Constable & Toop (16 page)

‘Don't worry, Mr Grunt,' replied the Enforcer, his voice muted by the thick door between them. ‘I'm not going anywhere.'

‘What are you doing here?' Lapsewood asked.

‘Alice told me what had happened.'

‘Alice knows I'm here?'

‘Yes,' replied Grunt, ‘I wanted to come because of all the kindnesses you showed me when I started the job. It's quite a step up, but I'm working my way through the backlog now.'

‘Working your way through it?' said Lapsewood, dismayed that Grunt was succeeding where he had failed.

‘Colonel Penhaligan says he's delighted with my work,' said Grunt, grinning.

‘Delighted?'

‘That was the word he used. Delighted. Imagine that. I don't think anyone has ever used that particular word in reference to me before. I certainly never heard my wife use it and she was a woman blessed with a rich and colourful use of the English language.'

Grunt mopped away the gunk that had seeped over the top of his neck scarf. Lapsewood looked away in disgust but the Marquis seemed fascinated by the whole thing. ‘Hanged, eh?' he said.

‘Yes, sir,' replied Grunt. ‘Newgate.'

‘They would have done the same to me, you know, if I hadn't picked up some rather interesting infections that saw me off first.'

‘One minute,' shouted Brinks from the other side of the door.

‘Grunt,' said Lapsewood, grabbing him by the lapel and instantly regretting it, seeing the effect it had on the flow of grey goo from his neck. He released him. ‘You need to get me out of here. I need to get back to London. I need to find whoever is exorcising spirits and stop them.'

‘Exorcising? I don't know anything about that, but I don't think you've much chance of visiting anywhere,' said Grunt.

‘No,' said Lapsewood, thinking fast. ‘But you have.'

‘Me?'

‘Yes, you. Take a leave day,' said Lapsewood urgently.

‘A leave day?'

Lapsewood spoke quickly. ‘Yes. Go to London. Go to St Winifred's School in Whitechapel and get the other copy of the London Tenancy List off Doris. Once you have that you'll be able to use it to track down a Rogue ghost boy by the name of Tanner. He travels with a pack of spirit hounds.'

‘When I open that door again,' cried Brinks, ‘don't even think about trying to escape, Marquis.'

‘Rogue ghosts? London? Spirit hounds?' said Grunt, sounding panicked. ‘No . . . I don't have the forms . . .' He frantically mopped away at the top of the scarf.

‘This is more important than forms,' said Lapsewood, grabbing him by the lapels and succeeding in increasing the flow of gunk. ‘You need to find Tanner and tell him that the Black Rot must be stopped. I have reason to believe that left untended it will draw something from the Void.'

‘The Void?' exclaimed Grunt.

‘Oh yes, that's what happened in Paris,' said the Marquis.

The door creaked open.

‘Tell Tanner he needs to get ghosts into the infected houses by whatever means necessary,' said Lapsewood. ‘That's the only way to stop it.'

‘Whatever means necessary,' repeated Grunt.

‘Yes – and Grunt, say please.'

Sergeant Brinks stepped inside, his Beater at the ready. ‘Time's up. Mr Grunt, either follow me or you've found yourself a new home.'

‘Good luck, Grunt,' replied Lapsewood.

Grunt looked at him uncertainly before following Sergeant Brinks out.

‘Charming fellow,' said the Marquis. ‘If you forgive the lack of personal hygiene, that is.'

Nell had spent her whole life pacing the streets of London. As a young girl, her feet had skipped along these cobbles as she sang prettily and sold flowers, only occasionally adding to her day's take with colourful hankies swiped from gentlemen's pockets. A few years on and Nell's steps were slower and her attempts to look appealing were more studied and specifically aimed at the male population. By the time she was in her late thirties with a string of financially rewarding, although ultimately doomed, relationships behind her, she had accrued much of what she desired and could afford to hire hansom cabs. Yet, it was to the streets she always returned in the end. Through poverty or wealth, joy or sorrow, friendship or loneliness, Nell had always wanted, above all, to be seen. She wanted the world to envy her, admire her and notice her.

