Possession (12 page)

"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. The Administrators and other spirits I questioned
in the Waiting Area say Mortlock was one of their number, living in the slums, robbing
whomever he could, and coercing those weaker than himself into paying
protection money. He doesn't appear to have been a student at the school
although the records may have been destroyed."

"You
checked them?"

He nodded. "Mortlock
died only last week."

"Last
week?" George said.

"The day
after Finch died and we sent the demon back."

We all
considered that for a few moments.

"I don't
like this, Emily," Jacob said. "It's very dangerous. I want you to go
home. Let George and I question Mrs. White about Blunt."

I turned to him
fully and touched his cheek. I expected him to flinch, but he merely closed his
eyes. "No," I said. "I will not go home when there is more I can
do."

His eyes flew
open and he caught my wrist. His grip was hard but not bruising. "Emily!"

The coach slowed
and then stopped. We had arrived at the school. Clerkenwell was one of the
better slum areas if such a thing existed. It was working class and poverty was
rife as were all the things that went hand-in-hand with it—thieves, orphans,
and hunger. The school offered refuge to those children with no other prospects
except the workhouse or falling in with disreputable adults. It provided them
with food, shelter, and an education in the domestic arts, which gave them a
chance of finding work when they turned sixteen. Lucy our maid had been a
student, as had some of George's staff.

"I think I
shall become a patron," he said, stepping out of the coach behind me.

All three of us
looked up at the school. Its bricks might be blackened by years of soot, but it
was sturdy compared to the other buildings in the narrow street. It looked like
it was holding up the tall, rickety houses on either side. If it was removed,
they might all collapse into the vacant space, one on top of the other.

"What a
worthy idea," I said. I knew George was wealthy as he didn't work, but I
didn't know how wealthy. Obviously he had enough money to give to the school.

He knocked and a
maid opened the door. "Is Mrs. White in?" George asked.

The maid shook
her head. "Mrs. White has moved on, sir."

"Moved
on?" I echoed. "When?"

"Few days
ago, miss. Do you want to see Mr. Hollowbrooke, the new master?"

"Yes, thank
you," said George.

Jacob
disappeared as the maid led us into the drawing room, a large but barren and
uncomfortable space containing only a desk and two hard guest chairs. We waited
until she left before speaking.

"Beaufort
still here?" George asked me.

I shook my head.
"I can't believe Mrs. White has left."

"I know. I
thought she loved this school."

We both
contemplated the significance of that in silence until Mr. Hollowbrooke
arrived. Jacob followed behind him. I raised my eyebrows in question, but he
merely shrugged.

After the
necessary introductions, George said, "We were hoping to find Mrs. White
here, but it seems she has left. Such a great loss."

"Indeed."
Mr. Hollowbrooke spoke as blandly as he looked, and he looked very bland. Brown
hair, hazel eyes, neither short nor tall, fat nor thin. His age was
indeterminate, his features common, unmarked and expressionless. He was someone
you forgot soon after you've met him. Lucky Mr. Hollowbrooke. To go about
unnoticed, without inquisitive and sometimes rude stares following your every
move, must be liberating. A part of me did think it rather sad, but only a
small part.

"We wanted
to thank her for all she did for us," George said. "She has matched
some wonderful servants to my household and to that of Miss Chambers."

A small wrinkle
fought its way onto Mr. Hollowbrooke's flat forehead. "You're not here for
another servant, Mr. Culvert?"

"No. Just
to thank Mrs. White."

"Oh. Pity."
He had not sat down and now he inched back toward the door. We were dismissed.

"Find out
where she went," Jacob said.

"We would
like to write to her and thank her," I said to Mr. Hollowbrooke. "Do
you have an address?"

"I'm afraid
not," Mr. Hollowbrooke intoned. "She didn't leave one."

"Oh?"
I said at the same time George asked, "Really?"

Jacob frowned. "Very
odd."

"Did she
get an appointment at another school perhaps?" I persisted. She could not
simply have left without a trace.

"Not that I
am aware of."

"What about
Mr. Blunt, the previous master?" George asked. "Can you tell us where
he is now?"

