Cedar Locke and the Missing Brooch

     If the atrium was impressive, the ballroom was jaw dropping. The space was enormous, its high ceiling festooned with golden chandeliers against a painted twilit sky. They cast a shimmering light upon a parquet floor, honey in colour and gleaming like a mirror. The walls were dressed in glowing fabrics of gold and crimson, floating and intertwining to create crashing waves of rust and bronze. Around the perimeter of the room, white cloaked tables were still adorned with remnants of a spirited night - place settings, scattered confetti, wilted flowers, the occasional overlooked fork or plate. A grand piano stood alone in one corner, its lid firmly closed, its stool drawn in close.

     Cedar took it all in with sweeping eyes, which finally alighted upon a figure upon a wobbling ladder, clearly trying to remove a stray piece of confetti that had lodged itself firmly within one of the chandeliers. He was young, with messy hair and a slightly rumpled shirt, and he clutched a long feather duster in one hand - the other firmly on the topmost rung. There was no paleness to his face to betray the precariousness of his position, thought Cedar. Still, best not to risk scaring the young lad. He knocked firmly on the door, the sound reverberating around the empty space.

     “Ju- just a second”, called Mikey, “I’ve nearly got it. There we go.”

     Cedar watched the piece of confetti spiral downwards, first golden, then red, then pink then finally white as it settled gently on the floor. Glancing back up, he saw Mikey spring down the ladder steps and gleefully make his way over.

     “That was the last piece”, he said, rubbing his hands, “Always best to start clearing up a room from the very top downwards. As Mr. Brentwood always says, if a job’s worth doing…”

     “... it's worth doing properly”, finished Ms. Graychart.

     “Absolutely!” beamed Mikey. His hair seemed to have a mind of its own and was bouncing out of kilter with his body as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again.

     “Are you Mikey?” asked Cedar.

     “Yes sir; at your service.” Mikey continued bobbing lure-like as he spoke.

     “Cedar Locke. Lady Ashbury has asked me to find something that went missing during the ball.”

     “Oh you mean the brooch sir? She was really sad when it went missing.”

     “What can you tell me about that?”

     “Well sir. I had been expecting the evening off, as clean up takes a long time afterwards. But one of the waiters was sick; so Mr. Brentwood asked if I could help out. I wasn’t allowed to be a waiter though sir, not tall enough, but I was first busboy.”

     At this, Cedar saw Mikey puff his chest out slightly. “The night was just wonderful. All the guests were so gracious and kind. Gosh, I wish I could have joined the dancing sir. It was just like a fairy tale with them spinning and weaving and moving in and out and round and between, all together and without hitting one another.

     “Anyway, towards the end of the evening, her Ladyship - Lady Ashbury that is - pulls me to one side and asks me to straighten out the blue room. That’s the second best guest room sir. Though I’m not sure why it needs doing, I was happy to help. But you see sir, no-one has been in the blue room all winter so I needed to change and replace the sheets. I go to the linen closet in the housekeeper's room, grab what I need and hurry upstairs. I’m in such a rush that I fair near bump into Ms. Meadows coming down the stairs. Between you and me sir, she scares me a bit. I quickly replace the sheet and freshened up the room. A bit of light dusting here and a quick scrub of the ceramics.

     “I’m just putting the finishing touches in place when I hear this cry coming from down the corridor. Nearly jumped out of my skin. I rush out towards the noise, which seemed to come from Lord and Lady Ashbury’s bedroom. I go in, and Lady Ashbury is sat on the bed. Her hand’s over her heart like this sir, and she’s breathing really deeply. So I go and open the balcony doors, to let some fresh air in. I turn back to Lady Ashbury, and Barnsley’s now there and she asks me to fetch a jug of water. I do this, and then Barnsley dismisses me for the night and I head off back downstairs. Some the guests are starting to leave, so I quickly go to the kitchens to keep out of the way. That’s pretty much it sir.”

     He looked anxious.

     “Did you say you opened the balcony?” asked Cedar. He heard Ms Graychart scribbling furiously over his shoulder.

