Cedar Locke and the Missing Brooch

     “How many times must I tell you Elise?” he grumbled, “keep the blinds…”

     He faltered to a stop, although the name kept ringing in the air. He shook his head purposefully. He must have been dreaming of her again. He gave himself a light tap on the face, and puffed his cheeks out. It was a few moments before he regained some composure.

     “Right then,” he said to himself, “I need a coffee. Coffee, and a distraction.”

     Perhaps he would invest himself in this Lady Ashbury mystery after all. Besides, Ms. Graychart was not wrong; it would be nice to pay the rent for a change. Perhaps even enough for some Borovan. He stooped to the hearth, sweeping away the old ashes before laying a stack of kindling and setting them alight. They sputtered reluctantly into flame. Cedar picked up the kettle, giving it a little shake. Still just enough water. He hung it from the hook, ready and waiting over the center of the fireplace. It would be some time before it began to boil. Time enough for the distraction.

     He pulled a blanket over himself, moving through to the adjacent room where he had met Lady Ashbury the night before. Ms. Graycharts’ desk was as tidy as ever, and had a small stack of papers, no more than 4 or 5, neatly lined up in the center and held together by a paperclip. Cedar grabbed the papers roughly, shaking the paperclip off to land somewhere on the desk, before returning to his office.

     Whilst the fire established itself and the kettle warmed up, he read through the report. It was concise but complete. Ms. Graychart really was a marvel, the best he had ever known. He really ought to consider giving her a raise. He might have to forgo the Borovan. Finishing the document, he let out a sigh. He had been hoping that a night’s sleep would have given him some spark of inspiration, but to no success. The bare facts of the case were plain - black and white - but the solution still veiled. He could only hope that visiting Ashbury Place itself would provide some clue or other. He tossed the papers onto his own desk, where they were scattered upon a pile of similar reports.

     The kettle finally started to whistle. Cedar gingerly removed it from the hook and rested it to the side of the hearth. Looking around the room, he found an empty cup and blew the gathered dust away from the inside before heaping spoonfuls of preground coffee into its base and filling it with piping hot water. The steam swirled and he settled back into his chair, placing the coffee on the side table.

     What felt like moments later, there was a knock on his office door. Cedar clearly heard the sound of it opening, before solid steps crossed the small room and his face filled with light.

     “Mr. Locke, you must know that Lady Ashbury is expecting us this morning. Now is no time to be having a lazy morning” Ms. Graycharts voice cut through the mind fog. Cedar opened his eyes, squinting against the brightness of the morning sun that once more streamed through the window.

     “Yes,” he said with a torakorian effort, raising himself upright, “I was just having my morning pick-me-up.”

     He reached round to pick up the cup, only to find it was still full, the coffee ice cold.

     “We’re due at Ashbury Place in thirty minutes.” continued Ms. Graychart, in an equally icy voice, “It’s all been arranged.”

     Cedar nodded curtly and stood up. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror hanging over the fireplace and saw his sunken eyes and noted the ruffled hair. He passed a hand through in a vague gesture of neatness. It sprang back into place, and Cedar was half-sure he heard a soft snort from the direction of Ms. Graychart.

     “Ashbury Place is on the west side, right?” he asked, choosing to ignore this.

     “That’s right. Just over the river, near the park”.

     “Nice area”, said Cedar, failing to keep a note of cynical admiration out of his voice.

     Throwing a russet coat over himself, he gestured to Ms. Graychart, who primly led the way out of the office and down the narrow staircase to the street below. The cobblestones glistened with the remnants of last night’s storm. The air smelled almost fresh, the grime of the city streets washed away. It wouldn’t last. Together, Cedar and Ms. Graychart strode towards Ashbury place, weaving past the schoolchildren babbling together on their way to their first lessons, ducking past the paperboys waving the latest edition of the Neopian Times and altogether avoiding the market hawkers braying about their lowest ever prices that only ever seemed to creep upwards.

     Reaching the bridge, Cedar heard Ms. Graychart clear her throat softly.

     “Should we consider our strategy sir?”

     “In what way?”

     “Who to speak with, when to speak to them, what to ask?”

     Cedar considered the matter for a moment. “I think we should take Lady Ashbury’s recommendation on face value. We’ll speak with Barnsley first. Your dossier indicated that she mentioned they were on duty at the foot of the stairs”.

     “Oh, you read the report?” Ms. Graychart’s voice warmed slightly, “Yes, that sounds like a good idea. I should mention sir, I am familiar with the Barnsley family. I grew up with her brother. She was a very serious child. I would consider her as a reliable witness.”

     “Perhaps”, said Cedar, “At least, as reliable as a witness can be.”

