Simon adjusted his collar, stepping into the now late afternoon sunlight. It was likely that she'd become active now; he had to deliver an order to the law enforcement regarding a curfew, then it was back to William Shaw's board—he had to inquire on questions he already knew the answer to. Had William Shaw returned at some point in the day as he was occupied. Of course not. But, he had to be sure.

There was still the fact that Mrs. Thomas's body was still available for inspection; it was indeed an option it having still not been delivered to the mortician's from the coroner's. It wasn't necessary, however, and Simon needed to get his priorities straight. The first, finding Mr. William Shaw, seemed to be a moot point. He already knew in what state he'd find him in, and it was at a stand still. He'd need to catch Ms. Ward unaware, in the act, meaning he'd have to narrow down a target that Miss Ward would likely be after.

So, what did he know about the two targets he'd seen? Both persons seemed to be of around the same age range. Children and the elderly could then be marked off as the least likely candidates. One male and one female, though the male he couldn't necessarily pin on her...yet. Then, focusing on the one certain victim of a vampire—Mrs. Thomas. She was young and, though one wouldn't be able to tell by her remains, once very beautiful. Given Mr. Shaw's age, one could assume that his wife was of a similar age—a potential target? Could Shaw's fiance possibly be the next victim?

It seemed there was suddenly a shift in priorities.

=-=-=

Rosamund lay, pale and beautiful, still and growing cold. She was now nothing more than an empty shell of what was once a bright, vibrant, and loyal soul. There kneeling by her side, clasping both of Rosamund's lifeless hands, was Miss Emily Barker, her gracious and kind mistress. Still very full of life, but equally with misery. Sobs heaved in the living's breast, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Rosamund...how dare you go before me...How dare you...” And poison? It made no sense. Rosamund had no enemies, treating even the lowest with kindness and generosity. She was a true, upstanding Christian woman. Who would do such a thing to her? Surely not the sweet woman selling apples? She'd purchased fruits from her countless times before and yet...

Knock, knock, knock

“Miss Barker, are you inside? Police here,” the voice behind the noises said.

“It's open,” the haggard woman croaked.

A man in uniform appeared in the doorway, but Emily stayed where she was, clasping onto Rosamund's hands as if her own warmth could somehow keep Rosamund from the impending rigor mortis. His hand found a place at the base of her neck and Emily looked up with red tear-stained eyes to the officer, “Miss Barker, we need to ask you a few questions.”

Emily nodded, dumbly, willing to answer any questions if it meant more answers for herself.

“First. Can you tell me about Rosamund's last day. Where was she and who was she with?”

“Me. All day. We...we had a late breakfast, and then we went to the town to purchase a gift for my husband-to-be...”

Mr. Simon Wegg was not to be deterred. Ms. Ward was clever; he'd give her that. The answers were there painted on the wall for him, but it wasn't enough to implicate her through the church. He needed to be able to prove what he already knew as truth. He heaved his briefcase over his head, slinging it over his shoulder as he went into the police station. “I need to speak with Chief Thomas. Where is he?”

“In here, Investigator,” a gruff, tired sounding voice answered before the secretary could utter a single word. The referenced investigator now nodded his dismissal toward the secretary stepping into the room that Mr. Thomas was residing in. It was ill-lit, only a gas lamp illuminated scattered documents across the table, the figure to whom the voice belonged was hunched over said documents, fists clenched. “Tell me you have good news.”

“I need you to issue a mandatory curfew beginning now and not to be let up on until midnight,” Simon said simply, eyes coolly placed on the Chief and wondering if the man was strong enough to carry on with his mantle considering the losses the man suffered.

“I'll set my remaining men to the task right away.”

“Remaining men? What do you mean, 'remaining men'?”

“Two have been discharged to Miss Barker's residence, questioning Miss Barker herself. There was a poisoning. The timing is unfortunate, but it's another instance of murder that can't properly be overlooked, not even if your claims are to be believed, Mr. Wegg.”

Simon paused for a moment, bringing his hand up to his chin, “Barker...Barker...Barker...Wait. Does she happen to be the young woman intended to marry Mr. William Shaw?”

“The one and only. But Inspector Wegg, I fail to see how this applies to your investigations regarding my wife, Mrs. Thomas. I...I need to see her brought to justice, Inspector. I need it.”

Simon shook his head, eyes again trained on the chief, “After my investigations today, I have reason to believe that Miss Barker's safety may be in question. Tell me, Chief, how old is this Miss Barker?”

