Chapter 5: Chapter 5- The Baroness.
On a Saturday evening, Tom and Charlie navigated through the city. Charlie occupied the driver's seat while Tom sat in the back. Their destination was the Kenwood Manor, where they were on their way to pick up the Baroness.
Glancing at his Jaeger LeCoultre watch, Tom noted that it was twelve minutes past six. He had a rendezvous scheduled with the Baroness in eighteen minutes.
"Charlie," He called.
"Yeah, Tom," Charlie answered, not taking his eyes off the road.
"Step on it," Tom ordered.
In the rearview mirror, Tom could see Charlie's wild smile. A yank of the gearstick, and suddenly, and in an instant, they sped of with a muffled boom.
Cars and buildings whizzed by them; the speeds they were going could break a man's neck if he wasn't protected. Almost as quickly as they had begun, they came to a halt in front of the stately Manor.
Charlie honked the horn a couple of times until a man approached to inquire. After a brief exchange of words, the man relented and allowed them entry.
Charlie jumped out of the car and opened the door for Tom. Adjusting his Fedora hat to a stylish slant, he had to look his best after all.
"I think it's best if you stay here, Charlie," Tom advised, conjuring a bouquet of roses.
Charlie raised his hands, "No problem with that, couldn't stand it last time."
Tom chuckled, strolling down the brief pathway to the door. He knocked, receiving no immediate response, so he knocked once more.
Soon, the soft pitter-patter of approaching footsteps reached his ears, accompanied by the distinct click of the door's lock. The door swung open.
Thin and tight-lipped, the elderly butler of the Kenwood Manor peered down at Tom for a moment. "Mr. Riddle. The Baroness has been expecting you."
"I thought I was early, and please, call me Tom." Tom said, stepping in.
"You are, Mr. Tom," The butler said, extending his hands to collect Tom's coat and hat.
The butler hung the coat and hat on a rack, and with his right hand outstretched, he said, "Right this way, Mr. Tom."
The Butler led Tom through the Manor towards the drawing room. The heavy oaken door swung open on well-oiled hinges. Sunlight filtered through heavy draperies, casting a gentle glow on the plush furnishings that adorned the space. An expensive-looking Aubusson rug stretched across the polished parquet floor, muffling the sound of footsteps. Mahogany paneling adorned the walls, complemented by intricate molding that spoke of talented craftsmanship of a bygone era. Portraits of stern-faced ancestors gazed down from their gilded frames, their watchful eyes seemingly following Tom's every move.
In the center of the room, an imposing antique coffee table, its dark wood intricately carved, supported an array of newspapers and artfully arranged trinkets. Nearby, an intricately patterned divan with meticulously embroidered cushions stood. Opposite, two regal armchairs, their upholstery a rich tapestry of damask, flanked a marble-topped side table bearing a delicate porcelain tea set.
The air carried a faint scent of lavender, its cause, the potpourri discreetly placed on a nearby credenza. A grand fireplace dominated one wall, its mantelpiece adorned with family heirlooms and flickering with the remnants of a recently extinguished fire. Above, a large mirror with a gilded frame reflected the room's grandness, creating an illusion of even greater space.
Tom strolled in, his footsteps making only a muted sound on the carpet. His eyes roamed the spacious room in appreciation. The butler, Jonas, as Tom had discerned from a glimpse into his mind, bowed before closing the door behind him.
Tom moved towards the coffee table, picked up a newspaper, and, after placing the bouquet down, settled into the comfortable sofa. He scrolled through the paper's contents until he came across a subject that piqued his interest.
Violent Bar Brawl Turns Deadly as Victor Holm Flees Scene, Injuring Police Officer in High-Speed Chase
A night of revelry takes a tragic turn in downtown incident
London, November 13th 1949 - In a shocking incident that unfolded late last night, a lively evening at the Old Swan pub turned into a nightmare as a bar brawl escalated into a fatal confrontation, leaving one man dead and another injured. The alleged perpetrator, Victor Holm, a towering figure at 6 feet 3 inches, fled the scene, triggering a high-speed police chase that resulted in the injury of a law enforcement officer.
The incident began around seven thirty when a dispute erupted between Holm and another patron, whose identity has yet to be disclosed. Eyewitnesses report that the argument quickly spiraled out of control, leading to a physical altercation that turned deadly. The victim was pronounced dead at the scene by emergency medical personnel.
Local authorities were swiftly alerted, and law enforcement officers, including London Police Department, responded to the scene. Eyewitnesses recount a chaotic scene as Victor Holm allegedly fled the bar, leaving behind a trail of panic and chaos.
