The Curious Case of Mary Ann

by Jenn Thorson

  “It did?”

  “Oh, hadn’t I mentioned?” He scratched his head. “Yes, right after our last training session.”

  “So that must mean your training with it is complete,” she said.

  He considered it. “Why, yes. I suppose so! Seems curiously quick, though.”

  It did and she felt sorry for this. They had been good times.

  He said, “Anyway, so I told him how I’d need to quest for the Vorpal sword to finish the job.”

  “And …?”

  “And I said, ‘In the final War, you were that fellow with the club, eh? The one they used to call Bludgeon of Something-or-Other, due to your fine walloping skills.’ And he said, ‘Yes, but that was a long time ago.’ And I said, ‘You mean you never want to get out-and-about these days with a good blade or brain-whacker in your hand? Just for old times’ sake?’ And he laughed and said, ‘Why, I suppose I might, if the right opportunity came along.’ How about that?”

  “Well, I talked to one of the maids here,” Mary Ann said, “and she confirms what we’ve all been hearing, that Jacob Morningstar is madly in love with the Queen. And that King Rudolf knows about it and is okay with it because it keeps her busy.”

  “That I could understand.”

  “Now, when I searched his room —”

  Rufus frowned. “Whose room?”

  “Morningstar’s.”

  The eyes went wide and the ginger eyebrows shot skyward. “Well, rook me! You’ve been productive!”

  Mary Ann smiled. “In Morningstar’s room I found a bunch of old papers. In addition to a lot of truly awful poetry from the Queen, there was an invoice from J. Sanford Banks for a chaise longue, covered in hearts, made out to and paid for by one Jack Clover.”

  “And who’s that then?” He grabbed a biscuit.

  “Jack … Clover …” She waited for it to sink in.

  “Oh,” he said, through the crunch of biscuit. “So Morningstar secretly commissioned a prezzie for the Queen …”

  “And as far as I know, it was delivered, too. There were a few unpaid balances listed in my father’s accounting book, but I’m quite sure that wasn’t one of them. So the piece is around here somewhere. It’s not in Queen Valentina’s chambers, though.”

  “Strange motive for revenge,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Unless your father didn’t have a proper return policy?” He winked.

  “I’d like to find the chaise,” said Mary Ann.

  “What will you learn from that?”

  “Haven’t a clue,” she said.

  “Frabjous!” he said, leaping from the chair and slinging his cup onto the table. It clattered in its saucer. “Then let’s go.”

  

  With the croquet match going on in full-swing and everyone either playing or cheering on their favorite player (read: Queen Valentina), Mary Ann and Rufus were free to search where they pleased. They hit every room on the ground floor and ultimately found the chaise in the Conservatory, along the window next to a harpsichord that had been gold-leafed and painted in scenes of Queen Valentina’s plays. At a quick glance, Mary Ann could see the chaise was some of her father’s best work, the intricate carving as fine and precise as ever, and featuring enough hearts and fat winged archer babies to make even the moodiest queen sufficiently impressed.

  “Huzzah!” cheered the voices outside, and Mary Ann could see a hedgehog careen across the field and crash through the topiaries, then scramble into the safety of the shrubbery. She hardly blamed it. Sport was hell.

  “Anything out of the ordinary about the piece?” Rufus asked. “Anything that would make your father’s business a target?”

  Mary Ann was searching the design for a cleverly-hidden message and feeling in the upholstery seams for some secreted item. She came away with crumbs and a bit of quill feather. She climbed under the piece and extended a hand. “Pass me that letter opener I saw?”

  Rufus glanced around and grabbed the object from the top of a small painted writing desk, handing it to her. “What are you up to?”

  “Nothing that will matter to anyone, if I do it properly.” She pried off a few of the underlying nails.

  “So tacks-ing,” he said and laughed wildly.

  “Please stop.”

  “Sorry.” He tried to assemble himself into a mood more appropriate for the occasion and crouched down beside her. “Humors are so hard to regulate. Perhaps I need a good leeching. Spy anything?”

