Breakfast came later than usual in the home of Horace Granville, as he decided to sleep in to recover from the months he spent at sea. 'Travel meant travail', his father would say, and Horace would have to agree, especially after the initial excitement of disembarking on a journey wore away. It was bliss to sleep in his old bed, without the constant rocking of the sea, or the sound of rats scuttling along the edge of the walls. By the time Horace came downstairs, still clad in his white cotton nightshirt, over which he wore his old, comfortable smoking jacket, it was well past 10 am.
Straight to the kitchen, where Horace could smell sausages and toast being prepared in the adjescent kitchen, Horace took a seat at the table and helped himself to a cup of strong, black cofee. Having been notified a few minutes after Horace rolled out from under the covers, his diligent housekeeper busied herself with his morning meal. Taking a sip, he sighed contently: things were already falling back into order, as they were before, and in that, he found a certain amount of comfort. But there would be many things he'd have to do to keep himself busy, such as making room in his library for the new books he brought with him, and calling on people he hadn't seen in years - it would be a while before things truly settled.
First things first. The Morning Chronicle laid neatly before him, and Horace picked it up - the headline caught his eye. Wrinkling his forehead in concern, he called out, "Miss Fairbanks? Last night was the full moon?" He knew the phase of the moon was nearly full, but the exact day slipped his memory.
"Yes, Mister Granville," came the reply, along with his breakfast plate. "It was."
He folded the paper and set it aside to direct his attention to his meal. "Thank you, Miss Fairbanks. And may I say, I've missed your cooking." Horace spoke with such affection as to convey that he had missed her, as well.
Understanding his intent, Miss Fairbanks smiled and affectionately chided him. "You best eat up, Mr Granville. You've lost so much weight in India, those clothes are hanging off of you."
No doubt, the Council would be called to discuss this recent attack, something which Horace had little time for, what with everything else he needed to do. Perhaps he could excuse his presence for the time being, though the thought of his sister kept drifting to mind.
I should ask Checkley if he'll be visiting the morgue soon, if he hasn't already. The reporter's claim should be confirmed before we begin wielding accusations against werewolves. Bodies are usually kept in holding for five days for investigation, and I'm sure Checkley will be tickled to see the body in all its gory splendor.