The brisk semi-chill of late October accented the stillness of the evening. A red leaf strained against the maple tree, freed itself, and floated away on the breeze. In its place, a glint from the pale hunter’s moon flickered, threatening to disappear, then fastened itself to the tree limb. There it peeked cautiously through the windows of the old mansion, as if trying to slip in unnoticed for the party. Dark clouds scuttled across its face, a defense against the invasion.

Near the front entrance, the low voices of a half-dozen friends of the family floated in the air. A woman’s gay laughter rose over the top briefly and was quickly muffled. Jeremy slipped quietly down the drive before cutting across the maple grove to circle around by the servants’ entrance to avoid notice.

He had only just escaped for his walk. He’d somehow managed to get cut from the crowd by Elaine Ransom, the young wife of Hector Ransom who was already deep in his third martini. By young, Jeremy meant perhaps mid-forties. She was probably the closest in age to his thirty-one years of all the guests.

She’d been in his personal space, talking to him through uplifted ruby lips beneath her Sybaris mask. Most of the Venetian masks at the ball did little to hide the features of the wearer, so it was not uncommon to find garish makeup on the faces of women and even of men. Her mask was mostly an open iron filigree with inlays of blue, red, and gold enamel highlighting her brilliant blue eyes. It sat above her nose, leaving her rosy cheeks and red lips fully exposed. Her blonde hair fell in temptations around her face. He wondered if she’d chosen Sybaris specifically for its underlying meaning—opulence, luxury, and outrageous pleasure-seeking. She carried on a complex conversation, telling a risqué story of her first encounter with Hector (when he was much younger and capable of these things, she hinted), constantly pressing her breasts against his arm or chest as he backed into the dining room where he was pinned against the table by her abundant cleavage.

He could not help but look down into that valley, thinking of the pleasures it might afford. But when she pulled his face down so that she could mash her lips against his and probe his mouth with her tongue, Jeremy panicked and slipped away from her grasp, fleeing through the side entrance of the sitting room.

Try as he would, Jeremy couldn’t stand more than a few minutes in the press of “friends” that gathered every year at this time to celebrate his father’s birthday. The birthday had been celebrated with a masked ball for as long as he could remember. “People let down a world of barriers from behind the pretended anonymity of the masks,” he reminded himself, after he was sure he was out of range of the partiers’ ears. He lit his pipe and relaxed as he walked toward the orchard.

All Hallows Eve would probably be celebrated in the same way long after Dad was dead and joined Mother in the family cemetery on the hill. If Jeremy tried to throw a party to celebrate his own birthday, people would still arrive on the 31st of October. He could sell the house and move a thousand miles away and know even the spirits of the same people would gather at the same spot and at the same time of year, long after they had all vanished from the face of the earth and joined their ancestors. Woe to the poor estate owner who attempted to ban their gathering.

But it was as unlikely for Jeremy to sell the old mansion as that he would ever throw a birthday party for himself on the next day. As shy as he was, he did not know of a person he would like to invite. Perhaps one, but he had long since lost track of her. He would as soon celebrate his own birthday as he always had: quietly walking in the woods with a book, a pipe, and the solitude. Later he would sit down to his own birthday dinner in his own room and eat it alone.

Celebrating his birthday in any other way would be as unlikely as his father calling off the annual soirée in his own honor. His father would celebrate his birthday in this way as long as he was alive—forever, Jeremy assumed—and Jeremy would awake the next morning, while all the household slept off the rigors of the night before, to celebrate his own nativity—happily alone.

It was now a quarter till eight and the last guests had arrived for cocktails. At 8:30, Jeremy and his father would offer a toast and dinner would be served. There would be a steamship round, ordered from the butcher a year in advance, cut and served in the great hall downstairs. It had been cooking for the better part of two days—the aroma filtering up to his room above for hours. Having a room above the kitchen had its advantages. Jeremy had smelled so many wafting aromas through his life that few now appealed to him now. He would eat the portion of rare beef the cooks cut for him earlier in the day.

Everyone else would be served meat well done, with a selection of sauces to add flavor and texture to the bone-dry meat. His father simply did not tolerate bloody beef.