     They crossed the river. The city was cleaner here. The streets were wider and lined with trees and the houses were spaced apart with breathing room to spare. The cobbles underfoot were smoother, rounder, larger - more gentle on the feet and easier to tread. The soaring wind swept through and caught the two of them gently on its breath and accompanied the pair to the gates of Ashbury Place. Cedar pressed one open, which swung noiselessly back on its hinges to admit them. He ushered Ms. Graychart through, and they stepped over the threshold into a world of lush grass and gravel drives. They crunched their way to the front door. Cedar raised his hand to knock, but Ms. Graychart urgently raised her own hand to forestall him, gesturing to a metal handle attached to a length of chain. Cedar grumbled under his breath, but obediently reached out and pulled it firmly. Some distance away, a deep bell rang out and faded into silence. The left door opened.

     “Good morning sir.”

     “Ms. Barnsley?” said Cedar.

     “Just Barnsley sir,” was the reply, “Please come in Mr. Locke and Ms. Graychart.”

     “Cedar will do just fine.”

     “As you wish sir.”

     Cedar stepped through the door into a hallway, nay atrium, of generous proportions. A ceiling lofted above, all arches and columns. Before them, a grand staircase, lavishly carpeted in a deep red, tapered to an upper storey. Cedar was almost surprised that there wasn't a suit of armour lurking in a recess somewhere.

     “Welcome to Ashbury Place,” continued Barnsley, “Lord and Lady Ashbury have instructed me to give you all assistance that I can to welcome you to the house and, of course, to resolve the matter at hand.”

     “Where is Lady Ashbury?” asked Ms. Graychart, before Cedar could open his mouth, “We were expected to meet with her.”

     “I am afraid that she has been called away for the morning. One of the many charities for which she is a trustee has called for an extraordinary meeting. I was not fully informed of all the details.”

     “No matter”, said Cedar, “We can get started immediately. I am sure that we all want to see a swift end to this affair. Perhaps we can speak with you first Barnsley?”

     “By all means sir. I am at your service.”

     “Where were you during the Winter Ball?”

     “Right here sir,” said Barnsely, moving over to a position as the base of the stairs. “My role was to greet the guests as they arrived, much like yourself only moments ago, and guide them to the ballroom, which is just on your left hand side sir.”

     “Were you here all night?”

     “Of course sir. It is my job sir.”

     “Very good. Did anyone pass you during the event?”

     “I have done my best to remember sir. I can recall only three occasions when someone went upstairs before Lady Ashbury retired. The first occasion was when Lord Ashbury accompanied Professor Brooke upstairs to see Lord Ashbury’s coin collection in the library. It is widely known that Lord Ashbury has an extensive and well catalogued assemblage of the coinage of Old Maraqua. The next was, of course, Meadows the gardener doing the usual rounds.”

     Cedar was slightly taken aback, “What do you mean by the usual rounds?”

     Barnsley looked puzzled, “Why, replacing any spent candlesticks. She is the keeper of the Springabees after all, and is the finest wax candlestick maker on the west side. Admittedly, nowadays we only keep candles in the library and the ladies’ parlour for the ambience, but it is still good manners for Meadows to keep them in check every night.”

     Cedar tried to exchange a look with Ms. Graychart, but she seemed eminently unperturbed. Barnsley continued.

     “And the last occasion was young Mikey, the cleaner. He was in a hurry, gristling about needing to clean the blue room for a guest. I believe that Lady Thornslow had to change her plans about returning to her own maison part way through the ball.”

     “Is that everyone?”

     “Apart from Lady Ashbury herself, shortly after Mikey.”

     “How did you find out the brooch was missing?”

     “I heard Lady Ashbury cry out. I rushed up the stairs, but tripped over the bottom step. By the time I arrived, Mikey was already there, staring out the open doors and to the balcony.”

     “Okay. One final question. Are there any other ways up to the upper floor?”

     Barnsley paused for a moment before answering. “I suppose there are technically two further routes to the upper floor sir. There are the servants’ stairs and the dumb-waiter. These both begin in the kitchen, and it would be most unusual for anyone but a member of staff to enter the kitchen, let alone use either option. In any event, the cook, the assistant cook and the pastry chef would have been in there for the entire night.”

     Cedar nodded, and he heard Ms. Graychart scribbling a note behind him. No doubt to follow up and confirm that. He knew that he could trust her to handle that by herself, and let him know of any discrepancies.

     “That’ll do for now. Could you show me the way to Lady Ashbury’s room?”

     “Certainly sir. Please follow me.”

     Barnsley headed up the stairs, closely tracked by Cedar and Ms. Graychart. Cedar could feel his foot sinking slightly into the deep file as they made their way up the stairs.

     “There is one further possibility that it would be remiss of me to mention sir”, said Barnsely as they ascended, “I would have had ample opportunity to head upstairs.”

     Cedar smiled. The first smile in a long time he thought.

     “Don’t worry Barnsley”, he said, “You are already on my shortlist of suspects. Now, show me the scene of the crime.”

     They reached the landing, and headed together to the bedroom of Lord and Lady Ashbury.

     To be continued…