The Paths of Destiny
The Birthday Party

Dateline: Easter, 2001:

Postcard:

On one side, a picture of the Miami Seaquarium.

Message:

Do fish tanks count?

C

April 17, 2001:

The day started out as normal, pretty much.

I’m still, after a month, reeling over the events that occurred on the Ides of March. Not to mention the trust I’ve been given that less than a handful know of. I have no idea why I was entrusted with what amounts to a breach of security. However, it is nice to know I have access to it should the need ever arise.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, however. If Commander Storm could have a back way into his office, why not the Senior Director? I’m willing to bet most of the upper echelon, if not all, had a secret entrance to their offices.

However, I digress.

My work for the day was over and I decided to take a walk out of the Headquarters building. It was a warm, spring evening and I had planned earlier in the day, judging by the weather, ongoing for a solitary walk along the river, having a quiet drink at a local pub, and maybe even dinner.

Why not?

As I walked out of the building, I saw a familiar figure on the opposite side of the street. It was Roberts, Miss Mathers’ butler. He caught my eye and then set off along the Embankment.

Curious, I followed Roberts. I figured it had to be important otherwise he wouldn’t have been there actively looking for me. I managed to catch up to him about 200 yards along, sitting on a bench, obviously waiting for me.

“My Employer would like to know if it would be convenient for you to call round and see her,” he said without preamble in his crisp, English manner.

“That’s not an issue,” I answered promptly. “I’m done for the day. Lead the way please, Roberts.”

Roberts raised his umbrella and a taxi screeched to a halt beside me. He entered and gave the address of the Eaton Square house. I barely had time to seat myself before the taxi took off.

Moments later, we arrived at the now familiar homestead of Briony Mathers. Roberts directed the taxi to the back of the house.

“I do apologize, sir. It is expedient — I mean... I apologize, but I have been instructed to... that is…”

I realized, after a couple of moments, he was bringing me in through the Servants entrance.

“Roberts,” I asked, “why are you so nervous? Is something wrong with Miss Mathers?”

“My apologies, Lieutenant. I feel it is hardly seemly to ask you to enter through the Servants entrance. Yet, that is what I have been ordered to do.”

He hurried me to the drawing room and knocked before entering.

“Lieutenant Parker is here, Miss Briony.”

As before, she came towards me, with her hands out in greeting.

“My dear Lieutenant Parker! Thank you so much for coming so quickly! May I offer you coffee?”

She turned to Roberts and asked for coffee to be brought in before bringing her full attention back to me.

“Lieutenant, I have a very great favor to ask of you.”

I’ve learned in the past when someone asks for a favor it usually turns out to be one that will require a near superhuman feat to achieve. Nine times out of ten, I’m able to pull whatever it was off with minor damage to all parties concerned. Whatever Miss Mathers wanted, it would more than likely be a doozy.

“Whatever you need, Ma’am, I’m at your disposal,” I said warmly as I took her hands in mine.

“I am giving a small dinner party next Sunday. April 22nd. Small... but very formal. The guest list is very exclusive and... I feel the need for additional security. Someone... very good, but also unknown. My guests are well acquainted with most of the SPJ security personnel. I doubt, however, if they would recognize you — especially if you would... permit Roberts to make some effort at disguising you.”

She looked up at me, a worried frown creasing her brows.

“Please?”

“Miss Mathers,” I said without hesitation. “I’ll be glad to be part of your security for the night.”

“Thank you, so much.”

The door opened, and Roberts entered, pushing in the coffee tray.

“Please, Lieutenant, join me in a cup of coffee. And then I shall let you go with Roberts, and he will brief you on what needs to be done.”

She smiled, as Roberts served the coffee.

As we sat drinking coffee, we made idle chitchat. She asked how my work was going and about Jasmine. I let her know all was well and made mention my findings in the paper about Sara Porter and her husband’s subsequent resignation of his office.

Eventually, the coffee was finished and my audience with the diminutive woman was ending.

“Well, I shall let you go, now,” Miss Mathers said, as Roberts returned for the coffee tray. I nodded and followed him out.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I am sure you have put her mind at ease,” Roberts said, as I followed him from the room. “Please, come with me.”

He returned the tray to the kitchen and then conducted me to his pantry.

The Butler’s Pantry was something I’d read about, but had never seen. It proved to be a small but elegant room, which was obviously Roberts’ nerve center for running the entire house. He entered the room and sat himself behind the desk in one corner.

“How much has she told you?”

“She just said she was having a dinner party on April 22nd and she needs me to be part of her security staff,” I answered simply. “And that you’d brief me.”

