R E Lowell and the tragedy at the Manor

Chapter 1

The home of Remus Edward  Lowell was a charming and quiet place, situated on a narrow, cobbled road. To be specific, his home sat on Beech Street, numbered 16. His garden was the subject of much envy, as aside from his career of darkness, his plants and flowers that flooded his garden with colour were his pride and joy. He loved awaking on days like these, where the sun was shining so brightly through the windows and his plants were looking joyous. Although he knew it wouldn't be long until his plants would die, as it was very late summer, almost autumn. 

He sighed as he noted the forthcoming doom of his flora, and dressed himself in a white shirt, deep brown pinstriped trousers, a brown waistcoat and a black trench coat, along with an ascot necktie and a black pipe hat perched atop his blackish waves. As he exited his garden to find his cousin and good friend, Police Constable Dean Richardson. He was a very tall man, perhaps one hundred and eighty-three centimetres, and rather muscularly built.

 He was very fair and freckled due to his Irish heritage, with a very thick chestnut brown moustache perched upon his upper lip. His hair was short, and stuck fast with brilliantine into a fashionable style beneath his tall, emblemed hat that accompanied his uniform of navy blue, with its eight buttons running down the middle of his stomach. "Morning, Eddie!" He smiled cheerfully, leaning on Lowell's gate. "Good Morning, Dean" Lowell smiled in return "how's Nancy?" 
"Not bad, but she wasn't impressed yesterday when Will came home with nettle stings, thorn scratches and burrs all over him" Dean said as Ed opened the gate and the pair walked down to their place of occupation. 

The two walked through the town, greeting most people as the town wasn't big and they practically knew everyone. As they walked through the market, Lowell saw Mrs Tate, the seamstress,  talking to an odd looking stranger through the glass window of her shop. He seemed to be wearing moth eaten and half destroyed clothing that seemed to have once been grand and expensive, and from beneath his pipe hat it was noticeable that his ashy hair was matted and wild. Lowell nudged Richardson. "Hey Dean, have you ever seen him before?" He asked. 
"Can't say I have. Might be another one of them homeless wanderers" 
"Possibly, but what homeless wanderer has the money for a tailor? Surely they'd just make their own clothes out  of whatever rags they have?" 
"Eddie, I'm not a psychic" Dean said to his younger cousin, tired of this gossip "you're turning into Polly" to which Lowell looked up to him, making his voice high and shrill "Father, why is the sky blue? How do boats float? Why do you have to go to work?" the pair shared a chuckle before entering their place of occupation: Cartier and son's police office and detective agency. 

The first thing that the two men saw was the geriatric Mrs Morris, a very short and frail old woman who had white, whispy hair pulled back from her face in an intricate bun that looked like that of a Greek statue; a style  that had long since gone out of fashion many decades ago. She wore small, gold rimmed spectacles on her small nose, her tiny, watery eyes looking up at them after they shouted good morning to her. You see, as she was so very old, Mrs Morris had gone rather deaf, yet remained in denial about it for many years.  She wore the empire-waisted fashions of the  young women from the reign of George III, sometimes with a turban or bonnet hiding her ivory hair. 

After the pair had shouted their daily greeting to Mrs Morris, she turned to them. "Good morning boys" she said in her worn voice. "Mr Cartier wishes to see you, Edward" she said, pointing her shaking, bony finger at the younger of the pair. Dean looked at him in a way that said "Good luck" before continuing to sign in, so that he could begin his patrol. 

Lowell walked through the narrow, dimly lit corridor that lead to the chief of police, William Cartier's office. He had often wondered what was in half of the doors in the corridor, but he speculated that they were most likely just offices of his superiors whom he had never, and probably will never, meet. Lowell stood before the door for a good few minutes before knocking upon Cartier's office door. "Enter" Cartier barked from the inside. Lowell opened the polished door to reveal a middle aged man, portly in size, with a spruce white moustache and short cropped hair. He had spent his youth on the streets of London, theiving from any unfortunate person that passed him. "Lowell, I will never understand why you must linger outside my door for a short period before entering" the man said, looking up at Lowell. "Well, sir, I suppose it's force of habit" Lowell smiled subtly . 
"Oh, aye?, well then, now we know." Cartier said, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. William Cartier, although a brilliant mind, was infamous for his consumption of copious amounts of alcohol, yet he would never be blacked out until around four hours post meridiem. "I have a new case for you, Lowell." 
"Oh?" 
"Are you aware of the  François tobacco company?" 
"Of course, sir, my father held a strong bias towards them" 
"Well, Lowell, the François family who own the company have been hit with a most terrible crime against them." 
"What crime might that be, sir?" 
"The murder of their only son. You are to travel to Rosewood Manor with Richardson and Ludwig." 
"Yes, sir" 
Lowell made his way across the premesis to the forensic laboratory where he could often find Dr Heinrich von Ludwig, a kind, older man who had emigrated from northern Germany in his youth. 

Lowell found him sat in his laboratory reading a newspaper, clearing his throat to make himself known. The middle aged man looked up, his hazel eyes twinkling in the light behind his half moon glasses. "Ah, Detective Lowell!" He smiled, folding his newspaper and standing up to greet his young friend. "I presume we are to be working together once more?" 
"Yes, Dr Ludwig, as always" Lowell smiled to the older man. 

Just then, the door to the laboratory opened, revealing a young woman standing there, holding a tray with two cups of tea. She had fair skin and a heart shaped face with large hazel eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. Her vanilla blonde hair pulled back from her face in a simple bun. She stared blankly  at Lowell for a few seconds, before walking towards Heinrich. "Papa, your tea" she said, setting the tray down on the stool next to the chair. "Danke, my dear." Ludwig smiled "Lowell, this is my daughter, Elizabeth. She insisted on becoming an apprentice in the field of crime." 

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Elizabeth." Lowell smiled at the young woman. 
"Likewise, Detective Lowell. Papa has told me much about your work together" she smiled back, lifting a teacup from the tray. 
"So , Detective, where are we to go?" Dr Ludwig asked his young peer as he prepared his case of assorted tools. 
"Rosewood Manor, Doctor. The son of the François family has been murdered." 
"Mein Gott" the doctor sighed as he pulled his bowler hat upon his head. 
'Papa, may I come? Please?" Elizabeth asked, clutching her father's arm. 
"Detective, it's your decision" Ludwig looked toward the young detective. 
"As long as you cause no trouble and do as I say" Lowell said, his face stern. 
"Oh, thank you, Detective!" Elizabeth beamed at him, before rushing off to get her coat and hat. 

"She seems rather enthusiastic" Lowell commented.
"She's never been to a crime scene before, her mother has always forbidden it." 
"So why today?" Lowell asked 
Ludwig stood in silence, misery across his face. Lowell's eyes grew wide "Oh! I'm incredibly sorry"  
"No, it is ok, it was just three months ago, and so very sudden." The doctor adjusted his glasses, his brow furrowed. 
Just then, Elizabeth returned dressed in her coat and hat , noticing her father's dismay. "Papa, why do you look so sad?" The young woman asked, concerned. 
"Oh, it's nothing, my dear. Come, let us travel to Rosewood!" He said, masking his grief from his daughter.