#tnot declaration

7) Leroy Wyatt led the two agents outside to the stables and introduced them to the stable hands who were busily tending to several prize horses within. Jim cast a discerning eye over the four-legged inhabitants and mentally commended his host on the quality of his stock. Remembering that Weston had spoken of carriage horses lost in this apparent campaign of fear and destruction, he nodded ruefully to himself at how that must have hurt. Weston clearly had an eye for quality, and it was equally obvious how much he cared for their welfare. The stable was neat, clean, and well provisioned, which pleased Jim immensely, since his own horse was resident there for the duration. At that moment three young groomsmen walked over in response to Wyatt’s summons, and introductions were made.

“Oh yes, Mr West, Mr Gordon. Pleasure to meet you. Your horses are over in the number two building, and I’ll be happy to take you there any time to show you around, and answer any question you have” Emmett, the taller of the trio, said, extending his hand and producing a firm handshake. Jim warmed to him immediately, as did Artie a moment later. The other two in turn extended hands and elicited the same response from the two agents; care for their horses was a top priority.

Leroy Wyatt explained why they were there. “As you know, Mr Weston has been experiencing some strange happenings lately, and of course there was that incident when his carriage was blown up and Jet and Obsidian were killed. That was a terrible day. These two gentlemen are here to investigate what’s going on, and would like to ask you some questions about what you know. They have Mr Weston’s authority to ask anything and go anywhere they need to, so you men here can speak freely; we all want to get to the bottom of this.”

“Sure thing, Mr Wyatt,” Alvin, the youngest of the men answered. He pushed his fair hair back off his forehead and looked at Jim and Artie, his big honest face sporting dust and stray wisps of straw from his exertions. “Ask away.” Artie put on his friendly face, but kept a serious note in his voice as he began.

“Give us an idea of the odd goings-on around here that you’ve noticed. Mr Weston feels that this newcomer to town, er, Jasper…”

“You mean Jeremiah Jasper? The goldminer?” Alvin asked.

“Yes, him, Jeremiah Jasper, that’s right.” Artie replied. “Mr Weston feels that things have been, er, a bit unsettled since his arrival. What do you men think?”

“Well, Mr Gordon, Mr Weston isn’t a man to jump at shadows, so if something has got him worried then I’d say there’s something to be worried about. We were all pretty shook up when the carriage got blown up, I can tell you, being that carriages blowin’ up ain’t a regular thing around here you know, so that was definitely something strange. Then there has been a lot of unfriendly talk and such when we go into town, hands from Mr Jasper’s place always seemin’ to want to start trouble. Ain’t that right, boys?” he turned to the other two.

“Sure thing, Mr Gordon,” Cliff, the third man, nodded. “They come into the saloons and hotels, mouthing off at the ladies, looking rough at the townsfolk there, and generally rilin’ up the barkeeps. They sure don’t seem to want to be friendly and settle in. In all the time I’ve been here-“

“And how long is that?” Jim interjected.

“My whole life, and that’s twenty-two years next Friday,” Cliff said proudly. “In all this time Mr Jasper’s folk are the first people to make any sort of fuss and disturbance. The townsfolk don’t like it, and don’t trust them a lick.” He nodded for emphasis.

Emmett chimed in “Cliff’s right, Mr West. Seems like everyone you meet has an account of someone from Mr Jasper’s place being unpleasant. I wish they’d never come. Westonia was a real friendly place before that goldmine started up.”

“Do you know if the goldmine is doing well?” Artie asked the men. “What if it is, and they stay for years?”

“Well, that will just be a damn shame.  Sure gold is a nice thing to have, I guess, but there’s no need to be so disagreeable about it.” Alvin said. “All the other industries around here are easy to get along with. People like working in them. Mr Weston has it arranged that businesses doing business here have to provide good conditions for their workers, and pay ‘em enough to afford someplace to live proper-like, and he makes sure the young’uns go to school and they get a doctor when they need one, and landlords hafta keep their houses in good repair. The whole town is just a good place to live.” The pride on Alvin’s face was obvious. “So it’s too bad of the Jasper crew to be coming in here and spoiling things.”

