Pleasantly striped blue and white walls met my eyes when I awoke the next morning, sunlight seeping through the cracks in the curtains and down across the floor. I rubbed at my eyes and pushed my hair out of my face before slowly easing out from beneath the covers. The wooden floor was freezing on my bare feet, but I didn't mind. It helped to keep me awake, from falling back into the nightmares that had plagued me during the night. I froze when I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror against the door. Strands of hair curled about my ears and fell haphazardly about my shoulders, my eyes tinged with red from the evening's tears. I had borrowed one of Finn's shirts for the night, the hem brushing against my mid-thigh and the bruises along my legs purple against the white of it. A scratch glared crimson in the faint illumination, but despite the atrocity of it I knew it was all part of being an Agent. They were my battle scars; my trophies of success. And I wouldn't trade them for anything.
I headed downstairs like that, not bothering to get changed. I was starving and tired and moody and I didn't really care what Finn thought of me. As kind as he'd been to me he was still Quill Kipps' brother.
When I made my way down to the kitchen my eyes immediately fell to one of the sofas. A blanket was strewn across the arm and a pillow was nestled in the corner, and I realised that Finn must have slept there.
I turned my back on the sitting room and put the kettle on before searching for some tea bags. I pulled out two mugs, thinking Finn might appreciate a hot beverage in the morning, when I head the door to the sitting room ease open.
Finn hesitated on the threshold, looking startled to see me awake and making tea, but when his eyes fell to my legs I realised it was more than that. But then, seeing him wearing nothing but a towel around his waist was causing my eyes to stray in all sorts of directions, and it had nothing to do with unsightly bruises or jagged cuts.
"If you're- er- done in my room, do you mind if I get changed?" Finn asked, dragging his gaze back up to my face. I felt my cheek redden and I turned back to fridge, bending down to get out the milk.
"Sure. I've made some tea, so don't take too long or it'll be cold."
Finn gave a mumble in reply and I heard the door shut behind him as I poured the tea. I took them out into the lounge, setting them on the coffee table as I settled myself on the spare sofa. Taking a calming sip I closed my eyes, but opened them a moment later when I heard the springs squeak opposite.
"I didn't hear you come in," I said, watching as Finn took a gulp of tea. He smiled, his eyes crinkling beatifically at the corners.
"I have a penchant for that kind of thing," he said. "Although it doesn't very often come in handy, working with ghosts. Good tea."
"Thankyou," I said.
"Do you have any plans for today?" Finn asked, watching me carefully for an answer. I shrugged glibly, not at all sure how to answer.
"I want to do some investigating," I said eventually. "After last night... I still owe Lockwood and George, particularly after abandoning them. And I'm curious... I mean, I'd had the necklace on for several hours and nothing at all had happened. Lockwood was completely surprised; you saw the look on his face."
"He said something about having it checked," Finn said thoughtfully. "There's a special desk at Fittes if you want to have objects checked for psychic residue. If you want I could speak to them, maybe even get the report if that was where Lockwood went."
"Thankyou," I said earnestly. "I think I'll head to the London Archives. I want to see if I can find the report on Lockwood's mother's death. Lockwood believed she was killed in a fire, but I know from what I felt and saw that she escaped."
"You won't go and talk to him?"
"No," I said slowly. "Not yet. I don't think I could bear it."
A half-hour later I was seated in the Archives, searching the online death records. I didn't know Lockwood's mother's first name, but there were barely any Lockwoods listed in the London area. Of the three hundred that came up on the screen only thirty were in the right timeframe and around a third of those were women. It wasn't hard from the point to scroll down through the address list and find the woman I was looking for.
Theresa Lockwood, born Theresa May Alcott c. 1968, married to Joseph Arnold Lockwood c. 1994. Died 15th August 2005.
I stared at the words, letting them sink in. Spelt out like that it all looked so final and, well, cold. Callous. As if she had been stripped of all the dreams and traits that made her a person. Taking a deep breath I clicked on the link, my eyes widening at the photograph that filled the left-hand side of the screen.
Theresa Lockwood had been stunning. The photo was in black and white, although I was positive they had more modern cameras than that when she in her twenties, and somehow the greyscale only accentuated her beauty. Dark hair tumbled down her shoulder in waves, a mink stole draped across her shoulders and the dress shimmering with white dots against the black, sleek material. She cut a stylish figure, and I was left speechless as I gazed at her.
"What do you think you're doing?"
I looked up, startled, to see George standing over my shoulder, peering at the photo with interest. Hurriedly I went to click out of the browser, but George shook his head.
"No use now Lucy. I've seen it. Why didn't you come home last night? Lockwood was absolutely beside himself."
"I- er- I couldn't," I said, my gaze darting around the room as George began cleaning his glasses on his jumper. "After what happened-"
"Where did you go?"