“She is...let's see here...she just turned one and twenty, I believe.”

“Twenty-one, then? A mere two years younger than Mrs. Thomas,” Simon murmured, scratching his chin. “Very well. I'll attend to protective services for Miss Barker right away. If she is the one being questioned now, pray tell—who was it that was poisoned then?”

“None other than Barker's best friend and charge, Rosamund Quincey, Mr. Wegg.”

Her charge? Simon mused to himself, Her death and Mr. Shaw's absence would leave her wide open then, wouldn't it? He stood up, “I must be going. I'll expect the curfew to be in effect within the next few minutes, if possible.”

“Very well, Inspector. I'll see to it myself if need be.”

“That's what I like to hear.”

When Simon was finished with his affairs at the police station he moved into the freshly cleared streets, a lone silhouette gliding through the lamplight. The solitary figure reveled in the silence and the loneliness that came with the curfew. The chill night air wrapped around him like only the most affectionate lover, raising the hair on his arms as the cold seeped through the seams of his jacket. Steam billowed from the man's mouth, taking on an orange hue as he passed under the lights; stark white while in the shadows.

A steady reminder of one's own mortality.

Vampires such as Ms. Ward....they lacked the warmth needed to create a visible breath in this cold. Simon was warm, a human in a world run from the shadows by the supernatural, a human—one of the few—aware that they were weak. In that knowledge, Simon gained his strength. Further learning on their weaknesses, fears, distastes...an upperhand could be gained. Nay, “could” was the wrong word. An upperhand would be gained. Simon would be sure of that himself.

Simon arrived at his destination as the body of Miss Rosamund Quincy was being loaded into the carriage that would take her to the mortuary, a clear indicator that he had found the right place. He walked past the body without so much as casting a passing glance, shifting slightly to allow the police officer to pass who tipped his hat, “Mr. Wegg.”

“Officer Jones,” said Simon, formally.

It was not difficult to decipher which person in the room was Emily; she was still hunched over the now-empty bed that Rosamund had died in, head buried in her arms, her chest heaving with now silent sobs. Simon stood behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. The crying ceased momentarily as the woman lifted her eyes to see who could be attempting to give her comfort. If one could call it that. Even in her sorrow, Simon could see that he was right in assuming that she may be the next target. The woman was beauty incarnate, fiery red hair, untamed, framed a narrow but not gaunt face, her lips and cheeks had a pink color no doubt a result of her incessant tears, and emerald green eyes looked up at the cold looking man.

“Emily, I presume? I am Investigator Simon Wegg. I do not suspect you, and I will have your name erased from the list of suspects. However, I do have reason to believe that you are in danger.”

Emily's eyes were still luminescent emeralds, laying in a field of pale snow glowing softly in the light of the fire. But Simon wasn't looking at her any longer, in fact, he had turned completely and now turned to the retreating officer, “Officer Jones, before you leave, may I have a brief word?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Wegg. Do you need anything else from the force?” Officer Jones was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a deep voice and an equally deep heart. Even Simon with his height of one hundred ninety centimeters had to turn his gaze slightly upward at the uniformed man.

“I am requesting a new escort for Miss Emily here. Given the circumstances, I deem it necessary. Until one is produced, I will work to fulfill that role. However, I ask that you make haste in finding one, I cannot waste much time here, lest another victim fall prey,” Simon straightened his tie, disregarding the woman on the floor who seemed to be finding more and more distaste with her temporary escort as he spoke. Simon continued, “Again, I would like to thank you and all of the other members of the force for your aid in my investigations.”

Officer Jones nodded, even offering the man a warm smile (not returned) before ducking out of the doorway to relay Simon's latest orders. The police had given Simon everything he asked; they were easy enough tasks, but Jones couldn't help but question where his investigations were leading them. He suspected a vampire behind the attacks, Mr. Wegg was forthright about that. But even after seeing the body of poor Mrs. Thomas, he still had a hard time believing that the creatures existed at all. Still, he bore official papers from the Church of England. He was official clergy. So long as his work was in the name of God, he would have the polices' allegiance.

