At his juncture, the watch captain arrived, being practically dragged across my threshold by the oaf of a constable. It was clear by the good captain’s unpolished boots and unfit physique that he was the one responsible for his degenerate underlings ignorance. I had no particular hope for aid from him and proceeded to convince him that returning to his breakfast, ideally adding in many fat strips of bacon, would be the best course. With the aid of the syncophant constable they commandeered a wheelbarrow from the gardener Jenkins, no relation to my former suitor beyond the stench of manure, and used that for removing the body. While taking the corpse, and giving me disapproving looks at the callous way I had stripped it of clothes and dignity, they implored me to cease with my own investigation and leave it to the professionals. I gave them my solemn word, knowing that my uncle’s staff was quite professional, and I would absolutely have to supervise them.
After their departure, we shut the doors and prepared for just another day, plus or minus, as our morning rituals had been most interrupted. I as was typical of my day, cleaned my equipment in preparation for the possibility of adventure, making sure today to give a thorough polishing of my boots as the puddles were quite ugly. I followed this by a healthy breakfast that focused on utility rather than flavour. One orange to prevent scurvy and increase visual acuity. Hash browns for quick energy, scrambled eggs to yield long term fuel. No jam, bacon or steak was consumed. Today, because of its auspicious beginnings, assuming that a murder most foul is good, I also skipped my typical mimosa as a digestive, instead going for a sobering cup of black coffee, no cream or sugar. After this repast, I did my last morning task, which endeared me to the staff who were deathly loyal to my uncle. Every morning, whether he was there or not, I went to his room and replaced the flowers in the bedside vase and opened his shutters to allow the healing light of day inside. As was always the case when he was on one of his fugues, it was with a certain trepidation that I entered, always worried that, straight of a children’s story, I might find a doppelganger, zipping off his flesh to exit through the window, leaving my of uncle bewildered at another lost few days. This time, as every time before, there was no doppelganger, but there was my uncle, thrashed out in his his bed.
As was always the case, there was no sign of how he had returned, and it would have been mentioned in the commotion if someone had seen him enter. As tangled in his bedding as he was, there was still enough of him visible to see he was fully clothed down to his boots and cuff links. Intending him to be able to gently awake, I cracked the shutters to allow some minor amount of light inside. The light gave a warm rose tint to the room which I thought odd giving the violence of the morning, until I came ot the realization that the peculiar hue was from refracted light through bloody hand smears across the window. My uncle, while maybe being bruised was most definitely not covered blood, neither his nor another’s. I shook his foot, as had been taught me to prevent a violent response, and brought him more hurriedly from slumber. At first he had difficulkty shaking his fugue, but that passed in short order. Once I had his attention, I gave him the summary of what had occured, and confirmed his own health. Due to the finicky nature of some of the staff, he had me wash the windows and burn the cloth in the fireplace. He was most pleased with the way I had handled myself through the events of the morning, and was as interested as I was in continuing the investigation.
We had breakfast brought to his miniature library, where I always remembered him reading bed time stories to me as a small girl. The coffee was noticeably but understandably bitter, as it hadn’t been drunk in a timely fashion, and we never seemed well enough to do to waste what we had. The toast was decent, and the scrambled eggs were superb, the cook seeming to have finally decided to earn her pay. After I finished eating, Uncle continued to wolf down more and more food like he hadn’t eaten in days, and all the while I filled in more details and answered questions that slipped past his food engorged mouth. The line of questions, seemed to lead in haphazard directions, almost as though he knew things that he chose not to divulge. He showed no interest in the markings, though he may have known he would have to see himself, but the dust, the dust in the loft and the pants’ cuffs was incredible import. He needed to know if it was ivory or alabaster white. Was it gritty or a fine powder like from wheat flour? Each answer prompted him to new directions, but only directiosn about the damnable dust. He almost choked, he was so excited, when I remembered that I might have a sample I was going to practice my forensic chemistry on. After he confiscated this sample, he begged off with exhaustion from whatever rigors had been put through the last few days.
I left Uncle to his rest, and continued my day. I went through my normal routine, knowing that tomorrow would hold adventurous joy, and if my fortune’s held, maybe some danger as well. I had doubt though, not in regards to his excitement, but instead to his willingness to take me into a much less certain environment. For this reason, I chose my day’s tasks most carefully. I ran the hounds through their coursework, prepared my firearms rather than firing them, when pressed to go to the market for whatever damn reason, I begged off, indicating how my boots were damp and hadn’t had a chance to dry. This last one not being a lie at all, just an ommission in regards to my indifference of wet feet.