chapter 1
"How about Cornwall, Henry?" John asked absently as he glanced through a pile of travel brochures. Being the only other soul who knew my full elaborate story, John remained a staunchly devoted friend even during my most dangerous moments. Many times, despite his proper English rigidity, John found himself trying to pull me out of my gloomy stages in extremely improper ways...most memorably, by dragging me to the East End that night, not too long ago, when I first met Lucy.
This time, however, John's plans were a little less sordid. He suggested that I accompany him on holiday. "A change of locale will do you nothing but good, Henry," he remarked casually over tea a few earlier. After I reluctantly agreed, John began planning this little excursion.
"Henry?" John inquired again, hoping for a response.
I snapped out of my reverie. "Yes, John?" I replied.
"How does Cornwall sound?" John asked dryly. From the tone of the question, Cornwall sounded perfectly dreary. That was typical of John, though. Zero visible enthusiasm for anything at all. So, I answered him back with equally banality.
"Fine, I suppose," I said.
"This pamphlet tells about all of the different attractiosn along the Cornish coast," John remarked with the energy of a snail. "Some of these little seaside towns sound rather interesting. There's one called Ashbourne that sounds very nice indeed."
"Ashbourne," I echoed. "I've never heard of the place."
"Neither have I," John continued. "According to this, it's beautiful. Right on the sea. Even the local pub sounds intriguing." He handed the brochure in question over to me. Despite my waning interest,
I unconsciously began to read the description aloud.
"While visiting Ashbourne, be sure to visit Lucinda's Garden, or 'The Garden' as it is affectionately referred to by local residents. A great place for food and entertainment, 'The Garden''s name is derived from the gorgeous, meticulously kept walled garden that adjoins the building and for its equally beautiful proprietress, Miss Lucinda Harris, or Lucy as she is known to - " I froze midsentence. Surely I did not read that right, I thought to myself. Lucy Harris? Lucy Harris was dead. I - Hyde, rather - had killed her. All of this ran through my mind as I tried to make sense of what I had just read.
"Impossible," I stammered. "Simply impossible, John...she's...she's..." Sweat began to trickle down my forehead at the implications of this unbelievable scenario.
"I hate to seem obvious, Henry," John interrupted," but there certainly is the possibility that there is more than one Lucy Harris in the whole of England."
I shook my head. "John, I think I need to investigate this. If it is her...my God..." I buried my head in my hands.
John stood up and stretched. "Well, then," he yawned, "I suppose we're going to Ashbourne." He placed his tall felt hat carefully atop his head and headed towards the front door. "Good night, Henry." His voice echoed faintly as he slammed the door shut.
"How about Cornwall, Henry?" John asked absently as he glanced through a pile of travel brochures. Being the only other soul who knew my full elaborate story, John remained a staunchly devoted friend even during my most dangerous moments. Many times, despite his proper English rigidity, John found himself trying to pull me out of my gloomy stages in extremely improper ways...most memorably, by dragging me to the East End that night, not too long ago, when I first met Lucy.
This time, however, John's plans were a little less sordid. He suggested that I accompany him on holiday. "A change of locale will do you nothing but good, Henry," he remarked casually over tea a few earlier. After I reluctantly agreed, John began planning this little excursion.
"Henry?" John inquired again, hoping for a response.
I snapped out of my reverie. "Yes, John?" I replied.
"How does Cornwall sound?" John asked dryly. From the tone of the question, Cornwall sounded perfectly dreary. That was typical of John, though. Zero visible enthusiasm for anything at all. So, I answered him back with equally banality.
"Fine, I suppose," I said.
"This pamphlet tells about all of the different attractiosn along the Cornish coast," John remarked with the energy of a snail. "Some of these little seaside towns sound rather interesting. There's one called Ashbourne that sounds very nice indeed."
"Ashbourne," I echoed. "I've never heard of the place."
"Neither have I," John continued. "According to this, it's beautiful. Right on the sea. Even the local pub sounds intriguing." He handed the brochure in question over to me. Despite my waning interest,
I unconsciously began to read the description aloud.
"While visiting Ashbourne, be sure to visit Lucinda's Garden, or 'The Garden' as it is affectionately referred to by local residents. A great place for food and entertainment, 'The Garden''s name is derived from the gorgeous, meticulously kept walled garden that adjoins the building and for its equally beautiful proprietress, Miss Lucinda Harris, or Lucy as she is known to - " I froze midsentence. Surely I did not read that right, I thought to myself. Lucy Harris? Lucy Harris was dead. I - Hyde, rather - had killed her. All of this ran through my mind as I tried to make sense of what I had just read.
"Impossible," I stammered. "Simply impossible, John...she's...she's..." Sweat began to trickle down my forehead at the implications of this unbelievable scenario.
"I hate to seem obvious, Henry," John interrupted," but there certainly is the possibility that there is more than one Lucy Harris in the whole of England."
I shook my head. "John, I think I need to investigate this. If it is her...my God..." I buried my head in my hands.
John stood up and stretched. "Well, then," he yawned, "I suppose we're going to Ashbourne." He placed his tall felt hat carefully atop his head and headed towards the front door. "Good night, Henry." His voice echoed faintly as he slammed the door shut.