“Then the first thing that you must accept is that I will be your commanding officer in this enterprise. If that is not acceptable to you, then I will need to know now, so we may end this association without any fault or blame. The second thing you will need to accept is that your role in this will be as a servant. I will need to know what serving abilities you already have, so I may properly direct your efforts. Is this acceptable to you?”

I realized, during his speech that — although I had hitherto seen Roberts as ‘the butler’, a slightly comic figure — in his own domain he was as much an authority figure as any commander I had served under.

“To the first,” I replied without hesitation, “I’ve no problem with you being my commanding officer for this assignment. To the second, I’ve had some experience as a server. I often helped a friend of mine’s restaurant in Naples while I was stationed there with the US Navy.”

He nodded.

“You are US Navy,” he began as if reading my dossier. “Peacekeepers. Civilian Police, rising to the rank of Detective, and subsequently to head of that particular department. And now SPJ, right? Yes — when she brought your name up, I had you checked out — just as I would any prospective employee.”

A brief pause before continuing.

“April 22nd will be her 59th birthday. Several of her friends will be gathering here for dinner to honor her. Now, as you can imagine, for a woman of her stature, the guest list is... impressive.”

He opened a drawer in his immaculate desk, took out a single sheet of paper, and laid it before me. Some of them I’d heard of, some not — but if the ones I hadn’t heard of were the equal to the ones I had, then this was an impressive line-up, indeed.

Commissioner Alexander — Retired Head of Scotland Yard

Anton Greydon — UNO-SPJ Liaison to the United Nations, and former Senior Director of the SPJ.

Air Vice-Marshal Reese — third in command of the Royal Air Force.

Sir Miles McFarland — current head of MI-5

Charles duBois — current Senior Director of the SPJ.

“Ordinarily, we would call on the services of the SPJ to provide security,” Roberts went on. “However, Mr. duBois has specifically requested that we do not.”

Roberts momentarily grimaced his displeasure.

“Miss Mathers doesn’t understand why this would be so. However, she does not now have the authority to question his request. Thus your… unofficial… participation. And thus, her request that I disguise you somewhat.”

He paused as if choosing his next words carefully.

“I don’t know how much intelligence work you’ve done. But if there is a name that you will answer to, that isn’t attached to you, I would appreciate it if we can use it on this occasion. It is unlikely that I would need to call you by name during the dinner party, but as well to be prepared.”

I nodded, but didn’t reply, as he obviously hadn’t finished.

“I will need to know your work schedule. Since your participation is unofficial, you’ll need to report here after work each day for the next week, for training. Then on the day of the dinner party I will need you here at 6 am for final preparation.”

He paused.

“If this is acceptable to you, we will begin your training immediately. Last chance to back out, lad.”

“Let’s get to it,” I said simply before I realized I’d already made my final decision.

Roberts went to the door.

“Wait here, please.”

He returned a few minutes later, pushing the coffee tray.

“I am a guest here. Serve me a cup of coffee.”

I began to prepare a cup of coffee for my “guest”.

“What would you like in your coffee, sir,” I said as I set the cup on a saucer and set it on the table in front of him.

“Cream and sugar, please.”

“Say when on each, please,” I replied as I began to provide the appropriate ingredients.

Roberts sat back, arms folded across his chest.

“Saucer first. Doily next — to catch any drips. And there had better not be any drips. Cup last. Turn away from the guest as you pour the coffee, to avoid splashing any on him. The spoon is placed last. The cream and sugar are placed within easy reach, so the guest can serve himself. Do not serve the cream and sugar unless expressly requested to, and then only as directed.”

Okay, so this was different from what I was taught in Naples when I helped at Antonello’s restaurant. Instead of mentioning this, I only nodded my head and followed Roberts’ directions.

“You take orders well,” Roberts said, approvingly. “Yes, I think I can work with you. Did Miss Mathers say anything about disguising you?”

“She made mention of it,” I said. “And she said you’d be able to help in that department. It would — definitely — be a good idea since my picture is included with most of the books I’ve written. Oh, I was thinking about a name to use as part of my cover. Columbus Clanton is a good cover name for me.”

“Interesting choice,” Roberts replied. “Very well. Clanton, it is. And — let me see….”

He took a considering look at me.

“Darker would be easiest, if you have no objection. Darker, and sallower, I think.”

He went to a cabinet and opened it, revealing many small pots of what I realized were skin pigments. Deftly, he selected two or three and blended them together.

“Give me your hand, lad.”

He tried the various mixtures on the back of my hand and finally chose one.

