The city’s tall buildings engulfed the skyline as I drive, an honour which didn’t feel like much of one in these trying times. London had fallen, at least as an economic power and the pound would get you half of your journey as the price of a ticket on the underground had risen. The blotches of colour that the sun brought at night were the only comfort and similarity that rose from the churn of the now quiet city. If you had told me that growing up in this creative market and concrete jungle would have been a step to the heights of my everlasting life I would have told you nothing can come of such an overgrown city. However, I was wrong. This beloved global monument to finance and the arts, has never been more in jeopardy because of our ongoing triumph, we can now fall from these heights.
Driving through the South quarter of the city, past all the creative new builds and through the spiderweb of the small streets. Drive into the underground parking lot of Canary Wharf. I swipe my card against the terminal and press the silver ringlet button on the elevator. Stepping in I push my dress into my legs and pulled my leather jacket to my chin as a wind washed over me. The elevator shot to the 44th floor of Canary Wharf. Stepping out in black silhouette ankle boots across the marble floor to my apartment, I flung open the door as my bag crashed to the floor; I walked into the room my kitchen, a cutout of the living room. The to the floor windows of my apartment showing the range of colours that the sky offered, this night it was a yellowish gold. I walked through to my bedroom, I pulled off my outfit and put on a red dress with a black undercoat. A black belt to my waist and a pair of black safety pin Nappa leather sandals went on.
I pushed the back of my hair from left to right as I walked to the door. There he was, my beaut of a boyfriend. ‘Do you want to stay in tonight?’ I blushed and looked down ‘I got all dressed up’ ‘I could always get you underdressed,’ he smirked. He pinned me up against the wall of the hallway, pushing his stubble into my neck and feeling up my leg, pushing his hand down my underwear. As he did so I pulled a gun from my bag I had discard earlier and put it to the side of his head. He reached into my underwear. His face dropped, ‘You're a…’ I pulled the trigger. ‘… excellent hunter, I just got too close on this occasion. Shame I really liked you.’ I said as I pointed the gun at his lifeless corpse.
As I write this, I’ve always wondered whether my story — a story of murder, one of my life’s turning points, would ever be told. I have to give people the credit they’re due, they’re most unpredictable. Fascinates me! Like most wealthy Londoners during Queen Victoria’s reign, I live just outside the city of London. To be more precise, I live in Blackheath Greenwich, facing the common. I have an end-terrace house on Shooters hill road and have the perfect view of the common from dawn till dusk. This story starts like any other, with a grizzly murder that, for the faith of heart should turn away, and not read what I have scribed. For the most part, this is a story that can only be told by the one that solved it and that is why I, Edith Lockheart am the one to pen this extraordinary tale.
For the most part, it was a normal summer's day, when a letter from a friend called Alice came. Sigmund, (my head of house) delivered it to me in the lounge. The elegant, formal paper that it was so carefully pushed into meant that this was an occasion of great importance. I carefully stood up making sure that my hoops didn’t catch on the coffee table that I have taken with me on a few strolls around the house before. I picked up the decorative letter opener that had been creating quite the discussion the last time Alice had been over and shoved the gold tip of the blade into the seal of the envelope. I returned to my seat and read the letter.
Dear Edith, I’m overwhelmed and over joyed to be able to invite you to my son’s wedding on the 4th of August at The Royal Greenwich Park. Please wear what you like. Formal attire is necessary. Kind Regards, Alice Hornet
As I read the letter, I like the majority of the people that was to read this letter was overjoyed for Alice, however, I couldn’t help but wonder why the wedding was at the park, when a more discreet venue would have been much more palatable and why such short notice, only a week to prepare? Could it be, that Alice was trying to cover up a shotgun wedding? And if so, why?
The following week I set out for the park. I had Sigmond call a hansom cab, and I was there at the wedding within minutes. They set the wedding in the flower part of the park and with all the benches facing the oval spree of flowers. In the middle of the oval, was an arch and there stood the fortunate husband to be, being entertained (as is custom) by the best man as he awaited the bride. I took my seat at the back as I already was late and knew the wedding would start soon.