“Why do you think the Jasper crew is spoiling things?” Jim queried. “Maybe they just don’t have good manners like Westonia folk.” Alvin looked uncertainly at Leroy Wyatt. Wyatt told him he wouldn’t be in any trouble to say his mind. “Go ahead, Alvin. Mr Weston wants to sort out whatever is going on. You tell Mr West here whatever’s on your mind.”

“Right. Okay, Mr West. It’s no secret that there’s a lotta gold in that mine, got some good seams goin’. But those seams come up right under the town, and some of the Jasper crew have been goin’ round scarin’ the folk who live over that way that they’re gonna get their homes blown up so the gold can be dug out. The townsfolk are pretty unhappy.” Alvin looked at his comrades, and they all nodded in agreement. “They had their geologists spoutin’ off in the hotels back awhile.”

“It seems pretty drastic to get the whole town bothered so much just for a goldmine. Even if it goes under the town. Still, thanks for telling us all that, Alvin, we’ll go speak to the others around here and come back if we think of anything else.” Artie smiled his thanks.

“You do that, Mr Gordon. We’ll be here. That’s sure a nice horse you have, too. And you too, Mr West. We all had a nice long talk with them. They like it here. He’s pretty sure of himself, ain’t he!” Jim nodded.” He is indeed, but he has every right to be. He’s looked after me very well.”

“And we’ll look after him for you, don’t you worry none!” Cliff declared. The three men ten turned and went on about their work at the other end of the stable block.

Wyatt and the two agents walked over to the second stable block, checked out the visiting horses, with Jim and Artie delighted with what they saw. Both horses were indeed looking smug and happy. Mr Weston clearly had the right ideas about stable hands.

Jim and Artie asked everyone there similar questions about anything anyone had seen, and got much the same answers. It was obvious that the hands were a tight bunch and talked things over amongst themselves, but all carried the air of openness and honesty, so even though they had more examples of bothered townsfolk, Jim and Artie were none the wiser for why.

It was the same thing wherever they went. Everyone had friends or relatives throughout the town, and all had stories to tell of odd, annoying, scary or frightening things happening. It was all very strange. Eventually they ended up back in the Manor, and found themselves in the huge kitchen, where the cook was presiding over dinner preparations. Several young servant girls were zipping about with crockery and cutlery, serving dishes and napery, going to and from the dining room setting up for dinner.

“Hello Cook, “said Wyatt. “Here are the gentlemen I was telling you about. Mr Gordon” Artie smiled and dipped his chin, “and Mr West” Jim sketched an elegant nod, “are our guests for a while, helping Mr Fortescue with this worrying business in town. Some more converts to your culinary skills no doubt, and Mr Fortescue has said to get out all your best recipes.” Cook, a pleasantly plump woman of middle years, wiped her hands on her large white apron – crisp in spite of the heat of the kitchen – and shook hands with first Jim and then Artie, gripping Artie’s hand with both hers and beaming at him from under her cap. “Oh Mr Gordon,” she exclaimed. “I heard you liked my afternoon tea. It’s always a pleasure to hear someone appreciates good baking.” She released his hand.

“I most assuredly did, ma’am. I can confidently say, with my hand on my heart” he suited the action to the word, “that I have never enjoyed finer fare anywhere in all my travels!” He reached out and caught her hand in his and made a theatrical bow, touching her fingers to his lips. “I declare that I might just have to take up residence here in order to avail myself of your pastry perfections.” Cook blushed to the roots of her hair and with her free hand clutched her chest. “Why Mr Gordon!” she proclaimed. “You’re very kind, I’m sure. Tomorrow I’ll make you my special chocolate buttercream cake to try.” Artie smiled at her disarmingly and uttered his gratitude.

