Forgive me for this – it was too tempting to start off on a completely mad foot. It might be, in one or two cases, a bit far-fetched, but I figure that if there are people like Captain John Porteus who abuse power, why not just make a story out of someone else who abuses power, only in a much less serious manner? It’s not as great as the last one I wrote (I’m not sure who else has read that one about Oroonoko, but I know Dr. Jones did), but it’s still quite a laugh.
Sept. 9
Dear Diary,
On September 9 1700 I, William Duell of His Majestie’s Secret Service, was called bi my Superier, the rigt Honerable Sir Marquis Baron Lord Thing Famous, and commited to a case of most henius murder. And… …
Forgiv me, my Wif has just told me of my henius speling. I shal contact a scrib.
Later that Day…
On Sepember 9 1700 y, Wilam Dul, of His Magesty’s Secet Sevice, ws…
Forgiff me, I hav justt sacked the scrib.
Later that Day…
On September 9, 1701, I, William Duell of his Majesty’s Secret Service, was called by my Superiour the Right Honourable Sir Marquis Baron Lord Thing Famous and committed to a case of most heinous murder. Apparently the Earl of Somerset’s daughter had gone missing, and had been missing for many days; the coachman was chief suspect and was already in custody at Newgate, but protested innocence. Indeed I was sure the man was innocent because I knew his third cousin twice removed on his mother’s side and he was an upstanding gentleman. I was not alone in my opinion however: Sir Famous was suspicious to the farthest extent that something much more sinister and nefarious was underlying the supposed murder of the Earl of Somerset’s daughter.
I began with clearing the coachman. A thorough questioning as to where he had been what he had been doing and why he had been doing what he had been doing which was then corroborated by the rest of the staff at the Earl’s mansion placed the coachman in the bathtub (a rare occurrence, no doubt, considering his smell) with the Earl of Somerset’s wife and the family dog there munching on the family cat. Soon the coachman, wife, and dog will be executed for treason, and I have dispatched letters to investigate the coachman’s third cousin twice removed on his mother’s side who might not be a very upstanding citizen at all.
The coachman cleared, I had to start from scratch.
Later that Day…
My scribe and I have just returned from examining Somerset’s palace gardens and I believe my superiour Sir Famous was right in suspecting that something was very alarmingly wrong. Having spent merely a few minutes in the gardens where the daughter was last seen I noticed a sight of sheer terror: someone had dropped a massive statue of Hades right in the center of it. I questioned the Earl about this and he told me that he had no clue whatsoever what was in his garden but was sure that a statue of Hades was indeed very suspicious. Necromancy was afoot.
Sept. 10
Dear Diary,
I have only hired my scribe from 10 in the morning until 7 at night, so I shall have to relate now the clue I struck upon last night. I was on my way home when I was called aside by a strange-looking man dressed in a black robe and told me that he was an Anglican monk (so God Save the Church of England) who was himself searching for a pack of resurrectionists who had been stealing corpses from his church grounds. We came to a small country house which I opened in the name of his Majesty and upon searching it we did find various books on midwifery and herbology. We had but searched for a few minutes when we were rudely interrupted in our rummaging by the lady of the house called Elizabeth Chivers who we proceeded to question. She told us that she was a midwife. Clearly, she was a ressurectionist.
One of the band of necromancers in jail, I wrote my superiour Sir Famous and he wrote the Mayor and the Mayor told the Church and before we knew it the people of England were roused in a massively righteous riot against Elizabeth Chivers for the art of necromancy and ressurectionism, but there was still a murderer out there and a body to be found! So today, I go to search for the body.
There was something about the peculiar disappearance of the daughter by the statue of Hades so I decided to go and search the rest of the gardens in the surrounding area for a statue of similar mythical proportions. I found two hundred such statues so I decided to narrow it down to statues that pertained only to Pluto and his underworld ilk and found myself staring at a very mythical description in stone of the Furies which belonged to the Countess of County Kent. I charged into her house on suspicions of murder and flew right through to her personal chambers where I found her arched like a Vampire over the body of her own daughter who was quite clearly dead and had on a very nice dress for being so dead. It was clear that the Countess was drawing the soul of her very own daughter for the uses of most detestable necromancy and that she would not stop unless I dragged her most highness-…ness in! Her daughter had apparently died of consumption. Likely story.
Sept. 11
All of England was awash in scandal as they watched a Countess tell us of her wide network of necromancers. There were people from all rungs of life and I spent most of the day dragging in the sum of his Majesty’s subjects but in the end the court trial was swift and England’s good people wrested the necromancers from the clutches of authority and did bludgeon them to death themselves and this day was made into a public feast day because such a great evil had been overcome by the unimpeachable system of English law.
This evening, after dark, while I was taking a little victory walk down the side of the dock I ran into the Earl of Somerset’s daughter walking arm in arm with some Italian fop and I said to myself, I said, “My, why ruin a good day for England?” and I popped them both on the back of their heads and threw their bodies in the ocean. The lighting of the area was so bad that the city watch that stood not twenty paces off couldn’t see what had happened and he was neither capable of seeing for I knew the man and he was, forgive the colloquialism, blind as a bat as most of our blesséd watch are. In that way, I not only solved the mysteries, but made England’s glorious day remain unblemished.
Okay, you have to buy me a new chair.