Let us combine our efforts to defend him and find the murderer of his father.”

There was a general assent and Jeremy moved uneasily in his chair.

“There is one other thing,” he said, glancing at the floor. The move to huddle was broken up as each man turned toward Jeremy. “It’s… embarrassing. I was expected in this room.”

“What do you mean, son?” asked the professor.

Jeremy flushed as he related the story of his encounter with the young woman. “She knew I would come this way. She called me by name. I suspect the servant at the kitchen door may have been planted to force me in this way. Surely, if we just ask for the young lady to identify herself, she would—under the circumstances.”

“Under these circumstances, less than any other, Jeremy.” Desmond was becoming forceful as if he had a new scent and was on the trail. “I believe the woman was not waiting for you. She was waiting for your father, Jeremiah Joyce Stratton, Senior.”

Jeremy’s visions of a playful young woman hiding clues for her own discovery vanished as she had. The hard reality was that he had met his father’s mistress who had momentarily mistaken him for his sire.

“There’s no hope then, is there?” Jeremy asked, shaken. “She would never identify herself under these circumstances.”

“No, Jeremy,” said Gratz “But you might be able to recognize her if you tried. I’ve a feeling that if we find that woman, the murderer will be in the same bed.”

“Nonsense,” snapped Moore. “The room was dark. How could he recognize her? What’s worse, she may have recognized him, in which case, she’d bolt the minute he got near.”

“It’s a risk we’ll have to take,” said Drake. “Jeremy must try his best to identify and locate the mistress during dinner. It’s been the custom of your father to circulate, spending a few minutes at each table. There is always a chair saved for him. Professor, you and I shall question the servants. One was missing or else there was a fake in the crowd. Check every coat for blood. Gratz and Moore are our public relations men. Calm and soothe the guests and take care of Jeremy in the Great Hall. Desmond better handle the police. Bring them in quietly. No one ever leaves until one o’clock. Make sure tonight is no exception. Father Carney, I hate to leave you, but your office is here in the Burgundy Chamber, I believe. Put his soul to rest, but don’t touch the body.”

“Well done, General,” said Desmond. “We’ve always found you best at assigning responsibilities. We must preserve our line, as well. The council stands as this house stands. Without a head we are lost. I throw my lot in with Jeremy. As I served the elder, so shall I serve the younger.”

“Hear, hear.” The assent was unanimous. Jeremy could not understand the meaning. His head was spinning and he was suddenly nauseous. They expected him to attend the dinner—to talk to people—to be among them. Jeremy was enochlophobic. He hated being in a crowd!

“I need to use the bathroom,” he said, staggering toward the door.

The door to the hall bath swung open and Jeremy stopped abruptly inside. His nausea was replaced by the stinging in his eyes. He looked at the room and realized where he was. Someone had used an aerosol in the bathroom, and had used a lot of it. And there was powder on the sink. He sniffed at it curiously, wondering if the servant had been doing drugs. He dropped to his knees, still thinking he might need to empty his stomach, but only a slight belch arose. Scanning carefully, he spotted a green feather on the floor. He pocketed it and opened the second door in the half-bath.

Drake and the professor were just coming into the kitchen when Jeremy came through the bathroom door. They stepped back, surprised at Jeremy’s entrance.

“How did you get here ahead of us?” Drake snapped.

“This toilet connects the hall outside the Burgundy Chamber with the kitchen. If the servant I saw smoking was the culprit, this would be the way he moved between the two.”

“That would place the time of the murder at just a few minutes before he appeared here,” the professor said. “The chair is still in the doorway and there is a cigarette butt on the floor. Time of murder, approximately 8:00 p.m.”

“I think there is no doubt the mystery servant was the culprit,” Drake said, looking in the servants’ dressing room. “He was possibly interrupted in the process of changing out of his uniform and back into his tuxedo. The jacket hanging here has blood on the cuff. He left his servant’s mask here as well.”

“So, now we are looking for someone in a tuxedo and a party mask,” Jeremy said. “It could be just about any guest.”

“Which means you’d better put your own mask on and get to work,” the professor said.

Jeremy nodded, put his mask on, and left by way of the dining room to the stairway. He could see Desmond across the hall in the sitting room where most people had begun the party with cocktails. He was on the telephone and nodded to Jeremy.

Jeremy went to the head of the stairs and braced himself for the entrance into the great hall. With luck, the crowd would be busy eating and he could slip in without being noticed. That was not to be. He’d appeared before the guests earlier in his green and gold Lorenzo mask. People called out greetings as soon as he stepped off the stairs. About fifty people were eating with a dozen servants running beverages and dipping food at the buffet. He glanced around the room, wondering where he should even start. No one jumped up screaming “I’m the one!”