     “Yes sir, it took me a second because the lock was a bit stiff from the cold and the doors nearly threw me back sir. But her Ladyship did look like she needed the air.”

     “I see. Did you hear anything else whilst you were upstairs, before the cry?”

     Mikey bit his lip in thought. “No sir. Nothing that I can remember.”

     “Did you see the brooch at all that day?”

     “No sir. I’ve never seen it sir, only heard of it.”

     “From who?”

     “Some of the kitchen staff sir. They say it sparkles like a rose in bloom sir.”

     Cedar nodded curtly, turning to his secretary, “Any further questions Ms. Graychart?”

     She looked slightly taken aback at his asking. “Not for now. Thank you Mikey”

     “Thank you ma’am. If you don’t mind sir and ma’am, I really have to be getting back to tidying up. Lord and Lady Ashbury don’t mind a bit of mess after a ball, but Mr. Brentwood will be disappointed if it’s not done today.”

     With that, Mikey scurried off. Cedar watched his hair flopping to and fro as the cleaner started sweeping confetti and other debris into long windrows.

     “Mr. Brentwood?” he asked Ms. Graychart.

     “The butler sir. By all accounts, he was in the ballroom or the kitchens all night. He’s quite a firm character, and has worked for the Ashbury’s for many years. Decades perhaps. I think this may be one case where we can safely say that the butler didn’t do it.”

     Cedar looked at her appraisingly. Her expression appeared unchanged from its usual stern countenance. Not even the flicker of a smile. There was nothing else to be done in this room. He turned to leave. For a moment he thought he saw a half familiar shadow of a young girl leaning over the piano, about to open the lid, but it was gone when he blinked. He glanced at Ms Graychart, who did not appear to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. Shades and ghosts he thought, shaking his head as they left the ballroom. More coffee needed.

     Back in the atrium, the house was silent. Barnsley wasn’t there. Must be out some errand or other, thought Cedar. Then a voice floated down from the top of the stairs.

     “Ah, Mr. Locke,” it said, “I’m glad I’ve caught you.”

     Cedar waited as patiently as he could as Professor Brooke made his way down. He was now wearing a long camel coat and a trimmed hat. Possibly a trilby or fedora, the nuances between the two still eluded Cedar. In one hand he clutched a briefcase, mottled and well-worn shades of brown, and in the other he held a book.

     “I’m just off into town to meet with one of our suppliers,” he explained, “All going well, the first shipment of goods should be starting their journey to the Lost Desert this time next week. Nothing exciting I’m afraid, just the usual necessary tools and provisions for scouting and other exploratory investigations. However, I did want to lend you this.”

     Professor Brooke handed over the book. Taking it into his hands, Cedar looked at it with curiosity. It was bound with a non-descript gray cloth, but had a good doorstopping weight to it.

     “[i]101 Uses for a Scarab[/i]”, explained the professor, “It’s a treatise prepared by my colleague, Dr Brown, on the various applications and significance of scarabs within early to mid Sakhmetian society, with a particular focus on the first two Sakhmetian eras. I thought you might find it interesting, particularly in view of our fascinating discussion on the subject earlier today.”

     “Thank you Professor,” replied Cedar automatically. He suspected that Professor Brooke remembered that part of their conversation more warmly than Cedar did. Still, it was a generous gesture.

     “Not at all. I must dash now. Mr. Leash gets quite agitated if I am late, and I really do wish to knock down some of his prices. I will be back later this evening if you require any further information.”

     With that note of hopefulness lingering in the air, Professor Brooke tipped his hat and left through the front door.

     “I didn’t know that were interested in the cultural history of the Lost Desert sir,” said Ms. Graychart. Cedar looked at her again. Two ironic statements in a day. Most uncharacteristic.

     “I’m not,” he replied, giving the book a thoughtful tap and tucking it under his arm, “But context helps.”

     “Where to now sir?” asked Ms Graychart.

     “Perhaps we should revisit the bedroom. I’d like to speak with Barnsley again too. But first, I need some more coffee, and perhaps a biscuit...”

     To be continued…