Jeremy’s portion, served on a dark rye bun from beneath the counter, would be eaten surreptitiously as he slipped back up the stairs from the great hall to the kitchen. He needed to return to the guests in the great hall by 10:00 for coffee and cheese. People would comment about how thin he was, but he felt best when very thin. He believed people didn’t notice him so much as a thin person and he could slip out of sight and back to his room without being seen.

After coffee and cheese, the band would begin to play. The same people who waited for this opportunity each year would dance with anonymous partners, carrying on imaginary romances that would lie dormant again when the band stopped playing at one o’clock. Presiding over the event like a monarch, his father would rise to thank his guests and bid them return for his next birthday.

By one-thirty, all but six men would be gone: the council. They were not only permitted to stay; it was expected of them. They would retire to the Burgundy Chamber and indulge in the finest cigars and Port his father had collected over the past year.

Strangely enough, these six were the guests at the annual party Jeremy genuinely liked. They were kind and gentlemanly men. The gatherings in the Burgundy Chamber were quiet times of humor and affection, accentuating the sham of the preceding party. At two-thirty, Jeremy would rise from bed and come to the Burgundy Chamber, wearing his dressing gown, to greet the council and share a cigar and a glass of Port. He had made this customary visit to the council each year since he was four years old. That year, he had entered the room innocently searching for his father. To his surprise, he was given a cigar, a glass of Port, and was allowed to stay for half an hour. Then his nurse took him back to his room. He left with the well-wishes of the council and their invitation to return next year.

He had, and every year since. Over those twenty-seven years, his visits had lengthened to a full hour, but each was punctuated with the invitation of the council to return the next year. The word of the council had a magically mandatory effect.

Off in the distant hills, a wolf howled at the full moon. It was answered from miles away. Jeremy would talk to Garth, the estate manager, in the morning to see if his assistance was needed to control the predators. It wouldn’t do to have them closing in too close to the estate. Other landowners would join together to drive the pests back into the wilds where they belonged.

Jeremy plucked a late-hanging apple from the tree, not twenty feet from the kitchen entrance as he tapped the cold ashes from his pipe. He could see the servants finishing their tasks. In a few minutes they would all leave with trays of food and head down the kitchen stairs to the great hall. Jeremy would then slip in through the kitchen door and go through the formal dining room to the front stairs, where he would join his father in a toast and lead the grand march downstairs. He thoughtfully took a last bite from his apple and tossed away the core. How orderly life was. He liked the tightly-held routines. It freed the mind to think of more imaginative things than what mask to wear this year.

In the kitchen, the servants, all in their white jackets and plain black masks, received their final instructions from Mabel, the cook. She had given these same instructions to the servants for some thirty-five years. And half the servants had received them as many times. There was very little turnover amongst the hired help. Working at the mansion was a highly sought-after career. The servants were carefully chosen to conform to rigid standards. They were treated well and were justly compensated. There were never any grievances.

Jeremy glanced at his watch to be certain. Yes, it was ten after eight and the servants lined up to receive the trays of food and march down the back stairs to the great hall. When the kitchen was empty, Jeremy stepped out from behind the tree to follow, then stopped short. On the other side of the kitchen, the bathroom door opened a crack and a servant looked warily around. He stepped into the kitchen and tugged at his mask as if it made him uncomfortable. Must be a new hire, overcome by the pomp and preparations. He’ll recover himself soon enough and follow the others.

The novice server pulled a chair from one wall and sat in the doorway. He shook his head and buried it between his hands. Then he pulled a cigarette from beneath his jacket and lit it at the stove.

Obviously, he was a very new and nervous man. Smoking in the kitchen had always been forbidden. The servants were not even supposed to have cigarettes on their person when waiting on the guests. This was an odd one. Why doesn’t he shape up and get on downstairs?

Jeremy fidgeted with his watch. To enter through the kitchen door would be embarrassing for both him and the wayward servant. Mabel must handle a confrontation and he would discuss the matter with her in the morning. Time was growing short. In two more minutes, he needed to move in order to meet his father for the toast at the top of the stairs. Still, the servant, now looking considerably more relaxed, showed no sign of leaving to join the others.