“You’ll need to learn how to apply it. You will also need to apply it after you leave your residence, or the Headquarters building, and before you arrive here.”

He gave me instructions on applying the make-up, finally finishing with, “If you have any questions, ask me. Now, I want to see you apply the make-up yourself, and then I will introduce you to her in your new persona.”

I applied the make-up easily with only a few minor changes at the direction of Roberts’ watchful eye. By the time I was done, I wouldn’t have known who I was if I was seeing “me” for the first time.

“Excellent,” Roberts approved. “Come with me, Clanton.”

He conducted me back to the drawing room. “Miss Mathers, I have taken the liberty of engaging a temporary footman for the dinner party.”

“Come in, please. What is your name?”

“Columbus Clanton, ma’am,” I said slowing the speed of my voice slightly and raising my voice by a quarter of an octave as I made a half bow to her.

“May I see your hands, please?”

She took my hands in hers, looked intently at the front, turned them over and looked at the back, before releasing them.

“Thank you. That will be all.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said as I gave a farewell half bow to her and proceeded to exit the room. As I reached the door, I heard her soft voice behind me.

“Oh, Parker?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said turning toward her. “Did you say something?”

“My mistake.”

But she was smiling warmly.

Roberts hurried me from her presence and back to the Pantry.

“Since your presence here is strictly unofficial, I will need your work schedule so I can plan your training. I will also need you to be here at 6 am the day of the dinner. And stay all day to help with preparation. You will also be paid at the prevailing rate for a second footman although I regret we’ll have to pay you in cash. Is this acceptable?”

“It’s acceptable,” I said immediately. “One condition though. Since I’m doing this as a favor to Miss Mathers, I don’t feel I should be paid for this. If you or she insists on it, however, then please put that pay toward a specific fund I have earmarked. You can donate the money anonymously if you prefer.”

I gave Roberts the name of the fund I set up for the families of those I had to kill in the line of duty. And the name of bank where the account was set up. I also gave him my work schedule.

I had long since made it a rule to set aside part of my income to go toward the anonymous fund, under the name of William Bonaparte Nall. That fund has grown increasingly with half of the proceeds I deposit from the success of my books. Were it not for the fund, I could’ve retired a long time ago, lived off the book sales and spent more time finding more book material.

I wonder what my life would’ve been like had I chosen that course instead.

“Certainly, sir,” Roberts said. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

He smiled warmly, approving my decision.

“Very well. You will report here, as Columbus Clanton, as soon as is possible after your shift at your — other job ends. For the first few days I will train you myself; as soon as you are ready, you will join the other footmen in learning and performing their duties. For now, though...”

Thus, my training as a footman began.

April 22, 2001:

The past five days consisted of the most intense period of training I’d ever experienced for any job. The intensity surpassed the training I received in “A” School and Power School when I was in the Navy. And back when I was in Power School, the stress level was second only to that of Harvard Law School. This, however, was different. Each day I would report at around 6 pm and leave at Midnight or shortly thereafter. After two days, Roberts pronounced me satisfactory, and I took my place with the other footmen, in instruction specific to the dinner party scheduled for today.

As for today, the day itself dawned clear and cold. I was actually shivering as I hurried through the streets to the house on Eaton Square. As before, I varied my route and chose a different location to don my disguise, which, by now, I’d become adept at doing. In fact, each time I put on the disguise, I kept thinking of Bruce Wayne, in or out of his Batman costume. Mainly, how he always used his talents of disguise and obfuscation to solve his many cases. He was named “The World’s Greatest Detective”, after all. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

I arrived just as the long case clock, in the main hall, was chiming the hour. Roberts bestowed an approving glance before issuing the first of a seemingly interminable string of commands. He did make one minor last minute modification to the disguise and commented that even with Miss Mathers’ extraordinary perception, she wouldn’t be able to realize who I really was.

The day flew by.

I was so busy I had to be reminded in between tasks to eat lunch, which was light but adequate. Eventually, like a great symphony orchestra under the command of a virtuoso conductor, order came together out of chaos. John Williams had nothing on this particular symphony.

And the guests began to arrive.

My first task was to accompany Roberts to the front door to receive the coats and hats of the guests as they arrived.

“It is perhaps,” Roberts said to me near the beginning of my training when we had a chance to be alone, “the most dangerous time for you. If you can pass muster here, they will not see you as anything more than a footman.”

It also gave Roberts the opportunity to identify for me the guests I didn’t know.

First to arrive was Commissioner Alexander, a bluff, hearty man some twenty years Miss Mathers’ senior. Still vigorous, he held his spine erect as he joked with Roberts, who unbent so far as to crack a slight smile.