“Chocolate buttercream cake is a particular favourite of mine, my dear lady, and I will look forward most eagerly to trying yours. I thank you most sincerely.” Cook was no match for his direct gaze, a fact he was very well aware of, and she bustled off to continue her dinner plans, a noticeable spring in her step. Speaking in a low voice close to Artie’s ear Jim said “You rogue.” Turning his head, Artie directed a salacious expression at Jim, which by good fortune neither Cook nor Wyatt saw, and replied equally quietly “well you’d know…” Jim met Artie’s eye with an equally prurient expression, before they both swung about to address Leroy Wyatt, being once again all businesslike and innocent.

“Dinner won’t be long, Gentlemen, so best you go on upstairs and get ready for it. You’ll hear a gong when it’s time to be back in the dining room. You’ll find everything you need in your room, but ring if you need something else. I’ll leave you now and see you again first thing in the morning. Good night, gentlemen.” Jim and Artie bade him goodnight, and Wyatt made his exit from the kitchen.

“I look forward with keen interest to your dinner, Mrs, er, Cook…” Artie began.

“It’s Mrs Bridgely, but just call me Cook, Mr Gordon, everyone does.” She looked up from her tasks. “I surely hope you enjoy it. You’d best be getting ready for dinner. Mr Fortescue is a stickler for promptness at dinner, so when you hear the gong you have five minutes to be downstairs and in the dining room.” She glanced at the clock over the mantlepiece. “That’s just over half an hour from now. Goodnight gentlemen, and thank you for your appreciation, Mr Gordon.” She resumed her tasks and the agents strode out, heading for the stairs.

“You’re going to ruin your waistline Artie, if you’re not careful,” Jim grinned. Cook will be baking you all sorts of treats while we’re here. You’ll get portly, and what will I do with you then?” he added as they approached their room.

“Oh, I have some vigorous exercises in mind that will help keep me in shape” Artie replied wantonly. “You have nothing to worry about.” He reached for the door handle, pausing suddenly so that Jim cannoned into him. Jim managed a quick nuzzle on Artie’s neck before Artie flung the door open, spilling them both into the bedroom. He quickly shut the door behind them. Jim looked around, saw what he needed, and jammed the wooden chair from the desk under the door handle. When that was done, he steered Artie over to the far wall, leaned him back on it, and slowly began unbuttoning his partner’s waistcoat, then slid Artie’s jacket from his shoulders. Next came the ascot, and then all the shirt buttons were undone. Jim untucked the shirt from Artie’s waistband and it went the way of the rest of Artie’s clothes, till Artie was leaning up against the wall wearing just his trousers and boots, and a lustful expression.

“What was that you said earlier about patience being a virtue…?” Artie said huskily. “The dinner gong’s in around thirty minutes!”

“Patience be damned,” Jim replied in his wonderfully deep voice. “I’m just indulging in a bit of an appetiser…” and moved in close enough for Artie to feel warm breath on his bare skin. Artie felt soft warm lips skim across his chest, move down his stomach, and slip around his side, before finding himself spun around and the warm lips move across his bare back, travelling in random lines all over his skin, before being spun again and winding up looking into the deep glass-green eyes of his partner.

“Twenty-five minutes now” Artie whispered a bit breathlessly, but making no effort to break the spell.

6) Ascending the grand staircase that curved up along two sides of the large open hall adjacent to the entrance foyer, Jim and Artie gazed about them favourably, noting the priceless works of art on the walls, the cut crystal chandelier, the beautiful leadlight skylight overhead, and effecting a sanguine expression Artie commented on his surroundings.

“You know Jim, we’ve been guests at some pretty swanky houses in our time, but there’s something about this one that just hits all the right notes. Do you think the President would suspect anything if we came down with a lingering fever of unspecified origin…?”

“Forget it Artie, it won’t wash with the President. He’d just send his doctors down to drag us back, and where’s the fun in that?” He shook his head. “We’ll just have to find another mystery to solve after this one.”

“And another after that, too, with any luck,” Artie replied. “Maybe there will be some crackpot who needs sorting out…theft of postage stamps…telegraph interference…electoral malfeasance…”

“Don’t get your hopes up Artie,” Jim chuckled. “Who would want to steal postage stamps?”

