rented
rooms in a modest brick house situated in the middle of a long street in a new
suburb. There were no trees, no common greens, and only one house had a
cheerful window box of red flowers. The rest could have been unoccupied for all
their blandness.
George knocked
on the front door of Price's house. No one came. He knocked again. Finally the
door opened on Price's landlady, a middle-aged woman with graying hair and
protruding nose, chin and mouth. It was as if her maker had stroked and teased
the bottom half of her face to stretch it. She tied the strings of an apron behind
her back without taking her hard gaze off us.
"He's not
home," she said when George asked to see Price. She spoke with an accent I
couldn't place.
"Oh,"
I said, disappointed. "Are you sure?"
"Course I'm
sure. He's not here." She crossed her arms, blocking our entry with her
bulk.
"Mrs....?"
"None of
your business."
Well! How rude! Her
reception was most unexpected. What had we done to her? Or to Price for that
matter?
"Nevermind,
George." I took his arm. "There's another way to find out about Blunt."
He tipped his
hat to Mrs. None-of-your-business and walked with me to the coach. Before I climbed
in, I glanced up at the second floor window. The curtain fluttered closed but
not before I saw the white hair and long face of Price.
CHAPTER 7
"Clerkenwell,"
I said to the driver before climbing into the coach. "The North London
School for Domestic Service." He knew where it was as he'd driven us there
before.
George nodded. "Good
idea. Mrs. White might know where Blunt has gone." We settled on opposite
seats in the cabin and the footman folded up the step and closed the door. "It's
a shame Price wouldn't talk to us," George said as the coach pulled out of
the street. He must have seen the face at the window too. "I was hoping
he'd know something about possession." He shrugged one shoulder. "We
must have caught him at an awkward time."
I wondered if
that awkward time had anything to do with the landlady tying up her apron. Her
hair had been a little too disheveled for the middle of the morning and the top
button of her dress was undone. I suspected she and Price were more than merely
landlady and tenant.
Not that I would
tell George. There are some things that friends of the opposite sex should not
discuss.
"Where are
you going?" Jacob said upon appearing beside me. He sat as far away from
me as possible. I didn't move to give him more room.
"Jacob's
here," I said for George's benefit. I then proceeded to tell Jacob about
our reception at Price's and our plan to question Mrs. White about Blunt's
whereabouts.
He frowned. "It's
a good idea. We need to do something before..." He lowered his head and his
shoulders slumped forward, deflated.
I touched his
shoulder. He tensed. "What did you learn overnight?"
Jacob
straightened. There was no trace of worry on his face. There was no trace of
any emotions whatsoever. It was as if he'd shut down, closed off. "Mortlock
is very dangerous. When he was alive he murdered three people, including his
own mother."
I pressed a hand
to my suddenly roiling stomach. George gasped and muttered, "Good
lord."
"The other
two people he murdered were boys of about fifteen years."
It got worse and
worse. "That's awful."
"Terrible,"
George echoed. "But why the boys? I mean I can understand the mother, but
children?"
I lifted my
eyebrows at his matricidal comment, but he failed to notice.
"They went
to Blunt's Clerkenwell school and were known to Finch," Jacob said. George
and I both gaped at him.
Finch had been
the young man controlling the shape-shifting demon. He'd been a pupil at the
North London School for Domestic Service but was ordered to leave because he
was too disruptive and not suitable for service. We'd killed him, but not
before discovering Blunt, the school's master, had helped him.
"The
murdered boys left the school around the same time as Finch and probably worked
for his thieving operation.
rooms in a modest brick house situated in the middle of a long street in a new
suburb. There were no trees, no common greens, and only one house had a
cheerful window box of red flowers. The rest could have been unoccupied for all
their blandness.
George knocked
on the front door of Price's house. No one came. He knocked again. Finally the
door opened on Price's landlady, a middle-aged woman with graying hair and
protruding nose, chin and mouth. It was as if her maker had stroked and teased
the bottom half of her face to stretch it. She tied the strings of an apron behind
her back without taking her hard gaze off us.
"He's not
home," she said when George asked to see Price. She spoke with an accent I
couldn't place.
"Oh,"
I said, disappointed. "Are you sure?"
"Course I'm
sure. He's not here." She crossed her arms, blocking our entry with her
bulk.
"Mrs....?"
"None of
your business."
Well! How rude! Her
reception was most unexpected. What had we done to her? Or to Price for that
matter?
"Nevermind,
George." I took his arm. "There's another way to find out about Blunt."
He tipped his
hat to Mrs. None-of-your-business and walked with me to the coach. Before I climbed
in, I glanced up at the second floor window. The curtain fluttered closed but
not before I saw the white hair and long face of Price.
CHAPTER 7
"Clerkenwell,"
I said to the driver before climbing into the coach. "The North London
School for Domestic Service." He knew where it was as he'd driven us there
before.
George nodded. "Good
idea. Mrs. White might know where Blunt has gone." We settled on opposite
seats in the cabin and the footman folded up the step and closed the door. "It's
a shame Price wouldn't talk to us," George said as the coach pulled out of
the street. He must have seen the face at the window too. "I was hoping
he'd know something about possession." He shrugged one shoulder. "We
must have caught him at an awkward time."
I wondered if
that awkward time had anything to do with the landlady tying up her apron. Her
hair had been a little too disheveled for the middle of the morning and the top
button of her dress was undone. I suspected she and Price were more than merely
landlady and tenant.
Not that I would
tell George. There are some things that friends of the opposite sex should not
discuss.
"Where are
you going?" Jacob said upon appearing beside me. He sat as far away from
me as possible. I didn't move to give him more room.
"Jacob's
here," I said for George's benefit. I then proceeded to tell Jacob about
our reception at Price's and our plan to question Mrs. White about Blunt's
whereabouts.
He frowned. "It's
a good idea. We need to do something before..." He lowered his head and his
shoulders slumped forward, deflated.
I touched his
shoulder. He tensed. "What did you learn overnight?"
Jacob
straightened. There was no trace of worry on his face. There was no trace of
any emotions whatsoever. It was as if he'd shut down, closed off. "Mortlock
is very dangerous. When he was alive he murdered three people, including his
own mother."
I pressed a hand
to my suddenly roiling stomach. George gasped and muttered, "Good
lord."
"The other
two people he murdered were boys of about fifteen years."
It got worse and
worse. "That's awful."
"Terrible,"
George echoed. "But why the boys? I mean I can understand the mother, but
children?"
I lifted my
eyebrows at his matricidal comment, but he failed to notice.
"They went
to Blunt's Clerkenwell school and were known to Finch," Jacob said. George
and I both gaped at him.
Finch had been
the young man controlling the shape-shifting demon. He'd been a pupil at the
North London School for Domestic Service but was ordered to leave because he
was too disruptive and not suitable for service. We'd killed him, but not
before discovering Blunt, the school's master, had helped him.
"The
murdered boys left the school around the same time as Finch and probably worked
for his thieving operation.
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