07-24-2021, 08:23 AM
(This post was last modified: 07-24-2021, 08:27 AM by Gareth Scott.)
There was no reason for Gareth to do this anymore. He had money now and considered himself a gentleman. He had used the money earned by his horrid little adventure on nicer rooms with a landlady to cook his meals and clean for him, as well as on fancy clothes and a gramophone just because he could buy it. He had invested a large part and used the rest to live comfortably. There really was no need to keep working for the Whitby Gazette and write up juicy gossip - except that he just loved all the gossip. And so he just couldn't help diving into the Carringtons' dirty linen. He could not resist this story about scandal and intrigue, forbidden love, crime and murder, when it had been dangled right in front of his nose.
He had been respectful enough to give it a few days, only writing an article with the obvious facts that the police too had communicated to the public: That Magnus Carrington had been shot dead in a brothel. That it had turned out he was a murderer with a yet unknown number of victims. That the man who was suspected of shooting him had been arrested. Like the police, he hadn't mentioned Miss Pearl's involvement, nor that of her apparent sweetheart.
It had either been respect, or the fact that he had needed a few days to process everything that had happened and stop wetting his bed at night.
But the public had a right to know! And so he had dressed in his old, less fashionable clothes, and made his way to the terraced house at Osway street that Pearl's 'friend' had indicated. He had done his homework - that was, collected gossip - as he always did before he went to speak to interviewees. He knew the name of the family who lived there, knew that one son was stationed in India, knew that one daughter had recently returned home with a baby and without a husband, and knew that this Joe fellow had recently lost his job at the train station, though nobody seemed to know why, and Gareth was absolutely riveted.
Once he reached the doorstep of – Osway street, Gareth flattened his hair, straightened his tie and jacket, knocked and took a step back.
He had been respectful enough to give it a few days, only writing an article with the obvious facts that the police too had communicated to the public: That Magnus Carrington had been shot dead in a brothel. That it had turned out he was a murderer with a yet unknown number of victims. That the man who was suspected of shooting him had been arrested. Like the police, he hadn't mentioned Miss Pearl's involvement, nor that of her apparent sweetheart.
It had either been respect, or the fact that he had needed a few days to process everything that had happened and stop wetting his bed at night.
But the public had a right to know! And so he had dressed in his old, less fashionable clothes, and made his way to the terraced house at Osway street that Pearl's 'friend' had indicated. He had done his homework - that was, collected gossip - as he always did before he went to speak to interviewees. He knew the name of the family who lived there, knew that one son was stationed in India, knew that one daughter had recently returned home with a baby and without a husband, and knew that this Joe fellow had recently lost his job at the train station, though nobody seemed to know why, and Gareth was absolutely riveted.
Once he reached the doorstep of – Osway street, Gareth flattened his hair, straightened his tie and jacket, knocked and took a step back.
