Peter turns and then rushes to Abigail's aid.
The color drains from John’s face at the sound of the tortured scream. His mind begins to form an internal statement of scorn that this man should be so effected by such small horrors, but the thought summons memories of the visions that torment him. He stares off into the distance for several minutes, seemingly unaware of the commotion going on around him.
He finally snaps out of it, to some extent, when talk begins of carrying the man elsewhere. ”Quite right,” he mumbles turn to see if Jakob is on his way to grab the man once more.
Gelding helps Peter get Abigail to a couch, ensuring that she is safe and comfortable. Afterward he turns to Lady Gray, listening intently to her directions. "I will speak to the House, and ensure everyone stays put and understands things are alright. Hopefully this is it for the evening." He offers a formal nod, and turns to leave the study.
Peter's heart is caught in his throat as he fails to find any signs of life in his cousin - no breath from her lips, no rise and fall of her chest. That is, until she gasps and opens her eyes only seconds later. "Oh... Peter... that man, what... what happened to him?" She is visibly shaken, and her skin is a bit clammy, but she is otherwise fine.
Lucia joins the men attending to Mr. Wainwright and sets about checking his wounds.
John, William, and Jakob all move to lift he man, and see him safely sequestered in a guest room where he can sleep out the night. The man tucked in and the door closed, you find yourselves regathering once again downstairs in the study. As you do, a clock can be heard tolling the time - 2:00 in the morning.
Scarlet settles Mr. Wainwright in a bed and will arrange for her servants to retreive his clothing in the morning after his confirmation of his home. Thankfully he lives alone and they can just walk in.
After this, she will return to the parlor to finish their speaking. The time chiming 2:00 in the morning bothers her. Still awake from the party, she is fine, but perhaps her guests are not.
"One thing that truly bothers me is the timing of the event. Removal of the eyes such as this would take significant time. Medication that enters your body, even if fast-acting, still will likely leave someone unconscious for a long period of time. I can't be certain, but I believe his attended lecture started on the ninth bell. Likely lasted but an hour to half an hour more in time. That means from the time of his ended lecture, he was with revelries afterward with those of Cirque du Chuchoter, moved there to meet with these investors, lost his consciousness, was taken to where this surgery took place, regained his consciousness, having his eyes still intact. Then lost consciousness again only to be driven across town somewhere to be tossed out on the bridge to die in the scope of two hours. That...is not possible. Perhaps he has been unconscious for a prolonged period? Say, a week? He would not know the difference."
Clearly, by this point, people would realize she is not as shaken as them.
"I propose we have the mindset that this event didn't start happening this evening, but perhaps we should investigate a different date on which he could have been taken? Perhaps we should reconvene and discuss this some more tomorrow? I would hate to keep you further from your beds." "and like you, my poor servants and likely mother, who is probably worried she will be murdered in her bed."
John supervises more than helps as Jakob carries the unconscious man to a bed. When the group reconvenes he listens to Scarlet’s theory despite being somewhat distracted. ”That sounds worth looking into...” he answers thoughtfully, ”the absence of a man in his position certainly would have been noticed, a few inquiries should reveal if he was missing before last night. There may, however, be another possibility... if Peter here performed some manner of supernatural healing before he was properly examined, it could be that his eyes were removed rather more hastily than it first appeared. That might help your timeline fit better?”
Once Jakob helps manage to get the wounded stranger into the other room and situated, he moves with the others back to the parlor.
"I don't know. That pool of blood beneath his feet when we first saw him looked pretty fresh to me. And while I'm no doctor, I'd wager that if a man gets his eyes plucked out and gets no help for hours on end is probably a dead man. But this is all utter madness to me anyway and I don't really know what to make of anything at this point," he says matter of factly, shrugging. As the clock strikes two, Jakob finds himself a bit surprised it is so late. Or early. A yawn then strikes him as he takes a moment to rub his eyes. "Wow. I can't believe it's as late as it is. You may have a point, Miss Scarlet, might be best to continue this tomorrow; or possibly later today, I guess," he corrects, grinning tiredly.
Lucia looks up at Scarlet, and the others. She gives a shake of her head. "Whatever comfort I have been able to offer this man is ebbing away, leaving him at the mercy of whatever demons his memory is conjuring up." Whether she means the term literally or metaphorically is unclear, and she's not sure whether it matters.
She takes the man's hand in her own, trying to offer what comfort she can. "I think it unfair to leave him alone. I will sit up with him, and if anyone cares to join me in that vigil we can take turns, and so ensure that he does not endure this torment in solitude."
John takes a deep breath and thoughtfully replies "I'm not certain we should so impose upon Lady Grey's hospitality... besides, I do have people who will grow concerned if I am missing coming morning."
"Perhaps, if I could impose upon you, Lady Grey, to borrow your carriage... I could return William, Peter, and Jakob to their residences for the night--or find room for them to sleep at my home--and then gather them tomorrow to return?"
"You have a good point, Mr. Bryant. I have seen many despicable acts of savagery done by the supernatural. Suffice it to say though, I have also seen good things, so all hope is not lost. I would prefer at the moment to err on the side of investigation rather than jump to the conclusion of the supernatural."
Jakob is one of those who has been struggling in the evening. His facial expressions, the shock on his face, the shaking of his head...it all has been seen by their gracious host. She moves to comfort him. In a soft sweet voice, she replies to his worries.
"I agree with you, it did look fresh. I would assume his surgery happened this evening, but his kidnapping took place at the same time on a different day. I don't believe the murderer intended us to find him, let alone keep him alive. Thank goodness you came at the time you did. You helped this man greatly by aiding us in carrying him here. I thank you greatly."