Ghosts received no tip of a gentleman's hat, nor jealous glances from wives. Ghosts were invisible to the living. So Nell sought attention from other spirits. She had liked Mr Lapsewood a great deal. He had been a proper gent, asking her to do up a button. She would seek him out again and embarrass him, prove that death may have robbed her of many things but she still had her ability to ignite the spark in a man's heart, even if the heart in question had long since ceased to beat.

On the south side of Blackfriars Bridge she noticed an Enforcer heading her way and floated down to hide in the tunnel underneath. Her desire to be seen didn't extend to Enforcers. She was, after all, a Rogue ghost.

It was late. There wasn't a living soul around. Yet, she sensed there was something in the shadows.

‘Hello?' she called.

No echo for a ghost's voice.

‘No need to be shy, love,' she said. ‘If it's company you seek, come and see old Nell.'

Nothing.

‘Why you hiding back there? There's nothing to be afraid of. You're newly ghost-born, is that it? Well, don't you worry. I'll show you the ropes. You can trust me.'

Something moved in the shadows. Too dark to see. The bricks under the bridge were damp with moisture that dripped down to the pavement below. Black smoke edged forward. It was blacker than Ether Dust, but it began to take shape. A shadowy creature with a long nose moved on three legs.

‘Oh,' Nell sighed, disappointed. ‘You're a spirit hound.'

She had never seen such a black coat on a dog, alive or dead. Nor one of such size. It was almost the height of a human. It opened its great jaws and let out a soundless growl that Nell felt more than heard.

She stepped back, feeling a sensation she had not felt in many years. It took her a moment to realise it was fear.

‘What are you?' she asked.

It was more than a dog. She couldn't peel her eyes away from the approaching blackness. She couldn't move. Something held her. The hound loomed over her, its great jaws above her. Deadly. Dark. Silent. She tried to turn to Ether Dust but it wouldn't allow her, gripping her with its smoky black limbs. She screamed but the beast opened its mouth and swallowed the sound.

Fear turned to pain.

Nell felt extreme agony as the hound devoured her, its teeth tearing into her body, wrenching her limbs from her torso, peeling her fleshless skin, unravelling her very soul.

In a matter of seconds, the ghost of Nell was no more.

It was a busy week at Constable and Toop. The day after Mr Gliddon's funeral, Sam was once again standing beside a grave in his role as mute. Today it was the funeral of Mrs Eli, a cantankerous old woman whose relatives had struggled to supply the vicar with sufficiently fond mem­­ories for her eulogy. Sam was relieved that Mrs Eli's ghost wasn't there to rant at her family's feigned sadness. While looking out for her, he noticed another spirit lingering nearby, trying to catch his eye. This one was a plain-looking middle-aged gentleman with an honest sort of face and a belly that was obviously no stranger to a large plate of food.

Sam took it as a good sign that the ghost did not try to speak to him during the funeral, instead waiting until the Eli family were safely inside the local tavern and Sam was taking a walk on Peckham Rye.

The ghost politely introduced himself as Mr Sternwell of Borough, then explained, ‘I'm looking for some help with a small matter. I'm sorry to bother you about it.' He had a soft, well-spoken voice that suited his appearance.

‘What kind of help?' Sam responded.

‘My will,' he replied. ‘You see, I drew up a new one before I died, but my death was so sudden I never had time to give it to my solicitor.'

‘If you tell me where to find it I'll post it on,' said Sam.

‘Yes, well, unfortunately, it's taken me a while to track you down and it's rather urgent now,' admitted Mr Sternwell.

‘How urgent?'

‘My solicitor is settling my accounts today,' admitted Mr Sternwell.

‘What will happen if I don't help?'

‘I'm afraid that would mean my fortune would go to my wife.'

‘Is that not the right person to inherit one's fortune?'

Mr Sternwell shook his head. ‘Not in my case. We were estranged, you see. Not divorced, but we no longer lived together. I left my fortune to my dear Rosa, the only woman I truly loved.' He smiled fondly.

‘What will come of your wife with no inheritance?' asked Sam.

‘Don't worry. The will leaves her enough, more than she deserves, in fact. Please, I'm begging you, help me out this once. I can't bear to see poor Rosa living the rest of her days in poverty. I swear I shall not bother you again nor speak of you to another soul.'

