Jenkins had co to fully appreciate the inconveniences of the era. Take New Year's Eve, for example. Tradition dictated that a whole roasted goose was the centerpiece of the holiday feast, but in reality, very few families could afford such a luxury.
For one thing, the price of a live goose this ti of year was enough to deter most middle-class families. Even for the wealthy, securing one wasn't a simple matter of money. One had to join a so-called "Goose Club" and pay a full year's mbership dues just for the possibility of acquiring a goose at year's end.
Yes, only a possibility.
It all sounded absurd, but such were the norms of the age. Jenkins had already made up his mind: if he couldn't procure a decent al for New Year's Eve, he would simply spend the evening at the church with the Bishop. There was no chance they wouldn't have a goose.
It wasn't that he didn't want to go ho, but it was customary for an adult son who had moved out on his own not to return for such an occasion.
Miss Mikhail listened intently as Jenkins outlined the plot of his new book. She found it curious that many of the syllables he used sounded suspiciously like the word 'goose,' but the story itself was so compelling she wouldn't dream of interrupting.
The story was a perfect match for Miss Mikhail's tastes. It had everything: courtly intrigue, wondrous ice magic, the pure, unblemished love between sisters, and a strong-willed princess nad Elsa... Though it was purely a coincidence, every elent of the book seed tailor-made for her.
"Please, say no more."
Jenkins was only about halfway through his summary when Miss Mikhail raised a hand, cutting him off.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. When she opened her lovely green eyes again, they were fixed on the man seated across from her:
"Mr. Williams, forgive , but please don't continue. I thought this would be another heartwarming children's story, but I never expected it to be so... Forgive , I can't seem to find the right word. It's simply wonderful! I want to savor the tale properly when the book is released, so please, don't spoil another word."
"Ah, of course. I shouldn't have given away so much of the plot," he said with an apologetic smile.
"But I don't think you'll have to wait long. The story is nearly complete. It should be published by the end of the year."
"That would be wonderful. I hope your new book is as wildly popular as your 'Stranger's Story Collection.' Have you seen the papers recently, Mr. Williams? Your collection has been t with enormous enthusiasm and high praise all across the continent."
"I haven't read the papers, but I have received quite a few letters from readers. To be honest, buying firewood last month was a terrible mistake. The warmth from these letters alone would be enough to get through the winter."
"What a charming turn of phrase," she said. "But shouldn't you be saving those letters? They are..."
"Oh, no," Jenkins replied. "So letters are certainly worth keeping, but most of them are utter nonsense. One read is more than enough."
Hearing this, Miss Mikhail recalled a ball one evening where this seemingly reserved man had shared the contents of so of those very letters with the other guests.
She had to raise a hand to cover her mouth, stifling a giggle to maintain her impeccable ladylike composure.
Seeing his puzzled expression, she couldn't help but doubt her suspicions about a budding romance between him and Miss Hersha. After all, this man seed nothing like the sort of silver-tongued playboy who actively pursued won.
"So, where exactly are we headed?" he asked, lifting a corner of the carriage curtain with his finger and noticing they were gradually leaving the city behind.
"To a manor in the countryside," she explained. "The master of the house is hosting us for dinner. The actual location for our ga is elsewhere, though. We'll have to walk a short distance after we leave."
"A manor..."
In the distance, the silhouette of a large building was already visible. Jenkins knew this road well. He had traveled it before and had run into so... trouble on his way back to the city.
"Is that Viscount Augustus's estate?" he asked.
"Oh?" she replied, surprised. "You know the Viscount?"
The estate, which had seed rather desolate before, was finally showing signs of life after two weeks of hard work from the old butler and the staff.
Servants were already waiting outside to greet the guests, and they ushered the new arrivals toward the manor's dining hall.
Miss Lindsay was the organizer of the ga, but the manor itself belonged to Viscount Augustus. Though it was unclear why he had agreed to host this gathering of young people, the Viscount seed to be in good spirits.
He spotted Jenkins imdiately and, while the others were mingling indoors in small groups, he made his way over. The two n now stood in the snow, the Viscount wrapped in a thick, padded coat.
Jenkins shot an apologetic look at Miss Mikhail. She responded with a gentle smile, gave a slight nod to the Viscount, and then headed inside the house.
"It's been a while. You're looking well today, my lord," Jenkins said, taking the initiative.
The Viscount's complexion had indeed improved since last month. Though still sallow, his face had regained a hint of vitality. Yet even as he offered the complint, Jenkins couldn't shake the feeling that the man's recovery wasn't progressing as quickly as it seed.
"Hello, Baron Williams."
His tone was perfectly amiable as he greeted Jenkins, but they exchanged only a few pleasantries before parting ways. The weather, after all, was hardly suitable for a long conversation outdoors. The Viscount ntioned he would be attending the dinner shortly and remarked that their little "adventure" later on was certainly a daring one.
But when Jenkins pressed for the location of their ga, the Viscount demurred, stating that it was Miss Lindsay's secret and he couldn't possibly reveal it before the appointed ti.
Jenkins watched the Viscount's retreating back for a mont, then turned to the butler standing at attention nearby.
"Is sothing troubling the Viscount?" he asked. "I noticed that while he looks better, he was frowning the entire ti we spoke."
"Oh, Baron, it's no secret," the butler replied. "You must not have been following the papers lately. The family cetery was desecrated. The tomb of the Viscount's seventh-generation ancestor, the poor Earl Abbott J. Augustus, was broken into. His very bones and all his funerary effects were stolen. It's simply dreadful! Who would do such a thing—desecrate a man's remains!"
The old man's eyes squeezed shut as he made a holy sign across his chest. Jenkins suspected that only the presence of guests kept him from cursing the thieves through gritted teeth.
Jenkins's mind raced. He recalled the Life Sharing Alliance and their arrival in Nolan. For their experints and rituals, they had been acquiring corpses through various channels. He wondered if, among the bodies buried deep beneath the earth during that incident with the accelerated plant growth, one of them might have been an ancestor of the Augustus family.
He vaguely rembered glimpsing the surna "Augustus" while gathering docunts in the lowest level of that cellar, but he had been in too much of a hurry to read them closely.
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