  “Not so as I can tell.” She felt around within the seat, hoping to unearth something, anything worth the price of a man and/or walrus’ life. But horsehair was her sole reward, which was to say: none. She pushed the tacks back into the netting and then the wood. She dusted off her hands and rose. “I find it interesting that Morningstar commissioned a sofa for the Queen and here it is, straight out in the open.”

  “Sounds to me like it’s all been out in the open, from what you say,” said Rufus. “But do you think he could have commissioned the thing on behalf of the King? He is the fellow’s servant.”

  “Then why hide the receipt?” Mary Ann asked. “Why put it with other receipts that clearly appeared to be personal gifts?”

  “You’ve stymied me,” said Rufus. He glanced at the harpsichord. “I wonder if the fellow’s musical.” He leafed through the stack of sheet music on top of the instrument. “There are all love songs here. Gooey stuff, too, if you’re into that.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had the luxury of goo,” said Mary Ann.

  “Well, someone uses the room. These are recent newspapers.” He indicated the copies of Neath Undercover and The Turvy Mirror on a table.

  Mary Ann’s eyes settled on the paper from Turvy. The headline read: “Carpenter Dead. Manhunt On for Woman.” Mary Ann snatched up the paper. “Listen to this: ‘Rowan Carpenter was found dead, buried in a shallow grave late last Punday’ — It was not shallow! Douglas did a cracking job on it and —”

  Rufus pointed to the paper and cleared his throat.

  “Right, yes. ‘— Shallow grave late last Punday, and Turvy Square Four investigators also discovered a floor stain upon the scene that they believe to be blood. The grave was marked with what appears to be a feminine hand.’ Curse my penmanship! Why did I have to get all fancy? … Oh, yes, yes, I know…” She told Rufus and went back to the paper.

  “‘Carpenter was survived by one child, a Mary Ann Carpenter who is now wanted for questioning. Sources indicate Miss Carpenter may also be wanted in association with the destruction of personal property and the public disruption of a trial in Neath. She may currently be going under the name of Alice.’ Which is ironic,” Mary Ann said, turning to Rufus, “because Alice is the one name your father hadn’t tried out on me.” She returned to the paper. “‘If you see Miss Carpenter, send a rocking horsefly to Red Turvy Square Four guards immediately.’”

  And there was the finished drawing that Pat the handyman had done of the intruder at Mr. Rabbit’s. This person. This possible Alice. This fake Mary Ann.

  Mary Ann wiped her brow with a handkerchief, sneering, “Tweedles. If only they’d stuck to rattle collecting and bickering and skipped the day jobs, the world would be a better place.”

  A cheer emanated from outside the window, and they could see the crowd was dispersing. Based on the way Queen Valentina was being hoisted above their heads in a golden chair, and the way a number of the guests were being led off in shackles, it seemed the Queen’s team had won.

  Rufus tugged at her sleeve. “We’d best not be found wandering around in here. Better to melt into the crowd, eh, ‘Alice’?” He grinned but it vanished quickly when he saw her expression. “You were a lot more fun when I was depressed.”

  “I was not so many other people then,” she said.

  They moved down the hall and spied a shadow at the entrance, so they ducked into the first room they could.

  A high, melodic voice said, “Herald, tell them I am going to change my clothes, and then I shall be dow
n to open my Unbirthday gifts. I expect that they will all be precisely what I didn’t know I always wanted.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” said Warren Rabbit, for Mary Ann knew that quavering voice so well.

  A figure swept down the hall, past the door, and they heard footsteps click-clicking up the stairs. Mary Ann and Rufus took this moment to make a break for it.

  Outside, Mr. Rabbit was relaying the Queen’s message, while the remaining unshackled guests enjoyed another round of tea, cakes and sandwiches.

  Various performers had started up again, practicing their stilt-walking, comedy or testing out poetry dedicated to the Queen. It was difficult to keep an eye out for all the people Mary Ann was hoping to avoid, and she thought it rather helped that Rufus was tall, flame-haired and dressed in his courtly best. It kept the focus away from her. Her invisibility powers were not what they once were.

  Mr. Rabbit signified the gift-giving portion of the event by another blast of his horn and Queen Valentina glided forward in another elegant gown, this one covered in live rosebuds. As she moved to the center of the stage, all of them bloomed at once and the crowd oohed and clapped.

