[sylvanSpider]

Simon reached into his pocket retrieving a pair of white gloves which he now donned as he crouched (whistling all the while) and dipped a finger into the tub as if to make sure that it was what it smelled, and looked for that matter, like. It was. There was more than enough blood to have been from several people rather than the poor soul he'd had the honor of seeing post mortem. He scratched the back of his head, momentarily ceasing his song, confounded. Where are the other bodies? This amount of blood couldn't have come from Mrs. Thomas alone...

He stood, placing the gloves back into his pockets wishing there was a way to see whose blood provided this sort of entertainment for, presumably, the “widow” Ms. Ward. Stepping toward the mirror, he checked his face. Yes, he was tired. Yes, it showed. Dark circles lined the lower lids of his eyes, his hair was mussed up. Mr. Wegg was, in short, in the throngs of an investigation. This vampire would be more difficult than the last, unfortunately. She was obviously powerful. Ancient, maybe. A new vampire would have left some sort of trace at the scene of the crime, and would have undoubtedly been slain right then and there, and Mr. Wegg, again, would have been hailed a hero for the simplest of mundane work.

Staring for a moment at his reflection, he couldn't help but feel as if he was being watched. He shook his head and proceeded to look through the rest of the mansion.

=-=-=-=-=

Emily kept with the appearance of one having too tight a corset, however, leading Rosamund to ask her to visit the women's room so she could loosen it. The prior lady acquiesced and the next shop that they visited, that was the first place they went to, a fitting room large enough for two women in exquisite dresses to fit and soon Emily's corset was loosened enough that a much larger woman would have had no problems breathing. “There you are, Miss Barker. That should help ease your struggles. Though, I tightened yours today no tighter than I usually do. Are you certain you have not fallen ill?”

“Yes, yes, Rosamund, I'm fine. I promise. It's just...It's just—I got this feeling. Did you happen to notice that woman as we were entering the last shoppe?” Emily's voice rapidly picked up speed as she spoke, as if there was no way Rosamund couldn't have seen it as well, seen her as well.

“The ah, particularly beautiful one, Miss Barker? You needn't worry about her. Mr. Shaw is quite infatuated with you enough as it is. I have a hard enough time keeping the two of you separated as it is,” Rosamund said with a good-hearted chuckle as Emily placed her hand on the speaking one's shoulder.

“Oh Rosamund, you're too good to me, you do realize this right?”

“Not at all, Miss Barker. Now, let's get Mr. Shaw his wedding gift and then we can set you down in front of the fire with your book of poetry. How does that sound?”

“That sounds very well, Rosamund, thank you. But we must choose the perfect gift, as he is the perfect groom, you see?” Emily's face was flushed now, but whatever “feeling” she seemed to have had before now appeared to be dissipating as she got more excited about the gift.

The two women, seeming refreshed, now came from their little stall and began perusing the shelves of the shop continuing in their search.