It was morning. A cold, rainy winter morning. A morning that seems to last a whole day. One of those days when the sun doesn't have the courage to rise and prefers to leave the world in permanent darkness.

The sky was covered with a layer of dark grey clouds. They seemed to accumulate above the earth, pressing, pushing each other to try to touch it. A silvery mist disturbed the contours of each thing, making the landscape blurred, opaque.

Everything looked lost, abandoned, dilapidated, in the fog that covered them. It seemed to want to swallow up everything, to make everything disappear between its thick masses.

It was as if the wind had taken shape, had become dense and thick to cover everything.

The world looked like a huge kettle under pressure.

On this freezing morning, a coach ran on the roads. It was a black coach, without ornaments, which cracked the frozen air as quickly as the muddy roads filled with ruts.

At the front of the coach, swinging to the rhythm of the holes and hollows of the road, was hung a lantern that shone dimly. Surrounded by fog, it barely managed to bring its light more than two meters ahead of it. It struggled valiantly, the little lamp beaten by the wind.

A coachman, whip and reins in his hands, his back bent, his fists clenched and his bones stiffened by the cold, guided the coach on his way. He leaned forward, his face closed, his eyes pleated, hoping to see something in front of him. His black wool jacket was all wet from the humidity. The coachman could feel the chill and the rheumatism coming. From the tongue he hailed his horse, he pressed it, pushed it to keep moving.

The brave beast was a most common horse, brown dress, ebony mane. Large black wells, soft and affable as eyes, she galloped with all the strength of her four big old legs, dragging the heavy coach alone. Her breath blew in the air clouds of steam that came to join their big sister the mist.

Time seemed to have stopped. Silence as thick as fog. Only the muffled sound of the hooves against the earth disturbed this morbid calm.

In the fiacre, two passengers, all of whom did not know what they were doing that day, in such a weather, on these desolate roads. It was indeed a day to stay at home, sheltered in many sheets, facing the fireplace to warm up, with a feeling of well-being that brought even more heat than fire. In spite of everything, these two weirdos, for some unknown reason, had decided to make a little trip, pushing a coachman to freeze his fingers and his butt and a horse to get lost in the mist. Without forgetting the suffering of the little lamp, which was not the least.

These two passengers were curious phenomena. One couldn't have imagined a more unlikely duo.

A man whose age could not be determined. A vampire pale and drawn features. Little eyes, bright with intelligence, which never ceased to observe what surrounded them. They had the same colour as the sky that morning, a dark grey and cloudy... His face seemed to display a closed expression all the time. His face was emaciated, his features marked, drawn with a knife. Above his eyes, thick black eyebrows darkened his eyes. He had short ebony hair, fine and well combed, so well combed that one could almost see the traces of the comb. They were folded back onto his long, narrow skull. No gale, even the strongest, could have dislodged them from their position. He had a tight, thin mouth that formed a line on his skin.

He was very tall and very thin. He wore a long thick blue night coat on a pearl grey vest. His shirt and collar had a mother-of-pearl tint and were of impeccable cleanliness. His trousers were of the same colour as his vest and reached his elegant white and black shoes, so well polished that one could see oneself in it as if it was a mirror. His adornment was completed by a pair of black gloves, which underlined the silhouette of his long, thin, bony fingers, and a gold pocket watch, which he held in his hand and kept staring at, in the hope that maybe the needle would start to run differently.

His allure exuded an air of simplicity and wealth at the same time. The man seemed simultaneously calm and concerned. His gaze was often lost on the side of the cab window, on which flowed slowly, in an inevitable race towards its end, a fine droplet, child of the surrounding mist. Who knows what he was looking for.

Eventually, he stopped looking at his watch and was content to caress its cover slowly, the thumb gently drawing the grooves carved on the gold.

He produced no noise, remaining marble, in the most complete silence.

By his side, his companion was his exact opposite. Small, energetic and noisy, she kept turning in all directions on the seat of the cab.

She was a young girl, not even a woman yet. She appeared to be no more than 18 years old and overflowed with the vivacity of youth.

Her hair was brown, very dark brown, looking like the night of that morning. Her locks were unruly, very curly and thick. They were tied summarily, in a more than questionable bun, which let half of the hair escape, falling in a wavy cascade around the face of the girl.

She had a porcelain doll complexion, very white and delicate. Her eyes were as dark and deep as two chasms, framed by thin and large round glasses. They sparkled with curiosity and a constant impatience. She was a bright fire, full of life and energy. The girl had beautiful lips, pink and full, it looked like someone had put paint on them to give them such a color. These lips were stretched out into a big smile that never seemed to go out. The girl obviously liked to smile. She loved to live and was happy to be there. Happy, just like the first ray of sun that slowly pierces the veil of clouds and pours into the world in an unstoppable waterfall. 

She vibrated with excitement and an inextinguishable good mood. She was in constant motion, her legs swinging back and forth, her fingers tapping her knees. She kept turning around, looking around and didn't seem to be able to fix her gaze for more than two seconds in a row in the same place. She had a funny and carefree appearance and a lot of charm.

She was dressed in a simple sky blue dress with long sleeves that went up to her neck, with several black buttons adorning her chest. The skirts of the dress were the least thick and also the least long possible in order to give the lady the most freedom of movement. Among the various layers of petticoats were two small, thin and delicate feet, wearing long black boots with laces that went up to the knees. The girl's only other accessory was a brown leather bag, which swayed at her waist, to the rhythm of her movements.

All the dark restlessness that emanated from the man was compensated by the girl's joie de vivre. The two formed a rather interesting duo, the taciturn man and the smiling girl.

After several minutes of a rather heavy silence, the girl spoke, unable to bear to be silent any longer:

 "Don't make that face, Alistair! I already told you it was safe! And then, you yourself agreed to come, so smile for once!"

The man turned to her with a dark look, frowning. His face seemed physically incapable of smiling.

 "I still think that's a bad idea."

 "I've already told you that it was the countess herself who sent me a letter. She's asking for our services, Alistair!"

 "It just seems suspicious to me that the Countess, who neither you nor I have ever met, has contacted us, the least known detectives in London."

 "You're exaggerating, I'm sure there are people even less famous than us."

Alistair raised an eyebrow as a sign of suspicion.

 "Even the carekeeper at our house can't remember our names."

The girl uttered a protest exclamation, and turned to the other side of the cab, starting to sulk.

Five seconds later, wearied by this state, she turned again towards Alistair to resume the conversation.

 "But you yourself testified that it was indeed a letter from the Countess of Averley."

Alistair sighed at his partner's insistence.

 "I only confirmed that this letter seemed to come from the countess, nothing else. Moreover, in the letter, we are sorely lacking information concerning the case for which the countess needs us."

 "Yeah... it's exciting, isn't it? The mystery remains full!"

 "A little too full for my taste..."

The girl was trembling with impatience. She was almost hopping on her seat, pounding her hands frantically. She kept pulling up her slippery glasses.

If the man seemed quite exhausted by the behavior of his companion, he also had a slightly amused look.

 "You know that solving cases has always been my dream." The girl whispered with a captivated look.

Alistair seemed almost moved by her words.

 "I don't know if what we will find there will cheer up your detective fantasies. What I'm afraid is that it's just a bad prank we're being played."

The girl wilfully ignored the man's last words and carried her gaze towards the window, hoping to see their destination.

Unfortunately, outside the coach, the landscape was as black as ink on paper, you could not see a drop. All the girl could contemplate was her own reflection on the glass.

Her breath was misting the glass. She put her fingers against the window and began to think about her future career as a detective.