“Cocktails in the dining room, sir,” Roberts said.

I heard Commissioner Alexander say “Briony, my dear, as lovely as ever…” as I carried his hat and overcoat away.

Sir Miles McFarland came next. A couple of years younger than Miss Mathers, his was at first thought to be a purely political appointment. Nevertheless, he has risen, rather well, to his situation, and has proven to be an able, if not showy, administrator.

Anton Greydon and Air Vice-Marshal Reese arrived simultaneously. Both had come by taxi.

The Air Vice-Marshal was a tall, wintery man with iron-grey hair and a forbidding expression on his face. He was every inch a military man. His eyes, surprisingly, were a warm brown which seemed utterly incongruous with the frosty aura he projected.

Anton Greydon, who arrived at the same time, didn’t look pleased to see him. I’d seen Anton before, of course, but we had never actually met. He glanced at me and nodded as I took his coat.

I silently let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

That was one.

The Air Vice-Marshal was wearing, of all things, an evening cape. Arrogantly he shrugged out of it, letting it fall where it may. I almost forgot my role in this when I gathered the cloak before it had the chance to hit the floor.

I’d always felt sorry for the people who had to “clean up” after arrogant sods like AVM Reese. True, servants are seldom seen unless needed, but they’re human as well. Reese’s arrogance put me in mind of various wealthy nobles of old and modern day wealthy persons who looked down their noses at the working-class people. Such as the farmers and builders.

I wonder if they realized who it was that built their homes and supplied the food they ate.

Before they could be ushered by Roberts into the drawing room, Briony, with unerring instinct, was in the hall with us laughing, being hugged by Anton and holding her hand out to Air Vice-Marshal Reese.

“Air Vice-Marshal, how very good of you to take time out of your busy schedule!”

“Not at all, Miss Mathers.” Gallantly, he bowed over her hand. “A pleasure. Always.” He allowed her to lead him towards the drawing room.

Charles duBois was the last to arrive, just as the others were going in to dinner. To my practiced eye, he appeared inebriated — indeed, he pulled a flask from his pocket and took a quick drink before going into the dining room with the others.

With all the guests accounted for, I let some of the tension I was holding go. I hadn’t really expected any of the ones I knew to recognize me. There was, however, that slight off chance someone would see through the disguise and point me out in some form or fashion that would’ve made my presence moot.

Roberts had stationed me at the sideboard, to hand the food to the footmen, who were actually waiting on the guests, while I received the empty dishes. By chance or design, I was also perfectly placed to see out of the window. And my duties were light enough for me to keep watch over the whole room.

During my periodic glances out the window, I had noticed a 1979 Mercedes in the square. The same car had circled the square three times and was about to come by for a fourth pass. Admittedly, there are many cars of that make and model out there. However, what were the chances of there being more than one with three white-wall tires, a single suicide door located on the rear driver’s side and a slightly bent antenna on the passenger’s side?

I know I was there to provide security for Miss Mathers’ dinner party. However, my cover also required me to stay at my station unless relieved. Therefore, I did the only thing I thought proper; I discreetly motioned Roberts over.

“We may have a problem,” I said low enough for his ears only and told him my suspicions about the Mercedes. “This needs to be checked out.”

Roberts nodded. He went to Miss Mathers, sitting at the head of the table, and waited for her to notice him.

She looked up.

“What is it, Roberts?”

“A small contretemps, Madame, but one which needs to be addressed. Immediately.”

I saw her stiffen as if she’d received a message over and above the words he’d said. Then she waved her hand. “Carry on. I am sure I do not need to tell you how to do your job.”

“Certainly, Madame.” He bowed, then turned and aimed an imperious finger in my direction.

“You. You will come with me.”

Adopting a suitably chastened look, I followed him out of the dining room.

The door closed behind us.

“Right,” Roberts said. “Think you can get the number of that car? Discreetly?”

“Of course, I can,” I said and immediately went to do what needed to be done.

The model of the car was designed as part of the S-Class series by Mercedes-Benz. Specifically designed from the original W126 line, this model would become, during its twelve-year production run from 1979 to 1991, the most popular S-Class ever produced. The car I was interested in appeared to have been modeled after the 280 S with a 2.8L straight-6 carburetor. None of the models publicly known had suicide doors. So, this one would’ve been specially designed.

As I made my way to a discreet location to observe the car, I made sure my paintball gun was easily extractable. I never mentioned to Roberts my plans to be armed. So, I had spent extra time checking and rechecking the position of the gun by contorting myself into any position imaginable that could’ve given away its hiding spot. If Roberts did happen to notice the slight bulge of the gun, he never mentioned it.

