Chapter 1

I have never liked carriage rides, especially those in the country. The mangled dirt roads cause the cab to shake so violently that I often find myself anticipating its collapse. But employment, having a historically nasty sense of humor, has placed me in a position that necessitates frequent expeditions into the areas surrounding the city. If it were my choice I would gladly walk the dozen or so miles to the homes of my clients. But, for celerity's sake I bear the burden of having to survey the bucolic landscape through a veiled window, feeling for all the world like a piece of steak being tenderized in a shoebox.

This is why, when I received a slip notifying me that a new client in the country had requested my services, I had slumped in my favorite chair and immediately set about pouring a glass of port from the decanter strategically placed behind a row of files in the lower right-hand drawer of my desk. Normally, a notice such as this would have hampered my spirits only slightly; but this was only the latest in a long line of out-of-city calls. In place of my normal queasiness at such a summons came a feeling most would describe as either defeat or dread. I had but three days earlier returned from a similar house visit to the estate of some governess or another who had, after finding her husband buggering a servant boy,  wrung her beloved cocker-spaniel's neck and pursued him about the house waving the poor animal like a flail. This assignment had been, to put it in kind terms, draining. I had hoped to spend the rest of the year in my city office, dealing with the psychological malfunctions of the urban upper class, and picking about for a borrowed book I had misplaced some time ago. I had gone so far as to notify my secretary, Margret, to inform prospective clients from outside the city that my schedule was at capacity and I was unable to take clients. Yet, this notice had been in the mailbox outside of the door to my office. When I opened it, I immediately understood why Margaret had made an exception; the figure the client was offering, as well as the amenities provided, were enough to make me consider the possibility of a misprint. I had received offers for outrageous sums of money before, but these were often penned by the afflicted themselves, and my oath prevented me from accepting money under such conditions. But, further inspection revealed that the request had been sent by the head butler of the household in question, which happened to be quite a notable one.

After draining my glass of port, I shuffled over to my writing desk to retrieve a piece of paper embossed with the insignia of my practice, as well as the pen and ink which I reserved for correspondences involving payment. I briefly considered crumpling the summons and forgetting the perspective venture altogether. Even the extremely lucrative nature of the offer did little to shake my disdain for long-distance travel, and this was quite a long distance. Despite this, perhaps due to the urgency conveyed in the scribbled letter, or the fact that this family was one of the most influential (not to mention wealthy) to contact me, I steadied my hand and began to write.

         Dear sir,
    I would be honored to provide my services to your employer. I will set out at on the first of next week and with luck arrive early following day. Please make the infirmed as comfortable as possible while you await my arrival, this is imperative to his health. If he becomes inconsolable at any time during the time I am traveling, remove any potential weapons from his chambers and lock the door.

	•	Doctor J.P Lemon.

This was not the most fanciful of responses, I had penned much better to clients offering half the sum, but the port was beginning to fog my mind and my vocabulary had become limited to but the basics of professional jargon. I crumpled back into my armchair and knit my brow as I considered the implications of taking such an assignment. For most, family or employment would hinder such an excursion, or at least raise some grievance as to a prolonged departure. Alas, though I longed for an excuse to provide to both the applicant and myself as to why I should decline their invitation, I simply had no familial or financial tethers anchoring me to the comfort of the city. Usually, the combination of payments from the various uptown clients I planned to see before I made myself open to another out-call would eclipse any offer made from outside the city limits, but this had clearly been taken into account by the man in charge of the finances of the family contacting me. A brief scouring of my ledger confirmed my suspicions, I looked back to the letter, then to the projected earnings in my heavy leather finance book. The amount on the letter was exactly, to the shilling, double what I had expected to earn in the next quarter (the time I had allotted myself to exist within the city).

I was aghast, the amount of reconnaissance necessary to even begin to speculate at the amount I was to earn was mind-boggling. I resolved not to fight back, it was a futile exercise. The payment had been both a lure and a show of power. I lumbered over to the stack of official papers I had used to write my reply to the new client and fetched a dozen or so to distribute to my previously scheduled clients around the city. I wrote, not wanting to plainly admit that they had been outbid, that my mother had died and I was sought in the next city over to arrange her estate. Had I been transparent with my clients about the details of my life, they would have known that my mother had died thirteen years ago of syphilis. She was a good woman, but she had an affinity for the dark-skinned men that came with the ships from the new continent. I don't know why on earth she preferred them, I suppose I never will. But that is neither here nor there. I had her buried at a modestly priced cemetery, not the most lavish but certainly not the lightest on the pocketbook. The plot was fairly close to the road on the route I took to my work. Every month or so I would spot flowers, sometimes a single lilac, sometimes a full bouquet of tulips. I suppose she was well practiced at what she did. (oi, thanks for reading this far. Working on more of this shit, will post more soon)