Gratz was at a table on the far side of the room, happily talking with the diners as if nothing was amiss. On the other side of the room, Moore was pointing across the room at Gratz and shaking his head. The people at his table seemed to think whatever he’d said was marvelously funny. Jeremy wondered how long he was going to need to act normal as a substitute host for his father. His heart had begun to race as soon as he entered the room. He approached the buffet as people continued to ask about his father and wish him a happy birthday as well.

“Ah, here you are, master Jeremy,” Mabel said. She’d been the cook at the Stratton estate for more years than Jeremy had been alive. She reached beneath the counter to pull out Jeremy’s plate, covered with a metal lid. He uncovered it and looked at the blood-red meat. Then he replaced the lid.

“Not tonight, I’m afraid,” he sighed. The red meat just reminded him of his bleeding father. “Slice me a bit of the well-done and cover it in au jus and horseradish, would you please?”

“Not like you, sir,” she said, obediently dipping his fresh slice in the liquid and pouring a bit more over it on the plate. He took the rest of the meal and turned to go. “Here, here. If you don’t mind, sir, you’ve got a hair on your collar.” Jeremy watched her pull the long red hair off his coat and drop it in the waste bin beneath the counter. So, the silky curls and plump breast he’d felt beneath his fingers belonged to a redhead and not to Elaine Ransom after all. He wondered why none of the council noticed that. He hoped he didn’t have lipstick on his face as well.

He passed among the tables, stopping to chat with people and checking for redheads. Most of the women had rather fancy dos, highly decorated with feathers and jewels. And why was it that nearly every woman was a redhead, he wondered. Which made him curious about Elaine’s blonde curls. Blondes seemed out of fashion this evening.

There were masks of all kinds, most covering just the eyes, like Elaine’s, but some covering the forehead and all the way up into a crown-like affair. Some people had opted for full face masks, but their only choice was to set their masks aside in order to eat. He thought it rather funny to see one fellow in a plague doctor mask attempting to get food past the nose and into his mouth without removing the mask. Jeremy had tried that once himself a few years ago.

“Mr. and Mrs. Simms, how nice to see you again,” he said. “May I join you for a bit?” There was still a chance that his one-time playmate had arrived.

“Oh, please do, Jeremy. I hope your father is not seriously ill,” Mr. Simms said. The Simms family lived on an estate only a mile or so away and Jeremy had known them all his life. He’d gone to school with their children. Including the delightful girl just a year younger than he.

“Very upset that he is not down here to preside over his natal festivities. You know he looks forward to this night more than any other of the year,” Jeremy said. “And how are your children? I can’t say I’ve seen either of them in quite a long time.”

“Oh, well, Leon went into the army, you know. Doing well. A captain now and deciding to make a career of it,” Mr. Simms said.

“And Louisa, you’d hardly recognize her, I’m sure,” Mrs. Simms joined in. “She married right out of school and presented us with two grandchildren already. You should be thinking about a wife, Jeremy. Time you presented a few grandchildren yourself.”

“Yes, I suppose so. I was just thinking the same.”

He’d been thinking about Louisa, in fact. He seemed to recall she was a redhead and a very svelte one, at that. Married with two children? Not likely she was the same playful girl he remembered from school. Jeremy glanced around the room and wondered if there was anyone there even remotely near his own age.

“If you’ll forgive me,” he said. “I must greet some others in Father’s stead.”

“Of course. Of course,” Mr. Simms agreed. “Say, bring that fine Arabian you ride to our place one day. I’ll join you for some jumping.”

“Thank you for the invitation. That would be lovely. Enjoy the evening.” He took his plate with him, surprised that the meat was quite tolerable and not as dried out as he feared. The potatoes had a hint of garlic and cream cheese to them. All told, it was a delectable meal.

Jeremy continued to work his way around the room, sitting for a few minutes at each table and greeting the guests. He knew them, of course, though not particularly well. They were his father’s friends, not his. He knew very little about most of them.

It took a minute before he spotted Hector Ransom and he had to look twice to identify Elaine. She was not blonde, but a redhead.

“Mr. and Mrs. Ransom, it’s lovely to see you both this evening,” Jeremy said as he sat at his father’s customary seat. The Jamisons and Lechleiters were also at the table and Jeremy greeted each with wishes of good fortune.

