"Father Brown" fans, fan fiction writers, I conjure you (if is not a bother)!

How many of you have created one or more Original Characters?

How many of those Original Characters have a Face Claim?

How many of them have a backgroung/lore/their own story before Kemblefrod?

„Yeah, why would anyone want to leave Kembleford?!“

I feel that. I‘d love to be there. 😍

- Tom immediately gets on the case, trying not to let his strong emotions consume him as he tries to work out who kidnapped you and why.

- He will work with Father Brown, just this once, to have as much help as possible to find you. The clock is ticking and he does not wish for anything to happen.

- Poor Tom wouldn't be able to sleep well, his mind whirring with thoughts and worries for you, instead, he looks over the evidence again and falls asleep while he does so. His anxiety also goes up as he has none to talk to about his worries and the thought of you being alone and in pain hurts him terribly.

- If the kidnappers write letters demanding money or someone to be let out of prison, Tom will be angry and guilty that his work has meant that you are in danger.

- No matter how difficult the case and little evidence, he will never give up the hope that you will be found and the kidnappers are punished to the full extent of the law.

- When you are finally found all the emotion which he had been bottling up will crash and our poor boy will cry and cry with you tugged tightly into his chest. Sergeant Goodfellow left the room to give you both space as Tom held you.

- When questioning you he will be gentle and hold your hand through it all, allowing you to squeeze it when you talk.

- Tom will make sure that the kidnappers are given the longest sentencing possible and will not rest until you are delivered justice.

- After this is all over he takes a week off work to be with you. He takes you out on walks, cuddles with you, fixes up the garden with you as he is surprisingly good at planting. Tom wants to make sure that you feel safe and loved, not wishing for you to be alone after what happened. This time Tom also needed, he wished to spend the time which you had both lost and wished to hold you safe in his arms.

- If you are injured he will make sure you are healed, if you have trauma from it then he will be gentle and loving. Tom will be warrier and make sure that he installs security systems and makes sure that he is always around if you ever feel unsafe. He will become very protective and make sure that you are always safe.

-Let's start from the beginning.- Valentine had seated Rosie, Sid, and Father Brown on a fallen log, while Sullivan behind him was coordinating with Mallory the agents who were in charge of clearing the two bodies from the attic of the Utcher mansion.

-You went into the attic, opened a trunk and there were two bodies inside, right?- -Perfect summary- replied the girl, raising the camera, -I also have the evidence on video if you need it.- -They'll be useful. And you'll have to come down to the station for your depositions.- -Do I have permission to officiate a funeral rite for the two bodies?- Father Brown asked sadly. -Once the coroner has performed the autopsy. After all, they've waited over two hundred years, they can wait a little longer.-

A man and a woman approached the chief inspector. They were not police officers; judging by the bulky camera he carried on one shoulder and the microphone in the woman's hand, they looked like journalists. She was in her forties, but with the obvious retouching in her face stretched like a handkerchief she could have been even older. She had flashy makeup and perfectly backcombed platinum blonde hair that bounced with every step she took. She turned in a high-pitched voice to Valentine: -Hello! Maggie Compton, KJ Channel. Chief Inspector, do you have a moment for a brief interview?-

-Mrs Compton, what are you doing here?- he replied with a sigh. -The mansion is a piece of local history and certainly the citizens of Kembleford will want to know all about this macabre find!- She brought his attention to Rosie: -Specially from the voice of one who experienced it firsthand! You, my dear.- -Me?-