The door shut behind Jones, but the chill from outside still lingered in the doorway, and still in Emily's heart, “Get me a new escort? Just like that? And I'm to have a male as my escort? I will tell you right now, Mr....Wegg, was it?” With an assenting nod from the cold fellow, finally turning again to face her, “Wegg, then. Mr. Wegg, I will tell you right now that I am a woman who is engaged to be married--”

“I am chaste as far as you are concerned, Miss Barker,” Simon responded coolly, his hands once again reaching to straighten his already straight tie, “I am clergy to the Church of England with the title of Head Investigator. An investigator to what you may ask, but I fear that even if I told you, you would not believe me.”

“I'm asking now,” the redhead retorted with a snort. The trail the tears had left down her cheek was still there, but beginning to dry, drying her skin with it. Emily didn't seem to notice, as she'd made her way to her feet, her hands planted firmly on her hips. She did not like the situation she was in, and she wished now, more than ever, that William would waltz through the door. This way, even if a man did try to lay hands on her in an immodest way, it would be the man who would later claim her as his wife. But, he hadn't shown up at any point in the day, and she was beginning to get worried. His morning routine before he began conducting business usually included a breakfast with she and Rosamund, and after business was conducted he would accompany the ladies on a walk down in the park in the down town areas. Today, however, he hadn't shown for either of the usual times.

Simon's cool, gray eyes found hers and honed in, “I am an investigator of supernatural affairs, specializing in the work of vampires, Miss Barker.”

“Vampires?! You have got to be out of your mind, Mr. Wegg! Vampires do not exist, and surely, as a man of the church, you wouldn't believe such nonsense either!” The woman, at this juncture, looked as if she'd been through Hell and back, and perhaps a lesser man, one who didn't understand her situation, would have her committed. Surely, she'd be safe in the nuthouse, though that was a fate worse than death, and was one of the many faults he could find with both the monarchy as well as his church. But, they employed him, and Simon was bound to obey, so long as they allowed him to keep up with his experiments. It was a symbiotic relationship, Simon and the Church, one that probably wound up with more good than harm coming to the world so far as supernatural beings were concerned, but only on accident as only a mere side effect.

“On the contrary, Miss Barker, the Church works to combat such forces as they are of the Devil. It is the side of religion attempted to be shielded from the congregations for their safety as well as their continued allegiance to the same God that created these creatures. God loves all of his Children, you see, but humans are his most beloved—and we work to ensure the safety of his most beloved Children, yourself included,” Simon never lost the matter-of-fact nature in the timber of his voice and he proceeded to explain, “That's why I am here this evening. I am attempting the best etiquette I can muster, and it doesn't seem to be enough for you.”

Emily ignored the last sentence, her emerald eyes never losing the glint of fire, “Very well, then. Supposing vampires are real, then why here, and why me? Why am I in danger? Rosamund was poisoned. This was the work of another human. Rosamund still had all of her blood, and I saw her body give out due to the poisons. No vampires involved. Why are you here?”

“Asking the question once would have sufficed, Miss Barker,” Emily hated the repeated use of her name; Simon didn't mind that obvious distaste, “However, that is where I believe you to be incorrect. I was sent a telegraph late in the evening, yesterday evening regarding the death of a Mrs. Thomas--”

“Mrs. Thomas? You don't mean--”

“The one and only. I had assumed that word of her death had gotten out already. I am sorry that I must be the bearer of bad news, but it was necessary for my explanation nontheless,” Simon said in a tone that said he wasn't really that sorry, only that him having to the bearer meant a further inconvenience for him. “Mrs. Thomas was found laying face-up in her garden completely drained of her blood. This, as you would imagine, is a tell-tale sign of a vampire—either one who was very new and just now realizing their thirst for blood, or, as is seeming to be the more likely case, an ancient vampire who had not fed in entirely too long. Perhaps one who had been sleeping, or again in the most likely case, one who had had the appearance of an elderly, no...no, ancient person—but the work of a vampire regardless.” Simon stopped to take a breath, making his way to the bed that Emily now stood closest too, dainty frail fists clenched. In this break, his eyes met hers, waiting for questions at this point in the explanations.

“That's all well and good,” Emily muttered at length, “But what does that have to do me? Or poor Rosamund?” she asked, her voice cracking on the last syllable of “Rosamund.”