“Oh I don’t know Jim, but it is a federal offence, so there’s always a chance…” Artie brightened at the thought.

They made their way along a mezzanine floor and down a wide hallway till they came to the door at the end, which was the room assigned for their stay. Opening the oversize door Jim found himself entering a charming chamber decorated with tasteful pale blue silk wallpaper, with more artworks hanging from high picture rails, good quality armoires and bureaus providing plenty of storage, and two large armchairs upholstered in tapestry fabric. The whole air was one of refined gentility.

Artie trailed him close behind.

“Oh, well, that’s a nice change,” he exclaimed. “A bed that big and high should provide a most excellent night’s sleep” he remarked. “I bags that side.” He pointed to the far side of the huge four-poster.

“Why that side?” Jim asked.

“Purely selfish reasons, Jim, if you must know, and I’m surprised you had to ask,” Artie quipped. “It’s nearest the bathroom door. I like my creature comforts close, as you know.”

“Speaking as one of them, yes, I do know…” The guileless expression on Jim’s face caused Artie to smirk.

“My favourite one, to be sure, but not the only one” Artie shot back. His eyes had an alluring bright sparkle as he spoke.

“No…but the only one that –“ Jim broke off as they heard the business-like knock at the door. “Come in!” he called.

The door opened to admit Leroy Wyatt, who apologised for the intrusion. “Forgive me gentlemen, but Mr Weston thought you might like me to introduce you to the staff in the house, and the wider estate. If you’d care to join me shortly, after any freshening up you might need, we can head on out. Meet me at the bottom of the staircase and we’ll do the rounds.” Wyatt nodded at both of the agents in turn.

“Of course,” Jim agreed. “That’s very helpful. We’ll join you shortly downstairs. Please give our thanks to our host.” He sketched a friendly nod in return. Leroy Wyatt turned and left the room, his leather boots making no noise on the plush carpet.

“The only one that…?” Artie picked up where Jim had left off. Jim looked at Artie, looked at the bed, looked back at Artie and smiled roguishly. “Not now, Artie, we have things to be getting on with.” Jim stifled a grin at Artie’s look of frustration. “Remember, patience is a virtue.”

“Oh Lord, grant me patience, but grant it right now!” Artie retorted.

“Oh Artie, don’t be so dramatic. If you play your cards right, I’ll show you…again…when we get through our chats with the good folk of Kensington.” Artie shot Jim a look of mild cynicism, but they each got a kick out of baiting the other, so each completed a quick wash with the water laid out ready, and dried faces and hands on the handtowels hanging adjacent, grabbed their hats and headed to the door. As he was about to reach for the handle Jim stopped and turned to Artie. His glass-green eyes met the soft brown ones of his partner. He then raised his hand and gently ran the back of his fingers down Artie’s cheek. “The only one that does this…” He did the same to the other cheek. “And this…”

Artie fluttered his eyelids and contrived a swoon. “As if I could forget!” Jim then turned back to the door and reached for the handle. Artie followed close behind and swatted Jim’s retreating rear end with his hat. Jim’s laugh was deep and throaty as he stepped through the doorway, but his head was not turned away so much that he missed the little skip Artie gave as he closed the door. They gambolled down the hallway a few steps, then, as they neared the top of the mezzanine balustrade, they resumed their secret service demeanours and headed downstairs.  

“You’re not fooling me, James” Artie muttered in an aside.

“Well let’s hope I’m fooling him” Jim nodded toward Leroy Wyatt at the foot of the stairs. “Imagine if I failed!”

“You’ve never failed yet, James my boy” Artie countered quietly, his face all benign blankness.

(4) “Now, gentlemen, let me do my best to explain why you’re here.” Mr Fortescue Weston looked at his guests with a benign expression. “It was extremely generous of President Grant to send you both, and I confess I had no expectation of an actual Secret Service agent, let alone his two most renowned ones.” Jim and Artie nodded at the description, no false modesty refutations uttered.