"Worried about me George?" I asked, though my tone was far from teasing.
"Yes, actually," George admitted, taking a seat beside me with a heavy sigh. "We both were. Lockwood particularly, but me too. After what happened I was worried that about what effect the ghost might have on you."
"I didn't have the necklace on me."
"Still, Annie Ward did seem to have some kind of hold on you, even when you weren't touching her locket."
I shuddered, looking back at the screen, at the picture of the dead woman.
"I thought I could help Lockwood. I feel bad about the way I reacted last night, although I can't bring myself to go back to him. It scared me George. It was awful, and I don't want to go through it again."
"We wouldn't let anything happen to you," George said.
"I know that," I said, feeling breathless. I clutched at my ribs. "But Lockwood did all the right things and still this happened. Well, I don't quite know for sure, but I'll know tonight."
"What are you talking about?"
"Finn said there was a desk at Fittes were you could get objects checked. He's going to get the report for me."
"Finn? You've been talking with Finn?"
"Yes!" I said indignantly. "He's been very kind to me. I didn't have anywhere to stay, and-"
"You stayed the night with him?" George exclaimed, though he quietened when the librarian shot him an angry glare. His eyes bulged with disbelief. "You and Lockwood have one spat and you run off with him?"
"I didn't run off with anyone," I said firmly. "He offered me a bed for the night, so I took it. Nothing happened, and nothing will happen."
"No, it won't, because you'll be back home tonight," George said. He waved frantically at the computer screen. "You're obviously still infatuated with Lockwood, no matter what you think he's done, so you might as well come home now and ask him about it yourself."
"No," I said coldly. "I can't come with you George. Lockwood wouldn't tell me any of this, so I'm going to find out for myself. And it seems that everything he thought he knew were lies. I will discover the truth, and then I will decide for myself whether I can come back. At the moment I'm quite happy where I am, thankyou very much."
"With Finn?" George demanded, staring me down. I stared back.
"Yes, with Finn. He makes excellent tea."
George snorted, relaxing back in his chair.
"Well, good luck with the research. And please think about talking to Lockwood. Even if you meet him somewhere else, just talk to him. He needs you. And I think you need him."
I watched George waddle away, wondering whether I really should talk to Lockwood. But my anger was simmering just below the surface, and I knew that if he saw me he would try to convince me to come back home, to forget anything had ever happened. And this time no amount of megawatt smiles or sweet kisses could change my mind. This time I wasn't going to accept his secrecy.
I printed the page about Theresa, and then went in search of Joseph Arnold Lockwood and printed his death certificate as well. I didn't want to stay here any longer than I had to, not if I might bump into George again.
I detoured on the way back to Finn's house, using the little money I had to purchase some new clothes, including pyjamas to avoid a repeat of the awkward situation that had occurred this morning. When I arrived back at Finn's house I could hear noises coming from the kitchen, and I ran upstairs to dump the clothes in my room before heading down to find lunch spread out on the kitchen island. Finn pulled out a stool for me from beneath the bench, and as I sat down I noticed the thin stack of papers beside the ham.
"Is that the report?" I asked, eyeing it curiously. I took a roll and proceeded to butter it, feeling Finn's gaze on me as I began to fill it with tomato, spinach and a few slices of meat.
"Yes," Finn said, cocking his head as I took a bite of my salad roll. "But I'm not sure any of them will be very promising. They didn't have any filed under the name of Lockwood, but then I thought it likely he would have used an alias. He seems to have an inflated sense of pride, and I thought he might not like relying on Fittes. I didn't get much of a look at the necklace, so I photocopied all the reports with even a slight resemblance to what I remembered."
"Thanks," I said, though I felt a bit disappointed that Finn hadn't found something more concrete. "Things at the archive were a little better, although I haven't actually had time to read them properly yet. I printed out death certificates for both Theresa and Joseph Lockwood. I felt I ought to cross-check them. I didn't get anything on her husband when I touched the necklace, but it wouldn't be the first time a man has killed his wife. Though it doesn't explain why she wasn't killed at home. Surely he wouldn't own two houses; that seems quite unlikely."
"Would you recognise the house if you saw it?"
Slowly I shook my head.
"I didn't even see the person who invited her in. I felt more than saw most of it. I might check the housing records though, just to see if Portland Row was the only property Joseph owned."
"I'll do it," Finn said, collecting the dirty plates. "You've got enough to do here, and I don't have anything in mind for this afternoon, so I'll head to the Archives this time."
"Finn, it's very kind of you to do all this for me, but-"
"It's my pleasure," Finn said, chuckling as he added, "It's not every day I have a pretty girl sleeping in my bed."
The plot thickens... So, what do you think REALLY happened to Lockwood's parents? Hope you enjoyed it!!! Is anyone team Finn or are we all still adamantly hoping for the return of Locklyle??? Xx