“Jeremy, tell us about what you are doing these days,” Mr. Ransom said effluently. His breath reeked of alcohol and Jeremy was unsure how the older man was remaining seated.

“Well, I mostly study, you know,” he answered. “I receive contracts to create user guides to various technology. As a result, I need to study the technology and how it is used so I can write a guide that a layperson can understand.”

“Quite, quite,” Hector said. “Must be frightfully boring.” Hector himself had what he considered a ‘thrilling’ job as a tax accountant. He turned to Mr. Lechleiter to continue a discussion with him. Jeremy turned to Elaine.

“I didn’t recognize you when I came into the room. I would have sworn you were blonde,” Jeremy said.

“Oh, the ladies decided the theme this evening should be redheads. After we… ah… met earlier, I rushed into a bathroom and used an entire can of aerosol hair color,” she said, blushing beneath her mask.

Jeremy’s attention perked up at, ‘After we met earlier.’ That would be why Mrs. Jamison, sitting across from him, was also done up as a redhead. He knew for a fact the old woman’s hair was white and normally had a blue rinse applied. And the scent he’d detected in the bathroom could easily have been a hairspray color instead of a room deodorizer like he’d thought. He looked hard at Elaine and she blushed. No. The hair on his tuxedo had already been red and the hair he felt under his fingers had been too silky to have been sprayed.

He left his plate when it was empty and just a moment later, a server swept it away. She smiled at him and he found himself caught by her beauty. She, too, was a redhead, but her hair flowed and bounced around her jacketed shoulders. He wondered what she was wearing beneath her white server’s jacket. He spotted a stain on the cuff as she moved away. He rose, keeping her in his line of vision as he circulated around the party. She picked up a dish tray and headed up the stairs to the kitchen. Jeremy followed as quickly as he could without rousing suspicion.

When he got to the kitchen, the pretty young server had shed her jacket and was standing at the sink in a light camisole that left her shoulders mostly bare. She was quite striking. She had her jacket with one sleeve in the sink, scrubbing at it. Jeremy quietly slipped up behind her and placed a hand lightly on her shoulder.

“Did you get his blood on your sleeve?” he asked.

She squeaked—almost a muted scream—and spun beneath his hand to face him.

“Master Jeremy!” she gasped. Her arm had come up automatically to protect her breasts from the intruder but when she saw who it was, she slowly lowered it.

These were just the type of ripe full young breasts Jeremy imagined he’d been stroking during their kiss. She flushed as he kept his hand on her and straightened before him.

“My jacket…” she began. “It’s a little long for me and I dipped the sleeve in Worcestershire sauce that was on one of the plates I was clearing. Cook sent me up to soak it and get a clean jacket from the dressing room.”

Jeremy continued staring at her as her breasts rose and fell beneath his gaze. He could see her nipples hardening beneath her camisole and thought about having pinched one in the Burgundy Chamber.

“Please, sir. I’m a good girl. I didn’t take this job to become a plaything. If you have honorable intentions, surely you could express them when I am not supposed to be working. I can’t say your attention would be unwelcome then.”

“What’s your name?” Jeremy asked. The catch in his voice made him sound a bit harsher than he intended.

“Jenny Harper,” she whispered. “Please. I need this job and should be getting back to the hall.”

“Where were you when the trays were taken to the Great Hall?” he asked, managing to be a little gentler. Now that he had his own shock under control, he could see by a number of clues that this was not the mystery woman in the Burgundy Chamber. She was short. Shorter than the woman he’d encountered in the dark.

“I was serving champagne in the lounge. You know, sir. You took your glass from me.”

“Ah. I see. Did you come back here when the guests went downstairs?”

“I stood at the head of the stairs as people placed empty glasses on my tray and then brought them back here.”

“Did you see anything strange?”

“One of the guests was just leaving the kitchen and immediately harassed me about the state of the servants in this house and how disgraceful we all were. Then he left to join the others heading to the Great Hall, I assume.”

“What mask did he wear?”

“Oh, I didn’t see. He had it in his hand and didn’t put it on until he was leaving. He was a young man, though. Not like most of the old folks here. I don’t mean twenties-young, but not sixties, either,” she said.

“Thank you, Jenny,” Jeremy said. He realized his hand was still on her bare shoulder and he let it slide down her arm slightly as he released her. “You had better return to your duties and I to mine. Perhaps I will see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.” She dashed into the dressing room to collect another jacket and Jeremy went back to the banquet.