Jeremy hated cheaters. This man was cheating his father and the other servants. But the irritation was not enough for him to risk reprimanding him. Now, the urgent matter was to get in and through the house to the front stairs to meet his father.

With the servant still in the doorway, Jeremy had to find an alternate route. Just around the corner of the house, on his father’s private patio, were the tall French windows of the Burgundy Chamber. They were always opened at six on All Hallows Eve, and left open until the council met at one-thirty. It was a little-used room and the airing served the dual purpose of freshening the air and of keeping the room cooled to a good serving temperature for the Port. The problem was that the room was also kept dark until the servants turned on the lights and lit the fire as the other guests were leaving. Then they brought refreshments for the council and two servants would remain on call all night to answer the needs of the council. The room was off-limits to the guests at large. As much as Jeremy disliked entering his own home like a common thief, the Burgundy Chamber appeared to be the only way to get to his father in time now.

At the side of the house, Jeremy found the French windows open as expected. A cloud crossed the moon, casting the patio in darkness. A light leap from the ground and he was in his father’s private space. He stood in the opening of the windows, brushing the dust from his tuxedo and hands. He took a moment to adjust his Venetian Lorenzo mask, then strode toward the hall door.

Where the hands came from that were suddenly caressing his back, or the lips that were pressed passionately against his own, he hadn’t the presence to think. She had darted from nowhere as soon as he rounded the sofa. Her hair beneath his fingers was soft as silk. The smell of her cheeks was fresh and clean. A feather on her mask tickled him. Her lips caressed his with soft patterns that bade him do nothing but yield.

Jeremy was so surprised and caught up in the stimulation of his previous kiss that he responded vigorously to the kiss, allowing her to guide his hands to her breasts as they fought with their tongues. Her own hands slid down his front to stroke his rampant manhood.

Well, if Elaine had gone to the trouble of blocking the kitchen door and waiting for him in the Burgundy Chamber, he was not going to reject her advances here. His hand slid down the front of her low-cut ball gown and cupped the breast beneath its covering. The kiss increased in passion as she sped the stroking of his cock. He lightly pinched her nipple as she squeezed with her hand.

“Oh, Jer, my darling. I was afraid you had changed and would not come. I’ve done all you asked, but I don’t love him like I love you. Please, make love to me.”

“I...” Jeremy began. The voice did not exactly sound like Elaine’s. “Excuse me but I’m afraid...”

“Oh!” the woman exclaimed as she jumped back away from him. His hand on her breast followed of its own accord. “You’re...!” She turned and ran through the hall door even as he tried to hold her. It slammed behind her.

Jeremy stood, shaken. Never had he been kissed like that. Never had he felt such vibrant passion from a woman, unleashed toward himself. At least, not in many years. When he was still in his teens, Louisa had followed him through those same French windows and up the spiral staircase to his bedroom. There, they had discovered secrets of the human body as he immersed himself in her virginity. He had gone on to the University. She had attended a college far away and he had never seen her again. If she were back to visit her parents, she might have used this very entrance to crash the party. Could it be he had just molested his childhood friend and lover?

Or ... Had it been Elaine after all, not accepting his refusal and coming seeking him? It might have been her voice in the throes of passion. He staggered toward the door and fumbled with the light switch, finally managing the power. The chandelier flickered and then began to glow. Yes. There he was, in the Burgundy Chamber—a moment ago, the scene of a scarlet dream. He touched his lips tentatively, afraid he might brush away the trace of her taste. In the dark hallway, there was no sign of the woman who had shown so much passion only moments before.

He closed the door and looked around the Burgundy Chamber. Perhaps there would be a clue to the identity of the mystery maiden. He would hate to make a suggestive remark to Elaine if it had not been her breasts he had groped. His heart thumped as he thought of discovering the woman and opening a conversation with her that would lead to a repeat of the event just passed.

She had called him by name. It was a game. Perhaps his childhood playmate had returned to surprise him. He knew how her heart was turned to him, but he would have to discover her. Or perhaps it was another partier who had bolstered her courage with alcohol and come here to meet him. A strapless gown. That would certainly be a clue when he greeted the rest of the guests.

