Which Was Not So Before

By Jessi Borg-Watson

A new murder. A new famous detective. Madam Claret the papers call her but her real name, her real life, is unknown to all the public. On a new horrifying case something goes wrong. Madam doesn't always get what they want.

A tale of oppression. A tale of madness. a tale of murder awaits. A stomach turning and heart breaking tale of fiction based on a real meaning.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9780244165468

Book preview

Which Was Not So Before

Which was not so before

Dedicated to my mother who made me turn this into an eBook even though I’m not that fond of them

Chapter 1

With the new dawn rolling in on the horizon of the industrial revolution, argued to be the best era yet; the city that never sleeps would once again fill the country with its horrendous noise. While the sun fights its way through the ash inhibiting clouds; residents on the ground would make their way to the torture that was considered work or would be woken by their butlers wishing them a good morning, and a good morning it was to most. Some may have thought it wasn’t but would be too polite or used to social convention to say otherwise. Individuals would completely detest against it, not caring of whom it concerned.

In a small alley way in the scums of East London was a female dressed in all red. They wore a red brim hat that shadowed their face and wore a long, red, straight skirt with a white blouse, decorated with ruffles and not a crease in sight, neatly tucked in. She accessorised with red leather gloves that were tucked into a matching red blazer with 2 golden buttons at the waist and padded shoulders. Under their skirt were red heeled boots, laced to their knees and they would remain under her skirt as the idea of appearing prerogative to the male sex physically allied them, their attired forced them to stand out upon the working class dressed in dish rags and dirt. The female seemed extravagance and of a high status, which was distasteful upon the crowd that was currently being held back by a sea of navy-blue authority. Though in their opinion, they were the ones with no taste. Her skin was paler than those dead and their features sharper than a butcher new cleave, framed by the maroon locks hanging from under their large hat. The rest of their face was hidden under round midnight shades with engraved silver though the skin available for the public eye held youth and serenity.

Behind the midnight they gazed upon the mess that was the latest slaughter in London and to surely be