📣 Our plant nurseries in Kings Heath and Cofton are open through the winter! Kings Heath has a workshop on Saturday 29 November for Christmas table arrangement and wreath making🎄 🌻 Shop open 9am-4pm Demonstration and workshop 10-1pm 1/2

2/2 "Because Mr Peterson was much smaller than Sir John. He was bound to lose if it came to a fight. The only way to better him would have been to take him by surprise." "And his motive?" "Is it not obvious?" George shrugged. "Read my many treatises. Tomorrow I shall test you."

Wednesday December 6, 1854. George scratched his head. "So you think Mr Peterson scarpered from the Diorama of his own accord then met up with Sir John...to do what? Blackmail him?" "That may have been the excuse. But I think he was already planning to murder him." "Why?" 1/2

Here ends Octavius Guy's daily journals for now. Thank you to everyone who read and responded so enthusiastically to our boy detective's posts over the years. Have a great life. 🙏

2/2 "I thought you would like to know," the sergeant began, refusing the seat that George tried to offer him, "our bird Peterson has flown the coop." "He will no doubt resurface at some point, sir. He must if he wishes to inherit." "Ah." Sergeant Gray nodded in appreciation.

Tuesday December 5, 1854. The wit of a clerk who led Sergeant Gray to my office poked his head round the door before opening it fully. "They've come to take you away," he jested, though no one laughed, not even the good sergeant, who seemed ready to cuff the fool's ear. 1/2

2/2 We both agreed that Mr Peterson was now a man to be watched very closely. I gave him his address, which seemed to placate him somewhat. The big question was how Sergeant Gray had been able to find me on a Sunday? Had he been watching me???

Monday December 4, 1854. Directly after yesterday's service I'd told Sergeant Gray all about the plan I'd hatched to unmask Sir John. He could hardly refuse to believe me since two officers of the court (Mr Death and my own employer) had been present. He didn't take it well. 1/2

2/2 "Let me guess. That of a young man?" "No." The way he said it so bluntly made my blood run cold. "It was the body of Sir John Geeson." "Sir John?" I gasped. Sergeant Gray's eyes drilled through me as the vicar droned on. "Who wanted him dead?" he asked. Me, not that I said so.

Sunday December 3, 1854. The commotion occurred just as we were sitting after mumbling the Lord's Prayer. No less than the good Inspector Gray was forcing his way along the pew towards me. "A body was fished out of the Thames last night," he whispered as he sat down next to me. 1/2

Saturday December 2, 1854. As I worked my way through my breakfast kipper I wondered how many days it would be before Mr Peterson's body turned up. That he was complicit in his own disappearance seemed obvious. What had Sir John offered him? Money?

Friday December 1, 1854. It's my seventeenth birthday, so I thought I'd be forgiven for doing very little to trace the unfortunate Mr Peterson. I was wrong. Both George and Mr Bruff had words with me. Telling them he'd signed his own death warrant would not have gone down well!

2/2 It seemed impossible. Every time I thought about it, it came back to that. If it seemed impossible, then it probably was impossible. My brain began ticking over with the two theories that presented themselves...both disastrous to the young Mr Peterson.

Thursday November 30, 1854. Frankly I considered my failure a slap in the face, a challenge to a duel that might as well have been delivered by Sir John himself. How could he have whisked Mr Peterson away before six pairs of watching eyes, choosing the perfect moment to do so? 1/2

4/4 It was in that very moment that Sir John must have struck for, when I next looked, Mr Peterson was gone! Even then I had hope, as I had stationed George and Bertha's young henchmen at the building's entrance. And yet, when I reached them, they claimed they'd seen nothing.

2/4 The Diorama, across from the Zoological Gardens, was surprisingly busy for a Wednesday afternoon. Mr Peterson stood in front of a tableau of the pyramids at Giza, stiff and ill at ease. Mr Bruff and I lingered at the side of the next exhibit, entitled, "Let Them Eat Cake."

