February 27th, 1891 - An Estate in Southern England

There was, as far as August could tell by first glance, nothing at all of note about this property. A Mr. Turner-Clarke who had gone to school with August had written him about it, expressing surprise that he didn't inherit the estate, as he thought he was supposed to. August usually didn't do contract law, but he did do contract law when there was a significant amount of money attached to it and his caseload was light, so - he'd said he'd come take a look at things.

The property, though, was just a property. He'd flooed to the nearby town and from there had walked up the road to the estate; he was further down the road than the house itself, but there was nothing of note about it, except that it existed. And someone had inherited it, because it was still relatively well-maintained.

It looked to be worth a bit of money, by his reckoning, particularly if there was magic done to expand the interior or otherwise deal with the grounds. Turner-Clarke had mentioned there were other properties, too - maybe August should have a look-see at those, as well.

He was going to go, except there was a man walking down from the house towards him - August raised one hand in a vague wave.

---

As the end of February neared, the days were becoming longer. Even as afternoon turned into evening, the sun could still be seen low in the sky. While Tim's evening's were mainly reserved for putting back various different varieties of alcohol, it did have the pleasant side effect of making each day significantly warmer than the last.

With the sun being out that Saturday, Tim was using the opportunity to get out for a walk. While the temperature was still not warm by any means, in the sunshine it was a nice day. And a brisk walk would warm him up quickly. He did enjoy a good walk. Particularly on his estate. His land. There was nothing quite like it.

In the distance, Tim could see a man he did not know. He looked a respectable sort, and Tim was sure he'd seen him before at various society events. He seemed to want his attention, so he headed that way.

"Good morning." Tim greeted, tipping his hat.

---

August should have resisted the urge to wave, because now the man was here, and he was going to have to come up with a way to have a conversation with him, which he was not prepared to do. "Good morning," he said brightly, because that was a filler sentence that would give him a few more seconds to buy time.

"I hate to intrude," he said, because he did, "One of my clients -" he could have clients who were interested in real estate in a not-weird way, that felt like something Thom might do "- mentioned an interest in this property to me, and I was in the area, so I wanted to pop by and check in to see who the current owner is."

---

Tim's brow furrowed. How very strange. Tim wondered who had sent this man - a lawyer he assumed, if he was here looking into property for a client.

"Well, you've found him," Tim replied matter-of-factly, almost rudely "Although, you'll find that this land has been in my wife's family for centuries. I can assure you now I most certainly do not want to part with it."

No. Tim had not fantasised about the estate being his for so long, only to sell it to some some random chap. That would not be happening.

---

The man was very matter-of-fact, and August pretended not to notice it. "Oh, he must have been mistaken then," August explained, with an easy shrug of his shoulders. "I apologize for the intrusion." His wife's family, then - perhaps his wife was a née Turner? August wished he could better place the man, but he couldn't manage it entirely.

---

As the man spoke to him, Tim spent a few seconds studying the man. He made no effort to conceal this. His eyes darted about, trying to figure out who this man was - and perhaps more importantly, who he was representing. Who was this person who simply just sent representation to look into his property? Who had such gall?

"Yes. He must be." he stated - and did not continue to offer any more conversation on the topic of selling the estate.

Instead, after a few seconds of silence, Tim still studying the man in front of him, he stuck his hand out. "Timothy Wildsmith." he announced, eyes fixed on the man.

---

August was aware that he was being stared at, and put his free hand in his pocket, trying to project casual harmless ease. This was a whole weird interaction, and even though a large part of him was still convinced that Turner-Clarke was overthinking the whole will and testament scenario, he still felt weird about it.

He took his hand out of his pocket to shake Mr. Wildsmith's hand. "August Echelon-Arnost," he said easily, "Wildsmith like the floo powder?"

---

When shaking Mr Echelon-Arnost's hand, Tim ensured to grasp on tightly. After a firm handshake, Tim returned his hand to his pocket.

"Indeed!" Tim replied, chin rising into the air as he spoke, "My brother owns the company now, but it was our father before that who owned it, all the way back to Ignatia Wildsmith. I have heard of your family too. In society circles."

---

A Wildsmith, but not the one with the company, and he'd inherited his father-in-law's property. None of this was particularly weird on its face, but with the strong handshake and the weird interaction and - August was intrigued, was the thing.

"Well, a pleasure to make your acquaintance," August said, "I'll inform my client of the mistake. I hope you have a good rest of your afternoon."

He could look into his intrigue without this being a thing - he had the time, and a significant amount of money from Turner-Clarke. He owed him at least a little effort.

---

Finally. This Mr Echelon-Arnost had seen the error of his ways. Coming to Tim's land to enquire after it? He thought not.

"Yes," Tim replied simply "I too am glad to have made your acquaintance - but I am perhaps more glad to have cleared up this mistake. Good day."

Although greeting the man goodbye, he remained where he stood, eyes still firmly glued to him. Tim would of course wait for him to depart first.

---

August could be iffy on apparition with his leg, but it seemed like the most appropriate course of action here. He put his hand in his pocket to grip his wand and disapparated into his sitting room with a pop! and significantly more to think about.

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