Overtaking Valentine, or rather pushing him aside, the journalist went towards the girl and made her stand up, taking her ungainly hand: -Yes, you! Start turning, Paul!- Valentine tried to stop the woman, but his protests were ignored and Maggie Compton turned to the camera: -We have here with us one of the authors of the terrifying discovery; please, my dear, what is your name?- When he held the microphone up to her the girl replied: -Rosie Black.- -Tell us Rosie, what happened inside the mansion?- -We were doing an urban exploration, and...- She looked at Valentine, who was asking her with a look not to add anything else, and Rosie accepted the silent request concluding with: -...unfortunately, I can't talk about it until the police have done their job.- She put on a smirk, just to irritate the baffled reporter even more, who was stopped in her attempt to talk to Sid by an overlooked Sullivan: -I'm going to have to ask you to leave, miss.- -All right, never mind, I have enough material for my story.- With an irritated look Maggie Compton went back to her van together with the cameraman Paul. The chief inspector stood next to Rosie: -Good job. That's not a woman, it's a vulture.- -I'm guessing this isn't the first time she's messed with you.- -You bet. It wouldn't be such a hassle to get interviewed if she didn't edit the story any way she like.- -Really?- -She doesn’t create proper fake news- Sullivan inserted himself, -but she does stuff the truth with so many unspoken phrases or nonexistent facts that she's earned a reputation as Kembleford's number one liar.- -Fortunately, she works for a digital channel, watched by very few people, and has never done much damage.- Valentine adjusted his tie: -But she's insufferably intrusive.- Mallory approached the group: -The bodies have been picked up, sir.- -Great. Come on, you three: the sooner we get to the station the sooner I can send you home.- Sid stretched and raised his arms: -Also because it's almost lunchtime.- -Good thing you're hungry. I still have that nauseating smell in my nose...- mumbled Sullivan. The group walked towards the police cars; Rosie took one last look at the gloomy Victorian mansion before joining her fellow adventurers.

Shortly afterwards, at the police station, Rosie Black unwillingly handed over her camera's memory card to the police technician, despite the fact that Valentine had sworn several times that it would be returned to her once the video files had been copied. To her relief, this was done very quickly.

While she waited for Sid and Father Brown to give their statements, sitting on one of the wooden benches in the lobby, she was closed in on herself, with her elbows on her knees: she thought of all the possible scenarios that had led Colette and Peter to end up in that trunk. She was interrupted by the image of a paper cup filled with water appearing under her nose and Sullivan's voice: -I'd offer you a tea, but it's too hot.- -Thank you.- She accepted the glass and took a sip. -I can't tell if you're shocked at seeing two mummified corpses or not.- -They had quite an effect on me, yes. But I visited catacombs on a field trip in high school, so they weren't my first. I'm fine, I mean.- -Good.- -Something doesn't sit right with me, though. That the escape story is wrong, or false?- -The coroner is examining the remains right now. Determining the cause of death will go a long way toward establishing the facts.- -Even if they're 200 years old? - -Have you ever heard of a "cold case"? -

Rosie just smiled and took another sip of water: -If you don't mind a little help, however...- -A help?- -I'm good at research. I could, I don't know... do some research and save you the paperwork. And then I was part of the find, so I'm in it for the long haul.- -Didn't you used to be a punk who hated authority? - -Yeah, but I can't resist a mystery. And I don't think I'm the only one around here.- Sullivan seemed to consider the proposal seriously; finally stating -If it's all right with Valentine, I'll have no objection.- -Really?- -But I don't want any trouble, okay? Especially with a certain colleague of mine. The girl smiled slyly: -I can restrain myself from swearing, but nothing more.-

The inspector was about to reply, when Valentine arrived: -Did I hear correctly? Do you want to cooperate?- She nodded. The chief inspector looked confused: -We don't usually allow civilians-- -And Father Brown?- the girl objected. -Right...- He scratched his head and huffed: -Mallory won't be happy... But after all, you don't have to work with him.- -You could recruit her as your assistant, sir.- -Oh, no, Sullivan. But you could do it.- The inspector made the face of someone who'd been given a cold shower. -I'm putting you on the case. Unfortunately, I can't handle it at the moment, but I got the impression that you two get along rather well. What do you say, Rosie?- -Like Inspector Sullivan said, I have zero respect for authority. But I want to find out the truth. Do I have to sign anything? A document?- -I'll have Goodfellow draw up the papers.- Wordlessly, Sullivan watched his superior walk away, then uttered a feeble: -This is not happening...- -Don't worry, you won't have to babysit me.- She got up from the bench and downed the rest of her water: -It's like those American movies where two unlikely partners try to solve a case.- -But we're not in a movie...- -But we are unlikely.- Father Brown and Sid joined them, and the latter asked: -What did we miss?-

