Tuesday, 30 August 2011
Saturday, 6 August 2011
The Man in Room 16
Lily looked around her new flat with an air of apprehension. It was a lot smaller than her last one, and had an odd smell, a bit like rust. Still, times changed. And after the loss of her job, she counted herself lucky that she had managed find herself a flat that she could afford at all.
Her landlord shuffled up behind her. A crumbling old man, his face was kindly yet weathered, and a thick accent that hailed, so Lily thought, from eastern Europe. He was smiling now, having tucked the best part of Lily's savings account into his shabby jacket. "You want me to show you around?"
She shook her head, a lump in her throat. "No. Thank you," she added, "But I'll be alright. Thank you," she repeated, wondering why she was thanking him.
"Very good." He creaked his way out.
She blinked back the tears that pricked the back of her eyes and took a look around the place. There was one main room, containing a squishy armchair, a sofa-bed with a torn cushion, and a rather grand wardrobe. On the other side of the room was a kitchenette section, with a cupboard and gas cooker. A small bathroom on one side held the bare minimum: a tiny shower, toilet and sink.
Although the flat itself was minimalistic, Lily was pleased to discover that whoever had owned the flat before her had left plenty behind. She found selection of plates, a cup and saucer and a coffee machine - and, wrapped in a napkin, there was solid silver fork and spoon.
"Mr Poloski?"
The door creaked - a shuffling of footsteps - "What is it?"
"Whoever was here before me left a lot of stuff here. Do you suppose he wants it back?"
"Don't suppose so," he mumbled, picking his front teeth. "He left in a bit of a hurry. I couldn't contact him, so I re-let the room. Guess you can keep it now."
Lily smiled. Every cloud, I guess, she thought to herself. Her mind wandered to the grand wardrobe - had he left anything good in there that she might be able to sell? She strode over and pulled the door.
With a deafening snap, the door fell off its hinges and hung sadly to one side. And slowly, a hand became visible, through the multiple hangers and thick layers of clothing. An arm attatched to the hand. And then a shoulder.
And then the whole body of a young man slithered out and onto the floor.
Lily did not scream - she was not that sort of girl - but she did jump back in alarm, stumbling and having to support herself on the counter. When she had righted herself, she peered closer, seeing a gleam of a silver knife-hilt in thrust deep into the man's shirt. The smell of rust increased, and Lily stiffened when she realised that this was probably the source of the smell she had noted when she had come in.
Mr Poloski did not seem very disturbed. "Shall I, um, call the police?"
"Yes," snapped Lily. "I think that would be a good idea." Then something occurred to her. "Who has keys to this room?"
"Only me and the tenant," said Mr Poloski. "Tenants are not allowed to have new keys cut." Then his eyes brightened, and he smiled. "I bet it was that cleaning lady. She had a frightful argument with him the other day."
"Cleaning people have keys too?"
"Oh no. I let them in."
Lily bit her lip, musing. "Yes, go and call the police," she said, and then added under her breath. "I think they'll be ready to fill a jail cell. And I think I'll find myself somewhere else to sleep tonight."
Answer (highlight to read): Someone must have returned the keys to Mr Poloski before he was able to rent the apartment to another tenant. If Mr Poloski was not the killer, how did he know to get the keys?
Her landlord shuffled up behind her. A crumbling old man, his face was kindly yet weathered, and a thick accent that hailed, so Lily thought, from eastern Europe. He was smiling now, having tucked the best part of Lily's savings account into his shabby jacket. "You want me to show you around?"
She shook her head, a lump in her throat. "No. Thank you," she added, "But I'll be alright. Thank you," she repeated, wondering why she was thanking him.
"Very good." He creaked his way out.
She blinked back the tears that pricked the back of her eyes and took a look around the place. There was one main room, containing a squishy armchair, a sofa-bed with a torn cushion, and a rather grand wardrobe. On the other side of the room was a kitchenette section, with a cupboard and gas cooker. A small bathroom on one side held the bare minimum: a tiny shower, toilet and sink.
Although the flat itself was minimalistic, Lily was pleased to discover that whoever had owned the flat before her had left plenty behind. She found selection of plates, a cup and saucer and a coffee machine - and, wrapped in a napkin, there was solid silver fork and spoon.
"Mr Poloski?"
The door creaked - a shuffling of footsteps - "What is it?"
"Whoever was here before me left a lot of stuff here. Do you suppose he wants it back?"
"Don't suppose so," he mumbled, picking his front teeth. "He left in a bit of a hurry. I couldn't contact him, so I re-let the room. Guess you can keep it now."
Lily smiled. Every cloud, I guess, she thought to herself. Her mind wandered to the grand wardrobe - had he left anything good in there that she might be able to sell? She strode over and pulled the door.
