The Case of Jack the Nipper ~ A Chronicle of Mister Marmee

It is a well known fact that any truly great adventure, worth the sharing, must begin somewhere. With this universal truth in mind, I shall commence the narrative of my many adventures of danger and daring on the very day I made the acquaintance of the most extraordinary detective the world has ever known. It all began one fine morning, on a day very much like any other day. It was the day I unwittingly left my seemingly simple life behind me and embarked on a career unlike any other I could have imagined. It was a Wednesday, and everybody knows life changing experiences hardly ever happen on a Wednesday, or so I had always believed; but then again, I had no idea I was embarking upon a journey which would impact the course of my life forever.

I had spent the greater part of my life traveling the highways and byways of London, so when my sweet Annie declared we were going to Wiltshire for the day, I thought nothing of it. I had learned many years ago never to ask the particulars of our destination when my dearest announced we were going for a jaunt. Not only would I rarely receive a straight answer, but I liked the mystery that accompanied our weekly excursions. I never knew where we might end up when it was all said and done. From the looks of it, she was planning something extraordinary, as she had packed enough goodies to fill a small trunk. Such preparation usually meant we were to stay the night somewhere, perhaps with a family friend or some distant relative. I cared little about our intended location, as long as we journeyed there together. And it was a fine day for traveling too.

The sun had just begun to break through the early fog when my Annie first announced to me we were going for a drive in the carriage. I had been delighted by the prospect of travelling, as my morning turn about the garden had hinted to me it would be a glorious day. Although the air was still brisk as was its custom for this time of year, the smell of spring lay like a fragrant promise upon the breeze as the sun warmed the whiskers on my face. All through breakfast, I imagined where our drive would take us. I envisioned a million possible destinations; each one more exciting than the next. After my morning breakfast of smoked kippers and toast and a warm cup of milk, I watched one of our servants load the trunk onto the back of the carriage with great care. When all was secure, I took my place beside my Annie, and we were fast on our way.

As my daydreams had taken a more rural turn during my walk in the garden, I had hoped for a day of exploring the variety of flora and fauna the countryside had to offer. Unfortunately, Wiltshire was nowhere near the country. In fact, it was not far from Chelsea, where we lived, and was by no means rural or even unfamiliar, as we had wiled away many an afternoon in this part of town, exploring a variety of shops which were my Annie’s favorites.

Before long, we reached our final destination. Upon looking out the window of our carriage, my eyes fell upon a particularly handsome yet tasteful abode. The door was painted a dusky maroon, and there was a large brass sign to the right of it with a rather peculiar inscription on it which read Pets welcome, owners allowed. I was immediately intrigued.

The residence had a large parlor window which afforded the owners an easy view of the road when the curtains were drawn back. Since the day was unusually sunny with a fresh breeze blowing in from the bay, not only were the curtains pushed back as far as they would go; the windows themselves were opened to take full advantage of the splendor of the day. As we approached the great front door with its odd little plaque, I heard such a commotion coming from inside the parlor; I hardly knew what to think. Not having been blessed with a tall stature, I could not gain as advantageous a view as I would have liked. I could only see the heads and shoulders of a number of individuals inside, but from the looks on their faces and from the tone of their voices, quite an argument was brewing. Intermittent amongst the human voices were animal vocalizations which closely mirrored the sentiments expressed by the people inside.

I’m telling you, the little cur bit me ankle! yelled a scruffy, old gentleman with a large, bulb-ish nose half buried atop a great bushy mustache. He was standing closest to the window, making it very easy for me to see he was wearing a black cap and a dark brown wool sweater. He had a look about him as though he had spent a considerable amount of time working on the docks.

My baby did nothing of the sort! yelled a plump woman, as she waggled her chubby finger beneath his nose. She would never touch a man such as yourself, nor would she be wandering around the fish market where I am sure you work, based on the stench coming from your clothes. The enormous multi-colored feathers which adorned her hat waved wildly around, accentuating her every word.

