Friday night

So last night I agreed to a friendly rapier duel with Count Robichard. We met in the third ballroom in the main house of my estate, along with our servants. As the match progressed, I became aware that Robichard was dueling with skill not before evidenced. Based on his stance, footwork and thrusting technique it became blindingly obvious that the Count has joined the sinister Cabral Society, and has been receiving additional training. I quickly ended the match by slashing the Count's throat with the tip of my rapier, to his considerable surprise, I can assure you. I confess this was a bit unsporting of me, as we had agreed to a friendly match, but I was certain of my suspicions. Surely enough, I sampled the ‘wine’ the Count had been drinking all evening, and found it was, in fact, blood; proof positive that the Count had forsaken reason and joined the Cabral society.
"Shame on you, dear Count," I said. He, of course, said nothing, as his throat was cut and he was bleeding to death. His horrified servants were eager to help their master but wisely feared to approach me. I ordered my own servant, Cavendish, to mutilate the Count’s body and dispose of it behind stables. The Count’s servants tried to intervene but I reminded them that not only was I their social better, but I had a gun. In an uncharacteristic show of wisdom they fled my estate. Just to be sure, I sent my groundskeeper, Holtz, up to the roof with my deer rifle to fire warning shots at them until they were off the property. I should have been aware, I suppose, that Holtz had been spending the day drinking grain alcohol, and his ‘warning shots’ killed several of the late Count’s servants. Poor Cavendish would have a busy night ahead of him, disposing of all these corpses. Also, someone would need to clean up all the blood on the ballroom floor. So much for the upper classes leading lives of luxury!
I had my assistant Lucretia write up a quick telegram to my sister, Berenice, who had been married to the late Count. I fear this will be a difficult time for Berenice, as she seemed quite fond of Robichard. Fortunately, Holtz composed a bawdy limerick that I’m sure will lift her spirits. Truly, he is my least-despised servant.
As I am certain the Cabral Society will dispatch assassins to avenge my affront, I have decided to leave for my Winter estate. It will prove an inconvenience, but I am certain I can ease my discomfort with the knowledge that I have aided the forces of good, and also by my vast opium stores.