-So you're Sullivan's assistant now?- Bunty asked Rosie, rather amused. Back in Montague Hall with Father Brown and Sid, they were eating a hearty lunch together with the girl. -Say I have special permission to provide useful documents to the police. Where would I find records from two hundred years ago?- -At St. Mary's we have what Mrs. McCarthy sympathetically refers to as "little books"- said the pastor, grabbing a small round bun from the bread basket, -They are not often consulted, but they are records for the church registry. They show both birth and death dates, and also baptismal dates.- Rosie shook her head wrinkling her nose, -Sorry, but that's not what I need, not right now at least. I'm talking about letters, diaries, something belonging to the inhabitants of the Utcher mansion; even the servants.- -How about the portraits?- Sid suggested, intent on nibbling on a chicken leg, -Maybe the painter who did the ones of the three brothers took some notes.- Young Black brightened up: -It could be... After all, painters spent a lot of time in the homes of their clients; some even became friends with a family. Speaking of family: where are my parents, Bunty?- -Oh, right. They went looking for a house here in the village; Aunt Felicia wanted to accompany them but she had an important meeting.- -I see. Well, I think I know what the next step will be.- She took a generous portion of mashed potatoes from a soup tureen and asked: -Who's coming with me?-

Mallory frowned as he looked at the parade of moldy paintings his agents were taking into a room. And he watched even more frowningly, from behind his large coffee cup, as Rosie Black chatted with the local antiquarian, who had been called by Sullivan specifically to examine those paintings without damaging them. The man, a balding little man with round glasses pinned to his nose, seemed excited about the find, and was offering to restore those paintings. After all, he was the only one in Kembleford who could do it. Finally, the presence of Father Brown and Carter was intolerable to his eyes. The inspector was annoyed by the theatrics, and could hardly bring himself to close the door of his office to avoid witnessing it. All that noise for nothing. He already had a theory, or rather a certainty. The older sister was the culprit. She was a lunatic who didn't want to lose control over her brothers, so she had killed them. Then, to cover up the misdeed, she had invented the story of the escape and made them believe she was even crazier, spending all her money on their research. Who knows where she had spent it instead. And the fact that she'd fallen down the stairs? Karma, probably, or a household accident. After all, the hems of clothes could get stuck, couldn't they? He'd floated that idea to Valentine, who had dismissed it with a "the autopsy will tell us more". Mallory settled into his chair, sighing deeply and keeping his composure. He knew he was right. And he was also sure that his colleagues would regret having listened to that little girl, regret having wasted their time on something so simple; and he would gloat. He could already imagine Sullivan's face! The landline phone on his desk rang a couple of times before he decided to answer with a sharp: -Hello?-

