The Case of the Black Diamond Bride Part V

For the Alchemist, the world is governed and composed of the four elements, the quintessence that arises from them, and the three essences. The four elements are earth, air, fire, water. The quintessence is born from the union of the four elements and is know my many names; chi, life, spirit, wood, and lightning. The three essences are salt, sulfur, and mercury, which are the ash, flame and smoke that is created when a thing is purified by the alchemist’s fire. All that is, was and will be are made of, ruled by, and are, those elements and essences.

So too, is every crime. Means, opportunity, and motive are the salt, sulfur, and mercury. Means is the salt, the physical components of the crime. Opportunity is the sulfur, the moment of burning flame of action that releases the mercury and salt in heat and light. Motive is the mercury, ethereal in nature of thought and desire. Each person and substance involved are made and governed by the four elements, each under the sway of those primal forces. The way a crime was committed could tell a lot about a person, including their elemental humor and that would lead to some suspects and rule out others. As an alchemist I would need to recombine all these elements and essences in order to release the true nature of the crime and its perpetrator.

These thoughts filled my head as Lady Radcliff led me to her bedchambers and the scene of the crime. This went beyond behavior, at least by the Queen’s standards, but there was little choice in the matter. If I was to help my client, a few social norms were acceptable. Still, I could not help but wonder why she had asked about my skills in the occult. So far, nothing in this case indicated a connection to the arcane and occult arts. Either she was holding back information or she was on who wanted the comfort of something higher aiding her. I’d face both types of clients in the past and both were equally troubling in their own way.

Lady Radcliff’s chambers were as well appointed and lavish as the sitting room she’d met me in, though it was clear she shared them with her husband, the Lord Radcliff. Just as clearly, he held complete dominion here. Various trophies were placed about the room, from the mundane horse racing to the exotic hunting. A stuffed lion’s head, full of mane and sharp of tooth, was placed above the marriage bed in a symbol of power. I suspected it excited the Lord Radcliff more than his wife. There were only two photographs, one on her night table that was of her and a woman I took to be a sister, the other a large portraiture of Lord Radcliff himself hanging opposite the foot of the bed.

The Lord Radcliff was a powerfully built man, with a large and fashionable mustache, slick black hair, and the bearing of a military officer who deserved the uniform he was wearing. He was clearly a man who loved power and brooked no softness. It was clear that he had married the Lady Radcliff for her beauty and valued her as nothing more than another trophy of conquest. He was a man to be respected, feared, and most likely enjoyed the adoration of both his equals and lesser. I’d met his kind in the past, and rarely got along with them. Perhaps because we were so similar.

Similar, but not the same.

Before I could ask her for it, Lady Radcliff handed me the note her blackmailers had left on her pillow. It was short, to the point, and revealed a little of the blackmailer’s character. Printed on cheap paper, but not so cheap the ink had run or bled through, with perfect spelling and diction. An educated person, then, but without more than the three lines it took to inform Lady Radcliff of the price of her secret and its nature, little more could be drawn at the moment.

The jewelry box in which she’d kept her black diamond was a bit more telling. There were only a few scratches on the key hole, letting me know it was picked, but by a very skilled hand. Her other jewelry boxes revealed no such marks, which meant the they had know precisely which box the diamond was kept in. there were most likely a limited number of people with such knowledge in the house. And, since the diamond had presumably been taken as Lady Radcliff had been sleeping and left the note when they were done, it shrank the number of possible thieves drastically. The question was why take the black diamond in the first place.
Clearly the blackmail and theft were connected, but not by anything obviously apparent. If it was to show they could reach her, the note proved that well enough, and I wasn’t sure how the ring would be used against her in the instance of blackmail.

Perhaps the diamond was the target, and the blackmail a diversion. I would have to check, but black diamonds were rare and likely worth far in excess of three thousand pounds. A thought poked at my brain and I turned to Lady Radcliff.

“M’Lady, what can you tell me about the diamond that was stolen?”

If the look on Lady Radcliff’s face when she told me of her illegitimate and dead child was trouble, then the one she wore at my question would have sent a lesser man screaming in terror at its implications. I am not a lesser man, more’s the pity.

“My father obtained it, in his youth on a trip to India. Aeroships had just come to be more available and he commissioned one along with some friends, to go exploring the Orient. He often told me the story when I was a little girl, because I thought it rather romantic,” she said, sitting lightly on the edge of the bed. “They were three days into the jungle, when they came across a beautiful native woman who was bound to an altar. My father freed her, much to her gratitude, and she led them to her village. Her father was the chief and was very happy to see his daughter again, but the village priest was angry. The girl had been given as a sacrifice to the jungle gods, to do with as they pleased before consuming her. The priest said that the jungle gods would grow angry and attack, but my father saw it all as petty superstition.”

