Charlotte House Affair 01 - My Particular Friend

House?’ he asked, finally turning to us.
    Charlotte nodded, the action releasing a shower from the water that had already collected on her hair.
    The man, who I could now see appeared about thirty years of age with dark black curls peeking out from under his hat, bowed in return, which added to the shower as water from the brim poured onto my friend. Charlotte endured it without notice, however, and again pleaded with the man to come inside.
    ‘I came to see you without hope that anyone had the power to solve this mystery. Might I come inside and plead for your help?’ he asked, apparently unaware this had been our design all along.
    ‘Yes, come inside sir,’ Charlotte pleaded. This time he appeared to understand and Charlotte and I shepherded him inside just as Mary arrived with the towels. When she saw how soaked Charlotte appeared, however, she exclaimed that she would fetch more.
    Once inside the man said to Charlotte, ‘The man from the register office said I should come here at once. He said you could help but I could not believe him.’
    ‘Mr Houston was correct. I can help you, but first we must get you dry and give you something warm to drink.’
    By this time Mrs Fitzhugh had come downstairs from her room where she had been resting from a cold and she and Mary saw to the comfort of the man. They removed his hat and coat and gave those items to Alice that they might be dried. Charlotte excused herself that she might see to her wet clothes. Then Mrs Hutton arrived, who objected to the delicacy with which the towels were applied and vigorously dried the man’s hair, leaving him looking even more dazed but decidedly drier. Finally we led him to the drawing-room just as hot coffee and brandy arrived.
    Our visitor was taking his first sip as Charlotte returned, somehow miraculously in dry clothing.
    ‘Now sir, your name if you please?’ she asked him after he had fortified himself with the coffee and brandy.
    He smiled weakly and said, ‘Mr Hogarth Simms.’
    ‘And as I have said, I am Miss House, and these are my friends, Mrs Fitzhugh and Miss Woodsen.’ The man gave each of us another weak smile and then looked at the others in the room. Following his gaze, Charlotte looked round at the servants who remained in attendance, interest plainly written on their faces. ‘Thank you, Mrs Hutton, Mary, Alice.’
    Clearly Mary and Alice wanted to remain but Mrs Hutton herded them out of the drawing-room; however, even she gave a backward glance before she closed the door behind her.
    ‘Mr Simms, earlier you said, “She’s gone!” To whom were your referring?’
    The man’s anguished look immediately returned. ‘My wife-to-be, Mrs Violet Brown. She left for the register office but never arrived. I have lost her. She stepped in but she never stept out.’
    Charlotte raised an eyebrow at this and then glanced at me. She made a gesture to me that I interpreted as meaning I should employ my journal and record our visitor’s narrative. Luckily it was close to hand and I rose to obtain it and returned without I think Mr Simms ever noticing. His gaze remaining fixed on Charlotte, who asked, ‘Please, perhaps you could start at the beginning. Your troubles began this morning?’
    Mr Simms nodded at this. ‘Yes, this morning. We were to be married at the register office. I had arranged for a chair to take her to the register office while I followed … on foot … I am not a wealthy man, Miss House.’ He looked at her enquiringly and she said softly, ‘Please continue. Where did you engage the chairmen?’ #
    Encouraged by this he continued his story. ‘From their station on Northgate Street. I directed them to Barton Buildings where Mrs Brown resides at her boarding house. We left there at ten o’clock, only I was forced to return to my residence on Miles’s Buildings as I had left the ring I was to give to my beloved. After I retrieved it, I made my way but was further delayed by an altercation on the street. A young boy apparently had picked a man’s pocket and was running away from the man and his friends. The boy knocked me down in his flight and I was further trampled by his pursuers.’ #
    ‘Whence that bruise on your head?’ Charlotte asked.
    ‘What bruise? Ow!’ he cried once he examined his head. ‘Yes, I must have received it when I fell.’
    ‘Where did this incident occur?’
    ‘Oh, on George Street, just a short distance from my lodgings.’ #
    ‘I see. And the men who trampled