Winters' Tales

R.M. Stephenson.

-DAYS AFTER THE EVENTS OF 'THE MERRYWEATHER JEWEL THEFTS-

Humming to herself, Rosamund Mallory Winter kicked off her shoes lazily and sighed, padding over to the biggest armchair in her rather swish London residence and keeling over the arm, relaxing sideways over the chair with another deep sigh.

She was feeling magnificent.

Not only had her latest scheme gone off without a hitch, ensuring another beautiful profit  for her and landing the West London Mercenaries hundreds of pounds and a couple of rather fancy diamond necklaces out of pocket, but Frannie, her hired maid, who was thick as bricks and not too quick on the uptake either, had managed to light the parlour fire and  keep it going for more than half an hour.

Sighing contentedly once again, Rosamund let down her hair and lounged, arching her back over the arm of the chair and letting her head hang upside down with her hair, and the blood rush through the veins around her skull. The whooshing in her ears was strangely relaxing.

Unless you sat for too long.

The door to Rosamund's upstairs parlour opened, and Rosamund herself popped her head up to see what was going on; far too quickly, it seemed, as the room spun wildly and her head felt like it was going to cannon off into the atmosphere. With a slight groan, Rosamund leant on the back of the chair and shut her eyes to stop the spinning.

"Miss Winter, you've a letter." It was Frannie. Rosamund knew she was eternally blessed to have Frannie as a maid-the girl would go about her daily duties through the apocalypse, no questions asked. Rosamund could trail her entire criminal network through their hall in one day and Frannie wouldn't have the brain cells to bat an eyelid.

"You're a dear, Frannie" Rosamund sighed, holding out her hand lazily for the letter. "Now, you wouldn't be able to get me a quick snack, would you?"

The letter was placed diligently in Rosamund's outstretched palm, and the door was closed behind the young maid as she left.

Rosamund gave an ungainly snort. That girl was pure gold, particularly when you were a total freaking genius and didn't  like the general population of London telling you otherwise because of your gender.

She ripped open the letter with her fingers, throwing the envelope onto the fire. It was from one of her main information outlets, a little bits and bobs shop called Stephenson's Ends. She liked naming all her outlets after herself. It made the fact that nobody ever made the link all the more funny for her.

She pouted as she read the start of letter. Her face then contorted into a full on scowl of annoyance.

"Damn!" she snapped angrily at the wall. "I should have gotten those jewels transferred out immediately...Now  where are they..."

She lapsed into a broken silence as she read a little more.

"I don't like this" she murmured, as the tale unfolded in front of her. "That sounds like Isabel..."

She looked up as Frannie came back with a tray of cupcakes.

"Fran?" Rosamund asked abruptly, hiding the letter in her hands as the tray was placed obediently by her side.

"Yes, Miss?"

"Could you run down and get me a paper? Or two? Or maybe one from each company?"

Frannie smiled, the smile Rosamund knew to be the one the little maid used when she thought that she knew something. Which naturally, she didn't.

"You're wanting to do them crosswords, again, aren't you, Miss?" Frannie nodded, beaming. Rosamund pretended to be caught out.

"Don't tell" she whispered confidentially. "People wouldn't approve."