Sam agreed to help him and returned to the tavern to ask Mr Constable for the rest of the afternoon off. Sam never spoke to his father about the ghostly errands he ran, fearing that he would not approve, but Mr Constable was always understanding. Mr Constable did not ask for details but, as usual, Sam was in no doubt that he knew what was going on.

‘I won't go if I am needed in the shop,' said Sam, giving him opportunity to change his mind.

Mr Constable smiled benevolently. ‘You are always needed in the shop, Sam, but I get the feeling you are presently needed elsewhere.'

‘My loyalty is to you, not Them,' replied Sam.

‘Helping out others is what makes us human,' said Mr Constable. ‘As my own father used to say, charity is the fuel of humanity.'

With Mr Constable's consent, Sam took his leave, then returned to meet Mr Sternwell. They caught a train to London Bridge and walked to his house in Borough. It was an irritating journey, made worse by Mr Sternwell's fretting about the time and constantly checking his pocket watch, which must surely have stopped ticking along with his heart. At the house, Mr Sternwell struggled to remember where in the garden he had hidden the spare key and the floorboard under which the will was hidden. When Sam eventually pulled up the correct floorboard and retrieved the envelope he received a splinter in his thumb for his troubles. The solicitor's, Kessler & Abel, was several streets away and Mr Sternwell persuaded Sam he had to run if they were to make it on time, so Sam arrived out of breath and sweating profusely.

He was greeted by a junior clerk who looked at him uncertainly.

‘I'm here to see Mr Kessler,' said Sam, prompted by Mr Sternwell.

‘He's busy at the moment,' replied the clerk.

Mr Sternwell stuck his head through the door and peeked inside. ‘That's it. That's the settlement of my estate,' he said. ‘That blood-sucking wife of mine is there, as is my beautiful Rosa. You must insist.'

‘I have a document which I believe to be of immediate relevance,' said Sam to the clerk.

Reluctantly, the clerk agreed to check. He knocked on the door and, after a moment, returned to show Sam in. Inside the room, the bespectacled solicitor sat behind a large desk. Opposite him was a woman the same age as Mr Sternwell, her white hair sharply contrasting with her black attire. Next to her was a much younger woman, wearing a red dress with soft curls falling prettily around her heavily made-up face. They were sitting as far apart as possible.

‘You have something of relevance to the matter of the settlement of the estate of Mr Alfred Sternwell?' said Mr Kessler, the solicitor.

‘Yes.' Sam handed him the will.

Mr Kessler examined it carefully, then spoke. ‘May I ask how you came by this?' He looked at Sam over the top of his glasses.

‘My father works for the postal service,' said Sam. ‘This was posted to you but mislaid. My father asked that I bring it to you.'

‘An inspired lie, indeed,' said Mr Sternwell.

‘It seems genuine enough,' said Mr Kessler. ‘It is dated after the previous will in my possession, so legally we must go by this one.'

‘What does this mean? What does it say?' asked the older woman anxiously.

‘You may well be worried, my dear,' said the ghost of Mr Sternwell.

‘I'm afraid your husband left his entire fortune to Rosa,' said Mr Kessler.

Mr Sternwell's wife burst into tears. A smile spread slowly across the younger woman's face.

‘But Mrs Sternwell is looked after too, is she not?' said Sam.

Both women and the lawyer turned to look at him.

‘Did you open the envelope?' asked Mr Kessler.

‘No, but . . .' He looked at Mr Sternwell.

‘Nothing is more than she deserves,' said Mr Sternwell spitefully.

‘I'm so sorry, Margaret,' said Mr Kessler.

‘It's not your fault,' said Mrs Sternwell, still unable to stop the flow of tears. ‘It's her. She bewitched him. She took a silly old fat man and tricked him into leaving his fortune to her. Meanwhile, I, who stood by him all those years, I am left to rot without a penny to my name.'

The younger woman stood, smoothed down her dress and said, ‘All that money would have been wasted on you, you old bag. Anyway, so what? I made the old fool happy. Now he's made me happy.'

Realising what he had done, Sam turned to Mrs Sternwell. He tried to apologise but the words stuck in his throat. He turned and fled the building.

The ghost of Mr Sternwell made no effort to follow. Sam had served his purpose. Sam felt sickened by the part he had played in ruining his widow's life. Failing to look where he was going, he collided with a hurried businessman coming the other way and was knocked to the ground.