“You see, “Weston began, “ah, here’s the afternoon tea. Do please help yourselves. Cook is an excellent pastry chef, as I’m sure you’ll find out.” A tea trolley was wheeled in and parked conveniently alongside the two agents, the young housemaid retreating as quietly as she’d come in. Artie and Jim cast approving gazes over the offerings, and decided that Cook’s wares certainly gave the appearance of  her knowing her way around a rolling pin and oven. They saw big, fluffy-looking scones, pots of jam, pots of clotted cream, enormous cream-covered sponge cakes, plates of brownies and fingers of various slices piled onto fine china platters, enough to satisfy the hungriest of appetites. An urn of boiling water sat beside cups and saucers, a large teapot wearing a thick woollen cosy nestled beside it, a filled sugar bowl and a jug of chilled milk rounding out the repast.

“Do please help yourselves, gentlemen. Cook likes to know that no-one goes hungry at Kensington Manor. Indeed, it is thanks to her that we have such a fine reputation for the culinary arts, and seldom is an invitation turned down, and when it is it’s with much reluctance.” Mr Weston’s expression turned to one of quiet pride.

“Now, as I was saying, the President was most generous to send his two most trusted operatives along to help out an old friend, although I’m sure it’s too trifling to be bothering you with. I must apologise in advance.”

“On the contrary,” Artie replied, “if the President felt it worthy of our journey here, then there must be some substance to your concerns. Also, never have I sat down to an English afternoon tea quite as sumptuous as this one. Your Cook is a marvel. It won’t be a wasted journey I’m sure.”

“Devonshire tea, in fact, Mr Gordon, and it has quite a lengthy history. Do try the sponge cake as well, won’t you.”

Artie stepped over to the trolley and began pouring cups of tea, gesturing to his host his intention to make him one as well, but Mr Weston waved him down. Artie then poured a cup of tea, added milk and sugar in measured quantities, handing the cup and saucer to Jim, who accepted it with practised grace. Artie then poured one for himself, noting with pleasure that the tea was hot and strong, and added milk and sugar in more generous quantities than he’d given Jim. He then dished up a slice of sponge cake for Jim, handed that over, served himself one next, and resumed his seat. They rested their crockery, in between bites, on convenient side tables, turned their faces to Mr Weston, and gazed intently at him with expectant faces.

“Do please tell us what you think is so trifling, and let us be the judge, Mr Weston. We might be better placed to assess the situation, being somewhat removed from it, as it were,” Jim’s voice had a reassuring deep timbre, and it had the desired effect here once again, as Mr Weston sat up a bit straighter, squared his shoulders, and cleared his throat.

“Well, Mr West,” he began, “about two years ago a man by the name of Jeremiah Jasper came to this town, and like so many before him he liked what he saw. Prosperous businesses, contented residents, municipal buildings, and organisations for the betterment of the people, all the things I believe a decent town should have, and my father and grandfather before me felt it should have, and we have spent our lives providing those very things, and watching with great satisfaction as this town has taken root and grown into a healthy, happy little metropolis. You saw for yourselves, gentlemen, how attractive the township is, and that’s not just window dressing; Westonia is, I don’t want to say Utopia, but it is a small slice of tranquillity and prosperity, and we all love it here.”

“I take it then that this Mr Jeremiah Jasper is somehow connected to your, er, shall we say, disquiet…?” Jim ventured, an expression on his face that indicated his focus on the matter, while simultaneously  dexterously managing to eat a whole slice of cream sponge cake, making the most economical movements with his little cake fork. He was the most tidy eater when he wanted to be, unlike Artie who was known to be a hearty consumer of sweet treats and was less economical with cake forks. Fortunately no errant crumbs were scattered nor did any misdirected cream wind up on his face. Both men were being the essence of well-trained guests.

“Yes, Mr West, that is quite so.”

“What, then,” Artie said, between mouthfuls, “is the cause of the disquiet?”