The horse drawn buggy bumped and and clattered along the darkening streets of London, the lamplighters going to work to activate the gas streetlights. In that flicker of light and shadow sat mr. Konrad Sas, the moderately eccentric diplomat from the Austro-Hungarian Empire, quietly enduring the buggy's shoddily upkept suspension and giving thought to the whims and fancies of life that should see him on his way to a mummy unwrapping in the British capital. It was a curious practice and , he felt, a decadent one. Not that you could convince the English, but he hoped the guests would not be offered to<em>eat</em>of the remains; he'd heard some of the more supersticious events of that nature included that very practice, unsavory and incredulous as it sounded.<br/><br/>The buggy came to a halt outside the main entrance of the Winterstone residence, treating Konrad to an impressive sight of softly lit up masonwork, tastefully decorated and symbolic of the owner's wealth and status. It was more than he could of ever dream of attaining for himself, as much as he would like to rise above his peers, but his face showed no hint of the thoughts swirling around behind its nonchalant exterior. Stepping out he tipped the driver and approached the entrance alone with the clatter of hooves behind him. He was a respectable enough looking man but the absence of female companionship at his arm was, as always, a slight embarassment to his pride as he reached the door. He had refrained from paying for escort since that time at the Spencers' party when he had lost some face because of the ignorant girl he'd brought along. Now he simply introduced himself curtly to the doormen and was promptly granted admission inside.<br/><br/>He was greeted by the Winterstone brothers as a valet relieved him of his coat, hat and cane. The words exchanged were brief and courteous; Konrad was not closely familiar with the Winterstones and the greeting was a mere formality. Stepping inside the main hall he surveyed his surroundings and the guests occupying them. He recognised many faces present while a few eluded his knowledge. He could see Richard "Dick" Foster over by a pair of young ladies, evidently making their acquaintance. Dick was a charming enough man and a sometimes drinking companion of Konrad's, and he was sorely tempted to join the trio and test the waters. His attention was caught, however, by the sight of the Ashwins, or rather by their manservant Barnabas or whatever he was to them. Now<em>there</em>was true eccentricity standing in the midst of high London society and rumours held that the masked one wasn't the only source of that in the Ashwin household; the young daughter had been the subject of more than one whisper, he knew. Still, she was a pretty enough thing and if he chanced upon her without that phantom later on he might strike up some trivial conversation, inspiration willing.<br/><br/>Presently he accepted a glass of wine from a servant and retreated to the wall, willing to let events unfold for a few minutes while he sipped his wine.