  “Now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” Valentina said. “You may watch me open my prezzies! Gather round, everyone! Gather round.” She sat in a throne to one end of the present table, while some low-level members in her court brought a gift forward. Mr. Rabbit read off the tag. “From King Rudolf, Your Majesty.”

  She didn’t actually tear off the paper herself, she had the Three and Four of Hearts do it. Her rosebud lips pursed and moved a bit off-center as she evaluated the item. “Oh. Another tiara.” Her tone was flat and bored. “Thanks ever so, Rudy.”

  “Rudy,” a distinguished-looking man who was sitting at the opposite end of the table said in a hopeful tone, “It’s got an engraving.”

  She took the tiara and read along the inner rim. “‘My Dearest Valentina, love is our crowing achievement.’ Charming … NEXT!”

  It seemed the gifts were part of a never-ending sea. She received cloaks and gowns of the finest fabrics, jewels of unimagined value, flamingos dyed a deep red (that one was quite a hit, since Mary Ann knew she was in the market for better brand-cohesive flamingos), and a set of romantic adventures featuring her as the lead character. She received sets of rose gold dinnerware, life-sized portraits of herself, a lake (not in a box; that wouldn’t transport well), and a voucher from someone promising to name their first-born child after her. Mr. Milliner gave her a hat so large and magnificent, it was designed to ride along on a wheeled framework around her. The Duchess (who Mary Ann knew never particularly liked Queen Valentina) gave her a gift certificate to the Pepper of the Month Club, and Jacob Morningstar, gave her a beautifully-painted clock where a mechanical figure lopped off another mechanical figure’s head at the stroke of the hour.

  She clapped her dainty hands at that and laughed. “Just my sense of humor! Oh Jacky, you know me so well!”

  When she got to the package that Mary Ann was quite sure was the looking-glass, Mary Ann noted Mr. Rabbit’s face was particularly drawn, his eyes fearful and darting.

  “A mirror,” she said, as it was revealed to her. “Very pretty. What does it do?”

  “Do, Your Majesty?” asked the Rabbit, and Mary Ann could see him quaking in his courtly robes. “Why … it … it …”

  She looked at him narrowly.

  And Mary Ann watched as the answer came to him. “… It showcases your unmatched beauty, my dear Queen.” And he bowed so low the tips of his ears touched the ground.

  “Oh.” She smiled and peered into the mirror. “It does, doesn’t it? Aces!” She pushed it aside. “Next!”

  Mr. Rabbit mopped his forehead and Mary Ann sighed with relief. They never had found out how to make the mirror work as a portal. It seemed destined to spend its life as mere artistic furniture now. But that was probably just as well; Mary Ann had carefully watched Morningstar when the mirror was brought forward. There was no sign whatsoever of concern on his part; his interest appeared to be the same as with any gift that hadn’t been his. It was all very curious.

  Two hours later, the presents were finally all received and acknowledged and, as no one had been sent to the dungeons for it, Mary Ann considered it a success. Half of the party-goers, however, were wilted or asleep and all of them leapt a bit when the Queen stood suddenly and shouted, “Entertainment! It’s entertainment time now. I performed for you, so it’s only right that you perform for me. What songs and poems about my greatness will you be surprising me with today?”

  Naturally, this was not something anyone wanted to be the first to attempt. But the guests did have various tributes prepared and after some arguing, they sorted themselves into a lineup. There were musical compositions written for her, as played on mandolin, flute and Jubjub bird. There was an on-land Lobster Quadrille featuring lobsters in water-filled helmets. There was a great heaping of poetry and song of varying skill levels.

  And then the Two of Clubs stepped onto the stage. He was a mild-mannered fellow of sturdy build and middle age who looked as if all the hair that had been on his head had decided to relocate to his upper lip and side-whiskers for a better view of things.

  “Ahem,” he said, “today I shall aspire to delight you with my comedy stylings. I shall start with my impression of someone I believe we all might recognize.” And in a second, the man’s form changed entirely. He stood there before them the perfect likeness of King Rudolf, from the very top of his crown to the curly toes of his shoes.

  “Greetings, my loyal subjects! King Rudolf here. Anyone know where I might find some jam tarts? We seem to be down a few!”

