In Which Diderot and Bellamy suspect Shakespeare was fibbing about spring in England.
Bellamy: Spring, my ass. It is freezing out there. Whoever came up the notion that English spring is some sort of magical season was obviously living in Majorca at the time.
Diderot: It's a little-known fact that William Shakespeare actually spent most of his time on a beach in the south of Italy. April is the Cruelest Month was actually written in February on a cocktail napkin in a swim-up margarita bar in Palermo.
Djedefra: (Probably just as well for our nation's youth that this guy isn't a teacher anymore.)
Bellamy: Dad says Kit Marlowe was more fun to hang out with than old Bill. And he'd know. Smells good over there.
Diderot: I'm making beef ragout for dinner.
Djedefra: (And he's not dropping anything. I need to find a more untidy human.)
Bellamy: That'll take a while, then. Any of those cinnamon rolls left over from breakfast?
Diderot: On the sideboard.
Djedefra: (Because he knows I can't jump up that high and lick off the icing.)
Bellamy: Hey, you know that old stone cottage at the other end of the kirkyard? Behind the church?
Diderot: The old rectory? What about it?
Bellamy: Somebody's living in there.
Diderot: Really? I thought the place was barely habitable! There's no electricity, and the drains are hit or miss.
Diderot: I mean, this place is two centuries old and was pretty run-down when I bought it, and it's the new rectory. I sold the old cottage to the village council three years ago. Thought they were going to make it a park or something.
Bellamy: Well, there's a bunch of packing crates on the front step, and I saw a stranger walking around the kirkyard. Some guy with silver hair. Didn't look like a tourist. I guess it could be another idiot paranormal researcher down from London.
Diderot: Ah, that'll be Amandine and Arouet. She said they'd be coming round for tea.
Bellamy: It's open! Come on in!
Djedefra: (Cinnamon roll crumbs! At least one of 'em is messy!)
???: Hullo! Anyone at home? I'm moving in across the yard, and I was hoping you could tell me where the closest postbox is.
Diderot: Oh, sorry. I thought that was my sister at the door! I'm Aramis Diderot, and this is my housemate, Bellamy. Welcome to Westraven.
Jack: I'm Jack Knight. Nice to meet you.
Bellamy: I wondered who the new guy was. You have a roommate with silver hair?
Jack: No, it's just me and my dog, so...
Diderot: *sigh* I suppose we'll have to brace for the usual brigade of Londoners with EMF meters trampling through the begonias, then.
Bellamy: We have something of a paranormal investigator infestation. You'll probably see your share, everyone seems to think the old church and grounds are haunted.
Djedefra: (Timelords, Djinn, Half-cat Immortal Gatekeepers, and a misplaced French aristocrat from the 18th century, but no ghosts.)
Diderot: It's all part of the village's charm! There's a postbox down the lane and across from the pub on the corner. It's checked more often than the one next to the card shop on the circle.
Jack: Super, thanks!
Bellamy: Funny, though. He didn't seem to be the sort...
Djedefra: (Actually, it's more weird that we don't have ghosts.)
Jack: Thanks for your help! I'll be seeing you around, I expect. Cheers!
Diderot: Well. That answers a few questions.
Bellamy: I don't know. It raises a lot more.
Djedefra: (Yes, like are you going to chop up that steak now, and do I get the scraps?)
I'll get you soon enough, Jack Knight. And I'll take back what belongs to me.