On the usually cheery holiday of Christmas, a melancholy gloom nestled over the manor of the Tulloch’s. As I made my way up to the manor the sagging and dark structure seemed to be sinking into the ground as the last vitality of it had been sucked out that Christmas night. Along the normally picturesque Scottish hillside, there was a gruesome death I was sent to investigate by the mayor of the nearby town, who feared for the safety of his people. As I embarked up the winding road I could see the mourning staff all dressed in black lined up to meet me before I stopped on the grand patio. Swinging myself off of the horse and grabbing my pack I snuffed the pipe positioned in my back pocket. With a deep exhale of the calming soak, I managed to eek out that last drop of courage before a man has to enter and witness a murder scene. Finally, I stashed my pipe away sweeping across the line up left to right.
A lady in black, her face veiled, stepped forward first stammering, “F-f-f-ollow m-m-m-meee s-s-s-sir, I was t-t-t-the one who f-f-found her this morning f-f-from the main staff.” I nodded and briskly followed as our steps creaked across the dank and moldy smelling halls winding towards the main bedroom. She then stopped and twiddled her thumbs before slowly opening the door to the room for me as the stench of death and decay wafted through the door and assaulted the hallway. Nestled on the bed was a lonely housewife clothed in a white nightgown, her figure serene with the only hint of death the rotting ham on the bedside by her table and the flies starting to flock to the stinking cadaver. But my investigation game first, after close examination of the food I could immediately place the offending item that made me decide this was not a mere death, nightshade. I paused to consider the placement of the ingredients in the feast that was prepared the night before from the very same dame who escorted me up these stairs. Deep in thought, I scanned around the room for any more clues noting that some of the staff have already begun erecting photos, valuables, and letters, for the family when they come and say their final goodbyes to the corpse.
Done surveying the scene I left the room bumping into a slip of a man. His sunken and curled in nature stood out against the prim nature of the house guests. I listened as he explained his story as a temporary hire in the house and in her charity how she shared her riches with his poor soul since he stayed around that Christmas night. I sat for a span as he told the story of how he found his new mistress dead Christmas night and started getting ready for the funeral while he waited for the rest of the staff to arrive. Worshiping her charity, he tells how the dearly departed widow had let him in for the night giving him shelter from the storm. Then, when I asked if anyone might hate her, he pointed his finger down the hall at the nurse. “I have heard from the town,he intoned, “she resented the lady for cutting off her contact with the children.” I nodded to him in thanks, before moving towards her room which was rather barebones and worn down with pictures of the widow’s absent children nailed to the walls. Among the floors were unwritten letters with damp tears. It appeared the lady of the house envied her contact with the children. As indicated by the apparent stress of being cut off from her kids she must have almost broke, if she didn’t already. Could it be the nurse cracked and murdered the mistress?
At the last hour of the morning, I left the house behind with one last look in its now decaying pristine garden. As I made my way down the path to the town I was once again troubled with the hardest decision a man has yet to make. Who had done it? The nurse of course came to the front, as her jealous and restricted soul could have easily lashed against the matron. Then there was the new hire, who worshiping the mistress was the only one openly in the house on the night of her death. And I supposed it could be the gardener, whose grounds had some Nightshade blooms decorating the garden. Who could it be?