While the inspector stood in his office, the transport of the paintings was finished, and the antique dealer was able to begin his work, under the gaze of Rosie and her camera and Sullivan. Sid and Father Brown stood aside. -You see, a painter's signature is not always visible at first glance- the little man began to explain in a cheerful voice, -In the Renaissance, for example, most signatures were hidden.- -Michelangelo, in fact, signed some works portraying himself inside them, as it happened in the Sistine Chapel- said the priest. -That's right, Father. In the nineteenth century, instead, painters affirmed their identity more openly by affixing a signature in the lower right corner of their paintings. Although there was no shortage of artists who signed their paintings all over the place, such as Van Gogh who affixed his "Vincent" in the most disparate places!- He put on a pair of protective gloves and adjusted his glasses: -Well... Let's examine Miss Colette Utcher first.- He gently took the girl's painting by the frame and laid it flat on the table: -Let's see... Oil painting, without a doubt. And the brass plate bears a precise date, 1812. Sharp, delicate style; the colors remained quite bright. Let's have a look at young Peter.- He took the second painting and placed it next to the other: -Yes, yes... Painted by the same hand, definitely. Unfortunately, on Colette's painting the signature is illegible, while here... Found it!- The other occupants of the room became agitated and approached the table. -The painter's name is J. Knowles. Um. I don't know him. He must not have been particularly famous.- -Knowles... Not a very common surname- said Sullivan, starting out of the room at a brisk pace, -Thank you, Mr. Parry, we will entrust you with the paintings for further verification. In the meantime we will do our own research.- -Of course, Inspector.- Leaving the antique dealer alone, the rest of the group headed for Sullivan's office, who stopped his pace and said: -When I said "we" I meant me and Rosie.- -Four more eyes, or rather six considering our pastor, could come in handy- said Rosie. The inspector paused for a moment, then sighed: -Alright...- -I was going to suggest that we drop by St. Mary's for those records I told you about, Rosie- added Father Brown. -Great idea! Now that we have a last name, if Knowles was born and lived here maybe there's even an address on the records!- -Wouldn't we do an Internet search first?- suggested Carter. -I hate to admit it, but he's right- said Sullivan. -You heard the antiques dealer. Knowles isn't as famous as Picasso or Monet; if you're not a big name, you're not even entitled to two lines on Wikipedia. So we'll have to do it the old-fashioned way.- -I'll call Mrs McCarthy, she'll surely be able to help us out!- The other two looked at each other, not so enthusiastic about the idea of rummaging through dusty old tomes.

The tall steeple of St. Mary's Church towered against the clear early afternoon sky, the honey yellow bricks mottled with white in full prominence in the afternoon summer sun. About halfway up the tower a rhomboidal clock face, made of a fine yellow, white and blue mosaic, showing the time to the inhabitants. It was the inside, however, that left Rosie speechless: she didn't remember it being so beautiful, perhaps because after all she had never been to that church much as a child, and she took the opportunity to get a full shot with her camera. Norman in style, the light sand-colored stone interior set off the dark wooden benches along the nave and the curved beams of the same material supporting the roof. Piled neatly to one side were folding chairs of lighter wood; the stained glass windows were uncolored, except for the largest one located behind the altar, and depicting scenes from Holy Scripture. A dark red, almost burgundy carpet was laid on the stone floor. A large confessional with a bottle-green curtain and frosted glass occupied most of the wall to the left of the entrance. Statues of saints placed in their alcoves looked down with their marble eyes at the visitors to the church, and other images enclosed in wooden frames and supported by poles were positioned in the corners, while the glittering pipes of a pedal organ with a rather old-fashioned look reflected the sun's rays on the altar. On the altar was a white tablecloth held in place by a brass crucifix, the base of which was a rather heavy-looking half-sphere. Everywhere flowers and candles decorated the church, in particular a large stone stoup decorated with classical motifs. A solid wooden door with wrought iron hinges led outward, while another led into what Rosie deduced to be the chancel.

Mrs. McCarthy came out of the latter door, carrying stacks and stacks of large, brown-covered books on a metal trolley; she huffed and puffed and exclaimed: -That archive could use some tidying up! The volumes may have the year engraved on the cover, but they are all scattered! Making a choice was difficult.- Father Brown smiled and went over to help her, leaving his umbrella hanging on one of the benches: -Let's bring them over here, by the altar. You did a great job, Mrs. McCarthy.- -This is going to take forever!- said Sid, noting that there were over a hundred books on that cart. -No, if we share the work- said Sullivan, taking off his jacket. -What year do the books start?- -Well, from what Father Brown told me, I made a selection between 1740 and 1850, to be on the safe side.- -You'd have made our librarian in college green with envy, Mrs M!- complimented Rosie, closing the camera and rolling her shoulders as if warming up for exercise: -I'd say we take a decade each. J. Knowles must be here somewhere.-

