Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity Natalie Brianne (best summer reads of all time .txt) 📖

“Ah. Well thank you for remembering.”

“Is it the same every day?”

“Is what?”

“Everything you do?”

He laughed a bit. “Well of course it is impossible for every part of my day to be the same, however, I do try to stick to a routine. It’s easier that way.”

“Oh, I see. Then with the notes…aren’t you worried that the wind will blow them away, or the rain ruin them, or someone take them?”

“I’ve never had that problem before meeting you, Mira.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Quite alright. Now, if I did in fact say I would be late, I probably ought to go.” He took the paper from the bush and slipped it in his pocket as he stood.

“Good day, Mr. Constantine.” She nodded to him.

“Good day, Mira.” He gave her a kind smile and a bow, then he meandered away from the cafe. Big Ben struck twelve, and he picked his pace up to a sprint.

Her eyes followed him until he disappeared around a corner. Then she looked through the bush to ensure that he had taken the note. Her hands turned up empty. What if he didn’t come back? She packed up her sketchbook and turned herself towards home.

As she approached her house, the postman made his way to the next abode. With a grin, she rushed to the post box and pulled out the one letter she had received. Humming to herself, she entered her rooms and set the newspaper down on a side table as Nero mewed at her feet. She gave him a scratch, and he wormed around her legs purring. “Well Nero, I saw him again!” She smiled down at him. The cat meowed in response. She laughed and brought the letter and newspaper into her sitting room to peruse them.

My Dear Mira,

It is unfortunate that the newspaper couldn’t give you any further information, but I’m certain you’ll find something. Especially if you’ve made the acquaintance of Byron Constantine! If I’m not mistaken, he’s a detective that works with Scotland Yard. I may be wrong in the name, but either way it might be wise for you to consult a private detective. They might have resources you don’t currently have access to.

Nothing much has changed on my end, other than the fact that there is a possibility that I can start an apprenticeship under Henri Giffard. You might not recognize the name, but he is the man that started the whole airship business! Father worked under him as an apprentice and then went on to perfect the technology. One of my professors mentioned Giffard, and that he is from this area of France. Isn’t that marvelous? Tomorrow, I’m going to do my own investigating to see if I can’t meet him. I feel as if I’m in the beginning of some Jules Verne novel. Soon enough I’ll be inventing things others have only dreamed about, just like father.

In other news, it’s been raining for over a week now. I know I usually refrain from speaking of the weather, but it is starting to get ridiculous.

Much Love,

Walker

She read over the first paragraph several times, thoughts swirling in her mind. Byron made sense now. Or at least he made partial sense. She still couldn’t explain his notes or lack of remembrance, but if he truly was a private detective, it meant she had another way to investigate. Or rather, have someone else investigate the mystery for her. She groaned. She would much rather solve the whole thing on her own. Perhaps he would allow her to help. She determined to ask Byron about it the next morning. Except he had taken the note! How would she find him if he didn’t return to the café? She set the letter to the side. Anxious questions weren’t going to help. Not until she found out for certain that Byron wouldn’t return to the cafe. She took a few deep breaths and picked up the newspaper.

The headlines were littered with all sorts of different stories. One detailed a new factory opening. Another documented the biggest airship that had ever been built. She had read that story the week before. One story outlining all the facts of a series of incidents in the Whitechapel district. They were gruesome things that she could do without. Still another spoke of a series of burglaries that had been happening in North London. She skimmed over a few more articles before an advertisement caught her eye.

The Central News September 17, 1888

Something troubling you? Are people following you in the street? Sounds that can’t be explained? Mysterious letters in your postbox? Perhaps a loved one gone missing? Look no further. Come to 27 Palace Court, London. Can’t miss it. Oh, and yes, I’m a private detective if you were wondering.

She had seen the advertisement before, but never thought she would ever have the need to use it. Now it appeared right as she needed it. There wasn’t a name attached to the advertisement. It might be Byron. Or it might be someone else entirely. But if she didn’t ask for help, her journey into Wonderland would be over. If she didn’t take a chance, she probably wouldn’t find out anything more about Byron, and she certainly wouldn’t be able to solve her parents’ mystery. Hopefully, it was Byron. She clipped out the section she needed and folded the newspaper up. She opened the blinds to look out over Kensington, then sat on the couch, Nero purring as he joined her. She wrote a quick note to Walker.

Dearest Walker,

I am so excited that you are likely going to be an apprentice to an engineer! And with Henri Giffard no less! I’ll have to read up on Jules Verne, then perhaps I can better imagine how your adventures are progressing. I have decided to take you up on your advice. Just after receiving your letter, I found an advertisement in the paper for a private detective. I’ll write again once more has happened on my end.

Much love,

Mira

She resolved to go early the