As the car approached the house for the fourth time, I noticed the rear door was slightly ajar.

Great, I thought to myself. I have two possibilities; someone got out already or else they are getting ready to and all I have is a paintball gun. Too bad I didn’t think to ask Roberts if he had a blowgun or tranquilizer gun to knock out whoever it was.

While I was thinking this, I made note of the license plate and did my best to stay out of view of the approaching car. I also readied my gun just in case it was necessary. My one hope was that things wouldn’t explode to the point where I’d wind up being killed since I had no bulletproof clothing on. Of course, a bulletproof vest would be moot if a well-aimed shot managed to blow my brains out.

A hand emerged, clutching what looked suspiciously like a pipe bomb. The item was thrown towards the dining room window, the door slammed, and the car sped off.

As I let out an extremely colorful metaphor, I hurried back inside the house. I knew I’d be too late preventing the impending damage that the bomb would do. Someone had been tipped off about this party and any one of the intended targets gathered in that room was bound to have enemies who saw a chance to act. Unfortunately, the innocents in there had become unwitting victims.

Roberts was waiting for me inside the door.

“Did you get the license number?”

“Yes,” I said as I rushed by. “Bomb. Tossed in dining room. No time to chat.”

He grabbed my arm, swinging me around as a dull crump echoed from inside the dining room. I had time to see the door sag off its hinges from the recoil.

“The license number?” he insisted.

I rattled off the number to him as I pried my arm from his iron grip and ran towards the dining room. My only thought now was to try to save anyone who might’ve survived the explosion.

“They are in the drawing room,” Roberts said calmly. “Miss Mathers took them there for dessert… after I alerted her to the situation.”

It wasn’t what Roberts said that made me stop on a dime. Instead, it was the calm collected way he said it. It took me a couple of seconds after I’d stopped before the actual words had sunk in. When they had, I turned back to Roberts completely abashed for not realizing contingency plans had been in play the moment I had alerted Roberts to the car.

He was on the phone, talking urgently. I heard him give the license number and then repeat it. Then he hung up the phone and turned to me.

“Your zeal does you credit, lad. Please — come with me.”

We went to his pantry, his office, where he sat me down. He then poured me a glass of whiskey.

“Drink it down, lad. You look like you could use it. And then I’ll tell you a story…”

In my defense, I had allowed my humanitarian self to take over my actions before thinking things through. It may one day get me killed though.

Right at that particular moment, I wasn’t thinking about self-recrimination. I was too keyed up and the adrenaline was high. I could barely bring the offered glass to my lips due to the shaking of my hands. But I managed to drink the whiskey in one long pull, set the glass down, and nodded for Roberts to continue.

“Another? Perhaps you’ll enjoy this one...”

He showed me the bottle.

To my dismay, I had just chugged a glass of almost 200-year-old scotch.

“Yes, please,” I said, an obvious note of surprise in my voice. “And please tell me the story you mentioned a moment ago.”

I’d already decided that the next glass wouldn’t go down as quickly as the first. I needed to have some semblance of sobriety to make sure I completed this assignment.

“We’ve been together a long time, Miss Briony and I. We met when she was six years old, and I was fourteen. Her uncle gave her a pony, see — and I was the groom that was to take care of it and teach her how to ride it.”

Roberts poured two glasses of the golden whiskey, handed one to me, then sat down and took a tentative sip.

“Aah. Buttercup, the pony’s name was. That was... yes, fifty-three years ago, today. We’ve been together, man and mistress, that entire time. Well, except for… but that’s a tale for another day.”

He shook his head slightly in remembrance.

“And in that time, we’ve developed our own way of communicating. See, a contretemps is a situation that requires action. A slight one means possible trouble. A small one is minor trouble. A minor one is major trouble that requires immediate action. When I told her we had a minor contretemps, she knew there was big trouble coming — and when she told me she did not need to tell me how to do my job, she was saying she would take action to safeguard her guests.”

He gave me a rare smile.

“Never think, lad, that the car in the square had eluded her notice. She always sits in that seat — it gives the best view of the window, just as your station beside the buffet does — and she had probably marked the car for herself, at least as soon as you did.”

Another rare smile.

“Not much gets past her, even now.”

At that last, I hadn’t realized I had the glass halfway to my lips until I went to reach for it. I had been listening avidly to Roberts’ tale.

I took a swig of the whiskey and set the glass down.