The clock strikes two and she nods to Lucia, but is slightly worried about having the strangers in the house and keeping her servants up to provide for them.
"I am comfortable with that," she replies to John, "Or we could meet at the Cirque du Chuchoter after lunch?" "It is very possible that my uncle with force a meeting with each and every one of you to ensure your intentions and quality."
"I will stay up with you, Lucia. I must handle the matter with the police anyways. I cannot have a blinded man in my home and not let them know. The doctor also is coming in the morning, but we can take turns watching him until then."
Peter tries to comfort his understandably shaken cousin.
"Myself, the Lady Grey, and these gathered folk chanced upon the poor man on a bridge in a frightful state. Tis a bad business, Abby, and no mistake, but we are doing all we can for him. Speaking of which..."
Peter gets up and walks over to the debate, listening to the points made.
He adds:
"While my landlady might wonder, I do not need to be back. That said, John raises a point. I am willing to stay here and aid with the watch of this man. But if that would bring any dishonour or rumour to your door, Lady Grey, then I would take John up on his offer."
"Meeting at the Cirque would be fine," John answers, sensing Lady Grey's concern about their return to her home. "In fact, if your driver is still awake he could drop us at my home and return tonight and I'll provide transport for the men tomorrow?"
A nod is given to John and she agrees, "I believe he is. Thank you, Mr. Bryant. Your kindness is welcomed."
To Peter, she grins and curtseys to disarm any discomfort he may have felt in offering his position in her home.
"With my sincerest welcomings, I would by no means deny you a bed to stay here with your kind cousin." "She is more of a mother to me at times than my own!" "I knew you were arrived soon from your letter, sir, but I was not sure when. It was my intention regardless to invite you into my home upon your visiting your cousin, but it seems this evening has laid my plans to rest. I intended that you share the same wing as your cousin, which has already been established for your arrival with my mother and uncles welcome as well. You are family in our eyes."
Abigail, after all, had essentially raised her from a young girl until now. She has been essential in learning what Scarlet must do for her presentation to the Queen when she comes out in society at the end of this year. Such an event likely would secure her married, and she should marry well.
Scarlet will go and make sure things are in order to provide John a ride home, as well as the others, with the deepest apologies for the lack of sleep to her servants. Gelding will be getting the police to explain to them the scenario as Scarlet will have explained it to him.
"Whatever's best works for me. I...," he pauses a moment for some reason before continuing, "yeah there's no one that'll question whether or not I'm home. So if the barrister doesn't mind an extra then I'll take him up on that. But if not, I'd be grateful for a ride back to my flat. And I've got a little bit of money to pay for such if need be, no problem," he says matter of factly.
Abigail takes Peter's words for their worth, and having been comforted and removed from direct view of the man, seems to be regaining her wits. At the conclusion of the assembled company's discussions, she steps to a set of pull ropes and tugs on one twice. "Lady Gray, I have signaled Raj that he should bring around the carriage to the front. It will be there momentarily to show the men home. By your leave, I will escort my cousin to his quarters then be to bed myself. It is quite the late hour, even for young ladies such as us!" With a subtle curtsy, she ushers Peter from the room.
As the men collect their belongings and find their way to the front door, Raj is indeed just pulling up a well-built and timelessly styled carriage. Hopping down, he opens the door and awaits the entry of his passengers. He then ferries them to their desired destination(s), and eventually returns to the house.
Scarlet and Lucia head upstairs and check in on the unconscious Mr. Wainwright. His breathing is even, and he seems mostly at rest, though occasionally he twitches or whimpers briefly. You each share the watches throughout the night, interrupted briefly by the return of Gelding. "Lady Grey, I have been to the constabulary and shared with them the details of this night's discovery. I have also made them aware of your swift response and the summoning of the doctor. They would like to secure our guest and speak to you, but have agreed to call in the morning after 10:00 to do so. If you ladies would like, both myself and Raj can each take a turn watching over our wounded guest. It would be appropriate, though I understand your commitment to those charges you acquire."
The rest of the night passes uneventfully, though none of you find much sleep this night, your minds awash with both the day's events and your own past horrors, now so recently fresh in your head.
Before William departs with the others he steals a moment with Scarlet. "Miss Grey, though I doubt anything would occur this night within a house of so many, I wish to add some level of...protection to your residence. With your leave, of course.
Peter smiles a little at Lady Grey's offer, though sincerely.
"I will take you up on your welcome, Lady Grey, and my offer still stands. I am content to take the witching hour watch in the small hours."
Watching Jakob, she is curious about his pause as to whether there may some tragedy in his life he is avoiding to mention.
A slight chuckle escapes her lips concerning Abigail's comments.
"Good good," she voices, giving the elder girl permission to go. Truly she felt miserable at keeping such people awake. She would need to buy the house an apology gift and Raj and Gelding some nice brandy.
"Thank you Gelding, that will do. I thank you for your support this evening. I'll make it up to you." He of all people would know her generous nature and that she is squirming at the fact she was being ungracious.
She will give them all a farewell as they leave, and privately with William, she cants her head curiously as he is leaving. She assumes he means a prayer.
"Of course, Mr. Westford. Any blessing on my household will be appreciated. Have a good evening."
She would curtsey and return to her home to close the door. Whatever he would do after that will be unknown to her.
Peter meets with her in the hall and catches her yawning, which she quickly covers with a hand and ends abruptly. With a kind grin and squint of the eyes at his offer, she nods.
"Very good, Mr. Caffrey. I dare say the less of us suffering this evening by more people taking watch, the better. That means more sleep for all parties involved. Goodness knows I don't often stay up into the late hours of the night." She will curtsey to him as well. "I will see you in the change of shifts."