With a deafening snap, the door fell off its hinges and hung sadly to one side. And slowly, a hand became visible, through the multiple hangers and thick layers of clothing. An arm attatched to the hand. And then a shoulder.
And then the whole body of a young man slithered out and onto the floor.
Lily did not scream - she was not that sort of girl - but she did jump back in alarm, stumbling and having to support herself on the counter. When she had righted herself, she peered closer, seeing a gleam of a silver knife-hilt in thrust deep into the man's shirt. The smell of rust increased, and Lily stiffened when she realised that this was probably the source of the smell she had noted when she had come in.
Mr Poloski did not seem very disturbed. "Shall I, um, call the police?"
"Yes," snapped Lily. "I think that would be a good idea." Then something occurred to her. "Who has keys to this room?"
"Only me and the tenant," said Mr Poloski. "Tenants are not allowed to have new keys cut." Then his eyes brightened, and he smiled. "I bet it was that cleaning lady. She had a frightful argument with him the other day."
"Cleaning people have keys too?"
"Oh no. I let them in."
Lily bit her lip, musing. "Yes, go and call the police," she said, and then added under her breath. "I think they'll be ready to fill a jail cell. And I think I'll find myself somewhere else to sleep tonight."
Answer (highlight to read): Someone must have returned the keys to Mr Poloski before he was able to rent the apartment to another tenant. If Mr Poloski was not the killer, how did he know to get the keys?
Thursday, 28 July 2011
Hampton Court Riddle
The workmen hauled the heavy oak trunk up into my room and pushed it against the wall.
"There you are, Miss Anne," one of them said in his heavy accent.
I turned towards the window so that they wouldn't see my annoyed wince. The name sounded so English now, so dull. As if to remind me of the fact, a few dribbles of rain began to sneak down the leaded window, as though the sky were crying.
"Thank you," I mumbled, and slipped a coin into his hand. As soon as they were gone, I lifted the lid on the trunk and rummaged through the clothes, looking for something I could change into from my uncomfortable riding habit. I traced the inscription lightly with my fingers: Ann Bullen 1525.
"Mistress Anne?" I turned to see a girl, a year or so older than myself, standing in the doorway with a steaming jug of water. She was not pretty - her eyes were set too close together and her mouth too wide for true beauty - but with her pale skin and startlingly red hair, she was certainly striking.
She indicated the jug awkwardly, with a nervous smile. "I brought some hot water if you want to wash."
I nodded, removing my gloves and travelling cloak and throwing them on the bed. "Yes. Thank you. And I will need to change out of these clothes for dinner." Speaking English felt unnatural, even though it was my native tongue.
The girl put the jug down on the table and came to help me unlace my bodice. "The master told me that he would be dining in his private rooms tonight. Would you like some food brought up from the kitchens, miss?"
"What? I'm not dining with father?"
"No, miss." I sighed. I ought to have known. Still, at least it meant that after tonight's tiring ride I would have the evening to myself. On the other hand, the food brought to me would likely be the servants' dinners; the good food would go to my father. I bit my lip to stop the tears, wishing I were still in France.
The next morning the girl woke me at dawn, awkwardly clearing her throat. "Mistress Anne?"
I quickly got dressed and headed down to see what was for breakfast. My father was already up; I heard his voice shouting at someone in the kitchen. As he turned, he saw me, and I ducked into a low curtsey.
"Father."
"Good, Anne, you're ready." He kissed the top of my head lightly. "We must be going."
"I haven't yet broken my fast, sir."
"Oh, for -" He turned back to the kitchen. "For god's sake, give the girl something to eat and let's be off!"
We rode to London in silence, stopping our journey only once to dine on some bread and cheese. My father seemed pleasantly surprised that I could keep a fast pace with him, and we reached Hampton Court before nightfall. He was clearly in a hurry to get in, throwing the reins at a groom and giving me swift directions to my sister's rooms before making his way up another set of stairs.
"Anne!"
I had barely opened the door before I was engulfed in a huge hug. "Let me breathe, Mary," I insisted, pulling back to look at my sister.
In the years since I had last seen her, she had changed. She had grown into a beautiful young lady of sixteen years, with a full, beautiful figure. Her long blonde hair was held off a pretty, pink and white face by a hood embroidered with gold. I caught a glimpse of a petite, darker skinned girl next to her with raven black hair, tired and dishevelled from hours on the road, and bit my lip. The comparison was not flattering. I felt a contrary surge of jealousy and pride at my beautiful older sister.
"Anne, you have grown so much! I must tell you about everything. But first, you must get changed. The king is to hold a masque tonight and I asked the queen if you may be one of the Ladies. Your gown is on the bed."
