Hey, I wrote this randomly, I'd just appreciate what you think... I wrote it in about 3 days, so please don't be too harsh... :)Any ideas for a title? I don't have any
Emily was darning one of her brother Charlie’s stockings. She sighed, and finished the last stitch. Putting away the needle and thread, she noticed a large crowd around a newspaper seller in the street outside the window, all muttering and gesticulating wildly. Hurriedly she piled all the items onto the stool on which she had been sitting, and walked out the door into the busy street. She pushed her way through the crowd, ignoring the loud protests, gasping as she saw what all the fuss was about. Emblazoned in bold letters on the front of the ‘The Times’ were the words: ‘Noosed in the Night! - Mr Browning Dead!’ Ever since she had enrolled at the Ragged School, she had been eager to read anything that came into her path. This however, was not her normal reading material. Emily delighted in reading anything about love, from the tragic stories to the happy. But this… this was different. She had to find Charlie. And fast.
“Charlie!” The shout echoed through the empty streets, most unlike London. “Charlie!” Emily walked nervously down the cobblestones, shivering. A dark figure moved in the shadows. Emily cowered, backing away until she ran into a wall. She turned tail and ran, back up the alley, almost feeling the wire around her neck. Hot breath pumped around her ears, panting in a rhythm. If she didn’t do something, the person would murder again. It gets easier the more you do it, they say. She skidded round a corner and ran straight into someone. “Em!” they cried. She could now see was her twin brother, Charlie, “Charlie!” she gasped for breath as she looked in relief at him. “The murderer’s after me! We need to go!” she grasped his arm and started to pull him away, towards the heart of London. “Wait… the Night Time Nooser? He’s after you?” Charlie stared at Emily in disbelief. “Yes!” Emily wailed, resuming her frantic attempts to get them as far away from the dark alleyways as possible. She finally managed to get Charlie facing the right way, and they raced down the street together, not resting until they reached the gloomy cellar where they lived. Stepping through the door, Emily immediately felt safe. She wasn’t sure is it was the still-glowing embers of the fire, or the familiar smell. Charlie approached from behind, and the twins embraced, comforting themselves in each other’s warmth. Their mother had died from cholera when they were small, leaving them in their father’s care. But he had left, deserting the siblings, condemning them to a hard, danger-ridden life.
When Emily released him, Charlie let out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad you’re safe, Em.” He smiled at her, then offered her a small, rather squashed bundle. “I got this for you. It’s your favourite.” Emily glanced down at the package, tentatively opening it. A delicious aroma reached her nostrils. Steak and kidney pie. It was a small slice, barely a mouthful, but for Emily, this was a rare treat. She nibbled on the crust, then wolfed it down. She took the damp cloth Charlie handed her, and wiped her hands. “I saw Officer Grey today. He called me into the police station.” Emily widened her eyes. “Why?” She asked, shocked.
“He wanted me to do something for him.” Charlie glanced at Emily, then continued. “He wants me to investigate Mr Browning’s murder.”
“Right!” Charlie said, bringing out a scrap of paper. “These are the suspects… His wife Elizabeth, His son George, His friend and partner Walter Rowe, and the staff. Let’s start with the staff. We might be able to get a job there and overhear something.” Charlie stood, Emily rising too. “3, Garnham Place, here we come!”
They had seen big houses, but nothing had prepared them for this. 3 Garnham Place was massive. Three floors, with gleaming windows, a shiny insurance plaque bearing the emblem of the Norwich Union Insurance Company, and a newly painted black door with a freshly polished brass knocker. But they weren’t going in the front door; they were going in the servants’ entrance. Charlie had got a job as a knife-cleaner, and Emily was to help him. Charlie knocked on the side door, and stood nervously, tapping his foot and whistling a tune that Emily recognised as ‘The Catsmeat Man’. She stepped purposefully on his toe as the door creaked open. He turned around as a boy’s grubby face peeped round the door. “’Ello?” The face said. “Can I ‘elp you?”
