The Tragedy of Edwin Gottsworth

II/III

"That is the difference between us. You have them." Mortimer said with another short and sad smile. "When I walk away, I am left with nothing."

M

The hours passed quickly, and he barely noticed the light of day shining through the branches surrounding the manor. An empty bottle of wine rested at his side. That helped him, if only slightly. He thought Edwin would have plenty left and wouldn't notice the absence of one. Or perhaps two, if time allowed it.

Mortimer got up and noticed that it probably wouldn't. The early morning breeze was accompanied by an ominous silence surrounding the withered nature around the house. It indicated the strange absence of life. He barely noticed it however, as his mind jumped back to the events that transpired.

Edwin left him to figure out the next steps by himself. He was not wanted there and that much appeared obvious. The entire previous day now seemingly a crude joke, was their entire relationship considered one, as well?

The next train would only be arriving in a few hours, and the least he could do was get himself washed and change the smelly shirt he was wearing. That, and perhaps with a bit of luck, see Clara one last time for a proper goodbye. She deserved at least that much, he was certain.

As he struggled back towards the entrance, his eyes caught a glimpse of the open window on the second floor. The same one he had noticed on their journey there the previous day. The ominous pink light was gone, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that now returned. The same one that accompanied him just hours before, as he stared through the wall into the darkness of a strange pattern. What he found even more terrifying were the desperate scribbles on the stone, calling to the manor's previous owner.

He had not been dreaming, yet the wall itself vanished. There was something not right with the place, and he felt it in his very gut. He next remembered the peculiar white music box that Clara had found. How could that have anything to do with the house? The question was absurd and completely unbelievable. No one would or could take him seriously on that point. He imagined himself rambling like a madman over the fervid imagination of an eight-year old child.

There was only one intelligent, mature, and considerate choice to make, and that was to leave as soon as possible; contact Edwin when he returned back to his business in London and find out what he truly wanted from their relationship with a clear mind.

With that considered, Mortimer walked back to the front door and took a few deep breaths; he resolved to rid himself of the respectful choice and instead go all the way through with the actual insane one. He had to know why.

Edwin had to know why.

Lord Melvin's butler opened the door once again, looking as calm and undisturbed as usual.

"Yes?"

"May I come in? I have a few things to pack before I go."

"Certainly, Mr. Moor. Let me know when you are ready and I will make sure a carriage is brought for you."

Mortimer thanked the old servant, though doubted he would be needing one. He moved quickly through the empty lobby, the painting of Charles Withersden observing him from the wall with a turbid expression.

"Mr. Moor?" The butler said. "I have been told to inform you that Mr. Gottsworth and his family have left the house for a morning trip today. He stated that you would understand."

Mortimer nodded briefly, his last chance of seeing Clara having just slipped through his fingers. He also knew Agatha had no more desire to see him again. The message was clear: leave, and avoid unnecessary drama.