"What? Tonight? Mary, I'm tired, I -" But I broke off when I saw the gown. It was floor length, in white satin, embroidered with gold designs and the word Perseverance was picked out at the bottom. I looked at Mary and saw her in an identical gown, with the word Kindness.
"Perseverance? Really? What did I do to get that role?"
Mary chuckled. "Sorry. It was the only one left - we didn't know if you'd be back on time. Here, let me help you."
As she struggled to get me into the complicated costume, her wrist, as it was surely meant to, brushed across my forehead. It scratched a little, and I looked up to see a diamond bracelet glittering there. I doubted if her husband could afford such a gift.
I gave a little gasp, and Mary smiled. "Pretty, isn't it?"
"Who -"
"The king," she said, with a satisfied sigh. "He has been courting me."
"Mary, you're a silly flirt," I said primly. "Don't you realise, this was exactly why you got sent home from France? It would be different if he were looking for a queen - but you're both married, for god's sake!"
She shrugged. "It didn't seem to bother him when Elizabeth Blount caught his eye. You're just jealous, Anne, because I have a husband and a king dancing for my attention, and you have neither."
I restrained another gasp. That was a low blow indeed. I sucked in my lips to prevent the sweep of envy showing in my face. I thought of the words I had scribbled in my diary this morning: Le temps viendra. The time will come. I repeated them over and over to myself.
Mary took that moment to step back. "There. You look beautiful, Anne." She pecked my cheek. "Hurry. We must be down in a minute."
I took my fan and hurried to join the line. I led the way, followed by the Queen Mary of France, then the tallest girl Jane Parker, and finally my sister Mary. I headed into the great hall and lined up along one wall: I stood on the furthest right and my sister on the far left. And in front of each of us stood a knight, who held out a gift. I was handed a perfect rose, the the Queen Mary next to me a golden ring, Jane Parker a white dove in a golden cage, and finally my sister was offered a beautiful pearl.
And suddenly, there was a sound of trumpets, and a herald proclaimed:
Each one of these beautiful ladies four,
Sees a knight who declares his passionate amour,
As proof of his love, he hands her a gift,
But cheeky young Cupid decided to them mix.
Each man holds a gift, as well you know.
Yet none holds the one that he wishes to show.
The pearl does not belong to the girl on the right,
Nor is the rose given to the tallest in height.
The one who has captured the heart of the king
Is the one who should own the golden ring.
But who can tell me - which lady love
Is the one who should receive the beautiful dove?
My mind worked for a few seconds, and then I smiled. Took a tiny step forward. I curtseyed to the king, my eyes never leaving his face.
"Your Grace." I let my French accent bleed heavily into the words, rolling my rs faintly. "I believe I have the solution."
Answer (highlight to read): At the king's nod I continued. "Your Grace has said that the lady who has captured your heart has won the golden ring. This can only refer to my sister. The tallest in height - my friend Jane Parker here - is said not to have the rose, nor the dove she was offered, meaning that she must receive the beautiful pearl. I am the furthest on the right, Your Grace, and naturally I do not own this fine rose, which must go to your sister, Queen Mary. And so, Your Grace - I am the lady who receives the white dove."
"There you are, Miss Anne," one of them said in his heavy accent.
I turned towards the window so that they wouldn't see my annoyed wince. The name sounded so English now, so dull. As if to remind me of the fact, a few dribbles of rain began to sneak down the leaded window, as though the sky were crying.
"Thank you," I mumbled, and slipped a coin into his hand. As soon as they were gone, I lifted the lid on the trunk and rummaged through the clothes, looking for something I could change into from my uncomfortable riding habit. I traced the inscription lightly with my fingers: Ann Bullen 1525.
"Mistress Anne?" I turned to see a girl, a year or so older than myself, standing in the doorway with a steaming jug of water. She was not pretty - her eyes were set too close together and her mouth too wide for true beauty - but with her pale skin and startlingly red hair, she was certainly striking.
She indicated the jug awkwardly, with a nervous smile. "I brought some hot water if you want to wash."
I nodded, removing my gloves and travelling cloak and throwing them on the bed. "Yes. Thank you. And I will need to change out of these clothes for dinner." Speaking English felt unnatural, even though it was my native tongue.
The girl put the jug down on the table and came to help me unlace my bodice. "The master told me that he would be dining in his private rooms tonight. Would you like some food brought up from the kitchens, miss?"
"What? I'm not dining with father?"
"No, miss." I sighed. I ought to have known. Still, at least it meant that after tonight's tiring ride I would have the evening to myself. On the other hand, the food brought to me would likely be the servants' dinners; the good food would go to my father. I bit my lip to stop the tears, wishing I were still in France.
