Because I Could Not Stop For Death | Lockwood & Co.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄

— 𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖊 𝖎𝖘 𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖘𝖍𝖊 𝖍𝖆𝖘

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𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐃 at 35 Portland Row the following morning at ten o'clock, just as Holly had told Eden. She was tall for a woman, with sorrowful eyes and an ever-present frown. She was gray and pale and might as well have been a Visitor, as her long skirt swept the floor and thick knit cardigan nearly swallowed her from existence. But she was well versed in etiquette and walked and sat up straight.

Lockwood & Co. sat around her in the sitting room. Anthony was seated in his usual chair, with George in the same chair he'd been in when Eden had interviewed two years prior. As per Holly's (annoying, Eden would add), request, she sat herself away from Anthony as to be sure they didn't make Miss Wintergarden uncomfortable. However, Holly herself was seated outside of the inner circle they had created with a pen and paper to take notes, but close enough to Anthony that, if need be, she could lean over and speak directly into his ear.

Eden had to laugh at that. She just had to. Not out of jealousy, because she wasn't jealous, but she had to laugh. If she didn't, she might have screamed, and everyone knew what her screams could do.

"It is good of you to see me at such short notice, Mr. Lockwood," Miss Wintergarden stated. "I am at my wit's end and simply don't know what to do."

"By choosing us, madam, you are already halfway to a solution," Anthony responded with a smile. "Thank you for selecting Lockwood and Co.—we know there are many alternatives out there."

"Indeed," Miss Wintergarden agreed primly. "I tried several others, but they are not taking on new customers at present. Regrettably, there seems to be an ongoing kerfuffle in Chelsea that is being given priority by all the major agencies, and I was forced to cast my eyes a little lower than I would otherwise have done. Still, I understand you are considered reasonably competent, and also cheap."

Eden frowned at that, glancing over at Anthony. His own smiled had stiffened. "Er, we endeavor to give satisfaction as far as we are able," he answered slowly. "May I ask the nature of your trouble?"

"I am being plagued by a supernatural phenomenon."

"Naturally. Which is?"

"Footprints. Bloody footprints."

Eden tilted her head as George glanced up and around. "Well, I'm sorry you're upset."

"No," Miss Wintergarden responded with a huff. "I mean they're bloody. Footprints made of blood."

"How fascinating." Anthony sat up straighter. "This is in your house?"

"I fear so."

"Have you seen the prints yourself?"