I had never noticed some of my uncle’s peculiarities in my youth but now that I had been living there for the last six months, some oddities came to light. Even asking his household staff failed to illuminate some of his outings. On a regular basis he would depart for a few days to research some new item of interest, like the tarnished metal rosary on display in the library or the tome he put under lock and key and refused my reading until some unknown later date. These were his more transparent excursions, for, when posed he would typically give already an affirmation that he had been dealing with sundry individuals of a coarse nature. The other, more deeply concerning, occasions had him departing the house in the middle of the night. He would leave no word, nor send letters that hinged to wellbeing even that he might be gone anywhere from a fortnight to a month on the outside margin. We would hear from acquaintances from leagues away, telling of sightings, but when the claims were investigated, he was nowhere to be found not a witness to testify. Just as strange as his departure was his return. He would wake from his bed with no one being the wiser to his arrival. Often covered in bruises and filth. On more than one occasion we were forced to burn his clothes, so fouled they were.
Beyond this though, it was a happy time. I continued my studies, even going on a very select few of his travels, always hand picked I’m sure both for their relative safety and blandness. Positive that any day he would make some occult determination that I was prepared to be his assistant if not apprentice, I prepared a kit with all manner of useful implements. My rapier and revolver as well as two boxes of ammunition were joined with my ivory brush, one flask of good American whiskey (chosen for liquid courage and for disinfecting the aftermath of said courage), a case of sulfur matches, half dozen candles, 40′ of strong cord (at least it should be sufficient to hold my weight), a small hatchet, one bottle blue ink, two pens, this journal as well as a spare, folding knife, compass, and mirror. I figured I could grab all that at a whim but good stuffs would, by nature, require to be freshly acquired lest I enter the field with only spoiled rations. On his normal trips Uncle never carried more than a valise so I assume he rarely if ever slept in such dire circumstances to require an additional blanket, and if I’m wrong than my standard dress had enough fabric to keep me from expiring of exposure in most reasonable circumstances.
The seventh of March, a frigid day with grey clouds threatening terrible weather on the horizon, Uncle was on another of his later trips and had been for nigh on 11 days, having left in the middle of the night and leaving no message as was typical of these trips. This time there was a small amount mire agitation, as Misses Whimple swears she saw seven cruel looking magpies outside his window on the small rosebush that morning as well as the evening before.
Peter's stuff.