“I hope you feel better now, Mr. Jeremy,” Mabel said. “I know how this crowd must oppress you. It was a wonder you lasted as long as you had. You are doing a fine job as host.”

“Thank you, Mabel. I guess I need to get back to the duties.”

He moved to another table where Mrs. Gratz and Mrs. Morris were seated, joyfully chatting as their husbands threw barbs at each other across the room. They were at the same table as the Connors. Another server immediately set a chocolate mousse and a cup of black coffee down for him.

“You are being quite the host this evening,” Mrs. Connor said. “I hope your father is well.” Her husband—the man he’d spied earlier trying to eat around his plague doctor nose—nodded to Jeremy but said nothing. Jeremy had heard about Mrs. Connor’s recent marriage to a much younger man. He’d not met Mr. Connor before, though.

“I’m sure he’ll soon recover. I had no idea how exhausting the role of host was until it was thrust upon me this evening,” Jeremy laughed. “Father always seemed to have so much energy when he arrived for the dinner.”

“You remind me a great deal of him,” Mrs. Connor said. Mr. Connor looked sharply at her.

Or perhaps Jeremy was just hypersensitive to any nuance, his nerves frayed by the unending party and being forced to be sociable. And his encounter in the kitchen. Oh, yes. Mrs. Connor was a redhead, but surely not who he was looking for, any more than Mrs. Gratz or Mrs. Morris. Her hair was sculpted in the current fashion. It rose in a stiff crown from the feathers on her mask. Her heavy makeup made her look older than he thought she was. Still, she was a relative newlywed. She certainly wouldn’t be spreading her love around to others.

“I’m told we can be easily mistaken for each other in the dark,” Jeremy said, then hurried on. “It must take a great deal of time to get ready for a party with hair and makeup so stunningly styled.”

In fact, the makeup was over-done. A bit too pink on the cheeks and shiny in spots she seemed to have missed when she powdered. Her lipstick seemed to have been applied by a three-year-old and did not conform to her lips at all. She caught her breath and Jeremy was certain Mr. Connor scowled harder at his wife.

“Oh. This was just thrown together,” she said modestly. “A bit of ghoulish makeup and hairspray will do wonders for an old lady.” Jeremy inhaled deeply and caught a scent he recognized. Perhaps she was not quite so old as she appeared to be.

“I’m sure your beauty would stand out even without those wonders,” he said softly.

Mr. Connor shot a look at Jeremy and leaned forward to push away from the table. The scent of the hairspray was overpowered by the smell of cigarette smoke on his breath. As he stood, the sleeve of his jacket rode up a bit and Jeremy could see a halo of red around the cuff.

“I’ll just assist the band and grab a smoke,” he said as he turned away from the table.

Mrs. Connor was much older than Jeremy imagined his mysterious kisser to be, but there was no doubt in his mind now about her husband. Younger. Smoker. Rude. He doubted the man had dipped his shirt cuff in Worcestershire sauce.

“Please forgive Richard. He’s been out of sorts all evening, but he’s really quite nice.”

Jeremy slowly drew a green feather from his pocket, showing it to her before he reached up and tucked it into her mask. Tears sparkled in her eyes.

“Please tell me he’s okay. I’m so afraid Richard’s done something rash. Please don’t be offended by his brusqueness.”

Jeremy looked over his shoulder and saw Desmond standing at the foot of the stairs with two plainclothes policemen at his shoulders. He nodded to the lawyer and pointed to the bandstand where Mr. Connor seemed to know better than the musicians how to set up their equipment. He was pointing and arguing with the drummer.

When she saw the policemen approach her husband, Mrs. Connor stood quickly, knocking her chair over. Mr. Connor looked back and saw the approaching policemen. Behind the serving table Drake and Professor Stein stood on the kitchen stairs, cutting off escape. Desmond stayed on the main stairs and Gratz and Moore guarded the only other entrance by which the band and brought their equipment. Connor turned to bolt from the suddenly silent room but was blocked by the two business partners. Police soon had him cuffed between them. They turned to march him up the main stairs.

“You’ll get the same as him,” Connor growled at Jeremy as they passed. “Anyone who touches her will get the same.”

Mrs. Connor rose turned to Jeremy, horror etched on her face and a tear already streaking her makeup.

“Father is dead,” Jeremy said softly.

An inaudible word escaped from her mouth and she collapsed. The professor was right behind her and caught her before she hurt herself. He lowered her to a chair. Mabel, the cook, was quickly beside the woman with smelling salts to rouse her. It was not unknown for women to faint at the banquet as they were often corseted tightly in their gowns and the heat and smoke in the room could overcome them.