A rather attractive man stepped forward to intervene in the argument before it turned into an outright tussle. I later discovered his name to be Inspector Hyrum Farley. He posed a striking figure with his broad shoulders and honey blonde hair.

Madame Fossey, he said, addressing the woman in the large feathered hat, there is no need to abuse the man. I am sure this is a simple case of mistaken identity. Doctor Hanover has inspected Mister Ditner’s ankle wound and is now taking a mold of your dog’s mouth to see if the bite marks are a match to your dog. The most we can do at this point in time is allow the good doctor to complete his examination and await the results. So please have a seat, both of you. His tone was forceful enough to inspire both parties to comply. As the inspector turned away from the two quarrelers, I saw a look of concern go across his face, as though he was worried about the outcome.

Within moments, I found myself in the very parlor where this exchange had taken place. My sweet Annie and I had arrived at the home and office of Doctor Stephen Hanover, London’s most respected doctor of veterinary medicine. Upon examining the room myself, I found the parlor to be more of a waiting room with over-stuffed cream and purple damask chairs and sofas lining the walls. Elegant gilded-framed paintings of various types of animals hung on the wall above the furniture. The walls themselves were covered in pink and gold damask wallpaper, with a darker red and gold border running beneath the crown molding. The windows were framed with French-styled crimson velvet drapes, tied back with gold tasseled cords. The entire tone of the room was one of luxury and comfort, but this was quickly broken by the mood of its current inhabitants.

Before much more time had passed, Doctor Hanover himself walked into the room. He was the epitome of masculine form and grace. He was a man of tall stature, with broad shoulders, a fine, strong face, and large, perfectly formed hands. His hair was a wavy dark brown, and his eyes were a brilliant blue green. It was obvious to me this impressive man was accustomed to laughing, for his face showed the evidence of his good humor around his eyes and mouth. Even as he stepped through the side door, his eyes twinkled with barely concealed mirth. He attempted to cover his amusement, however, by taking on a more serious expression. Upon closer examination, I saw a small dog tucked beneath his left arm. The good doctor cleared his throat and began his proclamation.

I have good news and bad news, Madame Fossey and Mister Ditner, he began.

Before Doctor Hanover could say another word, Mister Ditner bristled up and shouted, Ha-ha! I knew it! The darn dog did the dirty deed! I could not help but chuckle to myself at his alliteration. Unfortunately, my amusement was not shared by Madame Fossey, and within seconds, she was flying at the old man, ready to scratch his eyes out.

I’ll not stand for your accusations, you old bag of bones, she cried. I would not be surprised if you bit yourself just to impugn my poor little Muffy! Thankfully, Mrs. Fossey’s large size combined with Inspector Farley’s fast reflexes prevented her from reaching her intended victim. The inspector strained under her considerable weight, but he finally managed to maneuver her to the other side of the room.

Mister Ditner’s face colored to a deep unhealthy red. Why you…., he began. It was obvious he was about to delivery some salty quip to further madden the woman. Before he could verbalize what was on the tip of his tongue, Doctor Hanover yelled, ENOUGH!

The room immediately fell silent. As I was saying before, I have good news and bad news. The good news is Muffy had nothing to do with your bite, Mister Ditner. Mister Ditner muffled some complaint under his breath. Doctor Hanover continued in a louder more forceful voice. The bad news is we still have no leads regarding Mister Ditner’s attack in Battery Park and the other brutal attacks which have occurred elsewhere. Now, Mister Ditner, the bite on your leg came from an animal many times Muffy’s size. Are you quite certain you got a good look at the creature when it bit you on the leg?

For the first time, Mister Ditner looked uncomfortable. Well…, he paused and looked down at his well worn sweater, You see, it was rather dark, and the gas lights had not yet been lit. It was bloody hard for a man to see much of anything.

So what made you think it was Muffy that bit you then? Inspector Farley asked.

Mister Ditner answered embarrassedly, The attack took me by surprise and threw me off of my feet. When I finally got my bearings again, I saw a shadowy form slip around the corner. It was all I saw. I just assumed it was her dog on account of the proximity to her house.