With the night over and things settled in the household, they all would have the police to deal with in the morning, but after that and a bit of lunch, they could travel to their intended meeting place.
As he's taken and dropped off at his flat, "Thanks, mate. Much appreciated." He nods, grinning, and then makes his way to his humble abode. Going up several flights of steps, he makes his way to the third floor and to his front door before unlocking it and stepping inside. He then shuts the door behind him and locks it. He works through a multitude of locks before he is finally finished with his nightly 'locking ritual'. With only the moonlight to see by - since he's a bit to high to take advantage of the streetlight - he grabs the matches that sit upon an end table and lights several candles throughout.
He then stares out the window and into the night sky and its multitude of stars for a bit just to reflect on the day. "Wow. What a night. What an absolute mental night," he finally says to himself, dragging his hands down his face and taking a deep breath. "Guess I better get some rest. At least try to. Got a long day ahead of us. A long day." Closing the curtains, he blows out the candles on his way to the bedroom. He heads to the dresser and looks in the mirror as he takes off his vest, shirt and pants. He thinks nothing of the various scars upon his well-muscled upper body or the necklace that he wears in which a pair of rings hang upon and of which he keeps buried under his clothing during the day. He then puts on an undershirt and blows out the rest of the candles, save one, before heading to bed.
Placing the candle down on a table on one side of the bed, he proceeds to lie down on the other side. And as he does so, most of his face is covered in shadow outside of the candle's flickering light. And what one might be able to make out of the large man's face from the far side of the bedside table that's next to him, it appears he looks upon a picture judging by the back of it. After a moment, he rises and leans over to blow out the candle before lying back down and whispering, "Good night, my love."
Unfortunately for Jakob, though, he would get very little sleep this night.
The rising dawn comes far too early for each of you, and though you do your best to stave it off, it's warming light itches to pull you from your bed. You note the stains of blood on your clothes from the previous evening, clearly declaring that all had truly transpired, and had not been some bad dream. And it presents an interesting new open door for each of you - your past interaction with something beyond the realm of normal had left you feeling utterly terrified and absolutely alone. You are most definitely scared, and yet it is a burden you share. Perhaps, it will be of some continued benefit?
John, William, and Jakob each engage in their morning routines, though at perhaps a bit later hour than would be normal. Scarlet, Lucia, and Peter find themselves sharing a table in the morning at the Gray Estate. Just as they finish, the clock tolls for the tenth hour. Within a few minutes, a knock it heard at the door, which Gelding attends to. a few moments pass before he returns, two constables and a third man in tow. "Lady Grey, may I introduce Inspector Allan Sterling. It is he whom I spoke with last evening, and who is now handling the case."
Taking an offered seat, he smiles to each person present. Ending on Scarlet, he begins. "Your butler shared a quite, ummm, impressive tale last night. Tell me, is he prone to drink? Because if not, I confess, then something far from normal has founds its way to our streets. Would you share the specifics at this time?"
John reminds Jakob that he will be by at 1 in the afternoon to fetch him as he exits the carriage; he is careful to note which building the burly man enters.
With only William continuing on to the Bryant home, and the late hour possibly clouding his judgment, John decides to get a bit more personal. "You haven't recognized me, Mister Westford, have you?" he asks the older man with just a hint of a smirk. "I shouldn't think you would- I've changed a great deal more than you have in the years since we met..."
"I was a student at Harrow when you filled in for Mister Watts. I believe that was your first year out of University, wasn't it? Where are you teaching now?"
At his home, rather than wake the butler, John hastily makes up the guest room himself and leaves William to get situated. In the morning he sleeps as late as he's able, then rises and sets about his morning calisthenics. Although he never actually touched the wounded man, there are a few drops of blood splattered on the dark suit he was wearing, so he lays it out to be cleaned and selects an equally fashionable dark suit from his wardrobe. He has warm water and towels sent to the guest room so that William can clean himself and his clothing, and then he washes up and gets dressed for the day.
At the breakfast table, there are boiled eggs, a piece of sausage, and buttered bread laid out for the guest, but John has only bowl of Granula (which looks like some strange manner of cold oat porridge) and a cup of coffee.
Lucia does not find much in the way of restful sleep that night and she suspects she is not alone there. Even when she does manage to drift off, she is brought back awake each time with memories both recent and more distant, but none of them pleasant.
Finally giving up on sleep altogether at around 5 in the morning, she gets out of bed and sits on the floor, doing her best to find some stillness within her. It is not prayer, and it is not meditation either (Lucia is aware in a distant way of the "foreign" religious practices, but has no real knowledge of them). Instead, her fingers idly pluck at the rosary beads she carries with her and she silently recites scattered fragments of the prayers she learned in childhood: Paternosters, Doxologies, Magnificats all tread an endless repeat across her brain. It seems to help some, but sleep remains elusive.
The next morning, she picks politely at the breakfast that has been provided, well aware that it has been some time since she was offered food of this quality but also realising that she doesn't have much appetite. The arrival of the police inspector provides a welcome distraction and she pushes her plate away with relief.
She gives the police inspector a polite greeting, but since he has addressed himself to Scarlet (as is proper - she is the lady of the house) she remains silent for now. She listens for what Scarlet has to say, readying herself to follow the same story, whatever is added or omitted. It is important for the narratives to match.
Peter eats.
It doesn't matter that he feels no real appetite or enthusiasm for his food.
The body needs it, and besides, it would be a sin to waste it.
So Peter eats, and while acknowledging the inspector, does wait for Lady Grey to begin speaking.
Although she was less disturbed by those events that had shaken her household, she by no means was unaffected. She sleeps more than most, but even still, dreams of the terrors of Arabia and Egypt wake her. At times, the lifeless eyes of Mr. Wainwright wake her as well.
