Tomorrow's Crimes ll Moriarty the Patriot

Mischief in the Making

The fire crackled in the study of the Moriarty estate, casting long shadows across leather-bound volumes and Persian carpets. William James Moriarty stood before the hearth, a copy of The Daily Telegraph held delicately between his fingers. Albert lounged in a wingback chair, swirling red wine in a crystal glass, while Louis stood quietly near the window seat, his sharp eyes focused on the darkness beyond, where London's gaslit streets stretched into the gathering dusk.

"'Unprecedented horror strikes the heart of English nobility,'" William read aloud, his cultured voice carrying a note of thoughtful analysis. "The Telegraph has truly outdone itself with its coverage of the Blackwood affair. Listen to this passage: 'The savagery inflicted upon these poor souls exceeds anything in the darkest annals of human wickedness.'" He lowered the paper slightly, a gleam of amusement in his crimson eyes. "Rather baroque prose, wouldn't you say? Though I must admit, their literary flourishes have served our purpose admirably. Each hyperbolic phrase feeds the public's appetite for scandal."

Albert's lips curved into a subtle smile as he raised his glass to the firelight, watching the amber liquid catch the flames. "The public's reaction has been rather spectacular. Every drawing room in London buzzes with theories and whispered accusations. I heard Lady Ruthven actually fainted at the mere mention of poor Adelaide's name during yesterday's service." He chuckled softly. "The dear woman had to be revived with smelling salts. Quite the performance, considering she was one of the first to speak ill of Adelaide after the incident at her garden party."

"The common people's response has been even more fascinating," Louis added, his voice soft but steady, never leaving the window. "I observed three separate demonstrations today alone. The mob outside Pemberton House grows larger by the hour. They're calling for all noble estates to be searched for similar... chambers of horror." He tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the windowpane. "The baker on Fleet Street has even begun selling 'Pemberton Pastries'-little confections shaped like broken chains. Quite macabre, but they're selling remarkably well."

"It's remarkable how quickly they turned on him," Albert mused, swirling his brandy. "A month ago, Lord Pemberton was the toast of London society. The most eligible bachelor in England, they called him. Every mother with a marriageable daughter sought his favor." He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "Lady Winchester practically threw her twins at him during the Midsummer Ball. Now, she's leading the charge to have his family portraits removed from the Royal Academy."

William began to pace, his footsteps measured and deliberate on the rich Turkish carpet. "The swiftness of his fall," he murmured, almost to himself, "makes it all the more shocking to his peers. That's what truly terrifies them-the sudden revelation that one of their own could harbor such darkness. It forces them to question every smile, every pleasantry, every seemingly innocent invitation." He paused, his gaze landing on an ancient tome, his fingers running slowly along its spine as though drawing something deeper from its presence.

Albert's lips curled into a smirk. "I overheard Lord Rutherford at his club the other day," he said, a dark satisfaction coloring his tone. "He was practically interrogating his oldest friend about a hunting weekend from fifteen years ago. The seeds of doubt we've planted are bearing truly spectacular fruit."

Louis turned away from the window for the first time, his sharp eyes narrowing with a cool satisfaction. "The servants' testimonies were particularly damning," he observed. "Especially that account from the Ruthven's garden party. The way society had initially condemned Lady Adelaide for her actions, only to discover the true nature of the incident..." He smiled thinly. "The cook's description of finding torn lace in the hedgerow was an especially vivid touch. Though, I believe that was your contribution, Brother Albert?"