“Yes,” Charlie replied. “We’re the knife cleaners. Your cook said there was some work for us here.” “Alright.” Said the other, opening the door wider. “Come in, then, an’ I’ll show you the knives.” The siblings followed the boy through the kitchen and through a door into a small room, where many knives lay in a bowl of dirty brown water, followed by a bowl of emery powder, a damp dishcloth, and another cloth, this one smoother and made of baize, like the lining of the box to line the finished knives in. Two small stools were swiftly occupied, and the boy left the twins to it. Emily removed each knife from the water, then rubbed the gritty powder all over them before handing each one to Charlie and retrieving another knife from the bowl and repeating the process. Charlie wiped the blades with the cloth until all the powder was off, then polished it with the baize cloth until it was gleaming, then placed it in the knife box before claiming another knife.
Over the course of over fifty knives, (the Brownings were very fond of parties and celebrations), the twins had found out nothing to suggest that one of the many staff had done it, though a particularly chatty maid called Sarah had let slip that the new Master of the House (John Browning’s son George) had been out alone that night. - “No doubt ‘e had gone to a gamblin’ club. ‘e goes there reg’larly. He went in t’early evenin’, but ‘e didn’t come back till late next mornin’!” “Definitely suspicious.” Charlie muttered to Emily as they made their way back home that evening.
The next morning, Charlie and Emily went to all the casinos they could find, but not one of them had heard of a Mr. George Browning. They had sat down by a fountain in Victoria Embankment, disappointed that they hadn’t been able to find a lead to follow. Just then a grubby little girl with her two front teeth missing walked slowly up to them. “Are you lookin’ for the gamblin’ club that Mithter Browning goeth to?” She lisped quietly.
“Yes!” Cried Emily and Charlie in unison, jumping up and startling the girl. “What do you know?”
“He goeth to the one at Grothvener Plathe.” Emily and Charlie turned to each other in excitement, but when they turned back to thank the little girl that had assisted them in their quest, she was gone. The twins didn’t wait to search for her, she obviously didn’t want to be found, they just rushed off to Grosvenor Place Gambling Club as quick as they could.
“You wait out here.” Charlie said to Emily. His sister didn’t complain, there would be many dirty, disgusting men in there, and that wasn’t appealing to a young girl Emily’s age (12). Charlie pushed through the door into the dingy rooms behind. He walked up to the bar, and asked for a small beer. The barman moved forward to take his money, asking “Anything else, sir?” Charlie replied loudly in the negative, but as the man reached for the small pile of coins, he placed his hand over the considerably larger one. “Actually, I want information.” The barman’s eyes widened. He withdrew his hand and deposited the money in a drawer. “If you’d like to take a seat, sir, I’ll bring you your drink.” Charlie nodded and withdrew to a small corner where they could not be overheard. The barman, complete with a mug of beer, subtly looked around the room before noticing Charlie and sidling over. He handed the boy the mug, and sat down opposite. “What do you want to know?” Came the hoarse whisper from across the table.
“Does the name George Browning mean anything to you?” Charlie started. By the angry face of the man across the table, the name certainly rang a bell. A very large bell.
“Oh yes. He owes a lot of money here, you know. Over one hundred pounds, they say.” Charlie widened his eyes. That was certainly a considerable amount! That would keep him and Emily clothed in good quality items, well fed and living without fear of being evicted for quite a few years. “Did he come in here on the night of November 9th?” Charlie asked. The landlord looked puzzled. “The night ‘is father was murder’d? Nay, lad, ‘e didn’t. ‘e hasn’t been in for a couple of weeks now, ‘e’s run out of money, and horses, to bet.” The bear of a man leaned in and continued in a conspiratorial whisper: “I ‘erd ‘e asked ‘is father for more money, and ‘is father refused ‘im. They say ‘e murder’d ‘is own father! ‘is own father mark you!” Suddenly the man clapped a hand to his mouth, shocked at what words had just sprouted from his mouth. He stood hastily, backing away from the boy, and almost running back to the bar. Charlie finished his beer, then stood, and made his way outside to Emily.
Ideas were running through Charlie’s head. Mr Browning, killed by his own son? Why? It was something to do with money. It almost always was. So… George had to pay debts but he didn’t have money. His father had money, but didn’t want to pay the gambling debts. So George must have killed him to get the money. It all made sense!