I knew the two had a long history. Yet, fifty-three years’ worth was a long time. Long enough to where the two had perfected the language they used to communicate with each other, yet seem normal to other ears. No less surprising, but quite expected, was Miss Mathers’ perceptiveness and foresight in her choice of seats.

“I take it the other servers were cleared out of the room as well?” I asked.

Needlessly I was sure.

But I needed to know that there were no deaths at all. If there were, I intended to make sure their families were taken care of as well even though I had no hand in their deaths personally.

“Of course, Clanton.”

Roberts’ use of my nom de guerre recalled me to my mission.

“They left first, in fact — she is very careful. Do you feel ready to return to your duties?”

Before I could answer, the phone rang. Simultaneously, the bell on the wall rang. Roberts reached for the phone. He looked at me, the mouthpiece covered. “If you are, go see what she wants. Roberts… Yes, I see... No...”

I left Roberts after finishing off the rest of the whiskey and proceeded to see what assistance I could be to Miss Mathers. I couldn’t see letting a perfectly good glass of two-hundred-year-old whiskey go to waste. In addition, there may never be another chance to share a drink with a man for whom I was gaining more and more respect.

On the way, I took a glance at the dining room and shivered at the prospect of what could’ve been an entirely different result. I also popped a mint into my mouth to mask the smell of whiskey I was sure was on my breath. Moments later, I was at the drawing room. Taking my cue from previous visits, I knocked first before entering.

“Roberts, I wonder...” Miss Mathers stopped. “No, it’s Clanton, isn’t it? I wonder if — you could bring more cream, please. We seem to be running low.”

She picked up the cream jug and handed it to me.

I looked at the three-quarters full jug and bowed slightly.

“Certainly, Madam.”

As I left the room with the jug, I glanced at Miss Mathers’ guests and mentally tallied the number present compared to those who’d arrived. I also felt Miss Mathers needed some information from Roberts and made a beeline back to the Pantry.

All of them were present and accounted for. Sir Miles McFarland was smoking furiously in one corner of the room. Anton Greydon and Commissioner Alexander seemed to be having a heated disagreement in another corner of the room. Air Vice-Marshal Reese was — surprisingly — seated at the piano. Charles duBois appeared to be dozing in an armchair.

And Miss Mathers was looking distinctly frayed around the edges. Not at all like a woman who was celebrating a birthday with friends.

Roberts hung up the phone as I entered.

“Back so soon?”

I explained to Roberts what had occurred in the drawing room and my observations. When finished, I refilled the jug intending on taking it back to Miss Mathers and willing to pass on any possible message Roberts might have.

One thing did trouble me though and I expressed my concern to Roberts.

“Roberts,” I said, “I know Miss Mathers is a strong woman and all. However, I find it just a bit troubling seeing her in such a state. She doesn’t seem to be the type to appear as she did in there. Even amongst her friends. I would’ve figured her to be leading the charge; being the strong supportive one for the others.”

“This might be hard for you to believe,” Roberts replied, “but she doesn’t like controversy. And the fact that Anton and the Commissioner — two of her oldest and dearest friends — are arguing, well, that won’t sit well with her. As well as Sir Miles smoking in her presence. That is unusual. I’d better get back to her.”

He hurried out, leaving me to follow with the pitcher.

When I arrived, the situation had changed. Sir Miles was no longer smoking. Anton and the Commissioner seemed to have reached a compromise. I sensed it was not fully acceptable, but the best they could do under the circumstances. However, Air Vice-Marshal Reese was glaring at all and sundry. And Charles duBois was definitely asleep.

“Air Vice-Marshal,” Miss Mathers said firmly, as I entered. “If Anton says the answer is ‘No’, then the answer is ‘No’. I am sorry, but I cannot and will not support you.”

“But...”

“I am very glad that you took time out of your busy schedule to come here this evening,” she went on diplomatically. “And of course, I shall understand if your current duties force you to leave early.”

Whatever had happened, I was relieved to see Miss Mathers back to her “take charge” self. I mentally applauded and thanked every Deity of good fortune as I set the jug back in its place and murmured, “Your cream, Madam. Do you require anything else?”

Inwardly, I wished I’d been a fly on the wall to witness the last few moments for myself to bring about the sudden change in the room and to know what had gone on.

“Clanton,” Roberts said firmly. “The Air Vice-Marshal is leaving. Will you see him out, please?”

Not skipping a beat, I motioned to Reese the way I was trained. “This way, please Air Vice-Marshal.”

Reese stood, glaring. Sir Miles, Commissioner Alexander and Anton Greydon stood, also, and for a moment it appeared as though the confrontation would continue. Then Reese turned, fixed Miss Mathers with a steely glare.