Wednesday November 29, 1854. I calmed the timid Mr Peterson as best I could; Mr Bruff patted his shoulder. "We will be nearby and we will be listening," he reassured him. "You will be safe." "And I just have to pretend I'll keep quiet if he shares his inheritance with me?" "That's the plan." 1/4

Tuesday November 28, 1854. Mr Peterson, Sir John's third cousin once removed, looked astonished to hear my revelations. "So he murdered his wife?" he gasped. "I believe so." "And he can't be brought to book?" "My close contacts in the Metropolitan Police say not." "Oh. Oh, my..."

3/3 After revealing it was her own husband who was the culprit, Mr Bruff became thorny. "All this on the say-so of criminals?" "On the say-so of the same criminals you have relied on in the past," I countered. "I cannot prove it, but I know it for a fact." "Then what are we to do?"

2/3 "Who do you represent, sir?" I asked. "The late Lady Geeson or her husband?" Mr Bruff's brow furrowed. "Adelaide Geeson, of course. Her parents were clients of mine before they passed." "Then you would want to know who it was who struck her down? Who eventually murdered her?"

Monday November 27, 1854. I removed my bowler hat and knocked respectfully at my employer's office door. "Come!" came the immediate response. "Sir," I said upon entering, "I have a pressing question to ask." Though I saw him roll his eyes, I was determined to stay the course. 1/3

Sunday November 26, 1854. The service was over. "I have a question," I said. "You do?" Annie looked at me expectantly. "Is there a difference in biblical terms between killing someone yourself, or asking a friend to do it?" When she frowned, I immediately regretted my words.

Saturday November 25, 1854. "If you knew who attacked me, what would you do to them?" Bertha took a sip of her sherry, readjusted the black veil to hide her face, then sat back to speculate. "I'd bleedin' get 'em alone on a moonless night," she chortled. Well, at least I had a last resort!

2/2 "More?" The man peered down his cadaverous nose at me. "If I am correct in my thinking, I beg you to help me put an end to Sir John Geeson." A moment of perfect understanding seemed to pass between us. Then Mr Death raised his hands and smiled. "Young man, I am but a humble clerk."

Friday November 24 1854. "I wasn't expecting another visit." Mr Death looked surprised to see me. I steeled myself to broach what promised to be a thorny conversation. "Good sir," I began, "you must be aware that for some time now I've suspected you of being something...*more*." 1/2

Thursday November 23, 1854. "He what?" asked George. "He outright refused to believe me," I repeated. "And after all we've done for him!" I might have taken solace in George's vehemence but, honestly, I feared Sir John would go free. Mr Tibbles sensed my mood and gave my calf a butt.

3/3 "I managed to track them down, sir." I replied. "Ah! Where are they?" "In the city of Hull...though I doubt they are there any longer." "Hull?" Sergeant Gray's lips pursed. There are fools in this world, and people you can easily fool, but Sergeant Gray is not among them.

2/3 Explaining my situation would have gone considerably quicker without his constant interjections. And yet he finally took me seriously. "How is it you know that these escaped housebreakers did not attack Lady Geeson?" he asked. It was the question I had dreaded.

Wednesday November 22, 1854. With my options dwindling by the second, I sought out the good Sergeant Gray. I can't say he was pleased to see me. "This is the scene of a crime," he snapped, not that his singsong Welsh vowels aided his annoyance any. "You cannot be here!" 1/3

Tuesday November 21, 1854. Over the years I have killed three people, and have sworn to myself not to do it again. Yet Sir John Geeson killed his wife and did his best to kill me. My arm proves a constant reminder. I could ask Bertha, I reflected...but my soul yearns for my own justice.

Monday November 20, 1854. The office felt dark, much like my mood, for the day was overcast and grey. "George, what are the chances the police might investigate Sir John?" "A gent like him?" he said, not even looking up from his paper. "Next to none." "That's what I thought too."

