Haunted: A Lockwood & Co Story

Chapter Ten: The Bloody Footprints at Fifty-Four Hanover Square

Then their attention was focused on the stairwell.

The three started in the basement, at the entrance to the kitchen, and worked their way slowly up. From the outset it was clear that the stairs - and the landings close to the banisters - were colder than the rest of the house; not by much, but consistently down by one or two degrees. That was all they found. Lockwood didn't see anything. Charlotte listened, but heard nothing sinister whatsoever, unless you counted George's stomach rumbling.

On the staircases final curl, where it rose from the second floor to attic level beneath the pale eye of the skylight, Lockwood bent to the skirting. He placed his finger on it, then put it to his lips. "Salt," he said. "They've cleaned up, but there's been salt spilled here."

"The night watch girl?" George was making notes with a stubby pencil; he had a spare tucked behind his ear. "Some kind of last defence?"

"So she must have been found here." Charlotte said. Yes, found crouched against the wall, mute and mindless... Charlotte looked at the bland plaster, the nondescript emptiness of the space, searching out the horror that had happened here. Other than the salt, there was no trace of it. Perhaps that was the worst thing of all.

An hour had passed; the skylight had grown dim. On the attic landing the last trace of day shrank into shadow. Greyness swelled out around the curl of the staircase. They went back downstairs.

It was time for food, and George's story. None of them wanted to use the kitchen in the basement, where the boy had died. They had set up camp instead on the ground floor, in the room of paintings, dragging in a table and some chairs, and laying out their water bottles, biscuits, sandwiches and reviving packets of crisps. Gas Lanterns were lit and set one at either end of the table. Charlotte found a socket, filled the electric kettle and switched it on. George got out some papers from his investigations at the library. They made tea and settled themselves down.

"One day we should do this somewhere nice," George said. "You know, have a picnic where nothing's going to want to kill us. It would be quite fun."

"What would we find to talk about, though?" Lockwood asked. He took a swig of tea. "Come to think of it, what did kids do with themselves in the days before the Problem? Most of them didn't even have to work, did they? Life must have been so dull."

"And safe." Charlotte said. "Don't forget that. Lockwood, will you do me a favour?"

"Char, I'd cover up a murder for you if you asked."

Charlotte paused, mouth open. She blinked. "Can you pass me the biscuits?"

Lockwood also blinked and paused. "No."

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "You lazy bastard." Charlotte reached over him to grab a biscuit from the packet.

"Not so safe if you lived in this house." George said darkly. "Not if you were a servant lad known as 'Little Tom'." He consulted his notes for a moment, leaning forward like a short, roundish general assessing battle-plans, then took a bite of biscuit. "It was the summer of 1883 when the killing took place. According to the Pall Mall Gazette, the house was owned by a fellow named Henry Cooke, an old soldier and merchant, who'd served out in India. It was his son, a certain Robert Cooke, who was arrested one hot July night for the murder of a servant, Thomas Webber, also known as 'Little Tom'. He was put on trial at once, and found guilty."

"How did he kill him?" Charlotte asked. "And why?"

"Why, I don't know. I don't have many details. How, yes. He stabbed him with one of his father's hunting knives. The articles says that the argument began down in the kitchen, late one evening. Little Tom was first attacked there, and badly wounded. Then a terrible chase too kplace, under the gaze of many witnesses - guests, servants and other family members - before the final fatal blow was struck. There was blood everywhere. The Gazette calls it 'the house of horror'. Another one! London has so many. I should make a list sometime."