During the hour of her watch, she even feels so disturbed she can not still bring herself to read the note of her father, but instead sits praying the whole of the morning for wisdom, guidance, and insight into the character of wicked men.
At breakfast, she is charming, as if she were not tired at all. Only the attentive eye would catch her blinks somewhat lasting longer than normal. She had a fight with her mother that morning before breakfast, so her mother is silent there at the table except if asked something directly. Surely there will be a fight later with her uncle too. With Lucia and Peter, she will invoke conversation to ease her own mother's mind, but it is clear most want a quiet breakfast that morning. By the time the constables show up, her mother has retreated upstairs to the solitude of her room.
"Inspector Sterling, you are most welcome, it is a pleasure to meet you at last. I'm fortunate such a man of your reputation is handling the case."
Her own experiences with the police in her previous cult matter were well known. She will be a gracious host to them both, offering them treats and a comfy chair, but is doing none of it to sway him to be kind. It is just courtesy.
"No, he is not prone to drink," she grins ever softly at his joke. "I will share with you as you wish, though it gives me no pleasure to relive the events of last evening."
"You certainly will be interested to know that the bell had just tolled eleven, and curious for the safety of my fellow man, I entered into the fog and found that there lay dying this man of terrible affliction. I cannot say how or why, but I do know he needed medical attention. I requested the help of nearby passerbys to bring this man to my nearby home. I attempted to stop his wounds and somehow, we found him restored and blessed to live. He is up above still keeping to bed. The only thing he truly was able to communicate to us was his name and something about his eyes. I can possibly deduce he was delirious due to the loss of blood. Other than that, he has slept somewhat soundly, though I think disturbed."
That was all she had to tell him at this moment as it was all she knew for certain.
The cold glare of the elder Lady Grey was vicious during the brief time she shared the breakfast table with each of you. Not a single word escaped her lips, yet her bearing spoke volumes, and none of it was good. Suffice to say, breakfast was a truly uncomfortable experience.
The two constables, dressed in the livery typical of a peeler, quietly sit on the outskirts of the room, politely refusing the offered refreshments. Inspector Sterling, a wiry man in his late 30's with slightly thinning brown hair and well-manicured mustache, sports a well-cut if simple suit and a bowler hat, which he has placed on an adjacent chair. He gratefully accepts a cup of tea, sipping it as he writes notes of Scarlet's account. As she finishes, he takes a sip, lets out a big sigh, and looks up at her. "Mr. Wainwright should count himself most fortunate that you, Lady Grey, and these passersby happened upon that bridge at just the right moment - it sounds like he was not long for the grave! Given both your position within society, and how you've handled yourself in the past, I will perhaps step beyond my bounds to say last night was not the first time I had heard the name of Mr. Wainwright. No, quite the contrary. Two days past I was contacted by his employer, a rather established man, regarding Mr. Wainwright's disappearance. I confess, we had presumed it to be a case of a young man who perhaps overindulged and either walked into the Thames, a lady's bed, or a cutpurse's blade. But this, is all, well, something else entirely."
Taking a few moments to look back over his notes, you see him point to something with his pencil. "It sounds like Mr. Wainwright was pretty incoherent, and of little value regarding what happened to him. Your man, Gelding, mentioned that a doctor had seen to him last night, and was returning today. You will have to pass along to him our regrets. These gentlemen are here to assist me with transporting Mr. Wainwright to St. Bartholomew's, where he will receive the best care available, under the guard of the Metropolitan Police. Someone clearly wanted him dead, we aim to prevent that. Is there anything else you, or your guests, recall?"
After their late breakfast, John invites Mister Westford to join him in the home's small library. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I have to get a bit of work done before we retrieve Jakob and head for the Cirque," he informs his guest as he grabs a pair of books off one shelf and heads for the desk at the far end of the room, "but please feel free to do some reading, or chat- I believe I can finish drafting this document while carrying on light conversation, provided we not discuss anything too distracting." Most of the books are on law or closely related topics, but there is one bookshelf by the door that houses a fine selection of literature ranging from translations of the Iliad and Odyssey to some of Shakespeare's plays and even a few modern works by the likes of Shelley and Melville.
Rising from bed just as the sun is about to peek over the horizon, Jakob starts to dress. He first puts on his necklace and then buries it under an undershirt, an outer shirt, and a vest. He then finishes getting dressed and moves to the kitchen, grabs an apple, and moves into the living room. Opening up the drapes, he looks out at the beginning of a new day.
Taking a bite of his apple and chewing, he swallows before saying out loud to himself, "Well, looks like a beautiful morning. Funny...," is all he says as he takes another bite before finding a seat to look outside and watch the sun rise.
William settles more comfortable into his seat. "Alas, I have not taught for some time now. Due to some...complications with my health, I retired to my family's home. Being out and about in London is something of a recent endeavour. Whether it could be said to have improved matters is open to interpretation, I suppose."
William is silent for a moment before musing aloud. "Connections. Curious. At the heart, the spoke, Scarlet. All but one brought into the fold now."
***
William accepts John's offer of a bed--the rooms he took on the other side of the city are a sad prospect at this hour.
As the dawn light breaks through his deep sleep, William panics at finding himself in a strange room, but quickly regains a sense of time and place. The bizarre and terrifying events of the night before play out once more in his mind's eye. It is not the evil William sought when he set out for Londontown, but it certainly is an incident he cannot leave alone.
Slipping from beneath the covers, William sets out two items on the floor beneath the window: His cane and the bulky package he carried the night before. He slides the long blade from his cane and watches the light bounce of it around the room. Unfastening the paper on the package he reveals an old metal shield embossed with a coat of arms, his family's sigil. Sitting silently, he seems to fall into a daze as he peers at the two objects only shaken from his reverie by a knock on his door signalling breakfast. William sheathes his sword and rewraps the shield in its paper to disguise the odd form.
