Page 12 of A Sonata for the Fiery Lady
As Oliver watched town pass by through the window, he began to realize that the carriage was taking him to the better end of town. He started to wonder if this magistrate was an important member of society, more so than just a simple law enforcer. And when the carriage stopped in front of a townhouse, Oliver was even more intrigued.
When Oliver alighted from the carriage, he turned to the driver and handed him a few coins. “Are you sure this is the place?” Oliver asked, expecting to have arrived at a business instead of a residential townhouse.
“Indeed, sir. This is the home of Magistrate Jack O’Reilly. A bit of a bigwig if you ask me. Conducts his business from home,” the driver explained with the shrug of his shoulder.
“Thank you,” Oliver said in parting as he stepped away from the carriage and the driver snapped the reins, sending the horses forward at a trot. Oliver turned and approached the gate, pulling it open as he stepped onto the walkway that led up to the front of the townhouse. The gardens had been kept in great care as he passed several trimmed hedges and rose bushes in full bloom. Oliver felt like he was approaching the house of a Lord instead of a common magistrate.
Once Oliver reached the front door, he pulled the cord before removing the calling card from his pocket that Miss Melisa had given him. Moments later, the door was opened to reveal a serviceman on the other side.
“May I help you, sir?” the man asked, looking over Oliver with keen eyes. The man was older with greying hair, a slim figure that was dressed finely. To Oliver, the man appeared wary of him, and understandably so when Oliver was only dressed in common trousers, muslin shirt, and tan vest. If Magistrate O’Reilly was really this well off to have his serviceman dressed like a gentleman, then perhaps Oliver wasn’t the type of client the lawman regularly saw.
“Yes, I’m seeking an appointment with the magistrate,” Oliver said as he handed over the calling card.
The man took one quick look at the card before a smile slid over his face. “Very good, sir. I’m sure the honourable Magistrate O’Reilly can spare some time to see you today. May I ask who is calling on him?” the man asked.
“My name is Mr Oliver Quinn,” Oliver explained.
“Come in, Mr Quinn. You can wait for the magistrate in the parlour,” the man said as he opened the door fully and beckoned Oliver inside.
The townhouse reminded him of a Lord’s with marble flooring and ornate decorations. Fresh roses were arranged in a vase on top of a beautifully engraved, wooden table that made Oliver think that the vase alone had to be more than what he earned in a year. Oliver felt terribly out of place and hoped that he hadn’t made a wrong decision. Though he was motivated in finding answers regarding his father’s death, he feared that perhaps he’d gone looking for answers in the opposite direction.
After being seen to the parlour, he was left alone, taking a seat in a chair as he tried to relax his body. He’d been to dozens of homes designed in similar fashion to perform for lords and ladies, but he wasn’t here to perform and mostly be ignored as long as he was playing well. Here he was about to utilize the connections of a young lady he’d only spoken to twice in hopes of finding answers.
Had he gone mad? Oliver wondered as he waited, the sound of a grandfather clock ticking what seemed to be abnormally loudly a few feet away from him. In the distance he could hear talking and knew that someone was coming to the room. And as the door was pushed open, Oliver stood, ready to greet whoever this magistrate was.
“Good day, Mr Quinn. My name is Magistrate O’Reilly, at your service,” a very tall man greeted as he came into the room, dressed in what looked to be dinner attire even though it was the early afternoon.
“Good to meet you, your honour. Thank you for taking time out of your day to see me,” Oliver said as he dipped his head towards the man that dressed as though he was of higher station in society.
“Of course, my dear man. I’m always happy to see friends of Lord Stanton. Do have a seat,” the magistrate said, motioning to the chair Oliver had occupied a moment before.
Oliver’s heart started to beat in his chest as he began to wonder if the magistrate had read the calling card incorrectly. Surely, he had seen that the calling card was from Miss Melisa, and not her father. But for now, Oliver would use whatever advantage he could get.
“So, tell me, Mr Quinn. How are you associated with Lord Stanton?” the magistrate asked as he accepted a glass of brandy from his serviceman. Oliver accepted a small glass when offered one as well, hoping the liquor would calm his nerves.
“I performed for Lord Stanton during his ball last night, along with a troupe of other musicians. I’m a pianist and have been playing professionally for over a year,” Oliver explained as he took another sip.
“Very interesting, Mr Quinn. The Earl must think very highly of you in order to extend you a reference,” Magistrate O’Reilly replied with a critical gaze at Oliver.
Oliver simply nodded his head in reply. “Indeed, Magistrate O’Reilly. I received many compliments for my performance from the Stanton family. I have another performance tomorrow evening as well,” Oliver said next.
“Bravo, young sir. Now, what brings you to me?” Magistrate O’Reilly asked next.
“You see, sir, my father was murdered not two nights ago. He was a reliable worker for Mr Mathews, the cobbler, and enjoyed socializing with others at Luthiers,” Oliver said as his fist tightened around his glass. He tried not to allow his emotions to break his voice when the pain of losing his father still throbbed in his chest. “Constable Williams came to my residence and explained the ordeal. I identified the body and gave my official statement before preparing for my performance last night.”
Magistrate O’Reilly shook his head as though he truly felt sorry for Oliver. “I’m terribly sorry to hear about your loss, Mr Quinn. My father, too, was murdered and that is what first influenced me to enter into the service of the law. Unfortunately, I never did catch the man that took my father’s life,” Magistrate O’Reilly said. Even from a distance, Oliver could see the fresh tears in the magistrate’s eyes. “So, tell me, Mr Quinn. Since your father frequented a gaming hell, do you think that perhaps your father owed a man a great deal of money?”
“No, your honour. My father only enjoyed Luthiers for the social experience. He enjoyed the company of others and found it a way to relax after a long day. He was always responsible with his money and never gambled more than he could live without,” Oliver said with intention, hoping to convince this man that his father was indeed an honourable man despite the type of place he often frequented.
“You’ll have to forgive me for such questions, but it is what one first thinks. And I’m sure Constable Williams explained that you yourself will be a suspect for a time,” the magistrate said, giving Oliver an apologetic look.
“Indeed, your honour. Constable Williams did explain that fact, that it is only part of the process,” Oliver admitted, still feeling unnerved that he could be considered capable of doing such a thing. But strangers often had a hard time trusting others of different social statuses.
“One must eliminate all the variables before finding the truth,” Magistrate O’Reilly said with a nod of his head. “Tell me more about your father, Mr Quinn. Do you know much of his family?”
“Very little, your honour. My father spoke hardly of his parents and never mentioned any siblings. My mother passed away in childbirth, so it’s terrible to say that my father was my last living relative that I know of,” Oliver admitted, wishing he’d taken the time to ask his father more questions about their heritage instead of always focusing on the next performance or making sure they had enough to survive on.
“Hmm, that is rather peculiar,” Magistrate O’Reilly said as he rubbed his chin, appearing to be deep in thought. “Do you know of anyone then that would want your father dead? Perhaps jealousy at work or a past vendetta?”
