[sylvanSpider]

Rosamund returned his cold stare with one of her own, shifting her eyes only when he released his hold. Upon her release she gave a curt nod to replace the form 'you're welcome' he was due. Mr. Shaw was one gentleman that made a job such as hers much more difficult than it needed to be. Had the wedding been arranged, and at least one of the two parties less attractive or older, she would not have to chastise him so much. As it stood, she became the ghost of the Shaw residence while Miss Barker made her nuptial changes to the property—waking up at odd hours of the night to creep to Miss Barker's room to ensure that she was still there and not in Mr. Shaw's chambers.

Miss Emily, meanwhile, took her own seat beside Mr. Shaw. “The wedding is scheduled for less than two weeks from to-day,” she said, a small playful smile appearing on the woman's lips. They would be able to consummate their love soon enough, and like Mr. Shaw, her excitement was peeking. Being a woman of stature, she was unfamiliar with exactly what that meant—at least, in its entirety. There was a certain sense of naivety that the girl had that others found endearing...and dangerous. All she knew that this meant was more physical interaction. When her husband did not respond, but his face exhibited signs of worry, the fire not seeming to warm him in the slightest. Her brow furrowed as she leaned forward and grasped his hand in hers, giving his hand a gentle squeeze just as her own maternal figure had less than a year ago as she revealed the news of the codicil.

“Ms. Ward?” Rosamund muttered shaking her head, “Well, I've heard quite a lot. Though the truth in what I've heard is questionable.” She remained standing, hands clasped in front of her as one might expect from a woman of her severity. She'd taken on and off again roles as a school teacher, and the mannerisms used in the classroom leaked into almost every aspect of the girl's life. “I've heard everything from her being a witch to a vampire. These rumors are silly, of course. The woman leads an isolated life, gossip is going to be spread about her when there is nothing else to talk about. Heaven knows how the townsfolk of Flint must have their stories. I've always felt sorry for her, that Ms. Ward. I would guess she is more lonely than anything.”

---

“She's just over here,” the man who had formerly introduced himself as Mr. Thomas said, holding up his lamp and watching carefully as though whatever had caused the murder might be found now. “I still refer to her as her, you see. Just because she is now a corpse doesn't mean her soul isn't...well.” he shut himself up here. The man did his best to appear strong, but Simon could see that he was barely holding himself up. He was the young husband of the former Mrs. Thomas, a newly married couple who had been said to settle into their married life quite nicely—one of the ever rare happily married couples that seemed to get on quite well with life.

Simon did not reply, merely nodding his head as he followed the man, stopping as the former unlatched the gate revealing a garden, half covered. Mrs. Thomas had been out covering up her plants to protect from the frost that was due tonight. It seemed silly that such a mundane task would get someone killed. “And you tell me that Mrs. Thomas had no enemies? No one jealous of you for being her new husband? No one jealous of her for laying claim to you?”

“No. None. At least, none that were forward about it. Our marriage was accepted widely as a good match throughout Flint.”

Simon answered that he is sorry for his loss in a way that seemed to say that he was, in fact, not sorry but that he was being formal as part of his job. The pair made their way past the covered plants the body laying right where the plants were covered on one side of her (as Mr. Thomas insisted on calling the corpse), and bare on the other side. The corpse itself was drained of any and all color, save for the hues generally associated with blue or death. Her skin was a pale gray, her cheeks gaunt. Her eyes were still open, staring up in terror as if still looking at the terror that befell the poor woman. Simon crouched down beside the body, moving her head to get a better look at the two neat puncture wounds. Here, Simon pulled out a small tape measure, writing down the exact measurements in a small notebook he produced from his breastpocket.

“And you say the corpse was cold when you found it, correct?”

“Yes. She was cold as death when I found her. I was always under the impression that the dead kept some warmth until some hours after their death...” Mr. Thomas assented, not willing to let go of calling the corpse 'her.'

“And Mrs. Thomas had only just stepped out?”

“A mere minutes before. I don't...I didn't think there would be any foul play. Not at first. Mrs. Thomas was an upstanding woman. I've...I've never seen anything like this.” Mr. Thomas, being a member of the police force, had seen his share of corpses. Of murders, even. But this? This was something entirely new to him.

“You did notice the puncture wounds here, on the neck? They were made when she was alive. The blood, if I were to cut her is entirely gone. Do you see that?” Simon asked, his brow furrowing as he looked again at the measurements—the measurements that fit in the perfect distance of the human canines. This was classic vampire. Classic starved vampire. Perhaps worse. Classic gluttonous vampire, maybe?

“Y-you're—you're certain that all of the blood is drained from her, Mr. Wegg?” Mr. Thomas asked, wringing his hands. If this Mr. Wegg truly did believe that it was a vampire, then he would be acquitted from the list of initial suspects. A list that as the doting husband that he was should not have ever been on that list to begin with.

From his crouching position, Simon looked up at him, “Would you like me to show you, Thomas? The autopsy will be performed immediately following...ehm. This. Is that something you wish to be present for?”

Mr. Thomas seemed taken aback by the question, the wringing of his hands was faster, and he drew a handkerchief to wipe the sweat off of his brow despite the chill of the night. As the chief of police for the town of Flint, he'd overseen a few autopsies in his time, but never one for his wife, and certainly not one for someone he'd been with so intimately even the night before. A kinder creature might have taken pity on him. Mr. Simon Wegg was not that kinder creature. “Ehm. Well. Uhm. Yes. I suppose I should...”

Simon opened the briefcase he'd been carrying, previously thought to be decoration by Mr. Thomas and revealed a large, clunky contraption. “This here is a camera. A new invention, one that still needs some of the kinks worked out, but an invention that will enable us to view the crimescene later through an exact image of this very scene. Unfortunately for it being dark at the moment, I'll need all of you to hold your lights around the body while I attempt to capture the image.”

The capture of the body's image was quite an endeavor. Mr. Wegg had a tripod to which he placed the contraption, adjusting the legs and snapped not one, but three, images. Mr. Thomas had heard of photography, but had dismissed it was something entirely too expensive and pointless, besides. Now, one was being used for his late great wife. Shame he never had a photograph of her living. She was so beautiful, such a handsome creature, now taken too soon.

Mr. Wegg rose to his feet, carefully repacking the contraption back into his case. “I've acquired all I need here. If you will be so kind as to arrange to have it taken to the morgue, the autopsy will begin. I will remain here for a little bit to see if I can find any more evidence.”

The crew did exactly as he wished, producing a stretcher from a carriage that was parked just in front of the Thomas residence and when the corpse was on the stretcher, Mr. Thomas crouched down beside her, bringing his hand up to her eyes to close them, tears forming in the corners of his own.