At the table, William samples some of everything. The food is as good as if not better than Kennedy's meals. Kennedy. "John, in the late hour last night, I fear I was a complete fool. I need to send a message to the flat I am renting. My butler Kennedy would have been waiting for me. He's a dear friend--we've known each other since we were pups--and has served faithfully through my...convalescence. Do you know of a trustworthy runner boy I could employ before we depart this afternoon?"[b]
[b]"And speaking of, has sleep offered you any more thoughts on the matter of Mr. Wainwright?"
Peter replies, trying to stick to the less abnormal parts of the story.
"I am Peter Caffrey, a recent arrival to the city. I had decided to take a walk and ended up caught in the fog. Hearing the cries near the bridge, I joined to see if I could lend a helping hand. There I met Lady Grey, Mr. Wainwright, and the others."
John pulls some paper and a second ink pen out of his desk drawer and hands them to Mister Westford. ”I have a courier that I use quite often, yes. When we’re both done writing I’ll leave these with my butler and he’ll arrange everything.”
When asked about Mister Wainwright, he looks up from his work and raises an eyebrow. ”Well, that’s a bit more distracting than I’d intended,” he answers wryly. He sets down his pen and thinks for a moment before continuing, ”not about Mister Wainwright, per se, but about his condition, perhaps... he said Miss Wriothesly called to him in his madness, and summoned him back to his senses, but the effect seemed not to last, as you might expect it to were he actually restored to sanity... I can’t help but wonder if she might not have some kind of special power too, as Peter confessed to have, perhaps even one of which she is unaware, since she didn’t mention anything after his confession?”
With John's warnings rattling in her mind as the Inspector speaks, she nods graciously in an understanding of his explanation. He likely wouldn't have revealed such information were she just any person. It seems her insights were founded correctly and that he was taken earlier.
"That is completely understandable, Inspector. If someone truly did intend to kill him, the last place I would want them to come would be to my home to finish the job. It would do well to keep his survival a secret, for the time being, I should think," she nods with a charming smile. "I can only tell you further that he was quite taken with Ms. Wriothesly's voice last night during the care of him, so if you are having difficulty calming him, or cannot produce speech from him, then perhaps she can aid you...if she does not object to the duty."
"I think leaving us access to Mr. Wainwright a smart move for the future of our investigation."
"And being that we have bonded, would you permit us to visit with him in St. Bartholomews at a later date?"
Perhaps the Inspector, being a man of great mind involved her in the affair on purpose. Is he appealing to her for help or just being charitable? If he is an astute man, he can pick up off of her from her inquiry that she would be leaving the door open to investigate this herself. Based on his break in protocol, it seems to secretly imply her involvement. Sensing the end of the meeting, she would rise, unless the constables would have any other questions for her. She tries to gauge their intentions and direction.
The two uniformed officers seem rather uninterested in the day's events, and are content to sit toward the back wall patiently. Inspector Sterling, on the other hand, is trying to present an air of cordial apathy, but seems in fact far more interested in this case that has been the norm in police officers you have previously encountered.
Inspector Sterling jots down a couple brief notes as Peter shares his brief recount. He's seems to accept your words as sincere, "Mr. Caffrey, you hail from Ireland, from Ulster if my ears serve me. A small town south and west of Belfast I should think. Welcome to our great city, my apologies that your first memorable moment was one of such a vile nature."
He picks up his tea and sips again, turning toward Lady Wriothesly. As Lady Grey describes the calming effect of Lady Wriotesly's voice, he quirks his head. "Her voice, you say? Lady Wriothesly is it? Well, sounds like you have the tongue of a magical song bird if you can calm a man's broken mind. I will pass information along to the doctor's at St. Bartholomew's. And yes, I will put in a request for you to be able to visit - I doubt you would have gone through all the effort to save him if you were his assailants. And on that note, if no one else has any more statements to share or questions to ask, I will have these gentlemen retrieve Mr. Wainwright and see him safely delivered into the hands of St. Bart's. Mr Caffrey, it has been a pleasure. Lady Wriothesly and Lady Grey, may you be blessed, and may the horrors of last night's travesty escape your mind quickly. Good day."
You can tell that, though he is doing a good job to present a calm, cordial front, Inspector Sterling is actually quite nervous regarding this case. You are uncertain if he is holding something back, or if its simply the horrific nature of the crime. It is possible he is open to you lending an eye to the case, though he is most certainly not inviting you to do so.
With a bow, the Inspector and the Peelers rise and meet up with Gelding, who leads them upstairs to collect the still unconscious Mr. Wainwright. Several moments later, they lead him back downstairs and out the front door to a waiting carriage.
"Fair play to your ears, Inspector! You are quite correct.", Peter replies, not hiding his respect for a good ear for accents.
When the peelers leave, Peter turns to face the others.
"The other two, it's another day on the job. The Inspector...he seemed keen on this case, and keen to conceal that."
The Inspector clearly is intelligent to pick up on accents. If he proves trustworthy, Scarlet will have no qualms about entrusting him with information, let alone their involvement, however, his hesitancy hidden underneath his calm demeanor worries her. If proven honest, she will have to corner him later so they can speak plainly without his subordinates around.
"Good day, Inspector Sterling. Good day gentlemen," she bids farewell to his constables as well. She'll linger at the doorway in case there is anything they need before moving Mr. Wainwright to the hospital. Her mind strays into conspiracy, wondering if those transporting him are to be trusted but instead decides to give them the benefit of the doubt. To her, it is better to focus on the good in people and that most desire positivity rather than negativity.