“Come on, Em! Let’s go!” Charlie set off at a run, his sister sprinting after him, asking what the matter was. “We know who it is!” Emily didn’t, it seemed.
“Who?” she insisted.
“George Browning! Come on, hurry! We need to get to the Police station!”
“Too late for that, Sonny Jim!” Harsh, gravelly tones cut through their conversation. A dark, cloaked figure stepped into their path. A gleaming silver wire shone in the midday sunlight, pulled taught between two gloved hands.
“Run, Em!” shrieked Charlie, a sound he had never made before in his life. “Bow Street, now! I’m right behind you!” Emily did not protest, and darted off through a side street, pushing aside people in her frantic attempt to get away from that shining, almost innocent, silver killing machine. Charlie started to follow, but a leather-cloaked had grasped the back of his jacket. He desperately tried to wriggle out of it, but it was pointless. The murderer had woven his fingers through Charlie’s hair, making it impossible for Charlie to move without causing himself injury. Another hand snaked around his neck, trailing the wire. The man now tightened the wire, causing it to press hard against Charlie’s taut skin. “Tell me where she’s gone.” The man asked, his voice sweetened, dripping with fake honey. Charlie shook his head. The noose around his neck tightened. “Tell me.”
“Never!” The wire began to cut into Charlie’s skin.
“Never say never!” The man teased. He lifted his prisoner up onto a horse which had been waiting patiently in the shadows. Charlie took this moment of his enemy’s distraction to squeeze his fingers between the wire and his throat. If he could just hold out until the coppers arrived with Emily, everything would be fine. The nooser quickly followed suit, also clambering up onto the horse with Charlie. “ I’ll ask you one more time, and if you tell me, I’ll let you live. For now. Where. Has. She. Gone?” Charlie refused to say anything , lest he might give Emily away. The wire dug painfully into his fingers, cutting unmercifully. Blood began to run down his palms. How no-one noticed this was a marvel, or maybe they were just too scared. The man tightened his grip, and the wire began to pull through muscles, almost to the bone. Perhaps if he lied… “Trafalgar! She’s gone to Trafalgar!” Charlie cried desperately, hoping the man would believe him. He was obviously not as bright as some, for he evidently did believe the lie, for he let the boy go, blood pouring from his neck and fingers. The horse galloped off at a speed Charlie could not believe.
As soon as the rider was out of sight, Charlie pelted off down the road that his sister had taken, blood staining the ground beneath his feet. Just outside the Bow Street Police Station, he met Officer Grey, Emily, and a group of burly men. He just had time to direct them to Trafalgar Square before he collapsed at Emily’s feet, covered in his own blood.
Two days later…Charlie sat up in the hospital bed, thick bandaging around his hands and neck. He grimaced at the twinge of pain he felt as he stretched his neck. He looked round as Inspector Grey entered the room, closely followed by Emily. The Inspector sat on the end of the bed, and told them what a wonderful job they had managed to do. He thanked them profusely, and gave them each a sovereign. He also gave them tickets to go and see a production at the theatre that night. The play was ‘Julius Caesar’ “That is, if you’re well enough to go, Charlie!” joked the Inspector. Charlie assured him that he was, and that night, they were off to the Lyceum Theatre!
Later that night...The twins were enjoying the theatre enormously. A plot had been conspired, and it was thrilling to watch. Now cam the climax. Brutus and his friends were going to stab Caesar. Charlie watched with baited breath, Emily hiding behind her hands. And it was as well that she did so. Because the props, which were fake, had been substituted for real knives! Five, ten blades punched into the actor playing Caesar. And it was the actor’s blood spilling onto the stage, not the usual pig’s blood, though that was spilt too. Within minutes, the man was dead. Someone had swapped the knives. But who? That was the question. And Charlie was going to find the answer…
What can I do to improve? Any titles come to mind? Please help!
Flissy & Astra x
Wed Mar 29, 2023 9:30 am by 
Subject: A Random Crime Story I Wrote For A Course 
. It was originally going to be the son's friend, but I decided against it so as to cut it down and save loads of explaining...