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

and the next she was rudely awoken by the harsh wood floor. She blinked and looked out the window. The rain had stopped. She blinked a few more times, then felt around for her sketchbook. She found the pencil first, pulling it out from under her. She cringed at the broken tip. Her sketchbook lay in a heap at the end of the bench. She opened it up and smoothed out the sleep-caused creases and laughed at a line drawn across it. After setting it to rights she remembered why she had woken up. She jolted up, glanced at the clock to ensure she wasn’t late, and dashed for a mirror, hatbox, and pins.

Her hair went down well past her shoulders and usually did whatever it wanted. Some days she was able to coax her curls into ringlets, but most days it was directly opposed to anything she wanted it to do. It didn’t help that she didn’t like the fashion to put your hair up or to wear ridiculous hats. But if she was visiting her uncle, it was necessary. He wanted her to be a proper lady, a respectable woman, and wearing your hair down was strictly against that. Supposedly. She had decided early on that if her hair was going to fall out of its style anyway, she might as well save herself some trouble by not bothering to try.

After stuffing most of her hair under a hat and pinning it into place, she put on her coat. The sunlight dripped through the clouds like pools of honey on the pavement as she stepped out into the wet afternoon. She paused for a moment to let the smell of the rain overtake her and then started towards her uncle’s house at Swan Walk in Chelsea.

Chelsea was a more affluent part of London. Only the wealthiest members of the population could afford to live there. Swan Walk was a red brick building with a reasonably sized lawn around it and a bit of a garden. When her parents died, her uncle sold their estate out in Yorkshire and used those funds to purchase a new house closer to his work. The house quickly became the home where she and her twin brother Walker grew up, and it was a place she had come to adore.

It wasn’t a long walk, and soon enough she climbed the stairs. The door opened before she could knock, and a familiar face appeared. A long rectangular face, with big, kind brown eyes that held many laugh lines in their corners. The mouth was turned up in a half smile and his greying brown hair was thick upon his head. Mira grinned seeing him.

“Hello, Landon!”

“Good afternoon, Miss! It’s good to see you again.”

“I come every Sunday; you know that.” She teased.

The butler, Landon Tisdale, stepped away from the door, and Mira walked past him into the house. Once inside she stopped for a moment just to take in the smell of old wood and books. Oh, how she loved that smell!

“How are you Landon?” She placed her coat on a hook in the hall.

“I am doing quite well, Miss.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Is my uncle in the dining room?”

“I believe he is in the parlor at the moment.”

“I see. Does this mean he is in one of his…?” Mira paused to find the proper term for her uncle’s brooding habits.

“Nostalgic, melancholy moods Miss? Yes.”

“Thank you for the warning.” She nodded to him and headed towards the parlor. She knocked on the door before entering. Light pink floral wallpaper spread across the room and a darker pink carpet swept the floor from wall to wall. There was a portrait of Mira’s grandparents with her uncle and mother hanging on one of the walls, and a photograph of her mother on a shelf in a sort of memorial. Of course, any images that included her father were entirely absent. Her uncle stood at the window in a daze.

“Uncle Cyrus?”

“Hello, Mira,” he said without turning.

Her uncle was an imposing man. Above six feet tall with a rigid facial structure. He had light brown hair that had greyed for some time, and emerald green eyes that matched hers and her mother’s. His careworn face withered with the reality of life. Landon had told her once that he used to be a jovial and amiable man, but years of grief had taken their toll on him.

“How are you doing?” She moved over to him, hesitant. He glanced at her.

“As well as I ever am.” He looked back through the window. Mira bit her lip. Today likely wasn’t a good day to remind him of the accident. Of course, he was already thinking about it if he was spending time in the parlor. A stillness settled over the room. Mira moved to a vase full of roses and pulled a few out to rearrange them.

“Has Walker written you again?” Her uncle attempted to start the conversation.

“Yes. He’s good about writing frequently. He’s almost finished his preliminary studies.”

“Good lad.”

A knock on the door announced the arrival of the last of the dinner party. Mira’s eyes lit up as he entered the room.

“Professor Burke!”

“Hello, little Mira.” He smiled with kindness in his eyes. If Mira had been younger, she would have rushed to hug him.

Professor Edward Burke had been a friend of the family for years. In fact, he was the link between her parents’ worlds. He met her father, Octavian, when they were going to school at Cambridge, and met her uncle on an expedition to India. He became such good friends with both of them that it was only a matter of time before Rose and Octavian met. Despite her uncle’s dislike of Mira’s father, Cyrus never seemed to lose affection for the professor.

“Good afternoon Edward.” Her uncle nodded to him.

“Cyrus, my good chap! I haven’t seen you in weeks. How are you?” The professor clapped a hand onto his shoulder.

“I’m fine, old friend.” Cyrus forced a smile. “Shall