After Molly left the library, with far less grace than she normally possessed, I followed suit, and decided to haunt the hallowed halls of my manor. Detecting was a rather faint prospect in my mind, and I was more preoccupied with exploring my home in that new state of being. There was a dull crash at the end of the darkened hallway, and a streak of pity immediately ran through me, for Molly was always such a swan, skimming around the manor, and I have to admit that I was rather fond of the girl and her mild, quiet ways.

Floating around the manor, I found myself perusing objects that in my previous days held far less a portion of my attention. Strewn all around the (sprawling, I used to boast, but it really was rather modest) mansion were all the marks of my being, my life; my unanswered letters, still-open books, tables yet to be cleared and half-finished wine all reminded me of the life that I had, quite literally, left behind. For the first time in my short-lived, ethereal, experience I felt a real sense of loss, one that I thought anyone who really cared for me would feel too. Death, up to that point in time, had not bothered me much, as I was still very much able to experience the world, albeit far more restricted in my interactions with it, but looking at those effects of my life left unsettled, I was suddenly clearly aware that I was taken, while not at my prime, close enough after it that I still had plenty to live for.

Wandering as such, the night snuck its silent way onwards and I soon found Baddleton, looking thoroughly displaced at the prospect of having to manage the house through a murder and having no employer to rely on, heading out of the main doors onto the lawn awaiting some arrival. I followed him out, carrying onto the lawn the same sense of wasted worth that I had slowly gathered in the dark depths of the night.

A black car finally drove up and out came a man, a detective, from what I could hear passing between them. From what I could hear passing between them, however, I also decided to place myself in the parlour to wait for the meeting to begin. As sudden as morning dew evaporating, my mood had lightened considerably at the prospect of seeing the various guests of my household all assembled, and beginning to find (for the purposes of justice, not revenge, I reminded myself, as the vague promises that had stood in my mind suddenly recalled themselves) my murderer.



The various personalities that occupied Graine Manor on the boring night of my murder slowly made their way to the parlour, where Molly, despite her having to deal with the shock of seeing my dead body not too few hours ago, had somehow managed to set a few light pastries in the room for the detective and the inhabitants of the manor to enjoy over the meeting. Looking at the assortment of my favourites that she had gathered, I was thrown into confusion not knowing whether to feel jealousy and irritation or gratitude over the fact that she had prepared such a spread of my personal favourites.

Shamefully, I decided that the latter response was a far fairer one, the decision greatly hastened by some vague memory of pettiness being ill-tolerated in heaven surfacing in my mind.

The occupants of my manor had, during the course of my inner turmoil over breakfast pastries, gathered in the parlour, and I saw each one of them absorbed in their own little spheres of thought the way people do when they encounter great shock. (Or when, as I remarked to myself remembering that some assembled there might not have been too shocked to see me dead, when they just get out of bed.)

Baddleton entered the parlour at last, followed closely by the detective, and I theatrically settled myself down on a wooden chair, and thought to myself, allowing some of my vanity to return, that the investigation was about to start.




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