"I think you may be right, Mr. Caffrey. He is pained to deal with this case, but for what reason, I do not know." After a brief pause, she will announce, "You must excuse me for a moment," she asks kindly of them with a curtsey. Despite her efforts, she bears a saddened tone. "I will be in the room adjacent--the office--if you need anything." "Father's office..." "I shouldn't be but a few minutes." "Why did I say a few minutes? I could use an hour...a note...now? How?"
With all the bustle of getting ready for last night's party, then the events of Mr. Wainwright last night, him struggling in vain to sleep last night, there was no time for herself. Even rising early to ready herself for the day to have a private moment to herself was consumed with fighting with her mother. She has not had that moment to read her father's note. With all that was going on, it was burning a hole in her heart to tarry from reading it a moment longer. She will hurry along and as soon as possible, will sit down in his old chair and splay the note out with delicate care to read. Already tears threaten to form in her eyes.
"The other two, it's another day on the job. The Inspector...he seemed keen on this case, and keen to conceal that."
Lucia gives a small shrug. "I am not in the least surprised. This is the sort of case on which reputations are made - or ruined. Solving the vile attack on a politician's right hand man will mean that our dear Inspector is looking at the road to the top. Fail to solve it, on the other hand, well... who can even remember the name of the officer assigned to the Ripper cases?"
She smiles ruefully. "I have no doubt he will not mind our investigations, provided he is on hand to take the credit. And if we get in the way, then we will be the reason he failed to solve it. Really, it is a win-win scenario for him, almost regardless of what happens."
She looks around. "Shall we take our leave? We should not overstay our welcome."
Sequestering yourself in your father's office, you move across the room and sit in his worn leather chair. The smell of the oil surface, laced with hints of his pipe tobacco, brings a tremor to your hand and you realize you are shaking with anticipation. Opening the envelope, you pull forth the folded parchment and begin to read.
Charming Last Herald,
There is little I can say about my current situation that you do not already know. As suspected, those which I encountered in the Egyptian desert, that would have seen me dead, have followed me back to London. But what is far worse is that they are neither newcomers nor interlopers in this city. Quite to the contrary, they are already embedded, in the highest of places. The Hallowed Halls of our kingdom now pose a clear and present threat to me. And just as I know whom they are, so too are they aware that I possess said knowledge.
I will do what I can to unmask these individuals, but I fear that I will put my family in substantial danger. My wife would be happy to see me gone, and I confess I bear her little affection these days. But my daughter Scarlet, my desert rose, I pray she stays safe. Should my untimely end come through this affair, I ask that you watch over the lass, and keep her out of trouble. Even if I fail, they may seek retribution against her, knowing how close she is to my heart.
Best regards old friend,
- a Rather Confusing Gentleman
Back in the dining room, Peter and Lucia find themselves waiting for a time. Much of the morning's meal has been cleared away, and the servants have mostly departed. Only Peter's cousin Abigail, who seems less a servant and more a guest in the household, remains with the two of you. Not long after Lady Wriothesly suggests departing, Gelding enters the room. "As instructed, Raj has brought the carriage around and awaits the three of you for departure. Is there-" he comes to a stop, realizing that Scarlet is not in the room. "Oh, pardon me, I was not aware that Lady Grey had stepped away. In that case, when she returns, your chariot awaits." He finishes with a nob, to first the two of you then a second one to Abigail. She smiles warmly back at him, "Thank you, Gelding." and he turns to depart.
In another part of the city, Mr. Bryant and Mr. Westford finish the morning's activities, with Mr. Bryant mostly processing mundane legal documents and Mr. Westford perusing his collection of texts, before climbing into his carriage and setting off to find Mr. Jones. Upon their arrival at the building where they'd deposited the burly man the night before, they find him waiting on the stoop in anticipation.
Truly she does tremble in her hand. Her lips are sealed tightly, but after seeing his familiar writing her mouth bursts open with a sob and sniffles. She can hardly make out the words, but with pure determination, she does so. By the words of her father mentioning her, she is fully crying and not able to stop. Fearing her guests will hear her in the room adjacent, she covers her mouth. In time, she regains her composure and only is able to finish the note by filling her heart with all too familiar feelings of justice and vengeance. The same feelings from when he died initially.
"This note was intended for someone. Someone that he never was able to send it to...or didn't to spare them knowledge. His "Charming Last Herald". Aww...He left a clue. I love you father."
Scarlet tucks away the note in her bag and wipes her eyes clear for some time. Fearing too long of a time has passed for a quick read of a letter, she tries to regain her composure, although it is infinitely possible the three of them heard her crying at some point from all the sniffling she was doing. As she enters, her eyes are clearing, but still red and her cheeks and chest are flush red while her skin looks sapped of life.
Her voice breaks as though it cannot work properly, "I'm sorry for stepping away..." In time, she corrects her tonal errors and continues. "I do hope you haven't been too long missing my presence. How is everything here?"
"C.L.H." she tries to recall someone by those initials in her father's notes and among their family connections. Even among people she knows or has read about.
Having completed his work, and his conversation with Mister Westford John grabs a small basket with a cloth covering from next to the door and leads his guest out to a waiting carriage. Once they have successfully retrieved Jakob, he informs the two men, "Lady Grey said we should meet 'after lunch' so, even though we took breakfast rather late, I took the liberty of having my butler pick up some Cornish pasties for us. Please, help yourselves; if today is anything at all like last night it might be a while before we're able to sit down to dinner." With that, he removes the cloth covering from his basket, takes a pasty for himself and offers the basket to the other two men.