Desmond and Professor Stein escorted a weeping Mrs. Connor up the stairs, assisted by two of the female servers. None of the other guests realized that she was weeping not for her husband, but for Jeremy’s father.

Surprisingly, after Jeremy informed the guests of the evening’s sad events, the party did not break up, but seemed to transition smoothly into a kind of wake. A great deal of champagne was drunk as toasts were raised to Jeremiah Joyce Stratton, Sr. The band began playing promptly at ten o’clock, and all the women in the room found an opportunity to comfort Jeremy in their arms as they danced. Elaine promised him she was willing to be far more comforting than the party would allow.

At 1:00, Jeremy stood on the bandstand and thanked everyone for coming to his father’s birthday party, inviting them to plan to return the next year. He bid them good night and asked that they please drive safely if they were driving. Of course, most had drivers waiting for them and some caught one of the cabs the servants called. Jeremy was exhausted.

Half past one found Jeremy faced with the council in the Burgundy Chamber once again. Mr. Stratton Senior’s body had been removed by the police while the guests continued their wake in the great hall. Jeremy had decided that he needed to find some friends of his own to come to the party next year—a kind of supplement to his father’s annual guest list.

A server was standing by to serve the Port and offer cigars. Jeremy was jolted when he saw her.

“Ah, Jenny! How are you getting on here at Stratton Estate?” Desmond asked.

“I think I’m doing all right,” the server Jeremy had accosted in the kitchen said.

“Good. Jeremy, let me introduce my stepdaughter, Jenny Harper. She’s scarcely been around since Grace and I were married ten years ago. Boarding School and then the university. She insisted she needed a job when she came home this fall. Your cook was kind enough to hire her,” Desmond said.

Jenny looked at Jeremy and cast her eyes down.

“Jenny, it’s good to see you had a clean uniform available,” Jeremy said, smiling at her.

“Yes, sir. I guess since I am the newest employee, I drew the all-night shift to serve you gentlemen. May I say, sir, I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, Jenny. Your description helped me to identify the culprit,” Jeremy said. His fingers still tingled from touching her bare shoulder earlier. “I hope I’ll be seeing much more of you around here in the future.”

“Yes, sir.” Jenny finished pouring the Port and distributing the cigars, then quietly left the room.

“We raise our glasses one last time to our dear departed comrade, Jeremiah Joyce Stratton, Senior,” the general intoned. “He was a man who served the people faithfully. One might say he was noble in his bearing. He brought us together in difficult times and led our council with wisdom and discernment. May he ever rest in peace.”

“Rest in peace,” the men said as they raised their glasses and sipped the Port.

“And we raise our glasses for the first time to our new comrade, Jeremiah Joyce Stratton, Junior,” the professor said. “This young man has always been welcome in our circle, but tonight, he has shown his mettle, battling his own inner demons, to search for and identify his father’s murderer. We have always known Jeremy had difficulty with crowds, and we respect that. But this night he rose above his limitations and showed his ability to lead the council.”

“To Jeremy!” the men shouted enthusiastically. The cigars were cut and the first puffs clouded the area around the fireplace with blue.

“Jeremy, you’ve done well by your father tonight,” said Father Carney. “We are sad to lose him, but are glad we can welcome you to his place on the council.”

“Hear, hear!” the men said as they raised their glasses and took another sip of the fine libation. The men stood facing the fire that had been lit as soon as the police cleared the room. Jeremy noticed that his father’s chair had been removed from the room and a different, scarcely used chair had been moved into the circle for him. They all sat.

“We warn you in advance, young man, that we hold high expectations for one another—including you,” General Drake said. “We always provide the best for each other when in need.”

“I knew from your work in my classes, as well as from your father’s recommendations, you would be the right choice to carry on his work when he was gone,” said Professor Stein. “I can only hope each of us may leave an heir as prepared for our tasks as you are for his.”

“There will be no problems with your inheritance of the estate,” Desmond said. “Your father was always prepared for this eventuality—perhaps not the specific circumstances, but there is always a risk. I suggest you take things slowly. We’ll be here to help you. None of us would be able to do our job without Stratton Estate.”

“But, if I may ask, exactly what is that job?” Jeremy asked. He was tired and the events of the evening were even now only beginning to make sense. “You speak of his work and my task. Our work. What is it we do?”

“Why, precisely what you have done tonight,” answered Gratz. “We solve mysteries.”

❮ The Everett Method of Dog Training Twenty-Five Percent Soy ❯ -->

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