“That night, after a great feast, the village was attacked. My father and his friends fought bravely, but the young princess was carried off, along with other young women as the huts burned. My father and his friends raced after them, until a day later they came to a mountain top where they found the priest about to sacrifice the girls. My father shot the priest, and took from him a ring with the black diamond,” she continued. “He said he rescued her and the other girls and returned them to the village.”

Lady Radcliff was silent for a long time, the spoke very softly, “It took me years to find out the truth. My father wrote the true story in his journal. He and his friends failed to rescue the girls. The truth was that the priest had conducted some sort of ritual, and all around him were the bodies of tigers and the captured women, placed on giant stakes and hanging in the air in an alternating g pattern, with their blood flowing down to the altar. The princess was bound to the altar and the priest was on top of her. My father arrived just as the priest finished having his way with the princess and stabbed an obsidian dagger into her heart. My father shot the priest, right then and there, but it was too late. According to the journal, the ritual could not be stopped and all the bodies and blood were pulled into a vortex above the altar, where it they spun until it formed a sphere. The noise and sight was so terrible that one of his friends went insane. My father said it felt like his very body and soul was being torn apart and drawn into the vortex. He said it felt like an eternity.”

She swallowed and looked sick. “It was noon when he awoke from that midnight ritual, all alone. Everyone else was gone and on the altar sat a black stone that he was later told to be a diamond. There was no sign of the bodies of the women, animals, priest, or his friends. Just the black stone. His journal said he felt possessed to take it and so he carried it off and later had it made into a ring. He wore it all the time. He wrote that late at night, he could hear the cries of the princess and the other women, his friends the roar of tigers and the dark laughter of the priest promising that he would once again be free and that the gods would repay my father for destroying his village and its people.”

I might not be a lesser man, but a shiver ran down my spine. It was doubtful Lady Radcliff’s father had enjoyed a pleasant life with the black diamond, and equally likely he could not be rid of it. How Lady Radcliff ended up with it probably had more to do with wanting a keepsake of her father, rather than his desire for her to have it. Doubtlessly, he would have wanted to take it the grave with him.
It explained why she wanted my help. Undoubtedly, she could have gotten Holmes, but his views on the supernatural were well known. I, on the other hand, would be more likely to believe her story about the diamond’s creation as well as being able to see reasons beyond simple theft for its disappearance. I watched as she sat on the bed, looking despondent, clearly shamed about her father and his past. No doubt there was even more to that story than she was telling, but she hadn’t liked about a word of it. Nor had she lied about her affair. Now, I just needed to figure out the connection between the two.

“Does anyone but you know of the diamond’s creation?” I asked, peering at her closely. She shook her head, raising a white silk handkerchief to her eyes. It came away wet, with a trace of light blue eye shadow. No false tears, which was something. I’d had women fake their tears before.

The letter might reveal something more, when I could run some tests on it. The ring’s creation disturbed me though, especially since I had no experience with Easter magic, and this sounded a far cry from the scholarly wizardry I was used to. I would have to get in touch with someone more knowledgeable about it.
Lady Radcliff sat there, looking small and vulnerable. Her hair had come loose, a curly wave of honey brown locks that framed a lovely, if distraught, face. She was beautiful, and a part of me felt rather disappointed that she was taken and controlled by Lord Radcliff. She was not a high born woman, but still of clearly good breeding, hence why the Lord could still marry her. I subtly shook my head, clearing away such thoughts. Still, before I could marshal my mental forces, I did notice that she’d changed in to different clothing from earlier and her new violet dress was far more fitted and low cut, revealing creamy pale skin. I forced myself to look about the room again, just in case I missed something. Nothing jumped out.

A few moments later Lady Radcliff and I bid our goodbyes and I promised to contact her with any results as soon as I got them. She thanked me and pleaded with me to hurry. Neither of us mentioned that Lord Radcliff’s return in two day would raise awkward questions for the both of us.

The Case of the Black Diamond Bride Part IV

Lady Radcliff lived in a castle. Not surprising, considering her status as Upper Nobility and her husband’s wealth, but this castle was rather impressive. The only one I could think of that might compare to it was Buckingham palace. I pulled the automobile up to the gate and watched as the gatekeeper came over to my vehicle.

“I’m here to see lady Radcliff, I have an appointment,” I said, before he could speak, “I’d appreciate it if you could let me on through.”

The gatekeeper was a short and stout man, well dressed, but the clothes were worn ill-worn. A glimpse his mouth revealed poor teeth, missing the right incisor. He was a rough man, his walk a rolling, limping step. He glowered at me, but I stared back imperiously before checking my watch. I’d found that when a giant of a man looks like he’ll walk (or in this case drive) right over you, people tended to let him through.