Jakob 'jumps awake' as he finds that he had fallen asleep in his chair. He then rises and decides to gather a few things to take with him. Once he finishes with that, he throws the backpack over his shoulder and heads downstairs and out of the building into a brisk morning. "Nice morning to be sure." He then finds a seat and waits for the barrister to arrive.
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Accepting the lawyer's offer, "Thanks, guv. All I've had this morning is an apple. This is much appreciated." He nods, grinning as he takes a bite.
Lucia looks initially concerned at Scarlet's momentary loss of composure, but swiftly realises that she is trying to hide it. Prying would be bad manners. She does however make a mental note of the fact.
She quickly gives the required polite reply to Scarlet's enquiry. "Everying here is fine, thank you. I am greatly obliged for breakfast, the sort of food I have not had in some time. But I am keen not to trespass any longer on your hospitality, or that of your family. Shall we away?"
Scarlet can read her friend's eyes. She knows and understands that she looks troubled, but can't do anything about it. Sometimes composure is impossible, even for the elite. She is thankful for Lucia's manners, however, she would be comfortable sharing with her regardless. With Abigail and her cousin there, she too would be comfortable. While Peter is not family, his cousin is, and so by relation, she trusts him more than a stranger.
"It is an absolute pleasure to have you both here. You could not trespass upon me even if you stayed a year in my home." It is clear she has been in need of some new company. Abigail seems to agree. With just the two girls alone in a house can be quite boring at times, and often they mingle with the servants to some degree. Having people of class and of outside friendship provides new conversation and life into the mix.
Hearing the horses kick and stamp outside, she assumes that Lucia's comment about leaving is connected to an event that happened as she was occupied in the adjacent room. Raj must have arrived, she deduces.
"I say we hurry along!" she pipes out in a delightful tune, possibly to hide her own discomfort and to counter the saddened feelings in her heart. She will make way to grab her things and her parasol (or umbrella if it is going to rain that day) and with the others, proceed to the large carriage.
you search your mind but cannot recall a colleague or friend of your father who bears those initials.
John, William, and Jakob have only been waiting a few moments when the carriage bearing the ladies and Mr caffrey arrives outside your intended destination. For an establishment that was already gaining a wildly notorious reputation amongst the high circles of society, the Cirque du Chuchoter is a rather unimpressive building. Three stories tall, the top two are occupied by flats of some sort, leaving only the first floor for the venue. The building itself is bland enough that it simply blended into the street, and only a simple sign hung above the door denoting the business. 'Perhaps there is more to see within,' you each think to yourself as you approach.
Sadly, the interior is only slightly more impressive than the exterior. Inside you find a simple tap room with limited decorations, perhaps a dozen tables, and a handful of stools along the bar. Toward the far end there is a simple stage that could hold three or four performers, though only one occupies it currently as he lazily tunes a violin. The dimly lit space smells of stale smoke, and staler beer. A few regulars sit at the bar, already halfway through drowning their sorrows.
The barkeep, for his part, seems a lively fellow. A good measure below six feet, he is by no means a large man, though his thick chest and exposed forearms suggest a capable physique. He is mostly bald on top, with large brown mutton chops on either cheek. He is laughing away a comment from one of the regulars as he looks up to greet you. "AH, Lords and Ladies! WELCOME to the CIRQUE du CHUCHOTER! I am Hartly, a purveyor of the most fine and endulgant libations your soul may desire. Come, how many I be of service to you?"
You recognize the barkeep Hartly as having been a barkeep at a couple bars across Whitechapel in years past.
Narrowing his eyes in recognition of the bartender, Jakob walks up to the bar. "Hartly, huh? Man it has been a time, mate. I don't believe we've ever officially met but I've seen you around over the years. You worked a bar or two in Whitechapel several years back I believe. Name's Jakob and I'm 'keep at the Horn of Plenty. Probably not as upscale as this place," he mentions as he looks around, "but it pays the bills. That was you, right? I'm not misremembering am I?" he asks just to be sure.
Descending from the carriage, she will proceed to the door. Being a lady, she will let the servant or Peter get the door for her as is proper. She then will enter in and a curious look continues to grow on her face. "What is fascinating about this place? Perhaps things pick up in the evening?" she thinks to herself, although her face hides it.
Delight takes her at the flamboyant introduction of their host. "A friend mentioned this place, and I have heard tales of the enjoyment of those who come here. It is my first time." She looks off for a moment as if to survey the location as a noble would, but then would look back to their host perhaps quicker than most nobles would--to catch him in a secret look if he has one.
She will try to get a read on him on what he thinks concerning her statement, if it is a good thing, if he intends to try to take advantage of her, if there is a hint of worry in his eye. Whatever the case may be. She also tries to think if she has heard of this man's name in connection anywhere.
Before departing the carriage, John makes sure that Jakob gets at least one more pasty. As they enter the rather unimpressive bar, the barrister struggles to remember why they are even there.
last night feels so muddy... Wainwright was here, right... what did he say about it... drinks with some friends... was this the last place he remembered... I don't remember what he said, he just kept mentioning the eyes... human eyes, probably, not the... not what clouds my memory... things must pick up after a certain time... with an introduction like that, this Hartly fellow must be the chief barkeep, best get on his good side if we want information...
John smiles and nods to the man behind the bar as he and his associates approach. "All of our first times, actually," he adds to Scarlet's statement. Then, acknowledging Jakob, he continues "but it sounds like it's far from your first time behind a bar. Perhaps we could entrust our first time to your experienced hands. Does the Cirque have a particular specialty, or might there be a drink that you'd especially endorse?"