“Good. You seem to be following. At this juncture? Nothing, but further investigations led straight to you. You might as well have a sign over your head,” Simon cleared his throat, “Here. Let me explain. I began my investigations, naturally, with a brief autopsy of Mrs. Thomas revealing exactly as I had anticipated. Now, generally in a case such as hers, the vampire is someone known in town, though separated. They'll be living on the outskirts of town, or even in the countryside, and the locals to the town would likely have some knowledge of such a person,” He paused to take in Emily's reaction. Her eyes widened, knowing such a person—the person that her beloved was conducting business with. Simon seemed satisfied that she was following along, and if she was as quick as she seemed to be, would come to the same conclusion that he himself had, “I struck gold when I came the household that has your fiance, Mr. William Shaw, as a ward. As it turned out, he hadn't shown up for dinner at the usual time, and neither of that lovely couple had so much as seen him since he went out to conduct business with Ms. Ward. It is in his disappearance that I was able to target you. You are the same age as Mrs. Thomas, correct? At least, give or take a couple of years.”

Emily nodded dumbly. Simon continued, “The death of Miss Quincy furthers that suspicion. Most vampires will find in their prey features that they find sexually appealing. Mrs. Thomas, she was described to me as very beautiful in life, as are you. Now. With Rosamund's death, knowledge the vampire has already fed and does not want to look suspicious, poison would be the perfect way to get you isolated. Unfortunately for Madame Vampire, the top of the business is attending to your needs. Do you see why I am here now, Miss Barker? I aim to protect you, and, if possible, retrieve William safely, though I must be honest—my hope for him is not high.”

Emily's eyes widened and she dropped to her knees, face frozen in that terrible expression of realization. Her beloved had indeed gone missing, and he was likely in the hands of the vampire. “Ms. Ward...has him? She has William?” she croaked, looking up at Simon already knowing the answer. He hadn't skirted around other facts of his investigation that she knew of, and she saw no reason for him to be lying about this.

Simon made eye contact and nodded once, “I have reason to believe she does, though she is no longer in the form of the enfeebled elderly woman he told you he was conducting business with. Of course, I did take my investigations straight to where I believe the source is. Ms. Ward's home. There, I found further reasons to believe that she is indeed a vampire. The enfeebled form of Ms. Ward, naturally, upon feeding upon Mrs. Thomas would be rejuvenated to a form of a much younger person, though of course, I use the word 'person' here lightly. The younger person is claiming to be the granddaughter of Ms. Ward, and not coincidentally, the elder “Ms. Ward” is claimed to be dead. A typical story.”

Emily couldn't cry or scream though she wanted to do both. First Rosamund, and now William. She wished this Mr. Wegg had been around before, had been able to stop this. She simply sat frozen on her knees. At the very least, Mr. and Mrs. Turnbuckle were situated safely in their estate in London—far from the troubles of Flint. But here, Emily lost everything and everyone she loved. They were less than two weeks from the day they were to be wed, and William was missing—likely dead.

Simon kept his position, making no motion to comfort the distraught woman and he inhaled deeply through his nose, “Emily. In order to further my investigation, and in hopes of finding your dear William alive, I have to get more information from you.”

Emily did not answer verbally, instead turning her eyes up at him, steeling herself for a barrage of questions. “You and Rosamund went out on the town today, correct?”

Emily gave an assenting nod.

“While out, did you see anything, or anyone strange? Perhaps that you hadn't seen before, or a person that seemed to be watching you? This could be anyone. I need to know, as the suspected would have had to lay eyes on you in order to target you—which would give clear motivation to kill Rosamund in an effort to isolate you,” Simon's voice was calm, assertive. He'd done this sort of thing before, and with the attitude he carried it would be easily believed that he'd done this more times than he'd care to count. Of everything he'd seen, none of it was new anymore. None of it could be. He'd seen everything.

Emily swallowed, placing her hand on the coffee table to prop herself up. She remained on her feet only long enough to shift her position to the seat, being more light-headed than she'd originally thought. His question reminded her of that woman...that gorgeous woman she saw in the market. At the time, she wasn't able to place it, to put words to the feeling she had when they made eye contact. Finally, she nodded, pressing her lips together and fought back tears, “Y-yes. There...there was a woman, her hair was yellow but pale—almost white—her eyes, they...they seemed to peer into my innermost being. I was overwhelmed for a while with this, this, prevailing feeling of guilt and...desire.”

“Desire?” Simon asked, “Guilt? Was it just a feeling, or did you have some sort of vision to accompany it?”

As she thought about it, the feelings were becoming more real to her once again, and she could see it clearly in her minds eye, “I...I was no longer myself, for that moment at least, I was a woman named Isabella. The guilt...it came from abandoning her. I left her alone, drowning myself in a sea of crimson and regret. I...I don't mean to sound melodramatic, Mr. Wegg, these are simply my feelings.”