A police pursuit ensued, with Holm reportedly driving recklessly through Kensington High street. The chase reached dangerous speeds, endangering both the suspect and the pursuing officers. In the midst of the pursuit, Holm's vehicle collided with a police cruiser, injuring one officer. The injured officer, identified as Officer Ellis William, was rushed to Hospital, where he is currently receiving medical attention for non-life-threatening injuries.
Tom continued to flip through the newspaper article, his face unreadable. The room's quiet elegance seemed a stark contrast to the turmoil described in the news.
The butler, Jonas, reappeared in the doorway, his presence unobtrusive but attentive.
"Mr. Riddle, the Baroness will see you now." He said.
Tom folded the newspaper neatly, placing it back on the coffee table. He then picked up the bouquet, concealing it behind himself. With a composed demeanor, he stood up and followed Jonas through the grand manor. The portraits lining the corridor walls observed silently as Tom walked by.
Jonas led Tom to a set of double doors adorned with intricate carvings. He knocked gently and, after a brief moment, the doors opened to reveal a woman.
The Baroness Victoria Harrington stood in a sky blue dress, a regal figure with her steel grey hair neatly styled. Her sharp light blue eyes drank him in. A genuine smile graced her lips as she moved to greet Tom.
"Tom, I'm delighted you could make it," She said, extending her arms for a hug.
They hugged lightly, and quick peck on the cheeks.
The Baroness, despite surpassing Tom in age, exuded a seemingly timeless allure, preserving much of her beauty in a manner that only luxury could achieve.
Tom, ever the suave gentleman, took her gloved hand and planted a soft kiss on it. "The pleasure is mine, Baroness."
"Oh Tom." She chastised with a giggle, "I haven't I already told you not to call me that."
Tom smiled, with a bow he said, "Forgive me Victoria, I meant no offence."
Giggling again, she swatted at his shoulders, "Oh stop it you naughty boy."
Tom reciprocated with a charming grin. "Only when you stop being such a delight, Victoria."
Victoria's laughter echoed through the hallway, and she gestured for Tom to wait for her outside, stating she had to finish up, but promising it wouldn't take long.
"Jonas." She called.
"Yes, Madam," The butler promptly responded from the side.
"Kindly have the Chauffeur bring the car around." She ordered.
"Yes, Madam." acknowledged Jonas
The Baroness retreated back into her room leaving Tom and Jonas alone. Jonas looked to Tom, and for a moment seemed to want to say something, but he merely bowed and left.
Tom observed Jonas's departure, and it required no Legilimency to grasp the palpable disdain the man harbored towards him. Jonas, in his advanced years, had nurtured aspirations of filling a void in the Baroness's life left by her late husband. However, these aspirations were swiftly shattered upon the introduction of Tom into the equation.
Tom pondered for a moment whether he should reveal his knowledge of the butler's involvement in the Baron's death, but his train of thought was disrupted by the arrival of the Baroness.
"I'm ready, Tom," She called.
"You look lovely, Victoria. I'm afraid the flowers I bought might not be such a match," He remarked, presenting her with the bouquet of roses.
"Oh, Tom, you shameless flirt." She laughed.
Tom responded with a charming smile. "Shall we?" He inquired, extending his arm.
The two walked down to the driveway where the chauffeur was waiting with the car. It was a nice navy blue 1946 Triumph Roadster, sleek and proud. Tom thought it looked fabulous and told Victoria so.
She smiled at that. "My husband thought so too. I never understood his fascination with the machines myself."
"Well, I appreciate his taste, in both cars and women," Tom quipped with a sly grin.
The Baroness shook her head, smiling. Tom helped her into the car and closed the door.
"Just a moment, love," he said to her.
"Is everything alright?" she asked.
"Oh, not to worry, just a couple of words to Charlie before we leave," Tom reassured.
On the other side of the driveway sat Charlie in their car, waiting. Tom walked over, his face an emotionless mask.
He leaned in on the window ledge. "Get to the airport, Charlie and make sure all our luggage is secure. I'll see you in a bit then."
"See ya in the morning and make sure to have a good time for the both of us." He added, his head peeking out the window.
Tom rolled his eyes and made his way back to Victoria. The chauffeur drove them out of the house and into the London streets. The two spent their time talking, with much of the conversation revolving around their daily lives, although much of that on Tom's side was heavily pruned.
The chauffeur brought them round to the Covent Garden, located within London's West End, a popular and lively entertainment district in Central London, known for its theaters, shopping, dining, and nightlife.