The task turned out to be less arduous than expected, even though it took a long time: written in different handwritings, all of them clear and precise, the names of those who were born and died in Kembleford were listed in order of days and months. Rosie was scrolling through the 1780 register, when Sid exclaimed triumphantly: -I found it!!!- His cry echoed throughout the church, startling Mrs. McCarthy. -Here it is, in the year 1790: Jonathan Knowles, born May 14 and baptized two days later. If he painted the pictures in 1812...- -...he was twenty-two years old when he met the Utcher family- Rosie concluded, -And the date of his death?-. -Let's see...October 17, 1813- concluded Carter sadly, -Damn, he was very young...- -Maybe his health was compromised- suggested Sullivan, -and it was not uncommon for diseases such as tuberculosis to kill the weakest.- Rosie looked at him wide-eyed. -What?- -What if...- The girl picked up Sid's ledger, frantically searching the pages for something. -What's the matter with you?- the inspector asked again when the girl passed him and went to look in another stack of volumes still on the trolley for another book; picking it up caused a collapse of the other tomes that Mrs McCarthy could not contain, and to her regret she had to drop some of them on the floor. Rosie scrolled through the pages, quickly but trying not to break them, then stopped short. Father Brown noticed that the date engraved on the rib read "1795." -Arleene Utcher... Born August 3, 1795, died February 10, 1828- declaimed young Black. -Thirty-three years old? How is that possible?- murmured Sullivan, -From the story Valentine told us she should have died long after the brothers disappeared.- -A story that passes from generation to generation is always enriched or exaggerated, especially if it is transmitted orally- Father Brown intervened, -And the truth of the facts is altered.- -If her brothers were a few years younger than Arleene... Let's check after 1795- stated Rosie, closing the book in her hands and dropping it heavily into Sid's hands.

After a little more time, they spotted Colette and Peter: she was born in 1798, while her brother was born in 1801, but surprisingly, not only was the date of death listed, but it was identical for both of them: a few days apart, they had died in 1817. -Something doesn't add up. If Arleene killed them as Mallory suggested, why declare them dead?- Sullivan crossed his arms and assumed a thoughtful air: -And above all, why hide their bodies in the attic?- -Inspector, you mentioned tuberculosis- said Rosie, -And that gave me an idea: what if the two younger brothers had died of that very disease?- -It's hard to say. I'm not an expert in autopsies, but bacteria don't leave obvious traces, especially in such deteriorated remains.- -I’ll check a thing.- She grabbed her cell phone and did a quick search: -Kembleford... epidemics... That's it!- She showed the screen to the others: -Apparently the village was hit by a tuberculosis epidemic between 1810 and 1822. Everyone must have gotten sick then, including Knowles.- -If so...-Father Brown began, but a short jingling sound interrupted him. Sullivan took his cell phone out of his pocket and stated, -The autopsy results. What timing. Apparently there are no obvious traumas on the two bodies, or wounds that would suggest a violent death. Bones intact, organs mummified but in perfect condition... It looks like the theory of disease holds up.- -As I was trying to say...- the pastor tried again, -This leaves us with one last question: why keep the brothers bodies in the attic and not bury them in the cemetery?- -Perhaps the answer is in the attic of the mansion. We have to go back there- Rosie concluded firmly. -Not at this hour anyway- Sid answered her, -It's getting dark, and we have to go back to Montague Hall.- -Dark?- She checked the clock on her cell phone and was surprised: -Damn, you're right!- -This is terribly macabre; I won't sleep at night!- commented Mrs McCarthy, retrieving the books and balancing them on the trolley.

Father Brown February 

11th February