“Buckingham Palace?” exclaimed Botter, upon hearing me reveal the location of my latest stalker’s return address.

I sighed, as I am partial to doing when in the company of such low-level intelligence.

“Buckingham PLACE, Botter, you cloth-eared miscreant.”

“You what, your lordship?”

I rolled my eyes, and then clouted Botter with a nearby candlestick, sending him reeling in pain.

“Good,” I exclaimed. “At least one of your other remaining senses still seems to be functioning correctly. Now, Botter, go prepare the carriage, for we must venture into London Town.”

Botter, nursing a rather nasty head-wound, hastened away, but not before I had ensured that he had re-polished my recently bloodied antique candlestick.

The buffoon returned a full forty minutes later, having taken it upon himself to not only prepare our transportation, but to also attend to his ever-worsening injury. I made a mental note to dock his pay for the wasted time.

We finally left the mansion by horse-drawn carriage, shortly thereafter.

“To London Town, Botter!” I shouted from my carriage window. “Post-haste!”

February 27th 1856 (closing time)

I don’t recall much of the night’s events, but all I know is that we stopped off at a tavern for some light refreshments, and ended up spending six hours consuming much alcohol and engaging in a bar-room brawl with a traveling dance troupe from Finland.

We were no nearer to solving the mystery.

I did manage to vomit on Botter’s head, though, so it was not a completely wasted evening.

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