Cedar Locke and the Missing Brooch

     “Anything?” asked Ms. Graychat. Cedar merely rolled his shoulder, his head tilted to one side slightly. He knew Ms. Graychart would understand.

     Looking across the lawn, he saw a greenhouse a short walk away. He pointed it out to Ms. Graychart with a nod of the head, and they began making their way over a dew-soaked grass path.

     The air felt somehow heavier here. It was still, but filled with the lazy sound of Springabees droning groggily between the hedgerows. If this garden could sing, it would be a song of indolent sunbeams and languorous raindrops to a tune of hazy memories of long summer evenings with a glass of iced water and a long weekend ahead. If the garden could walk, it would kick off its shoes and lie back on a blanket, eyes closed as the mind soars to dizzy heights and freefalls in tumbling spirals. It was a garden of a perpetual golden hour.

     As they approached the greenhouse, the glass structure glinted in the light of day. Cascading waves of roses draped over the wooden frame, their petals a riot of reds and pinks. Lavender flanked the entrance and swayed gently. Elise’s favourite. The delicate purple flowers shifted under the movement of the Springabees flitting from stem to stem. Cedar could smell the faint scent of the lavender - herbal, woody, smoky - increasing in intensity as they neared.

     Cedar reached a hand out to the door handle, hot to the touch, and pulled the door open before following Ms. Graychart through. Here, the air was warm and humid, and he soon felt his skin prickling with sweat. It was a feast for the senses. Neat rows of plants spanned between the two sides and filled the interior with a deep herby and earth-musked scent. However, one look was enough to note that Meadows was not inside. Guiltily grateful, as his sweat started to bead, he returned back through the door to the garden outside. He noticed that Ms. Graychart stayed a moment or two longer, and thought there was a slight uplift to the corners of her usually stern mouth as she rejoined him.

     Cedar was just about to speak when he heard a noise. A scraping, perhaps of metal on wood or something similar. Looking around he saw a pair of sheds, previously hidden behind a large hedge. Strong and solid in appearance. He went up to the nearest, and rapped upon the door. There was a pause, before Cedar heard a couple of steps and the door opened.

     In the doorframe stood a swarthy figure. She was clothed in a pair of denim dungarees and topped with a straw hat, rimmed with black. Her soil-coated hands were held slightly aloft, as if wearing a pair of dripping washing-up gloves. Behind them, Cedar could see tottering piles of terracotta pots of various shapes, sizes and ages, towering from floor to ceiling in a precarious jumble of stacks. On one side of the shed, a shelf connected to a bright window that flooded the room with light, which supported a neatly arranged array of equally sized, but small, containers. On the other side, shielded by the door, Cedar could just make out a Springabee keeper’s suit hanging placidly from a hook.

     “Can I help you?” said the gardener. Her voice sounded sullen, but not downtrodden.

     “Meadows?”

     “Yes.”

     “Cedar Locke. I’m investigating the missing brooch. Can I ask you a few questions?”

     Meadows raised an eyebrow, but nodded in response, stepping outside into the sunlight. Cedar could see her features more clearly now, and noted a pair of tired eyes.

     “What do you know about the brooch?” asked Cedar.

     “I know that its missing. I know that I have never seen it before.”

     “Can I ask what you were doing during the ball?”

     Meadows sighed, and crossed her arms. “Listen. I didn’t even know that the ball was on until I came in to replace the upstairs candlesticks. Barnsley made me remove my boots. She nearly went catatonic at the thought of my walking across the hall without doing so. I went straight to the upstairs library. Lord Ashbury and some academic type were there, misty eyed over a collection of some sort, but they hastily beat a retreat when I started removing all the candles. After sorting out the library and the parlour, I came back outside. I spent the rest of the night in my cottage, just behind this hedge here, writing out the seed orders for the next planting season. Carrots and beetroot mostly, some courgette. Perhaps some potatoes.It will all depend upon the weather. If we get a good spell, I might even get to put in some cabbages.”

     At this, Meadows squinted one eye and stared at the sky, as if trying to divine what the next few months had in store. There was a silence once again.

     “Did you see anyone or anything else whilst you were in the house?”

     There was another pause.