I knew it! exclaimed Mrs. Fossey, exuding her indignation from every pore. My Muffy would never hurt a soul.

She’s charged at me from the other side of your fence before, Mister Ditner fired back, very defensive of himself by this point.

Oh, pooh! snorted the woman. She glared at him as she walked over to gingerly remove her precious pet from the doctor’s arms. As though sensing how close she had come to being incarcerated, little Muffy began shivering and whimpering. It was truly a pitiful sight…plump Madame Fossey standing there with her large feathered hat, cooing over her terrified little dog. I would have been completely lost in the ensuing details of the Fossey/Ditner drama had I not been suddenly, and very rudely, poked in the side.

What on earth? I exclaimed and turned to find the source of my assault. To my surprise, I found myself nose to nose with an unknown gentleman, staring into the blackest eyes I had ever seen. He poked me again. Do you mind, sir! I exclaimed, with much indignation in my voice. The stranger said nothing. He simply continued to stare at me, looking me up and down as though he were attempting to size me up. I must have voiced my annoyance again, because very quickly Doctor Hanover came over and confronted the poking fiend.

Sir Happy Heart! he exclaimed. Stop annoying our guests. I would have thought someone of your breeding would know to behave more appropriately with a guest. Where are your manners, my boy?

Sir Happy, for it was indeed the stranger’s name, snorted and then, as if coming out of a deep fog, shook his head and looked at me. His face broke out into a warm smile as he said to me, Please forgive me sir. I get so focused upon my observations, I forget myself at times. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Sir Happy Heart. He gestured to me in a most gentlemanly fashion as if to shake in greeting and better make my acquaintance. I looked him over and made no reply.

I have offended you, he continued. For that I am truly sorry. Please allow me to explain what caught my eye. When you first walked in, I noticed a faint smell of lavender, which indicated to me you came from the garden district, for its residents are known for their aromatic lavender at this time of year. I further observed you had a small streak of black paint on your coat. I know for a fact the vestry is repainting the lamp posts over near Greenwich Row in Chelsea, and the paint on your coat is decidedly fresh. I also noted the dirt on your boots contained a considerable amount of clay. A great many years ago there was a pottery factory near the midsection of Greenwich Row. Its activities leeched clay into the surrounding soil which to this day seeps from the ground after a good hard rain like we had last evening. With such an abundance of evidence at hand, I naturally deduced you lived somewhere between 622 and 658 Greenwich Row. Am I correct?

I can only imagine the portrait I must have made at that moment, standing in the parlor of Doctor Hanover. I was dumbfounded by the incredible and altogether accurate supposition which was just presented to me. Not only had he drawn attention to two very slovenly aspects of my current appearance which I apparently had failed to notice myself, he was also completely correct about where I lived. I suddenly became aware that my mouth was hanging open in my amazement. I immediately sought in the most nonchalant way to close it before something more embarrassing was pointed out by my new acquaintance, like an unhealthy color to my tongue or the unevenness of my teeth or some other intimate detail about myself which I would prefer remain unnoticed.

Sir Happy was watching me with great intensity, and I knew he was awaiting an answer to his question – had he surmised correctly? I cleared my throat as I gathered what dignity I had left and looked him straight in the eyes. You are mostly correct in your deductions, except for one tiny detail. The black paint on my coat which you so kindly pointed out came not from a lamp post but from the newly painted iron gate in front of our home. I tried to dull any sound of amazement I felt at having been so easily understood by someone I had just met.

Sir Happy’s face brightened immediately. But I was right about Greenwich Row, he said cheerfully. I have been spending the last few years perfecting the art of reading clues from the individuals I meet. It is quite fascinating, studying individuals and their habits, discovering the things about them they had no idea they were publicizing. In truth, I can look at a man and tell you what he does for a living, where he keeps his house, and what he has eaten for the last few meals. But wait! I have not had your name, sir. I would very much like to make your acquaintance in the proper fashion.