“I will have my way, you know.”

On that note, he stalked out into the hall and waited for me to bring him his cape.

I dutifully retrieved the Air Vice-Marshal’s cape, placed it on him the way I remembered seeing him wear it upon his arrival and escorted him to the door.

At six feet two inches to my five foot seven, he wasn’t helping. In fact, he was doing an excellent job of ignoring me. Something I’d already expected of the man. As I indicated previously, I detest people like that sometimes.

Finally, impatiently, he twitched the cape into place and strode towards the front door. I hurried to open it before he could walk into, or through, it. Once again, as I expected, I was nothing more than a servant to the AVM, after all; beneath his notice.

Once he left, I returned to the drawing room for further orders, where it looked like the party was breaking up. Both Anton Greydon and Commissioner Alexander were in quiet conversation with Miss Mathers, taking their leave. Sir Miles was waiting his turn.

And Charles duBois was still asleep — and snoring.

I waited expectantly, as I felt was proper with my training, to do my duty towards Miss Mathers’ guests. In a way, I was sure, even though the party was over the night had just begun.

Suddenly, there was a thunderous knocking on the front door. In a blink of an eye, four of the seven people in the room were showing weapons. Of course, being a servant, I wasn’t one of them. And as a servant, I had to prevent myself from drawing my own gun.

Miss Mathers was obviously in charge. With a jerk of her head, she indicated for me to find out who it was.

To say I was sweating bullets would be an understatement. However, I had no other analogy to describe my state of mind. Despite my outward calm, I was still jumpy from the near miss earlier with the bomb and hoped whoever was banging on the door to beat the band was friendly and not the return of the would-be assassins.

I remembered having a fleeting thought as I opened the door. The Air Vice-Marshal hadn’t called for a cab and may’ve been coming back to demand we call one for him.

“Good evening,” I said as I opened the door. “How may I be of service?”

Ricky Vallance shouldered me aside and thundered towards the dining room. Nick Storm favored me with a piercing glance before following.

Hooray, I thought to myself. The cavalry’s here.

I had a sneaking suspicion, and a secret hope, both the commanders would be monitoring the house in some way and come right over as soon as they could should anything untoward happen during the party. Regardless, I was glad they were here and felt a lot of the tension in me dissipate.

I waited in what I felt was a discrete location outside of the room. Not too discrete, mind you, but out of the way as was proper for a servant.

“Where is she?” Storm demanded as he came back into the hall, almost silently. Vallance was still in the dining room, surveying the damage, the damage I hadn’t yet seen.

“Miss Mathers is in the drawing room with her other guests, sir,” I promptly replied in my adopted servant’s voice and led Storm to the indicated room.

“Was anyone hurt?” Storm asked following me. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before. What is your name?”

“No, sir. Miss Mathers had everyone retire to the drawing room for dessert moments before the explosion. My name is Columbus Clanton, sir. I was hired on for the day. To help with the preparations and serving. Air Vice-Marshal Reese is the only one of her guests who has left, by the way. You only missed him by a few minutes. I believe he had to return to his busy schedule.”

Good. My disguise was working quite well if Commander Storm didn’t recognize me. I added the bit about Reese on purpose. It seemed the proper thing to do in case Storm thought to ask.

“Thank you. Carry on, Clanton.” Storm nodded, and headed for the drawing room.

I waited.

Vallance came charging out of the dining room shortly thereafter. And a similar conversation ensued before he, too, headed for the drawing room. With the others gone I, now, had a chance to check out the damage fully. So, I headed for the dining room.

The window had been blown out completely. The heavy oaken table was scarred, but I felt, recoverable. The sideboard where I stood previously had been unharmed as were most of the chairs. They were lying on their sides, but that was all.

As I stared at the damage, I heard a familiar voice behind me.

“Leave it, lad. The investigators will want to see the damage first. Go back to the hall — the guests are leaving, so it’ll be just family in a few minutes.”

Roberts was standing in the doorway, smiling at me.

“I hadn’t planned on doing any cleaning up, Roberts,” I said in a low voice as I left the room. “My police experience taught me that when it comes to crime scenes.”

With a nod to Roberts, I went back into the hall. Miss Mathers was there. As were her guests. There was some confusion, but eventually was sorted out and the guests left.

Most of them. Charles duBois was still asleep in the drawing room.

I followed Miss Mathers back into the drawing room, where she stood looking down at him, hands on her hips.

“Now what do we do?”

“Maybe we should take him home,” Storm said as he turned to me. “Care to help me, Clanton?”

