[sylvanSpider]

Emily Barker was a quick lass and was, as per usual, quick to notice something amiss in her future husband's features. Her soft hand reached up to his hair, her eyes finding her fiance's own. All that could be seen in her own features were concern and worry. Mr. and Mrs. Trumbuckle had done right by her by introducing her to this wonderful man. She'd heard so often of unhappy marriages and was certain that hers would certainly not be one of those. Miss Barker's own heart lifted seeing life eek into his smile and her hands drifted down to his, “Dearest, you're so cold. Pray, come sit by the fi--” She cut off as he wrapped his arms around her and she sighed with the contentedness of a child playing on a warm spring day.

Her smile widened as Shaw held her at arms, looking at his future wife, color rising to her cheeks. As he took her in, so too did she take him in. Mrs. Trumbuckle did not lead her astray when she told her how handsome the man was, that was certain. “Thank you, Mr. Shaw,” Emily said softly, still unwed and still referring to her husband by his public title. “Surely, she won't get much business out there, but at least you will be getting rid of one of two undesirable properties, yes?”

Rosamund had sat watching the pair carefully, her nimble fingers not missing a single stitch as she worked. Upon his arm around the woman's waist, however, she got to her feet. “Evenin' Mr. Shaw. I must ask you to unhand her. You're not yet wed, you know. It isn't proper for a young man to be grabbing a young lady about the waist like that. It just isn't. Further, it's un-Christian.” Miss Rosamund was chosen very intentionally by the Trumbuckles, knowing that the couple were a very handsome pair and would surely recognize it in themselves and might be tempted by that same handsomeness.

“I'd be very glad t--” Emily began, only to be cut off by the blonde creature who now set aside her stitching and clicked her way down the hall, emerging moments later with a clear glass of water. “'ere you are, sir. Sorry about repr'mandin' you earlier, sir. It's just I don't think the Trumbuckles would be pleased with the escort they chose if they found out I let you both get...improper.”

---

Mr. Simon Wegg lit his cigarette and allowing himself to be comforted by the hissing of the match as it sprung to life, the smoke drifting upwards, curling towards the heavens. He was anything but a pleasant man, too lean, too mean, and too unsympathetic. The man was tall, seeming to be missing his overcoat, but it sat over his shoulder, the white of his undershirt and tie enabling him to be seen by any carriages passing this way. Of course, none would be at this hour. Only those like himself were out, and currently, he was alone.

He puffed, holding the cigarette to his face in one hand, the other wave the flame off of the match before discarding it on the street. Mr. Wegg was tall, over six-feet, with dark hair and gray eyes. His skin was a pasty whitish color, not completely opaque, but enough that one might perpetually worry about his health. He was skinny, too, where other men filled out in their shoulders, giving them sort of semblance of strength, Simon remained lanky, hunched puffing over his smoke, and jamming both hands into his pockets. In the silence, Wegg's footfalls seemed to echo and the first flakes of a snowfall began to drift down melting as it hit the pavement.

Finally, Wegg came to the business he was looking for and knocked three times in slow, hard succession. The door opened.

“I take it you're Mr. Simon Wegg?” the man answered, lifting his gaze slightly to look into those cold, gray eyes.

“Mr. Allaber? Yes. I am he. Will you show me to the body?”