I looked him over again. Aside from his initial affront, I found I could not help but like this Sir Happy. My name is Mister Marmee, I said, gesturing to my new acquaintance to shake the way gentlemen do when they meet in society.

Good to meet you Mister Marmee, he said, returning the gentlemanly gesture. It is rather interesting that your name is Marmee. Your name is so very close to the word marmalade, which happens to be the very color of your hair. Would you consider your hair to be marmalade orange or more of a ginger tone? he asked.

I laughed at the suggestion. I rather prefer the former, and you are not the first individual to notice the color of my hair and compare it to orange marmalade. I have thought it for many years myself. With my admission, we shared a hardy laugh, and it was not long before we were on our way to becoming lifelong friends.

While this exchange was occurring, my sweet Annie had slipped into the back room with Doctor Hanover to discuss matters which were soon to change the course of my life forever. When they finally emerged after Lord only knows how long, my Annie looked as though she carried the weight of the world upon her shoulders. She smiled at me in an attempt to mask her heartache, but after so many years together, I saw right through it. She was in utter despair. Without warning, my Annie ran forward, scooped me up, and began sobbing into my fur.

Forgive me. I just realized I have not properly introduced myself to my reader. My name is Mister Tittleewinks Marmalade (named affectionately so by my owner, sweet Annie), and I am a cat. At this point in my life, my sweet Annie and I had been together for five glorious years, ever since I was six weeks old. We had never been apart from each other for more than a day or so, but all of this was about to change.

As my dear love was pouring out her heart into the back of my neck, I was at a loss as to how to comfort her. All I could do was purr at her reassuringly to let her know I was there for her, and I loved her. The only affect my reassurance had, was to make her cry even harder. I looked to Doctor Hanover for an explanation, since he appeared to be an intimate friend of my Annie’s. Thankfully, he did not wait long to explain.

Well, Sir Happy, Doctor Hanover began, It appears as though we are going to have an extended guest with us. Miss Annie here is being sent to boarding school and cannot bring her friend Mister Marmee with her. I have offered to have him stay with us as long as she likes and needs. We must do everything we can to make our new guest feel at home.

Doctor Hanover gave me a big smile as he reached over to comfort my girl. For just a moment, my Annie composed herself to thank the kind doctor for his hospitality and friendship. Sniffling deeply, she said, I do not know how I will ever thank you, Doctor Hanover. Mister Tittles means so much to me, I…I… She burst into a second round of uncontrollable sobs, and it took a full quarter of an hour before she could bring herself to say anything more. Since we had never been apart, I was not altogether certain what all of this meant. All I knew was my Annie was going away and it was breaking her heart.

Chapter 2

For my reader’s sake, I shall not belabor the pain and suffering of my sweet Annie. Nor do I wish to explore on paper in great detail the anxiety and uncertainty which I felt with this new revelation. Suffice it to say, the anguish I experienced at being separated from the one person who was the center of my universe was so great, had it not been for my new friends, I would have wasted away from a broken heart. I will, however, endeavor to explain the particulars of the situation and describe the details of the arrangements which were made on my behalf. To do so, it is necessary for me to impart certain details of my sweet Annie’s past and how those details, combined with our intimate history together, brought about our very sudden and tremendously painful separation from each other. Since I now have the benefit of complete disclosure of every point leading up to this moment, having discovered the particulars after the fact, I am at complete liberty to fill in the gaps that originally existed in my narrative.

My sweet Annie was the only child of the wealthy Sir William and Lady Whirthington. As such, she was doted upon by her loving parents, but not in a way that spoiled her, as some children are bound to become when money is readily at hand. There was just enough luxury to add comfort to her living and adventure to her life, but not so much that Annie became proud (in the darkest meaning of the word) or forgot the less fortunate around her. It was her caring nature which initially brought her into my life. I was a rescue, you see; found in some cold dark alley, abandoned by my mother and left to die. At six weeks old, I was brought to Doctor Hanover’s by some angel of mercy, and he gave me to my Annie. Her love saved me from certain death, and ours has been an unending love affair ever since.