     “I did pass by Mikey on my way down,” she said, either reluctant or calcitrant. “He was ploughing headlong up the stairs, carrying a bundle of sheets or something like that. Fair near tripped over Barnsley.”

     “Did you notice anything else unusual?” asked Cedar. There was a shrug from Meadows.

     “I didn’t see nothing, and my hearing’s no good nowadays. The buzz of the Springabees seems to follow me everywhere, outside, inside, making candles, replacing candles, eating, drinking. P’raps it’s time to pack in the keeping lark, pass the duty onto someone younger. Recommend they have a pair of earplugs mind.”

     Silence fell again.

     “Is that all? Can I get back to it?” asked Meadows waspishly.

     “That’s all for now.”

     Meadows grunted and stepped back into the shed, although she left the door open. Cedar watched as she returned to her task, carefully replanting seedlings from a large cluster contained in a single container into individual pots. Her manner was calm, but her work was meticulous.

     Cedar left her to it. He and Ms. Graychart returned to the house, walking through the sprawling gardens and into the cool shade of Ashbury Place. Stepping back into the atrium, he caught Barnsley’s eyes locked onto his shoes. She pursed her lips, but said nothing. As he reached the entrance once more, the front door opened and Lady Ashbury slipped through.

     “Ah, Mr. Locke,” she said, a ghost of a smile playing at her lips, “And Ms. Graychart of course. I’m glad I’ve managed to catch you both. I can’t stop long. I’m in a charity board meeting, and we’re having a short break. I wanted to get an update, if I may, so I dashed across the river to see where we are.”

     Cedar frowned slightly. He usually preferred to keep things under wraps until he had something more definite. But if the client insisted…

     “Is there somewhere quiet we can talk?”

     “Of course”, said Lady Ashbury, “Let’s step through to the estate office.”

     Cedar followed Lady Ashbury through to a room directly off the atrium. It was compact, but neatly furnished with a small desk and three chairs. A clock ticked from a mantelpiece. It felt calming. He saw Ms. Graychart making notes, and hoped that she wasn’t jotting down ideas for their own office space.

     “Usually, Mr. Fairchild would be here to help manage the estate,” she said, resting her fingers on the desk, “But he is currently in Moltara, to visit his father I understand.”

     She turned to Cedar, “Please. What have you found?”

     “We’ve spoken to several of your guests and staff. From what we can gather, aside from the missing brooch, the night of the ball was relatively uneventful. At least that’s how they tell it. Most were either in the ballroom, or occupied with their duties. Barnsley has kindly indicated who she saw head upstairs, and we have not been able to contradict her so far. We’re working our way through the list of names now.”

     “And the brooch itself?” she fidgeted, “Any leads?”

     “Not yet,” Cedar replied, “We are still working on it.”

     Lady Ashbury sighed in a clear gesture of disappointment. “I suppose it was too much to hope at this stage.”

     “I wouldn’t be disheartened just yet. There are still unexplored avenues.”

     “Perhaps you’re right”, said Lady Ashbury, albeit hesitantly. She interlaced her fingers before glancing at the clock. “My goodness, I must be getting back. The meeting is due to start up again soon.”

     She walked over to the door, pausing as she opened it, one foot over the threshold.

     “I do hope you find that brooch. It really is very dear to me.”

     “I understand,” replied Cedar, “We will do all that I can.”

     Cedar saw Lady Ashbury’s shoulders ease a fraction, before she hurried out into the atrium. He turned to Ms. Graychat, who was still scribbling notes with a furrowed brow.

     “What do you think?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

     Ms. Graychart looked up, “It's an unusual one sir. I don’t have any reason to doubt anyone’s story so far, but my gut is telling me there is something that we’re missing. I can’t quite put my finger on precisely what.”

     Cedar nodded solemnly.

     “Indeed,” he said, pacing the small office, “We still don’t know how anyone got into a locked room. We still don’t know why anyone would want to take it. There are too many unknowns. It makes me uneasy.”

     The clock slowly ticked the seconds away into minutes.

     “We should move on”, said Cedar finally. No use waiting for an idea to come. It was time to find Mikey. The ballroom was his next destination.

     To be continued…