"No." Hollowbrooke
pulled his watch out of his waistcoat pocket and checked the time. "Now
unless there's anything else... I'm very busy..."

"Yes, of
course," George said. "Thank you, Mr. Hollowbrooke."

Hollowbrooke
left and the maid reappeared. She walked us to the front door.

"Do you
know where Mrs. White or Mr. Blunt have gone?" I asked her. "We would
dearly like to thank them both for finding us suitable maids. They were very
helpful."

"I don't
know where Mr. Blunt went," she said, rubbing her arms as if she were cold.
"He just got up and left in the middle of the night last week. Very
odd." She dropped her arms and smiled. No, beamed. I think she was very
happy that Blunt had gone. I wasn't surprised, considering what he used to do
in the girl's dormitory at night. "Mrs. White went a few days later. She
said she needed to look after her sister who'd taken ill suddenly. Sad to see
her go. Very sad." She sighed and opened the door.

"Do you
know where her sister lives?" I asked.

"No, miss. Sorry,
miss."

George took my
arm and we stepped down the stairs to the waiting coach. Jacob followed. A
group of children were inspecting the horses and the gold Culvert escutcheon
painted on the door. The driver had hopped down and showed them how to pat the
horses correctly but the stiff footmen had not moved from their perch. They
both scowled as if assessing the number of grubby fingerprints on the glossy
black paintwork.

"I'm going
to check Hollowbrooke's office," Jacob said then disappeared.

George helped me
up into the coach. "Well? What do you think?"

"I think
someone is lying," I said. "Mrs. White didn't have any family."

"So she
told us."

"Do you
think that was a falsehood?" I asked. "Or is Hollowbrooke the one who
invented the sister?"

He removed his
glasses and rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead. "I don't
know. Perhaps. He was certainly a difficult man to read."

I nodded. "Whoever
is lying, they managed to convince the maid about the sister."

"Not
surprising. She is just a maid after all."

I sighed. George
could be sweet and clever, but his attitude toward servants was somewhere
between complete disregard and condescending. Equality of the classes was not a
notion that had occurred to his level of society, which made it all the more
amazing that Jacob didn't share his manner.

"I wonder
where Mrs. White went," I said.

"I wonder
why
she went." We discussed possibilities but without any further information,
they were only ideas.

When we reached
Druids Way, Jacob reappeared. "There was nothing in Hollowbrooke's office
about Mrs. White," he said.

"You didn't
rifle through his papers while he was there, I hope." I giggled despite
the seriousness of our situation. The picture of Mr. Hollowbrooke's bland face
coming alive with horror as his papers rustled was quite amusing.

The corner of Jacob's
mouth flicked up in a half-smile. "No. He was elsewhere."

"So Mrs.
White left no forwarding address," I said, mostly for George's benefit,
"and she lied about her reason for leaving."

We arrived at my
house and George sighed. "I think we have officially hit a dead end."

I winced, but he
didn't seem to notice his inappropriate choice of words. Not that Jacob seemed
to notice either. He stared at me with the familiar intensity that turned my
insides to water.

"Your
involvement ends here, Emily," he said. "Now."

The footman
opened the door so I couldn't tell Jacob he was wrong.

***

I found Celia
and Lucy in the kitchen shelling peas. Or rather, Lucy was shelling peas at the
central table while my sister sat opposite, the household ledger open in front
of her.

"There you
are!" Celia said. "Lucy told me you went out with Mr. Culvert. How is
he?"

"The
same," I said.

"Did you
see Mr. Hyde again?"

Of all the
questions to ask me, that wasn't the one I expected. "No." I
stretched my fingers in front of the warm stove and peered into the pot
bubbling away on the hot plate. It looked like the beginnings of broth and
smelled delicious. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn't eaten since breakfast.

I turned around
to warm my back and Lucy gave me a smile, something she wouldn't have done a
week ago when she first came to work for us. Her wariness of me was definitely
lessening. "He seemed very nice, that Mr. Hyde," she said. "Handsome
too."

"Very nice,"
Celia agreed. I had no doubts that if it were in my sister's power, she'd have
me betrothed to him within the month.