Prior to our arrival at the Doctor Hanover’s home, sweet Annie and I went everywhere together. As a matter of fact, I have been a frequent patron of many of London’s finest establishments. There was not a shop, candy store, or grocer in all of London proper which had not had cause to know my name, for I dare say my sweet Annie and I have visited them all. At least it had always felt that way.

Besides, in my considerable experience, I have determined it is preferable, even vital, for gentlemen of distinction to familiarize themselves with the various people and establishments within their neighborhood. Whether a man is born into a life of leisure or is blessed by the Almighty hand of Providence to be adopted into it, as I was, men of means should seek to know and be known by those hard working individuals who carry the burdens of societal labor. It is through these relationships that we blessed few are able to help those less fortunate than ourselves; whether the help offered be in the form of some monetary extra, a personal recommendation for a well-placed employment, or simply to extend a friendly shoulder to lean upon when times grow hard and the heart grows weary. It is a service to our fellow man, and it is our responsibility not to neglect those around us.

For those first five blissfully wonderful years, my girl and I were inseparable. Our lives were so utterly entwined; I had never known a day where I was not completely enfolded by the outpouring of her love. You might say we lived for each other. The specter of change reared his grotesque head, however, when my sweet Annie’s governess, Miss Emilia Wimple, became engaged and gave notice she would be leaving the Whirthingtons’ employ once the wedding had occurred. The Whirthingtons were given a mere two months to find a suitable replacement, and although two months might seem at first glance like a long time, it went by remarkably fast. At the end of the two month period, no new governess had been located. The family became desperate. Since the Whirthingtons were fond of traveling from country to country, often leaving sweet Annie and myself in the care of her governess for months at a time, someone had to be found immediately.

Finally a replacement governess was located. But what a woman she turned out to be! Being a rather portly gentleman myself, I endeavor never to comment in a negative way on another person’s physical features, but in this case, I shall make an exception. In all my life, I have never seen a person with such grotesque proportions as Mrs. Eula McGibbons. There was not a pie or pasty in the entire kingdom that was safe within this woman’s sight. She was always eating. I do believe she tucked sweet meats into her pockets to carry her between her frequent and enormous meals. She never smiled, and she never had anything pleasant to say. She merely grimaced at everyone. Even my sweet Annie could not bring a smile to this woman’s face. My Annie - whose beauty shamed the flowers in the garden and whose smile made the sun seem pale and insignificant - was as nothing before this woman’s loathsome gaze. Nothing touched Mrs. McGibbons. And she smelled like spoiled cheese. Now I have been to the fish markets and the cheese stalls, and I have walked through the back alleys of London where the horse stalls are kept, but I have never encountered anything as noxious as this woman’s daily aroma. It was awful! Unfortunately, her body odor was not her worst feature. She absolutely, without question or reason, did not like cats.

The first time Mrs. McGibbons and I ever met, she screamed and hurled a sofa cushion at me. I will not be in the same room with that vile creature! Make it leave! This coming from a woman who smelled like cheese. I could not believe anyone could be so discourteous in another person’s home, but I was wrong. What made it even worse was the fact I very quickly found myself being escorted out of the room by Mister Whirthington, and in my own house. My only comfort was found in the loving arms of my sweet Annie, but my solace was quickly interrupted by the unwelcome introduction of the very same Mrs. McGibbons as the new governess.

For several months, we lived peacefully enough together. I avoided her as much as possible, and she continued to expand in size, practically eating the Whirthingtons out of house and home. Upon occasion, I found myself in the same room with her, which usually ended with me running for my life as she hurled in my direction whatever she could get her ham-like hands upon. Thankfully, her accuracy was very poor, and I never suffered from more than a battered ego.

Everything changed for the worse, however, the day the Whirthingtons announced their plans to travel to Italy. When Mrs. McGibbons realized this meant she would be forced to fully perform her duties as governess and guardian with only Annie and me to contend with, she outright refused to do it, unless I was sent away. My sweet Annie refused to allow such a horrible thing, insisting she could not live without me. No amount of coercion could get Mrs. McGibbons to budge on the matter; she simply would not remain cooped up in a house with nothing but a little girl and a cat as her company.