Arriving at the front of the theater, arm in arm, Tom and Victoria disembarked from the car. Tom guided them to the receptionist, where they smoothly purchased their tickets before proceeding to their seats.
As Tom and Victoria settled into their seats in the cozy theater, their surroundings buzzing with pre-show excitement, Tom turned to the Baroness with a playful glint in his eyes.
"I must say, Victoria, your choice of entertainment is impeccable. A night at the theater promises a delightful escape from the mundane."
Victoria smiled appreciatively. "I find the arts to be a soothing balm for the soul. And tonight's performance comes highly recommended."
Tom leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Any hints on what we're about to witness, or shall we let the suspense unfold?"
Victoria chuckled. "I believe in the magic of surprises, Tom. Let's allow the actors to tell their tales without giving away the secrets of the stage."
Their conversation continued in hushed tones as the lights dimmed, signaling the imminent start of the play. The curtain rose, a man stepped forward, and shouted in a stage voice, "In the mystical realm of Camelot, where tales of chivalry and magic unfolded, a shadow cast its veil over the once-glorious kingdom. King Arthur, the once-mighty ruler, lay wounded on the battlefield, and the land mourned the fading glory of its once-shining Camelot. A deep sorrow settled over the knights of the Round Table as whispers of a mysterious prophecy echoed through the castle halls."
.....
The whole evening went by in a flash, the two enthralled by the play, barely speaking a word.
Exiting the theater arm in arm, Victoria couldn't contain her laughter at a joke Tom had shared. As the chauffeur rounded the corner, Tom assisted her into the car, ensuring she was comfortably seated before closing the door.
"Aren't you getting in, Tom?" She asked with a slight frown.
Tom maintained his smile, savoring the playful banter. "I'm afraid not, love. Work calls."
"But how will you get back?" She asked, concern creasing her brow. "At least let us drop you off."
"Charlie will be here soon, don't worry," he reassured her.
With a lingering smile, he stepped back, nodding to the chauffeur, who acknowledged with a subtle inclination of his head. The car smoothly pulled away, leaving Tom momentarily alone on the sidewalk. However, as he watched the car disappear into the night, a subtle change came over him, and his eyes seemed to turn into blank.
Sighing, Tom strolled through the night, his footsteps echoing in the quiet streets. He turned a corner into a dimly lit alleyway, glancing around discreetly. A quick look here and a quick look there, and then - 'Crack'.
Walking out of the secluded alley, he made his way to The Penthouse. The receptionist greeted him warmly, and he responded with a casual wave and a smile.
He opened the gate and walked swiftly and silently up, then pushed open the front door. The quiet interior greeted him. Walking over to the liquor cabinet, he pulled out a bourbon whiskey, Campari, and a sweet vermouth.
The city lights flickered below, a tapestry of urban dreams visible from Tom's penthouse. Tonight, he sought a simple pleasure. Perhaps a Boulevardier to match the city's nocturnal hum.
He poured the bourbon into a glass, the amber liquid glinting in the soft glow. A quick measure of vermouth followed. The final touch, a splash of Campari, the deep red swirling into the mix.
With a swift stir of the ice, the clinking sound echoing within the room, the Boulevardier was ready. Tom strolled over to the couch, seated himself in front of the fireplace, and with a wave of his wand, it flickered to life.
He patiently waited as the hours rolled by. As the chimes of Big Ben struck midnight, Tom downed the last vestiges of his drink and rose from the couch. Near the fireplace sat a small bag; reaching into it, he grabbed a handful of what appeared to be green sand and tossed it into the flames.
Green flames sparked in the fireplace, it was a tight fit, but Tom managed to squeeze himself in.
"Crossroads."
He felt as though he was being sucked down a drain, the roaring green flames swirled around him. Abruptly, it stopped, and Tom stepped out into a new location.
"How was the date?" a turtlenecked Charlie asked.
"Alright so far," Tom replied, brushing off soot. "How was the trip?"
"Terrible, jet lag's awful."
Upon a second look, Tom noticed that Charlie did indeed look terrible—fatigued eyes, rumpled clothing, and one side of his hair flattened as though he'd slept on it.
"Did you get the luggage?" Tom asked.
"Yeah, sure, they're over there," Charlie responded, pointing to a corner of the room where their bags lay, and most importantly, a small metal briefcase.
"Wanna tell me what's in there?" He asked, watching Tom move towards it. "It echoes ya know."
"Tools," Tom simply said.
"Enough with the theatrics. What's it for?" Charlie sighed.
"Our victim," He said, pulling out a wooden stake, "Well, more likely victims."
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone