The Scythe of London Grief

Something is happening in the shadows. They got rid of Thomas and Linas corpses, making it seem like the Marquises death was one planned.

I retreated from the room and walked to the place where I had killed Thomas. As expected, the place was devoid of any blood. The carpet had been removed, likely because they could not clean off the bloodstains in time. But the stench of blood was unmistakable.

I am not crazy. I did kill him.

Rushed footsteps came towards me, and a hurried by, hitting my shoulder. I spun around to find the Marchioness running towards the study.

"Myra."

I turned in the direction of the voice and found a pale Bessie.

"Did you see?" She asked her voice quivering.

"Yes," I solemly answered.

"I cannot believe... Who could be so cruel? I do not know what grudge they have towards the marquessate... This..." Her words were cut off by a sob.

I moved forward and patted her shoulder, hugging her. "Im sure the Peelers* would find the culprit."

"I hope they do."

Bessie then leaned in, whispering, "I hear the culprit is the same person who killed that unknown corpse that day."

"What?" The shock that was apparent in my voice was a genuine one.

"Yes, I know, shocking. I also heard that body belonged to a noble."

"But Bessie, how do you know this?"

Bessie hesitated for a moment and then said, "I know the wife of the Peeler incharge of this murder."

But the Peelers haven come to the mansion yet. How did she connect the dots?

I need to leave. They will soon find out I was not with Charlotte during the time of the murder.

Charlotte... Bollocks I need to inform her.

"Excuse me, Bessie. I need to inform milady about this."

"Go ahead, don be harsh on that poor child."

Nodding, I made my way to Charlottes bedchamber. It seemed that the word has spread, I came across several whispering servants. I knocked at the door, "Its me, Milady. May I enter?" "Of course." I pushed open the door and was greeted by the sight of a confused Charlotte sitting upright on her bed. She stared at me expectantly. "Milady, Ive something to tell you."

She frowned, "What is it, Myra?"

I took a deep breath before continuing, "You must prepare yourself."

"Myra, you are scaring me. What is it?"

"The Marquise is " There was silence. And I continued, "He was discovered this morning by one of the servants."

Charlotte blinked her innocent blue eyes that resembled a person from my past so much. So much that my heart squeezed in agnoy.

But Lucia will never have such innocent eyes.

Charlotte laughed. "That is a very bad j-"

She stopped abruptly when the smile disappeared from her face.

"No. Please." Her voice wavered. Tears were welling up behind her eyelids. My heart skipped a beat. I never thought those eyes will ever cry. I fought off the urge to smile.

A scream shook the mansion for the second time. Charlotte began to waver as if she is going to collapse. I rushed over and put my arm around her trembling frame. She buried her head into my chest while shaking violently. I gently stroked her back to calm her down. After minutes passed by, her wails ceased.

Charlotte looked up to stare at me with her teary eyes.

"How do you know hes dead, Myra?"

I paused. "Because I saw the body, milady."

She stared at me silently for a few seconds before speaking again, her tone sounded calmer, more collected than before, "Are there any clues at all?"

I nodded, "Not really. I just know it. Someone murdered him, milady." I delivered another shock to her, hoping to see distress in those yes.

Instead, her expression was void of emotions except for pain.

"Who?" She whispered.

"I do not know, milady."

"Take me to him," she said, her eyes glinting with determination.

"But-"

"Now!" She screeched.

"Yes, milady. Follow me."

I helped her get up and we began our way to the study. Most of the servants had dispersed, leaving behind a few of Charlotte didn acknowledge them. We went inside the study and I led her to the door to the room where the Marquises body was present.

Next to the body, was the Marchioness. She was seated on a chair, hands clasped together tightly as if trying to keep herself steady. Her cheeks were stained with tears. Beside her stood Georges, the assistant butler. He was gazing at the floor, looking as if he doesn want to look anywhere else but his shoes.

We stopped in front of the body. Charlotte gasped as she stared at it. The only thing that broke the stillness were sniffling sounds coming from the Marchioness. The tears streamed down her pale face and her lips trembled, but no sound came out of them.

Charlotte took a shaky breath, and placed a hand on her fathers cold skin. Her eyes filled with unshed tears. She closed them tight and let loose a sob. Her shoulders trembled, a soft whimper escaped her lips, followed by another one. Then she turned her head and retched. I handed her some tissue which she used. I watched as she wiped her mouth.

There was nothing left to say. It was done. Nothing can be done now. No words can explain the horror that had struck us all. A feeling that you can never forget. That fear and anger that consumes your soul and drives you insane. An emptiness in your soul that leaves your whole being wanting for something or someone to fill the gaping hole. The desire for someone to make you feel alive.

It was as if all of the warmth and light in this room had been extinguished. All of the people in this house were grieving. Some people were crying. Others were quiet, lost in their own thoughts, unable to think straight anymore. The marchioness glanced at Charlotte, her eyes empty. She did not come forward to comfort her daughter. Perhaps she was too distressed by the murder of her husband. A husband who did not deserve to be called human. Like me. As the others filed out of the room, the pair of mother and daughter stayed by the body. I stood next to Charlotte, waiting until she decided to leave. When she did, I immediately grabbed her hand and lead her outside. Charlotte looked shocked at first, but then she calmed down and allowed herself to be guided away. She was silent for most of the walk, until we reached her room. "Where is Thomas?"