He would not leave the party so early this evening. She—whoever it was—must be leaving clues for him, if only he could discover them.

In the shimmering light of the electrified chandelier, the Burgundy Chamber took shape. The glasses for Port were set on the library table near the windows through which he had entered the room. The deep burgundy walls provided an elegant background for his father’s priceless collection of artwork. The fire had been laid in the fireplace but not yet lit. The high-backed red leather furniture was all in order. The circular stair led to the library gallery above the room. Jeremy moved to it. If she had not come in through the windows, this was without a doubt how she had entered the room. She would not have risked being seen in the hall. He was on the steep narrow stair when he realized no woman could have negotiated the stairs in her long formal dress. It would, however, provide a vantage point for surveying the room.

He turned. She had approached him from behind the sofa as he passed. They had kissed just there. Several chairs were arranged in an arc around the fireplace. That was where the council would sit. And then he saw, below him in one of the great leather chairs, his father. The time suddenly dawned on him as the grandfather clock struck the half hour. His father must have come in quietly, looking for him to lead the toast and procession down to the great hall. What a sight Jeremy must have been, running up the staircase in search of clues to a vanishing lady. He knew better than to make excuses. It would probably be the topic of discussion when the council met late that night. He would come in at two-thirty and be asked to tell of his interest in the staircase of the Burgundy Chamber.

He descended the stairs quietly and straightened his tie. His father did not move from the great chair nor speak. Jeremy could not even see him now that he was behind the back of the chair.

“I’m ready,” he said.

There was no answer.

“Father?”

There was still no sound.

Jeremy went to the chair and looked at his father. The man sat with his eyes looking blankly from the red and black leather Mars mask at the fireplace. Blood. It streamed from a wound near the back of the left side of his head. It had already stained the collar of his formal shirt, providing a counterpoint to the mask against his black tuxedo. It darkened the leather chair with a glossy sheen. It fell upon the expensive Turkish rug beneath the chair, ruining the delicate patterns. His father’s expression was warm, with just a hint of surprise in the unblinking eyes.

“Father!” Jeremy touched his face, but the life was gone.

He was stunned. The Burgundy Chamber held too many surprises for one night. He fought to regain his senses. This was an emergency. He could not risk panicking the guests or losing one suspect in his search. The guests! It was now eight-thirty-five. The guests would be gathered at the top of the stairs waiting for the birthday toast and procession to the great hall. Jeremy formulated his plan quickly. He left the Burgundy Chamber and made his way to the stairs where the crowd had gathered. People called to him and a general cheer went up.

“I’m sorry things are late,” Jeremy said as the server handed him a glass of champagne for the toast. “I know Dad usually gives the signal for the feast to begin, but he’s indisposed and asked me to get things going. After the toast, you can go ahead down to dinner. If I could see the council for a moment before you go down, please. So, here’s to Dad’s birthday. Good health to all!”

The toast was drunk and the crowd began to move down to the great hall. The council descended on him and he led the way back down the hall to the Burgundy Chamber.

“What is it, Jeremy?” asked one.

“This has never happened before,” declared another.

“And it can never happen again,” Jeremy said as he opened the door to the Burgundy Chamber. “He’s dead.”

The council rushed in. Jeremy’s father sat yet, untouched, unmoved. Jeremy’s brave front collapsed as he did in a chair on the far side of the room. The council examined the body, each man being careful not to disturb it. Jeremy waited as they turned to him.

“What happened, son?” The first to speak was Dr. Matthew Stein, PhD, Professor Emeritus of the Classics, who had rooms at the university. Jeremy had taken classes from him during his own studies and quite enjoyed the tales the old man told. The voice was kind and not prodding, but for the first time, Jeremy realized he himself must be considered suspect. At the very least the council was already assuming he had witnessed the event.

“I wasn’t here when it happened. I found him.”