“To be honest Commander Storm,” I said. “No I wouldn’t. I’m more interested in knowing why Mr. duBois, here, asked Miss Mathers not to have any SPJ personnel here to provide security for her gathering.”

I waited for the impending explosion from all parties present.

“It didn’t seem to stop you, did it?” Storm asked, deadly quiet.

“I’m here, Commander,” I answered as I began removing my disguise, “at the request of Miss Mathers.”

As I continued removing my disguise, I explained the whole thing to Storm and Vallance. “Miss Mathers. Please forgive me for stepping out of line if I erred in revealing my presence here to the Commanders.”

“Not at all, Mr. Parker,” she smiled. “After all, you alerted Roberts to the vehicle that was circling the square, didn’t you? In time for me to move my guests in here.”

“He...”

“What??”

With Storm and Vallance both speaking at once, it was difficult to know who had said what.

Miss Mathers held up both hands for silence.

“Roberts, please take Mr. duBois to one of the guest rooms. Mr. Parker... Robert, isn’t it? Robert, please come and sit down. Under the circumstances, I am sure Roberts will excuse you from the usual clean up that follows a dinner party. Nick — do you have a team on their way to investigate? If not, why not?”

“They’ll be here shortly. Ricky and I came ahead — in case of casualties.”

“Thank you.”

Again, I saw the relationship that these three had come to the fore, and felt privileged to witness it.

“I am sure my guests will make themselves available to the investigators. I am equally sure they will not be able to assist you in any way.”

“Roberts called the license plate of the car in,” Nick said. “Quick thinking, Roberts.”

“Not I, sir,” Roberts gestured in my direction. “Parker obtained it.”

“Then I am doubly indebted to you,” Miss Mathers smiled.

“Not at all,” I said blushing slightly. “You asked me to provide security for you. I only did what I thought was proper in that capacity.”

I then gave a brief, but concise, report what occurred from the moment the guests arrived — including my observations and suspicions concerning Mr. duBois. I had reason to believe the man in question may have been behind the night’s bombing and that I felt Miss Mathers might’ve been the intended target.

“My reasoning for this,” I continued, “Though Miss Mathers may not be an official part of the SPJ, she does carry a lot of influence. Her influence might prevent Mr. duBois from carrying out whatever plans he might have.”

I gave a slight shrug.

“Admittedly, he could’ve begged off from coming tonight. However, that might’ve led to any suspicions pointing to him should something happen and he wasn’t present. Especially after requesting Miss Mathers to have no SPJ personnel on site for security.”

Another thought came to me.

“Then, again,” I admitted, “Miss Mathers may not have been the intended target. Rather it may have been one of the other guests.”

“I find it hard to believe that he’d be behind the attempted bombing,” Miss Mathers said. “It is more likely that he’d be a target. Especially in view of...”

She stopped.

“Ma’am?” I asked when she stopped speaking. “What is it?”

“I think you’ve done an excellent job tonight, Robert. We are deeply indebted to you. In fact, I shall recommend to your Commander that you receive a commendation. Commander Redhawk, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am, he is,” I answered.

Inwardly, I was pleased at the prospect of being recommended for a commendation. Yet, I was puzzled and confused as to how this related to duBois.

“Miss Mathers,” I continued. “If I may. If Mr. duBois were the intended target, why would he risk everyone here? And why would he request no SPJ personnel for security? Do you think he may’ve been blackmailed in regards for the unusual request?”

I may have been pushing the envelope here by not taking the hint to let the others handle this. Unfortunately, the detective in me was looking for answers to this mystery.

Before she could answer, the door opened again. Roberts, came back into the drawing room. He bent over Miss Mathers and murmured something for her ears alone.

Her lips tightened.

“We had better have Dr. Mallory for him, then.”

She gave an uncharacteristic audible sigh.

“Almost, I agree with Air Vice-Marshal Reese — although I cannot support...,” again, she broke off. “And Anton is dead against it, of course.”

She glanced at me, realizing I was paying rapt attention to what she’d been saying.

“I am sorry, Robert. I seem to be woolgathering. Go with Roberts now. He’ll see that you are taken care of.”

It was obviously a dismissal. I suspected I’d hear about the results of the night’s activities, eventually.

Yeah, right.

And pigs would suddenly develop the ability to put on top coats and top hats and know how to ballroom dance in the next ten minutes.

I didn’t express my thoughts, however, about the dismissal. Instead, I made a slight bow to all.

“I’m at your disposal if you ever need my services again Miss Mathers,” I said. “And if Mr. duBois is ill, please send my regards for a speedy recovery.”

With that said, I followed Roberts out of the drawing room.

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