“I believe every word, Miss Barker. All is as I thought, then, you are her target. Though, I am unsure of this vision you had--”

“It was like a memory. Isabella was me, and I was Isabella--”

“Interesting. This cements my initial thoughts, though I am unsure if this was a trick from the vampire...or if this is something else entirely.”

It was the something else entirely that worried Simon. “Something else” was indicative of something he didn't know, something he didn't have any control over, and that simply would not do. However, his investigation was put at a standstill while an escort was found for Emily. Then, there was always the chance that the wretch would try while he was here, and that was all that he would need. But she was too clever for that, wasn't she? If she hadn't sent someone to scout, perhaps one of her fraudulent 'maids,' she'd've come herself. She would know by now that Emily was being watched. As far as he was concerned, he had her in a checkmate—so long as her attention did not divert to another woman. But no, the poisoning of Rosamund was more than enough proof that Emily was the object of desire here. Why bother with isolating her of everyone she loves first otherwise? Chief Thomas, after all, was still very much alive and well. Mrs. Thomas hadn't been isolated before her death. No, she wanted Emily for something else entirely, and it was likely that she was wanting her alive.

A knock at the door.

Two pairs of eyes followed the sound. “C-come in,” Emily squeaked, trying to find her voice. The door opened and through its frame the silhouette of Mr. Thomas as well as a woman she faintly recognized as one of the midwives of the town shadowed the doorway before they both stepped in. Emily could see the change in Mr. Thomas immediately. He appeared as though he hadn't slept since his wife's murder, dark lines encircling his eyes, dry and chapped lips, a complexion more pale than was healthy even by English standards...The man was a disaster, but he offered Emily a smile nonetheless, stepping over to her and placing a large, comforting hand on her shoulder leaning down slightly to talk to her.

“We're going to fix this, Emily. For you and William both.” There was a pause between the two sentences, one that seemed to speak louder than the words themselves. One that said that he felt her pain, that he was going to do his best for not only himself, but for her as well. Rosamund and Sarah would see their justice.

Emily's eyes searched his before she went in, wrapping her arms tightly about him, sobbing into his chest, “I'm so sorry, Mr. Thomas, I'm so sorry. Sarah was a most excellent woman...I'm so sorry...”

Mr. Thomas, at first, was taken aback. It wasn't like Emily to forsake her modesty and manners, but grief does strange things to a person, and he couldn't say he didn't understand. His arms soon engulfed her trembling body, “Thank you...thank you, Miss Barker.”

The woman who had been accompanying Mr. Thomas stood patiently, hands clasped in front of her. She, though rather poor looking, was beautiful. Long light hair escaped from the hat that had obviously been put on in some haste, framing an angular, almost feline face. That face held in it two ice blue eyes, a straight, petite nose, and small, but full lips. Simon, as this tender moment between Mr. Thomas and Miss Barker was unfolding, took a moment to survey her. They briefly made eye contact, and Simon could feel a shiver run down his spine. There was no explanation for it.

The embrace broke, and Mr. Thomas straightened, cleared his throat, and straightened his tie as Emily dried her tears, “Mr. Simon Wegg, Miss Emily Barker, this is Miss Katherine Hagert. She's the night midwife here in Flint, and has seen tremendous success. In the last three years, not a single woman has died while she was present, isn't that right, Miss Hagert?”

The woman nodded, extending a hand first to Emily who took her hand tentatively, then to Simon who took it with strength. Her hands were cold, but then, the night that she'd just come from was cold. “It is true. In my free time, I read medical journals and I have been keeping up with all of the medicinal trends and have had tremendous luck in following Queen Victoria herself in her methods with her own children. While escorting is generally not a part of my job description, I am happy to be of assistance.” Her voice was soft, svelte—sweet to the ears and hypnotizing to the soul. Emily was taken in immediately.

Simon's face betrayed no emotion, “Very well. Then I shall trust you to help keep her safe. You have been briefed on the situation, I presume?”

“Yes, Investigator.”

“Excellent. Chief Thomas, a word in private if you will?” Simon said, gesturing to the door. The gentlemen stepped out, leaving the women to their own devices. “I want eyes on this house at all times. The women are not to leave, save in an instance of emergency, and none are to enter—save for myself or other members of the force accompanied by me or yourself. Is this doable?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Wegg. I do not want to see another death, especially not one in such a young life.”