Sunday November 19, 1854. George's wife Mary rounded on me after the service. "How dare you keep my husband working late last Friday night!" she railed at me. "I was cooking a boiling fowl!" "I didn't realize, miss," I stuttered. "Do you know how often George's mother lets me cook?"

2/2 In the end even Bertha believed him. Within hours of freeing his mates from Pentonville, they were on a train to Glasgow. While admitting to breaking into Sir John's originally, he denied ever seeing the man's wife. "It weren't one of us what struck 'er down, and that's h'a fact!"

Saturday November 18, 1854. The pigeon man, the only member of the gang that broke into Sir John's residence not to be caught, seemed resigned to answering our many questions. Spending even an hour with Alex and Charley will do that, I reflected, as I watched the man squirm. 1/2

4/4 Charley was soon followed by Alex. Bertha, who'd never travelled by train, breathed a sigh of relief. "Least they're blinkin' safe," she said. "Who's that?" asked George, as Alex pulled a third man from the carriage. I squinted. It was the man I'd seen releasing the pigeons!

3/4 "Where the bleedin' 'ell are they?" asked Bertha. Porters and passengers alike swarmed about us in the smokey, gaslit gloom. Then from one of the very last carriages emerged the unmistakable figure of Charley. "Trust them to travel first class," muttered George.

2/4 My employer, Mr Bruff, happened to be descending the stairs from his office as we three were taking our leave of the building. "Mrs Guy!" he called out to Bertha, and raised his hand in a wave. Bertha grunted and waved back, as George, pale-faced, bundled her out of the door.

Friday November 17, 1854. When Bertha arrived bearing a third letter, briefly stating that Alex and Charley would be arriving back in London this very evening, George insisted that we both accompany her to Kings Cross Station to greet them. I think he likes watching the trains. 1/4

Thursday November 16, 1854. If Sir John's young cousin set him up to take the fall for murdering his wife, I'll eat my hat! After two hours in his wholesome presence, having learned that he knew next to nothing of the man, I wanted to roll around in the dirt just to feel normal again. I didn't.

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2/2 Mr Peterson frowned. "Golly, I haven't heard that name in years!" he replied. "Mother used to claim that he and I were third cousins once removed, but that's before she died, of course. I never knew whether to believe her or not. It's not as if we moved in the same circles."

Wednesday November 15, 1854. The gullible wide-eyed young chap who let me in beckoned me to sit. His sparsely furnished apartment contained a good many books. "You are related to Sir John Geeson, sir?" I asked. "I must verify this before we can proceed further." 1/2

Tuesday November 14, 1854. "You're back. I thought you would be." Mr Death smiled ghoulishly. "I need to see Sir John's will, sir." "I expected you might so I looked it up. He never made one, in which case everything goes to his next of kin." "Who is...?" "Pass me down the Debretts."

My health isn't great at the moment, so my art endeavors are going very slowly. Have a little drawing from the archives 🙂

Monday November 13, 1854. "What?" George exclaimed. "You reckon Sir John killed his own wife?" "And tried to kill me," I added. Mr Tibbles stretched and let out a yawn. "George, should I tell Annie about my criminal past?" "What!" he cried even more vehemently. "No! I forbid it!"

Sunday November 12, 1854. As I watched Annie's face during the service, I imagined her reaction were I to divulge to her the truth about my past. So many of my correspondents have urged me to come clean, yet I find myself unwilling to do so. I wondered what George would advise?

Saturday November 11 1854. As I ploughed my way through my breakfast kipper, I considered what I had learned from Mr Death. Sir John had married Lady Geeson for her money, unaware that the bulk of it was entailed in an unbreakable trust. Only on her death would he inherit. Hmmm...

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Friday November 10, 1854. "Upon my word! If it isn't Mr Guy!" Mr Death, the clerk at the will office of Doctors' Commons, beckoned me into his cubbyhole. "To what do I owe the pleasure, pray tell?" "Sir, I have come to consult a will," I replied, "that of the late Lady Geeson."