The gatekeeper grumbled but opened the massive wrought iron gates and I put the car back into gear, before coasting smoothly up to the front door of the mansion. Here, I would have to be polite. The gate keeper was from at best a middle class background, but the butler for a family like the Radcliff’s would have been well trained and as haughty as they would be. Lady Radcliff might need my help, but in the eyes of her family and staff I’d be nothing more than an immigrant with ideas, betrayed by the lightest traces of my accent. Were I professor, I’d be accorded greater respect, but a private detective ranked somewhere below policeman and above chimney sweep. Holmes might have romanticized the profession, but that didn’t mean much in the old circles.

I parked and got out of the automobile, doused the fire with the pull of a lever, and released the excess steam with a hiss. It was important to do that, both because it saved coal and because keeping the pipes under pressure for a long period of time could have bad results, from burst pipes to rust. Once completed I made my way up the steps and knocked on the door.

If the gatekeeper had been in a foul mood, the butler was worse. He was everything you’d think the butler of an old family would be, and then some, right down to tiny mustache and pressed clothing. After giving me a disapproving sniff, my automobile and even bigger one, and my car another to the point where he was practically snorting in his tiny mustache. It did not help that I was a half foot taller than him and he was trying to look down his nose at me at the same time as the sniffing.

I was shown, very reluctantly, to Lady Radcliff’s private parlor and left there. My entire flat could be placed into the room, which held a welter of small figurines, lace, books, and numerous other things. Holmes no doubt could have memorized everything, but I went for generalizations. The figurines, many of which were of dancers, told me that Lady Radcliff held a great interest in that art. A pair of worn, but elegant, ballerina slippers were perched within easy reach of a phonograph and empty area of the floor, but were hidden behind a set of books on embroidery. She danced the, but it was a secret thing to be kept from the other Radcliffs.

Most of the books were about topic suitable for a lady of her station, but I saw a dozen yellow romances stuffed between and under more serious books. Her music collection ran to the classics, but at the bottom of the pile one stuck out that I recognized as belonging to a rather popular band of new musical styling that emphasized a heavier beat and more mechanical sound. So, it seemed there was more to the Lady Radcliff than being a traditional member of the nobility. It seemed she kept up appearances, but did not long for the lifestyle of her husband’s family. She had struck me as young during our meeting, and the papers had listed her age as twenty when she was married. Lord Radcliff was closer to thirty, if my memory served. It was an arranged marriage, common still among the upper class. I would have to research the details when I returned home, since it had something to do with Lady Radcliff’s current situation.

Lady Radcliff entered, her skirts swirling around the door. Her expression was one of grave concern and panic, which relaxed slightly upon seeing me. “Oh thank God,” she said softly, making her way over to me, “Oliver told me you had arrived, but I fear there has been a complication.”

My eyebrow arched slightly. Complications rarely meant a fun time for me, and the more complex a case the more clients tended to meddle. “Tell me, what has happened?” I said.

Lady Radcliff took a deep breath before she started. “My husband, Lord Radcliff, was meant to be out of town for two weeks, but I just received a telegram that he is coming home right away,” she said, wringing her hands. “I fear that the blackmailers have already contacted him.”

I nodded slowly. This was a complication, especially if Lord Radcliff knew about whatever the problem was. I could get caught in the crossfire, and while I knew several people of means, none could equal the power of Lord Radcliff. If he wanted to punish me for his wife’s deception, there wasn’t much I could do about it. Still, I’d taken the job and I couldn’t leave it undone.

I guided Lady Radcliff over to a chair and encouraged her to sit, before taking the chair opposite of hers. “Perhaps it would be best if you told me just what you were being black mailed about. It might help me to find who is behind this,” I said softly.

Lady Radcliff looked reluctant, but nodded. “When I was seventeen, my parents permitted me to study ballet, because I’d loved dancing since I was a child. I loved it, more than anything, and while I was learning I met a young Spaniard named Rodrigo de la Mancha, the son of a lesser noble family,” she said, looking outside dreamily. “He was very exotic and passionate.”

I nodded, folding my hands before my face. She continued, sitting very still as she spoke, her tone far away. “Well, I’m sure you can grasp where this is leading. I gave Rodrigo my virginity, and he gave me a child before he left for Spain, but not a ring. My family was scandalized, and sent me off to the country side to have my child,” she said.

Then, Lady Radcliff looked down and wiped a tear away. “The child was stillborn, dead before I could even hold it. Everyone was sworn to secrecy, I returned home, an no one was the wiser. Two years later, I was engaged and married to Lord Radcliff. He never knew, and since the midwife said I wouldn’t have a problem giving birth I didn’t think it would be an issue in our marriage,” she finished.

I pushed my glasses up with my middle finger and cursed mentally. Not like life could ever be easy. Still, it was a place to start, and a few suspects I could run down. Now I just needed to see the crime scene and the note.