Play@YSDC

The fellows appear somewhat contemptuous (and rather amused) at your attempts to intimidate them. The largest of the bunch, a rangy chap with rotten teeth and a squint, grins.

"Ain't against the law to take a mornin' stroll an' enjoy the country air is it? 's a bostin' day forra walk, in't it?"

Hmmm...Professor Garrett thinks to himself. Rather unusual to hear the yam-yam dialect this far from the Black Country. Perhaps they're here for the hop picking?

Given that the ruffians have departed, Grigori returns to the original plan of Miss Coates cottage, where no doubt he meets the others...

You do indeed reconvene at the front gate of Miss Coate's cottage, there being no need for stealth with the departure of those rough chaps (correctly identified as hailing from the industrial Midlands by Prof. Garrett).

Miss Knight and Mr. Lewis also meet at the gate, so, unless Mr. Pritchard's silence means that he has taken his leave, you are all together once more.

From the gate, a narrow path leads through a neat cottage garden to a wooden front door, protected from the elements by a rose covered porch.

"Well, we're all here," says Cynthia. "Shall we knock?"

Mr. Handy wrote:

"Well, we're all here," says Cynthia. "Shall we knock?"

"It would only be polite."

Cynthia walks up to the door and raps lightly on it.

Henry Joseph Lewis III drew the collar up on his overcoat and waited for a response to Miss Knight's knock. He glanced to the left and right, curious as to whether or not the group was still of any interest to the locals.

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OOC:   Wow, actually passed, assuming there was something to be seen.

As Miss Knight knocks on the door, Mr. Lewis can be assured that no-one seems particularly interested in them, hidden as they are from view by the hedges that conceal the front garden.

After a short wait, you hear a female voice muttering with irritation before the door opens. Before you stands a tall woman of a certain age.

"Yes? Can I help you?" see askes, somewhat crossly.

You cannot help but notice that the long white smock she wears is splattered red.

"I'm terribly sorry to have interrupted you, Miss Coates," says Cynthia. "I'm Miss Cynthia Knight. My colleagues and I came from Eton, and we were hoping to ask you a few questions about Wergynstone if you have the time.'

Grigori smiles in what he hopes is friendly fashion, while trying to survey the scene behind the lady, who is no doubt in the midst of preparing some meat for the pot...

A look of confusion flickers across Miss Coates' face at the mention of Eton, before realisation dawns.

"Eton? Oh, Eton! Yes, of course, the business with the Boundary! Such a shame about poor Barneby isn't it? You wish to know about our delightful village? Well I suppose I do know a thing or two that-"

She stops, tutting to herself.

"Listen to me whittering on the doorstep! Please, do come in; I hope you don't mind waiting in the hallway for a moment while I clean up the parlour - I've just finished decapitating the butcher's boy."

She smiles brightly before disappearing back into the cottage, leaving the front door open.

Cynthia's jaw drops. She had assumed Miss Coates had been slaughtering an animal, but now it was quite clear that she was quite mad. "What shall we do?" she whispers to the others. "Is there a constable in Wergynstone? I can go fetch him."

Grigori's smile turns rapidly to a perplexed frown. Surely he misheard the lady... Or perhaps she is unlettered and is mangling the Queen's English, meaning someting quite other to what she has actually said...

Palming his life-preserver into his pocketed hand, he steps into the hallway, trying to see which way the woman has gone...

"Either this old woman is mad, or we misunderstand her... We should find out which with all haste!"

"I'm quite sure it's the former," says Cynthia, certain of what she has heard. She looks to Mr. Lewis. "Is there a constable in Wergynstone?" Being local to the area, he would know.

Perhaps Mr. Lewis ought to make an EDU roll to see what he knows. Being of a higher social class than the lowly inhabitants of the village, please also roll a penalty die.

Henry Joseph Lewis III moved aside as other members of the group made their way inside. The young man had already had his fill of madness on the eve prior, and had no desire to step inside the cottage given what this contact of theirs had said. They could investigate if they chose to, but he was going to wait outside and locate a runner to summon the local constabulary.

EDU (85),[dice]0[/dice]

Penalty Die (d10),[dice]1[/dice]

OOC:   A success either way, so yeah, HJLIII knows stuff.

Despite having little interest in the doings of the local working classes, Mr. Lewis recalls that there is indeed a Constable who is responsible for the area. He is based in the larger village of Withington, situated some miles away.

It would take at least a couple of hours for a runner (if one could be located) to reach Withington, rouse the policeman (assuming he wasn't out on 'patrol' at a local hostelry) and return with the fellow in tow.

The point, perhaps is a moot one as Miss Coates reappears, sans smock, and beckons you in. She opens the door to her parlour to reveal a young lad of about twelve years of age.

"Thank you Raymond," she says, dropping a couple of coins into his hand, for which he seems mightily pleased. She smiles as he rushes out, tipping his scruffy cap to the assembled party.

"A good lad, young Raymond; always willing to model for me, despite the more, um, challenging nature of my current work."

It soon becomes clear that she is referring to the large canvas, propped up on an easel and hurriedly covered with the red-spattered smock she wore earlier.

"Now, Eton you say? How fascinating. I suppose you're here for- oh, where are my manners? I'll make a pot of tea shall I?"

And so you are left to make yourselves comfortable on the threadbare furniture that occupies the majority of the rather spartan parlour (after carefully putting aside the tubes of mosty red and orange paint scattered here and there).

Cynthia relaxes a little now that she knows that Miss Coates is not mad after all, just perhaps a bit peculiar. Then again, so is Cynthia herself. "Thank you," she says, finding a seat. "I'd be keen to see your work."

Professor Garrett will look around the room, albeit without stirring from the chair/sofa in which he is now comfortably ensconced. Murmurs to the others: "Something tells me Miss Coates is the type to have the odd interesting artifact or two, occult books that kind of thing. Anyone see anything like that hmmm?"

Grigori accepts his tea gratefully, and tries to see what clues there might be to Miss Coates' character and the nature of this strange village. He scans the bookshelves... Always a good guide to a person. Are there any photographs or uncovered artworks...?

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