  And the crowd laughed.

  “Or how about …” The King shrunk to two-thirds size and became white, fluffy and twitchy. “… Harold here?” And he looked precisely like Mr. Rabbit, who stood only a few feet away. “They call me Harold because I’m a Herald, but my real name’s Warren because my mum thought it sounded homey.”

  By now people in the crowd were shouting, “Do me! Do me!”

  The Two of Clubs took the trumpet from the real Mr. Rabbit and tried blowing into it. It made an awful, airy blat, and he playfully looked into the bell of the instrument, as if something were wrong with it. He then thrust it back into Mr. Rabbit’s paws. “Or why not … this fellow?” And the faux Rabbit grew quite tall indeed and was suddenly the very likeness of Jacob Morningstar. He saluted the crowd crisply. “Anyone care to hear me talk about my heroics in the final War? I have twelve hours to spare.”

  And the crowd laughed again.

  But Mary Ann Carpenter was not laughing. She was gaping. She stopped gaping long enough to look at Sir Rufus, who was also gaping. He gaped her direction now and they pulled each other aside from the crowd, to gape together in a small cluster of trees.

  “What’s this fellow’s name?” Mary Ann asked.

  “Twain Morningstar, I believe,” said Rufus.

  “Morningstar! Any relation to the valet?”

  “No idea.”

  “How does he do it? That changing?” She eyed the impressionist again, awestruck. “I didn’t know anyone could do that.”

  “Well, ‘anyone’ can’t. It looks like deuces are wild.”

  “The Deuce you say!” gasped Mary Ann. “Do you know anything about this fellow?”

  “Not really. I keep telling you, it’s not like I’ve socialized with Neath’s lower deck much. Perhaps we could find someone to —”

  But Mary Ann was already on it, dragging him by the wrist to Hexa Hearts, who was leading the banner of flamingos back to the garden lagoon. “Hexa,” she called, “what do you know about that fellow on the stage just now?”

  “Oh, Twain Morningstar?” A flamingo was nibbling on her hat. “He’s so funny and talented, isn’t he? Such a card!”

  “A wild card?” asked Mary Ann.

  “Yes, the only decent one we’ve got these days. I’m afraid my nephew, Dewey Hearts, has never
been very good with impressions,” she said, with a sad shake of her head. “Does all right with the voices, but the faces are a horror. And as for the other Twos, they were, um … cut … in the final War.”

  Rufus asked, “But did Twain Morningstar fight in the War?”

  “Of course, Sir,” she said, sounding surprised. “Quite well, as I understand. Then he went with Jacob Morningstar to Queen Valentina’s side when the King of Clubs was killed. He’s Jacob Morningstar’s cousin, I think.”

  “And he lives here at court?” Mary Ann asked.

  “Yes, he’s got a two-room cottage out back by the hedge maze. He does landscaping now.” Hexa squinted. “Why?”

  “Thanks,” said Mary Ann. And she and Rufus started out in a brisk stride that broke into a full-fledged run that led around the castle and into the back gardens.

  Unlike Turvy, in Neath, you could actually get where you were going by running with intent.

  “I think the hedge maze is this way,” Mary Ann said as they ran. She’d seen it from the window of the Queen’s room. “So just to be sure we’re on the same page here —”

  “He’s not a page, he’s a gardener,” snickered Rufus. At her pointed look, he said, “It just slips out.”

  “But you are thinking what I’m thinking, aren’t you? That the person I saw kill my father was not actually Jacob Morningstar at all. It’s Twain Morningstar, in full-on wild card mode.”

  “It would explain a lot, wouldn’t it?” said Rufus. “To dress as your cousin who has influence with the Royal Family, in case anyone saw you? You commit a murder as a simple gardener in the Royal house, your accusers have somewhere to go. They can take it all the way to the Queen and it might just be listened to. You might just become a marked card. But if you commit a murder as the King’s valet — and the Queen’s beloved —then bringing it to the Queen’s attention becomes highly sticky.”

  “But motive,” said Mary Ann. “What’s the motive here? I didn’t see any business dealings with him in the books at all. And unfortunately, I wasn’t watching him when Queen Valentina opened the mirror, were you?”