In less than a fortnight, the Whirthingtons found themselves without their sweaty, cheese scented governess. Since nothing short of a death in the family would ever bring the Whirthingtons’ travel plans to an end, it was decided my Annie would be sent to boarding school, and I would be brought to Doctor Hanover’s to stay. Which brings us to the scene previously mentioned where I discovered the bitter truth of our day’s journey.

The worst moment of my entire life was watching my dearest girl walk out the door of the good doctor’s home. The parlor’s bay window felt more like the walls of a prison cell as I helplessly watched my Annie step back into the carriage without me. The last thing I saw as the carriage rounded the corner on its return trip home was her sweet hand waving goodbye.

I was with my new friends for several weeks before they were able to rouse me from my clouded heartache. For the first few weeks at Hanover Place – this being the nickname I gave my new residence – I was kindly left alone with my own self-absorbed brooding. My friends intruded into my gloom only long enough to inform me when meals were ready or when tea was served. They knew my heart was broken, and both Doctor Hanover and Sir Happy agreed I should be given time to grieve. However, on the 25th day at the 10th hour (for I was indeed keeping track of every moment I was away from my sweet Annie), it was determined the time for intervention had come.

Chapter 3

There was great concern at Hanover Place for my welfare, as I had thus far spent my separation period in a state of deterioration. Nothing corporal mattered to me anymore. My thoughts had become so consumed with visions of my sweet Annie; I was completely unaware of everything around me including the growing number of animal bite cases that were being brought to Doctor Hanover’s office for evaluation. It was as though I was walking through each day blind to everything around me. It was not merely my inattentiveness which had so concerned my friends; it was my complete inability to thrive. I could neither eat nor sleep. I had become like a tortured shadow of my former self. When I was not pacing the floor, I was curled up on the sofa near the front parlor window, lost in the void which had become my heart. Seven different people, on seven different occasions, had joined me in the parlor over the first few weeks, waiting to have their bite marks evaluated by the good doctor, and I never took notice. Thankfully, Sir Happy wasted little time in enacting his plan to deliver me from my gloom.

It was midmorning, and I had once again assumed my favorite sulking perch by the front parlor window. I do not remember much of what happened leading up to the moment of my friend’s intervention; I only remember the sharp jab in the side which was its beginning.

What in the world…! I exclaimed. Being in no mood to be trifled with, I swung around, fully prepared to unleash the full measure of my displeasure on my aggressor. I was not surprised to find Sir Happy’s black eyes staring back at me.

I am in no mood … I began, irritation dripping from my every word. Before I could get another word out, Sir Happy poked me again. My annoyance boiled over, and before I knew what I was doing, I rapped him soundly on the head; not once but three times. Every ounce of frustration and anguish poured out in those three blows, in a mighty torrent. As soon as I was done, a mixture of shame and satisfaction washed over me; shame at having struck the very person who had offered me shelter in his home and satisfaction at having so boldly defended myself. I was prepared for whatever retaliation might be brought to bear. The response I received was a complete surprise. Sir Happy’s face broke out into the most wonderful smile as he asked, Do you feel better now?

I had no idea what to say. The truth was I did feel better; a bit drained but better. Almost against my will, I broke out into a hearty chuckle. I was greatly relieved when Sir Happy chimed in with his own round of warm laughter. I tried to apologize for my ungentlemanly conduct. Sir Happy shook his head and said with a grin, Nothing to it, old chap. Sometimes, when our feelings get bottled up inside of us, we just need an outlet to help let them vent. I knew if I poked you enough times, you would let some of your internal pressure out. His face sobered a bit as he continued, Besides, we were getting worried about you. You were beginning to look a little rough around the edges. He pointed at the wall mirror next to me. Take a look, if you don’t believe me.

