The frigid cluttered room jammed my sight. Open window with flowy gold curtains howls with the frosty wind that sounds mellifluous, and as the taste of sunlight imbibe by my dry pale skin. I can see my dull red curls on the side of my face through the golden sunshine.

I have no time to holdback, as the dusty wall clock flaunt the busy vexatious scenarios I will stumble afterwards. Transitioning my gaze to the same seems-untouched calendar displaying the date 29th of February 1846. I stand and fix my self with a tepid water that makes my body loosen up for a while.

I dried my body after the chilling morning shower. Brushing my curly red strands while sitting in front of the breathless low saturated mirror. The perfect curve of my peach lips feels dry. The curl of my eyelashes feels heavy on my tight eyelids. My symmetrical face surfaced by the snow whites seems like a lifeless painting of a woman in the Victorian era, which is out of the fallacy.

After working with my hair, I wore the first layer of my clothes, plain white cotton tube dress that runs just above my knee and stockings with a gold garter above the knee as well. Top with corset that hugs my waist and give emphasis to my chest, with the lace in my front so I could tie it on my own, I don't usually have to make it extremely tight. It's significantly better to be comfortable for the whole day. I slip through the two layers of petticoats and a light corset cover for my corset. And pick up the deep dark green silk dress that was given to me as a present from Queen Victoria, and it is indeed seamlessly fits my body. I put on the usual brown shoe that I bought yesterday.

Stepping in front of the mirror, which I tone my fancy massive hat with the final touch of strawberry perfume, which will be running out. The embedded rare red and blue diamonds in the dark green silk implies my significance in the society of the upper echelons, accompanied by this distinctive pink pearls on my ivory neck. 

I put on my white gloves and immediately leave the isolated house. I rode the waiting horse under the tree which it seeks for a friend instead of shelter.

Riding almost 3 hours as graceful and quick as I can. Hearing only the wild bitter wind that roughly hits my face and brutally causing a deafening howls on my keen pair of ears. With the iron horseshoes kissing algid stones playing for a few hours.

My ride halt after the bridge that ends in front of the enormous open wood gate. I jump off the horse and bypass granted by the four gatekeepers. The gigantic door reveals the brimful town.

Calashes and wagons in horses bumping in the stones, busy people in the morning, mothers with crying newborns in their arms whilst working, men carting heavy objects in their shoulders.

What a busy London morning!

I made a rapid walk with the end of my dress in my both hands. Dirts and muds were on the way.

My feet stop above the 'Am Pàrras Cùbhraidh' sign board. I thrust the wooden door of the shop which it made me found myself inside a nirvana of perfumes. Mized floral scent filled my nose.

"Ms. Bloodhound! What a pleasent morning! "

I force my lips to curve for more as the old man greet me. He's the owner and we both know what I am here for, as usual. There are few aristocrats in the shop. Which they full compliment Mr. Pierre's extravagant chef d'oeuvre. This man is a well-known French fragrant expert and perfume shop owner, his expensive over clothing made from linen and silk, long socks, lily white skin, and long curly white hair made me remember the trademark of late 17th century French  upperclassmen, but this trend is gradually fading in the 1800's. His mother is Scottish and his father is a French for he is also famous immigrant in London.

"Have a sit? "

He nonsensically ask and leaving the talk with the middle aged women.

"No thanks Mr. Pierre, I came here to buy perfume, and I, at the same time have a job waiting outside, now can thee exhibit your best scent of the month? "

His eyebrows elevate with a pinch of confusion, it's the first time I talk to him crudely.

"Oh, my apologies madam, if you insist. "

I just give him a beam of my smile before he gets my order, and as where I remain with the muted conversations of these ladies.

After a second, he came back with a small round bottle with a floral carvings that seems fragile and expensive with a peach liquid inside.

I cautiously stroke it's surface, the cap is also round with a golden tie.

"That is a fragrance of fresh peach, mist with tasmin or champa, little Michelia Champaca and of course Scented Primrose."

I remove the cap and carefully spray the perfume on my wrist. The perfect floral scent with the peach almost knocked me out of my mind.

After a second, I finally gave Mr. Valir a couple of pounds. I put the bottle in my pocket inside my petticoat before leaving the shop.

The crowded place blocked my sight again, it feels heavy in my every breath. I squint my eyes as I laid them on the people's faces with their conspicuous vexed emotions. And that's why I am here for. It's been almost a year after I made a debut here in the Great Britain. No one knows me well and that makes my job real easy. But this job makes me popular every time I successfully make things work.

Every week is a new people to meet and new cases to solve. And yes, I'm a Sherlock, a gumshoe, can be a spy or a bloodhound as my last name tells.

Today, I have a new client. And I have no idea about him, the only clue that help me grope nothingness last night, is that, he's really desperate to give his lover the justice he hired me for. And my confidence hiked up as I finished the case, this last week. Exposing murderers isn't enough to make me crawl in the dark. I find it even hard to sweep a floor than to finish a case.