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It was a slow Thursday. While I was dutifully awake at 6 to go to the local market, and had the house tidied, primmed and cleaned by 8, Miss was not awoken until near noon. So, to pass the time, as She had not given me permission to do anything else, I sat down beside her and read. It was the new Sherlock Holmes novel, The Sign Of Four, lent me kindly by the owner of the fishmonger. Eventually, Miss stirred, and I ran downstairs to make her a quick breakfast before lunch.
When I returned, with 2 slices of black pudding, a sausage, a rasher of bacon and 2 slices of buttered toast, I found Her reading the book.
“I have decided”, she touted regally, “I shall try one of these for myself”
“Try one of what, Miss? A book?”
“No, silly girl, a murder. I want to see if I can be found”
“It doesn’t think this is a particularly good idea, Miss”
“Nonsense, we’ve done it before, we can do it here. No time for lunch, just help me get dressed and we’ll be on our way”
So out we went, Miss thinking aloud of ways, places and people to kill, garnering many stares and odd glances, while I tailed along behind sheepishly. Eventually, She gave up and demanded mental stimulation. Thankfully we were near the library just off Harrows Close, so I could finally get a chance to sit down after hours of traipsing around in the dreadful heels Miss has me wear to bring me up to her height.
As we walked quietly in and made our way toward a nice table in the corner, a woman of around 5’8” and with a kurt expression came striding toward us, eyeing my clothing with disgust.
“Would you mind leaving this institute, you’re providing distraction to our other customers”
Miss chuckled.
“It’ll only be a distraction if they want it to be. I’m sure many of the fellows here would like a break from their work. But, as you wish...”
Just as we had turned the corner and were out of sight of the library, She turned to me and whispered excitedly,
“I told you the library would be inspiration! My first victim shall be her, then we can visit the place again and be as distracting as we want”
Eventually, some time after everyone else had left, the librarian finally came out, locked the door and walked on home, however Miss told me not to follow her just yet. I noted the time between the last customer and her leaving the building, and dashed home as fast as I could in these shoes,
“Miss, it has returned, it has the information you wanted” I blurted, still out of breath and in pain.
“Good. We shall return to that library tomorrow eve, take her life, make our leave and wait to see if Mr Poirot will come knocking. Now, I need something hearty, something that bleeds. Run along before I make it you”
She slapped me playfully on the rump. I would be rewarded greatly if tomorrow went well.
Friday, Miss was fully up before I, eager and full of anticipation. Had it been any other day, I would have faced the consequences of neglecting my owner, but today was different. Today She was on a hunt.
At around 6 in the evening, we were on the same street corner as the previous night. Mistress was wearing a black travelers cloak and a black wig. I was in a deep red similar cloak that trailed along behind me, due to Miss deciding that, for once, I should wear flat shoes, in case of a quick getaway. On a dark dingy November’s night such as this, we were nigh invisible to the untrained eye. Shortly after the final person had left, we swept in through the door and tiptoed around to find our victim.
She was eventually to be found between Russian literature and Maps. Miss signaled to me to help her push one of the tall bookcases over. With a little effort, we eventually managed to get it to topple, and, with a faint little scream, she was crushed. There was some staggered, scratchy breathing as she expired, accompanied with a little struggle, before silence once more reigned. Miss walked over to make sure she was dead, then giggled in the slyly childish way she does best, before sauntering over to me.
“We should hurry on home, if you want to catch your meal”, she whispered in my ear, her tone proving yesterday’s suspicions correct.
Quickly locking the door on our way out and dropping the key down a drain, surreptitiously scattered away, back to the house and the long night ahead of us.
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