It was true I had not examined my appearance in the looking glass for some time. I had expected to be a bit disheveled, as I had been rather neglectful of my grooming, but I was shocked by what I saw reflected back at me. The weeks of not eating had taken their toll. My cheeks were hollow from all of the weight I had lost, and my eyes were overshadowed by dark circles. Even my hair seemed dull and severely unkempt. I looked positively terrible. For the first time, I realized what a danger my sorrow had become.

When supper was called, I made a point to eat everything served to me. As I sat there devouring my meal, I looked upon my friend with new eyes, grateful for the risk he had taken to help save my life. Anything could have happened at the moment Sir Happy stepped in to intercede. I know now he had prepared himself for the worst. He has saved me from danger many times since that day, but I will always remember Sir Happy’s intervention as the moment when we passed the threshold from acquaintances into lifelong friends.

As I recollect my first few weeks at Hanover Place, it seems quite fitting I should endeavor to provide a more complete description of the rather quirky and complex individual who would play such a central role in my future narratives. Although it is possible to deduce much about the character of Sir Happy Heart from the little I have written thus far, I feel it necessary to expand on this venue so future narratives of my dear friend might be completely understood.

Were one to undertake a study of behavioral contrasts, there could be no better subject than the inimitable person of my dear friend, Sir Happy. Not in the entire world could there be another whose ever changing activity and disposition remain at such odds with each other. I find even now, after so many years of friendship, a difficulty in putting into words the many facets of his temperament and spirit which combine together to complete his nature. Having offered a confession of my own inadequacies, I shall now plunge into the valuations of his character.

Sir Happy is focused in his pursuits, yet at times exhibits extreme absent-mindedness. He can be patient and impulsive, stubborn and yielding, stern and soft-hearted. There is no limit to his generosity towards others. He is loyal to his friends and fiercely protective of innocence. He has a ready smile, but at times suffers from intense depression, most especially when he is idle. His nature requires he be doing something, anything, so long as it is a constructive activity that takes full advantage of his talents and interests.

You see, my dear friend was born very gifted. From what I have discovered of his past, he has always had the uncanny ability to observe the world, with all its subtleties and nuances, and discern the minutest details – details which are often overlooked by individuals who are highly trained in the art of investigation. My initial introduction to him was only a small glimpse into the observant and curious mind of Sir Happy Heart. His focused, and at times, single-minded approach has enabled him to discover revealing clues from the mundane environment in which various crimes have been committed. In other words, he is a natural-born detective, and he has spent many years perfecting his craft, offering his assistance in solving crimes and uncovering the truth behind whatever mysteries come across his path.

For other, less noble creatures, such a gift might give rise to less attractive characteristics like vanity and self-aggrandizement. This is not the case with Sir Happy. Although he is unquestionably aware of his rare gifts, his purpose in offering his assistance in deciphering clues and unraveling mysteries is, quite simply, to help his fellow creature. Sir Happy believes with all his heart his gifts were meant to be shared, without ceremony and completely without self-praise. He has often said, What would it profit me to glorify myself for what Providence has seen fit to bestow upon me? It would be sheer folly for all involved and would be a complete waste of my energies.

I have never known Sir Happy to be unwilling to share credit for any case or mystery he has solved. On the contrary, he is most willing to allow others to receive the commendation and praise for his work, while he takes comfort in knowing he did his part to protect the innocent from further harm. His humility is definitive and yet understated, causing even the most casual observer to experience a level of awe at so magnificent and yet so modest a creature.

Were his gifts the sum of his character, some might think him merely special and be done with their evaluation. Thankfully for Sir Happy, his talents are but the beginning of his intricate character. Having a heart for the less fortunate, a point which I myself find favorable in a gentleman, my dear friend has made it his aim to reach out to the impoverished of London and offer his services to them, regardless of their circumstances. It is an unfortunate truth that the destitute, being reduced to such meager and pitiable conditions as London’s slums can provide, are often inundated with the most heinous evils humanity’s heart can invent. It is for this reason such an ingenious mind would be made available to every beggar, costermonger, flower girl, dock worker, and rat catcher throughout the length