The function was filled with a few family members and friends, but all in all the wedding was a small one. I turned to the lady next to me in the purple hat with gold trim around it. “why the small affair?” I asked in a manner suiting the answer of a questionable heir on the way. “I believe the occasion was sprung on them fast, you see the husband to be is going on a trip to The Americas in the coming weeks and decided if anything should happen, it will be as husband and wife” she whispered back. I nodded “I see, was wondering, all seemed a bit fast” “Maggy, by the way, I know Alice from the country club” “Edith, I know Alice as an old friend” We turned our heads back to the wedding that was about to proceed. As the bride walked in between the two rows of chairs and headed for the arch.
Suddenly, a belching scream was let out, and one bridesmaid ran down the aisle fast-paced, with her hands high in the air. After having gotten to my feet I walked over to the screaming bridesmaid and grabbed her hands. “whatever has you troubled?” I asked in the calmest manner I could muster. She looked startled but then proceeded. “There’s a dead body by the bandstand!”. I picked up my hoops and ran with Maggy and Alice at my tail to the bandstand. There, laying on the steps was the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen. With long black hair hanging off the steps and skin as white as snow, the woman lay there with no movement of her own, just a gentle breeze that passed over her soot coloured hair. Her red dress with roses neatly sown in hiding whatever foul play had become of her. Alice having caught up with the brigade of onlookers that proceeded me clapped her hands over her mouth and yelled “Mary Seaborne!” I turned to Alice, “is that her name?” “yes,” she whimpered and then drew another breath “She must have wandered off and hurt herself,”. “This is no accident Alice, this is pure murder,” I proclaimed adamantly. I walked over to the nearest tree and plucked from it the red hat that accompanied the dress. “And I wager that someone outside the wedding congress has not committed this murder.” and placed the hat careful at the foot of Mary Seaborne’s lifeless body. “And it is known to me who committed the murder.” I paced back and forth.
“The wedding of sorts is fast, quick-paced. This wouldn’t have given our murderer time to kill Mary themselves, that is why he used the poison arsenic.”
The crowd chocked and Alice questioned “he?” “Yes, this is a murder committed by a man. Usually, men use brute force and strength to commit their crimes, but this one didn’t have the time for that. They planned this, premeditated murder.” “how do you know it was arsenic?” A man that I didn’t recognise asked. “Don’t you smell it? That almond smell? it’s in all our makeup nowadays. Yes, a clear sign of poison and a heavy dose at that meaning this person didn’t know what they were doing.” I paused for a moment and then carried on “Alice, you weren’t just planning a wedding, you were planning a murder.” “I thought you said a man committed it?” Alice’s daughter asked. “Yes, but it all had to be planned, didn’t it Alice.” Alice’s daughter turned to her in disbelief, “Mother say it’s not so?” “I am sorry, Tiffany. You weren’t the only one.” Alice muttered to her daughter. The young bridesmaid that had found the unspeakable scene said: “I am of another mind here, Edith please do tell us what happened?”
“Very well. See this was, in fact, a shotgun wedding…” I turned to the woman that I had spoken to earlier, “…You believed a lie Maggy, there was no trip to the Americas. The groom had an affair with Mary here and she fell pregnant.” I turned back to the crowd who was now shocked by my reveal. “That Unfortunately was Mary Seaborne’s mistake, to have a child. Both Alice’s daughter and Mary were pregnant with the same father.” I continued “The groom is the one that slipped Mary the poison.” Tiffany, Astounded by her own mother “But why? Lots of men have children with other women?” “Because I can’t afford both you and her,” The groom replied pushing his way to the front to be with his bride. “Tiffany, I’m in a small fortune of debt.” “Meaning the park was the only place that you could get married anyway.” I reinforced.
Before anyone knew it, the police were leading a way both the groom and the weeping mother of the bride.