The next morning the girl woke me at dawn, awkwardly clearing her throat. "Mistress Anne?"
I quickly got dressed and headed down to see what was for breakfast. My father was already up; I heard his voice shouting at someone in the kitchen. As he turned, he saw me, and I ducked into a low curtsey.
"Father."
"Good, Anne, you're ready." He kissed the top of my head lightly. "We must be going."
"I haven't yet broken my fast, sir."
"Oh, for -" He turned back to the kitchen. "For god's sake, give the girl something to eat and let's be off!"
We rode to London in silence, stopping our journey only once to dine on some bread and cheese. My father seemed pleasantly surprised that I could keep a fast pace with him, and we reached Hampton Court before nightfall. He was clearly in a hurry to get in, throwing the reins at a groom and giving me swift directions to my sister's rooms before making his way up another set of stairs.
"Anne!"
I had barely opened the door before I was engulfed in a huge hug. "Let me breathe, Mary," I insisted, pulling back to look at my sister.
In the years since I had last seen her, she had changed. She had grown into a beautiful young lady of sixteen years, with a full, beautiful figure. Her long blonde hair was held off a pretty, pink and white face by a hood embroidered with gold. I caught a glimpse of a petite, darker skinned girl next to her with raven black hair, tired and dishevelled from hours on the road, and bit my lip. The comparison was not flattering. I felt a contrary surge of jealousy and pride at my beautiful older sister.
"Anne, you have grown so much! I must tell you about everything. But first, you must get changed. The king is to hold a masque tonight and I asked the queen if you may be one of the Ladies. Your gown is on the bed."
"What? Tonight? Mary, I'm tired, I -" But I broke off when I saw the gown. It was floor length, in white satin, embroidered with gold designs and the word Perseverance was picked out at the bottom. I looked at Mary and saw her in an identical gown, with the word Kindness.
"Perseverance? Really? What did I do to get that role?"
Mary chuckled. "Sorry. It was the only one left - we didn't know if you'd be back on time. Here, let me help you."
As she struggled to get me into the complicated costume, her wrist, as it was surely meant to, brushed across my forehead. It scratched a little, and I looked up to see a diamond bracelet glittering there. I doubted if her husband could afford such a gift.
I gave a little gasp, and Mary smiled. "Pretty, isn't it?"
"Who -"
"The king," she said, with a satisfied sigh. "He has been courting me."
"Mary, you're a silly flirt," I said primly. "Don't you realise, this was exactly why you got sent home from France? It would be different if he were looking for a queen - but you're both married, for god's sake!"
She shrugged. "It didn't seem to bother him when Elizabeth Blount caught his eye. You're just jealous, Anne, because I have a husband and a king dancing for my attention, and you have neither."
I restrained another gasp. That was a low blow indeed. I sucked in my lips to prevent the sweep of envy showing in my face. I thought of the words I had scribbled in my diary this morning: Le temps viendra. The time will come. I repeated them over and over to myself.
Mary took that moment to step back. "There. You look beautiful, Anne." She pecked my cheek. "Hurry. We must be down in a minute."
I took my fan and hurried to join the line. I led the way, followed by the Queen Mary of France, then the tallest girl Jane Parker, and finally my sister Mary. I headed into the great hall and lined up along one wall: I stood on the furthest right and my sister on the far left. And in front of each of us stood a knight, who held out a gift. I was handed a perfect rose, the the Queen Mary next to me a golden ring, Jane Parker a white dove in a golden cage, and finally my sister was offered a beautiful pearl.
And suddenly, there was a sound of trumpets, and a herald proclaimed:
Each one of these beautiful ladies four,
Sees a knight who declares his passionate amour,
As proof of his love, he hands her a gift,
But cheeky young Cupid decided to them mix.
Each man holds a gift, as well you know.
Yet none holds the one that he wishes to show.
The pearl does not belong to the girl on the right,
Nor is the rose given to the tallest in height.
The one who has captured the heart of the king
Is the one who should own the golden ring.
But who can tell me - which lady love
Is the one who should receive the beautiful dove?
My mind worked for a few seconds, and then I smiled. Took a tiny step forward. I curtseyed to the king, my eyes never leaving his face.
"Your Grace." I let my French accent bleed heavily into the words, rolling my rs faintly. "I believe I have the solution."
Answer (highlight to read): At the king's nod I continued. "Your Grace has said that the lady who has captured your heart has won the golden ring. This can only refer to my sister. The tallest in height - my friend Jane Parker here - is said not to have the rose, nor the dove she was offered, meaning that she must receive the beautiful pearl. I am the furthest on the right, Your Grace, and naturally I do not own this fine rose, which must go to your sister, Queen Mary. And so, Your Grace - I am the lady who receives the white dove."
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