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sendforoctavius.bsky.social
Investigator-in-Chief for the good Mr Mathew Bruff, famed Solicitor at Law of Gray's Inn Square, London. Sick of being followed around by a certain author I could name but won't. This is my daily journal.
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Tuesday February 28, 1854. "You're saying this house here is haunted?" "I'm saying this house is *said* to be haunted. There is a difference." Well, Mr Death should know! "I am handling the probate," he went on, "and, if haunted, it's worth considerably less." "And you wish me to investigate?"

submitted 18 hours ago • 2 comments

Monday February 27 1854 The office door creaked open. "Mr Death!" I cried. "Come in, sir, come in." "It's de Ath," the cadaverous old gentleman corrected me, flashing me a warm smile. "Of course. Now how may I be of help?" "If you're free tomorrow, I'd be glad of your company." My blood froze!

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Sunday February 26, 1854. To church in Camden. Pleased to report that Annie's good humour is quite restored. Got caught in a shower along the tow path on my way home. Spent the afternoon drying my clothes in front of the stove.

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Saturday February 25 1854. Mr Carney's fish stall on Old Street was heaving with customers when I arrived. He'd purchased a barrel of pilchards and was selling them cheap. It was nearly 3 before he let my brother go for his break. "I would kill for a hot potato," Julius confessed.

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Friday February 24, 1854. "Dear Lady Braithewaite," I wrote in my finest hand. "I am writing to inquire if you have received any news of that most refined of dogs, your dearest Trudy. A ransom note perhaps?" I chuckled to myself as I signed my name at the bottom.

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Thursday February 23, 1854. "We haven't had a murder for a while," said George. He stood looking out the window with his hands dug into his pockets. I paused, dip pen in hand, and asked him if he missed such grisly affairs. "No," he said. "Well maybe a bit. I guess they're exciting." I smiled.

submitted 5 days ago • 2 comments

Wednesday February 22, 1854. "So it was the servants who used to let Mr Tibbles out," mused George, once again stroking the cat on his lap, "as often as we caught him and brought him back." "Will Trudy be happy, do think?" I asked. "Reckon so, now that they've changed her name to Flossie."

submitted 6 days ago • 1 comment

Tuesday February 21, 1854. Mr Tibbles's former owner beckoned me forward. "So what are you saying?" she snapped. "That until you get a ransom demand there is little more I can do." A ransom demand that would never be forthcoming. The servants had already found Trudy a better home.

submitted 7 days ago • 2 comments

Monday February 20, 1854. "The mistress says you wanted to speak to me again." "It's Rose, is it not?" The nervous young woman nodded. "Well, Rose, we know all the servants are lying. There was no masked man." "But we all saw him!" "You ALL saw him...and did nothing?" She blushed.

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Sunday February 19, 1854. "Miss, I have a small gift for you." I trembled as I handed Annie what Florrie had chosen for me, a card with pressed dried flowers. An iris, a pink camellia, white clover, and a fern leaf. "I love it," she said, though I myself thought it a poor sort of present.

submitted 9 days ago • 3 comments

Saturday February 18, 1854. "Do you think she's been stolen?" George asked. We'd interviewed the servants and they'd all told the same story, word for word, how Trudy had been snatched by a masked man as she played in the backyard. "Of course not. Word for word? It's a conspiracy!"

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Friday February 17, 1854. "Is that my cat?" Lady Braithewaite looked down her long nose at me and then eyed Mr Tibbles some more. "There is a passing resemblance, I admit," I replied. "Now tell me about your poor Trudy. She's run off again, I take it?" "Certainly not! She has been stolen!"

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Thursday February 16 1854. "Will Bertha give them back?" George inquired as he stroked the cat on his lap. "The rubies? I very much doubt it!" "Oh. Then will she reimburse us for our time?" "I could ask her." I smiled. It occurred to me that George had come a very long way under my instruction.

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Wednesday February 15 1854. "The rubies are missing again?" The manservant they'd sent to engage our services shifted uncomfortably where he stood. "Please inform your employer that in my expert opinion they have only been mislaid." He flinched. "Is that your final word?" he asked. "Indeed."

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Tuesday February 14, 1854. Valentine's Day. Today's visit to Bertha not only allowed me to ascertain the success of last night's daring ruby heist, I also got to quiz Florrie, the manager of Bertha's flower stall, about my gift to Annie. "You gave her WHAT?" She howled at me with laughter.

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Monday February 13, 1854. "THEY WHAT?" I screeched. "They're refusing to pay for the return of their rubies," said George. "They claim they only mislaid them." "Do they indeed?" I rose and donned my coat. "Where are you going?" he asked. "To visit a mutual friend of ours!"

submitted 15 days ago • 1 comment

Sunday February 12, 1854. Annie nodded politely but kept her distance at church this morning, causing me to regret even further what I now realize was last week's most indelicate inquiry. Who can I turn to for advice, I wonder?

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Saturday February 11, 1954. Another Saturday free from spying on butlers and light-fingered maidservants. I took some wrinkly apples to feed to the narrow boat ponies along the canal path, dodging the odd shower or two by sheltering under the bridge.

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Friday February 10, 1854. A few quick queries to the major fences led me to the tradesman and his brother-in-law at their Islington lodgings. Amateurs both, they had only heard whispers of a person named Bertha. "She won't allow you to sell the rubies," I told them. "You'd do best to return them."

submitted 18 days ago • 0 comments