“Yes, of course. We understand that, Jeremy. But how did you chance to find him? Do you usually meet here to come for the toast?” This speaker was Gene Desmond, a lawyer of about sixty years of age. Jeremy’s father had frequently called upon Desmond without the other five. It was Jeremy’s understanding that Desmond held the documents of the estate: the will, deeds, and all other legal papers for his father. While other lawyers Jeremy knew carried with them an aura of mistrust, Desmond had always been a friend above the legal aspects he managed. Jeremy would gladly trust his life to the man.

“No. We usually meet at the junction of the two main halls just before we get to the stairway. I usually come in from the orchard at a quarter past, through the kitchen and main dining room. I don’t know where he came from, but we always met just there at twenty-five past eight.”

“That doesn’t bring you anywhere near the Burgundy Chamber,” Garson Drake, a retired military man, said. He tended to be more brusque than the others, but was still a big-hearted gentleman. He could not hide the suspicion in his voice.

Jeremy cautiously told the rest of the story, carefully omitting the episode with the woman. He didn’t know how to address it. It was still like such a dream. He could not imagine that she might be related to the terrible deed.

“Jeremy,” Father Carney said, “have you never met your father in this room before the toast? He’s never been seen during the half-hour before the toast in the past, and neither have you. I’d always assumed you met together to prepare your speeches.”

“I didn’t know Father ever left his own party. I always slip out the side entrance after I’ve greeted the guests—about 7:30 or 7:45. I take a walk and have a pipe before coming in through the kitchen from the orchard.”

“I’ll vouch for the time of leaving,” Jon Gratz, a local businessman who owned the largest department store in the city, said. “I sit beside the side door with Miss Milborne each year as soon as I arrive. Jeremy has never failed to leave by that exit at just 7:30.”

“And I’ll vouch for the walk,” said Willy Moore. He was Mr. Gratz’s partner in the business and seldom agreed with the other man. Their arguments with each other were part of the standard entertainment wherever they went. “I was standing on the front steps when Jeremy walked up the drive in the shadows.”

“Gentlemen,” said Father Carney, “I think we can believe Jeremy and can throw our lot in with him. He’s been open and honest with us and we ought to take him on faith. Let us combine our efforts to defend him and find the murderer of his father.”

There was a general assent and Jeremy moved uneasily in his chair.

“There is one other thing,” he said, glancing at the floor. The move to huddle was broken up as each man turned toward Jeremy. “It’s ... embarrassing. I was expected in this room.”

“What do you mean, son?” asked the professor.

Jeremy flushed as he related the story of his encounter with the young woman. “She knew I would come this way. She called me by name. I suspect the servant at the kitchen door may have been planted to force me in this way. Surely, if we just ask for the young lady to identify herself, she would—under the circumstances.”

“Under these circumstances, less than any other, Jeremy.” Desmond was becoming forceful as if he had a new scent and was on the trail. “I believe the woman was not waiting for you. She was waiting for your father, Jeremiah Joyce Stratton, Senior.”

Jeremy’s visions of a playful young woman hiding clues for her own discovery vanished as she had. The hard reality was that he had met his father’s mistress who had momentarily mistaken him for his sire.

“There’s no hope then, is there?” Jeremy asked, shaken. “She would never identify herself under these circumstances.”

“No, Jeremy,” said Gratz “But you might be able to recognize her if you tried. I’ve a feeling that if we find that woman, the murderer will be in the same bed.”

“Nonsense,” snapped Moore. “The room was dark. How could he recognize her? What’s worse, she may have recognized him, in which case, she’d bolt the minute he got near.”

“It’s a risk we’ll have to take,” said Drake. “Jeremy must try his best to identify and locate the mistress during dinner. It’s been the custom of your father to circulate, spending a few minutes at each table. There is always a chair saved for him. Professor, you and I shall question the servants. One was missing or else there was a fake in the crowd. Check every coat for blood. Gratz and Moore are our public relations men. Calm and soothe the guests and take care of Jeremy in the Great Hall. Desmond better handle the police. Bring them in quietly. No one ever leaves until one o’clock. Make sure tonight is no exception. Father Carney, I hate to leave you, but your office is here in the Burgundy Chamber, I believe. Put his soul to rest, but don’t touch the body.”