Octavius Guy, Esq.

2/2
"I thought you would like to know," the sergeant began, refusing the seat that George tried to offer him, "our bird Peterson has flown the coop."

"He will no doubt resurface at some point, sir. He must if he wishes to inherit."

"Ah." Sergeant Gray nodded in appreciation.

Tuesday December 5, 1854.

The wit of a clerk who led Sergeant Gray to my office poked his head round the door before opening it fully.

"They've come to take you away," he jested, though no one laughed, not even the good sergeant, who seemed ready to cuff the fool's ear. 1/2

2/2
We both agreed that Mr Peterson was now a man to be watched very closely. I gave him his address, which seemed to placate him somewhat.

The big question was how Sergeant Gray had been able to find me on a Sunday?

Had he been watching me???

Monday December 4, 1854.

Directly after yesterday's service I'd told Sergeant Gray all about the plan I'd hatched to unmask Sir John. He could hardly refuse to believe me since two officers of the court (Mr Death and my own employer) had been present.

He didn't take it well.
1/2

2/2
"Let me guess. That of a young man?"

"No." The way he said it so bluntly made my blood run cold. "It was the body of Sir John Geeson."

"Sir John?" I gasped.

Sergeant Gray's eyes drilled through me as the vicar droned on.

"Who wanted him dead?" he asked.

Me, not that I said so.

Sunday December 3, 1854.

The commotion occurred just as we were sitting after mumbling the Lord's Prayer. No less than the good Inspector Gray was forcing his way along the pew towards me.

"A body was fished out of the Thames last night," he whispered as he sat down next to me.
1/2

Saturday December 2, 1854.

As I worked my way through my breakfast kipper I wondered how many days it would be before Mr Peterson's body turned up.

That he was complicit in his own disappearance seemed obvious. What had Sir John offered him? Money?

My commiserations. I had hoped there would have been something positive despite the challenges of your work.

Not exactly, good sir.

Many happy returns of the day, Octavius. I hope you’ve had enjoyable day.

Thank you, good miss.

Cordial felicitations young sir.

Thank you, kind miss.

Oh to be seventeen again! Happy Birthday!

Thank you, kind friend.

Happy birthday! 🎂

Thank you, good miss. I shan't hold my breath.

Happy birthday sir. I hope your day gets better

Happy birthday! Wishing you a safe, successful, and prosperous new year.

Thank you, kind miss.

Friday December 1, 1854.

It's my seventeenth birthday, so I thought I'd be forgiven for doing very little to trace the unfortunate Mr Peterson.

I was wrong.

Both George and Mr Bruff had words with me. Telling them he'd signed his own death warrant would not have gone down well!

2/2
It seemed impossible. Every time I thought about it, it came back to that.

If it seemed impossible, then it probably was impossible.

My brain began ticking over with the two theories that presented themselves...both disastrous to the young Mr Peterson.

Thursday November 30, 1854.

Frankly I considered my failure a slap in the face, a challenge to a duel that might as well have been delivered by Sir John himself.

How could he have whisked Mr Peterson away before six pairs of watching eyes, choosing the perfect moment to do so?
1/2

4/4
It was in that very moment that Sir John must have struck for, when I next looked, Mr Peterson was gone!

Even then I had hope, as I had stationed George and Bertha's young henchmen at the building's entrance.

And yet, when I reached them, they claimed they'd seen nothing.

3/4
It seemed to be about chopping off heads and an old women's knitting circle. So how did cake manage to feature in the title?

A sudden flurry of activity as people made way for the cadaverous figure lurching towards us.

"Mr de Ath, so good of you to join us!" said my employer.

Mr Death nodded.

2/4
The Diorama, across from the Zoological Gardens, was surprisingly busy for a Wednesday afternoon.

Mr Peterson stood in front of a tableau of the pyramids at Giza, stiff and ill at ease.

Mr Bruff and I lingered at the side of the next exhibit, entitled, "Let Them Eat Cake."

Wednesday November 29, 1854.

I calmed the timid Mr Peterson as best I could; Mr Bruff patted his shoulder.

"We will be nearby and we will be listening," he reassured him. "You will be safe."

"And I just have to pretend I'll keep quiet if he shares his inheritance with me?"

"That's the plan."
1/4

Tuesday November 28, 1854.

Mr Peterson, Sir John's third cousin once removed, looked astonished to hear my revelations.

"So he murdered his wife?" he gasped.

"I believe so."

"And he can't be brought to book?"

"My close contacts in the Metropolitan Police say not."

"Oh. Oh, my..."

3/3
After revealing it was her own husband who was the culprit, Mr Bruff became thorny.

"All this on the say-so of criminals?"

"On the say-so of the same criminals you have relied on in the past," I countered. "I cannot prove it, but I know it for a fact."

"Then what are we to do?"

2/3
"Who do you represent, sir?" I asked. "The late Lady Geeson or her husband?"

Mr Bruff's brow furrowed. "Adelaide Geeson, of course. Her parents were clients of mine before they passed."

"Then you would want to know who it was who struck her down? Who eventually murdered her?"