“This,” George said, pushing a newspaper article grudgingly across the table, “is the earliest record of death I can find in the house. Cause of death was drowning, but there was no water found near the woman’s body. This would make me suspect that the body of this woman was not the original Source in the house, but I can find no record of any previous disturbances. The woman could, of course, been murdered somewhere else and brought to the house, but why? It doesn’t make any sense. That’s as far as I’ve got at the moment.”
“Charrington Street,” Kipps mused, tapping the picture with interest. “I’ll have to get Bobby Vernon to have a look into things, see what he can find. But really, if you haven’t finished your research, why go in at all?”
“It was my fault,” Lockwood said coolly. “Adele Ridgway lives in the house with her husband and daughter, Rachel. Mrs Ridgway said that Rachel had seen ‘a stalking figure’ at the top of the stairs. There was no miasma, creeping fear, or any of the usual phenomena that come with a dangerous Visitor. I thought it would be a quick, in-and-out job, and I was wrong.”
“George, when you described the ghost it didn’t sound as though it were a drowning victim,” I said before Kat could let loose the scalding comment that was riding on her tongue.
George shrugged.
“It’s a bit difficult to say. I mean, the usual traits would be blue face and so on, but it’s a bit hard to tell when they’re already dead, wouldn’t you say Lockwood?”
Lockwood had gone still, and when he spoke his words came out slowly.
“No, no. I think Lucy might be right. I didn’t pay much attention at the time, but I think we might be dealing with two separate ghosts. The girl upstairs- well she did look as though she’d been drowned. You didn’t see her George, but her face was all contorted and blank. She shimmered in a way, I suppose, almost as though you were looking at her from under water.”
“And the second ghost?” Finn asked, speaking for the first time since we’d entered the café. He was still staring at me, and I wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. It was beginning to freak me out.
“Both hands cut off, typical wraith,” George said. “And Lucy heard a dripping sound, didn’t you Luce? That might tie in with the drowning.”
“But I only heard that downstairs,” I pointed out.
“This calls for more research,” Kipps said. “There’s a nice pub on Charrington Street; shall we meet there tonight to discuss our finds before we go into the house?”
“Alright,” Lockwood said, beaming his megawatt smile as he reached across to shake Kipps’ hand. “Barnes wants us to work together on this one, no fighting whatsoever.”
“Oh, I know my team is quite capable of that. There won’t be any difficulty from my side.”
“That’s good to know,” Lockwood said, smoothing out his coat. “Come on Lucy, George. We’ve got work to do.”
***
George returned to the archives while Lockwood and I headed into the bustling Fittes building. The main hall was filled to bursting with columns of people as they waited for their details to be taken down and a team to be assigned to their haunting. Lockwood pushed gently through the crowd and I followed in his wake, almost losing him as the mob pulsated in a flood of movement. Without looking back Lockwood’s hand found mine and he tugged me towards a desk at the far end of the hall, the queue there quickly dwindling as the receptionist sent them away. We were soon at the front of the line, Lockwood smiling down upon the plump woman through the glass. She was in her early twenties, with thick, wire-framed glasses and a messy ball of hair piled on the back of her head.
“What seems to be the problem?” the woman asked, flicking through some papers before her without glancing up. Lockwood bent forward until he was level with her. Her eyes met his for a second, but the bored expression on her face didn’t change. “Do you have difficulty speaking? You can write it down if that’s easier for you.”
“I would like to take a look in your archives.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” the woman said. She fixed her cold gaze on the nervous looking boy behind us. “Next!”
“Even for agents?” Lockwood asked.
“You don’t own a Fittes uniform, do you?”
“No, but my team is currently working with Quill Kipps. We’ve been granted the same level of access.”
The woman pursed her lips, taking Lockwood in from head to foot before throwing a disparaging look at me.
“I’ll have to make a call,” she said.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Lockwood said, producing a thick piece of paper with a flourish. “I wouldn’t bother Penelope about it.”
The woman’s eyes widened as she took in the bit of paper.
“Why on earth didn’t you say so in the first place,” she said, standing from behind her desk and waddling to unlock the side door. She beckoned us in with one of her sausage-like arms, passing Lockwood a key card. “Just through that door there, and then two lefts, down a level and directly to the right and you should be in the archives. If you need any help just ask. I’m sure anyone you see will be only happy to help you.”
We found ourselves in a metal corridor that smelt of detergent and stale air, the faint clanging of footsteps audible from other levels about the building. It stretched on for as far as the eye could see, branching at regular intervals into some unknown direction.
“What did you show her?” I asked.
“Just this,” he said, grinning broadly as he showed me the invitation we’d received months ago for the Fittes ball. “I covered most of the words with my hand and just waved the name around and she lapped it all up.”
“Well done.”
“Luce?”
“Yes?”
“Doesn’t it deserve a bit more than that?”
Lockwood was looking at me expectantly and I felt a heated blush rise to my cheeks.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, surely a congratulations is in order,” he prompted, his hand falling to my waist.
“Oh yes, well. Congratulations Lock-Anthony on such an excellent performance,” I said, fixing a smile on my face as he brushed back a lock of hair from my face.
“That’s better,” he said. “But it’s not quite good enough.”
He dropped his face to mine and then I was melting inside from the heat of his kiss. He was the one to pull back, both of us panting heavily as he strode away a little to recover his breath. When he turned back to me there was a wry quirk to his lips and a slight glint in his eye.
“Sorry about that Luce. We keep having these encounters in the most unusual of places. A subterranean labyrinth isn’t exactly the most romantic of destinations, is it?”
“Subterranean?”
“Most of the Fittes’ compound is underground, so I figure even though we’re not technically below earth right at this moment, there’s enough depth to this place that the percentage makes it-” Lockwood cut himself off as he saw the strange look I was giving him. “Yes, sorry. Shall we go? I’ll try to keep my hands to myself from now on.”
“I would rather you made the same promise about your lectures,” I said, giving him the typical L. Carlyle quizzical grin. “Keeping your hands to yourself is optional. I certainly won’t be making any complaints.”
Thanks for all the support everyone! You guys are amazing and I love reading all your comments <3 <3 :D I have over 200 reads in the first four chapters. That is way more than anything else I've written on Wattpad and I am so estatic, so thanks you guys! Have I mentions how amazing you all are? Xx