Hartly looks at Jakob as he makes the connection to the barkeep's past. He seems to ponder something for a bit, then with a chuckle. "Oh, yes, that was me alright! Here is not much difference from there - wealthy or poor, they all make arses of themselves, to be sure. You've been at the Horn for quite some time, haven't you? Why, if my memory serves me, you were tending bar when all those unfortunate lasses got taken by Jack, right? Terrible business, that it was. You poured a good pint back in the day, I'm sure you do know as well."
Turning toward the society woman accompanying the the rugged barkeep, Hartly for the first time takes stock of the dynamic group before him. "Lady, I must confess, if you are looking for the more flavorful entertainment we offer, that tends not to begin until after the sun has dipped and the devils come out to play. But I can offer you a concoction most delicious, and summon up a bit of music, if you'd like."
You have heard nothing of the barkeep Hartly, though he seems a friendly, outgoing businessman who is hoping to draw in your group for a bit of business. Of the Cirque du Cuchoter, you have heard decidedly more. It is one of the places to be seen in fashionable modern society, though not by those feint of heart. It's performances have ranged from renowned singers and poets to political firebrands and social discidents, and from the avant garde to the downright offensive. The establishment is owned by the bombastic Garrett, Lord Edrington, a Scot of undetermined birth from the Highlands. But you have also heard rumors that the widowed Countess Evelyn Craven (herself now the matriarch of the Craven family and the co-heiress of the late Viscount Barrington) was involved in some way. Given her wealth, perhaps as a financier.
As Mr. Bryant's questions follow on Hartly's own words, he smiles wider. He seems receptive to your banter and runs with the line. "Given our nature as the place to be seen in London at the moment, it is only right and proper that we offer a wide selection of beverages for our discerning clientel. We have a lengthy list of the best whiskys Ireland and Scotland have to offer, a multitude of the finest gins and brandys, vodka from selections from the first through third growths of Bordeaux, and countless other wines, apertifs, and cordials for you to enjoy. And, of course, a good pint of ale. But, if you are looking for a drink to rise your spirits from the dead, then might I tempt your passions with a Necromancer? It is not for the weak of constitution, but combines the finest wormwood absinthe with a bit of citrus, elderflower distilled liqueur, and just a touch of london Gin. Quite intoxicating."
At the mention of Jack the Ripper, she shifts uneasily and looks to Jakob. "Perhaps he knows someone who was murdered?" she poses to herself, unsure of why he would be reflecting before. Ever the inquisitive mind she is.
"That is a shame," she feigns ignorance to Hartly regarding them being busier at night. "I do hope you can summon something for me. Your violinist seems to be preparing." "I get the sense that he is told to inspire the feeling of evil and dread upon us. His words: Sun being dipped, devils come out to play, spirits from the dead, tempt your passions? All quite devious and dark."
She moves away from the bar and toward the tables. Will she be seen in such an establishment as this? If curiosity is her motive, sure. Being a regular customer, however, might reach her uncle's ears, and then she may get slapped down by his words.
Being that they were public tables and she will be sharing a seat with commoners and those of the lower class she mingled with last night, she will sit in a prominent spot, not too close to the stage, and not too far away. Her parasol she sets down next to her.
Scarlet will not order something from a bar, not in an establishment such as this, but if a waitress or waiter is moving about, she will have them get her some gin. Simple gin. Otherwise, she is fine not drinking.
"Perhaps we should have come later?"
too early to see what the place is truly like, it seems... still, better for chatting with the staff I'm certain... normally I'd assume all this talk of devils and necromancers was for show, but given Mister Wainwright's ordeal, I can't help but wonder if there isn't a kernel of truth to it... perhaps it's meant purely for show but someone else has taken it as an opportunity to engage in something more diabolic unnoticed...
"I fear it may be a bit early in the day for a necromancer," John answers with a chuckle, "perhaps a snifter of brandy... Rémy Martin... I'll trust you to choose the bottle. I may return tonight to try your specialty, but as 'the place to be seen in London' right now, is there anything I should know before braving the crowds: days or times when it might be simply impossible to get in; friends--new or old--who might be able to ensure entry; any particular sins the devils will not tolerate, or most hope to tempt one with?"
Upon hearing Hartly mention Jack, one might notice Jakob's jaw jump due to the clenching of his teeth. As the large bartender's attention turns toward the others, Jakob uses that to escape and find a table to sit at. He chooses a table somewhat nearby Scarlet so as not to promote any misunderstandings.
As he sits with his hands in his vest pockets, his brow furrows in thought a moment. Necromancer? What in the bloody hell is that? I've never heard of that. They must be creating new drinks or something. Could've come up with a better name.
This isn't an establishment Lucia has much experience with: it's become fashionable too recently for her to have visited it in her previous life, and is now expensive enough that in her current circumstances it would also normally be off-limits.
She keeps to herself, and while the others are speaking she looks around to try and get a feel for the place.
The mention of Jack sends a shiver down her spine, but that monster has not struck in some time. She hopes that their experiences of last night are not in some way linked.
She accepts a small glass of gin - more as a prop than with the intention of drinking it - and seats herself next to Scarlet. "What do you think we shall find here?"
A portion of her heart hurts as Jakob reacts to the name of Jack. She will keep to herself, however. She knows all too well the pain of a loved one ripped from your hands. Lucia takes her seat next to Scarlet and she seems more at peace.
"I think we may very well find new devils aplenty here, although if there is something strange, I do not think it is with our bartender. This establishment is owned by a Lord Edrington, a Scotsman of unknown origins. It is rumored he is from the highlands. It is said that perhaps even some other higher financiers have supplied this location...a certain Countess Craven...but that can't be established. Merely theory."
She speaks loud enough to include Mr. Jones in on the conversation but not so loud for anyone else to hear. Her hope? That it will distract him from the pain. She will even lay eyes upon him for a moment to see if he is listening in to their conversation.