Half Moon Street, London
Sophie Penderry pressed her forehead to the cool windowpane and peered at the quiet street below. A lady and a gentleman took a morning stroll under the lilac trees, engaged in happy conversation. When they walked out of sight, the view was still once more. There was no sign of traffic, pedestrians or the postman. Sophie's sigh fogged the glass.
"It's been two weeks now, Harry. Where is he? Oh, I know what you're thinking. My big brother is an independent man, with a job and his own house, he can go wherever he pleases. And why should he tell me if he plans to go away?" She pulled a face. "But he's only twenty one. And if he was going travelling he would tell us. That's the sort of considerate brother Jim is. He wouldn't let us worry like this."
Harry didn't make a sound. With a louder sigh, Sophie turned away from the window and looked at her grandmother's cat. Harry lay on the bed, paws tucked neatly in against her chest with her eyes half closed. Sophie wandered over and sat next to the cat, running a hand down her soft back. "I do hope he's all right. Come on, girl. Let's go and have breakfast."
With Harry in her arms, she made her way downstairs and found her grandmother, Primrose, taking breakfast in the dining room. A medley of food greeted her on the sideboard, but even the mountains of grilled bacon, devilled kidneys and kedgeree couldn't lift her mood. Primrose, however, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying her morning meal.
"Good morning, Grandmother," she said, putting Harry down to fill a saucer with cream.
The cat meowed excitedly and began lapping the milk the moment the dish was placed on the floor. Sophie poured herself a steaming cup of Darjeeling and joined the old woman at the table. Perhaps the tea would help raise her spirits.
"Good morning, Sophie." Primrose devoured a mushroom and then raised an eyebrow at her. "Is something wrong?"
"I'm still concerned for James."
"Of course. It is a worry, lamb. Such a worry. But he is a grown man now. Here, have some prunes."
"No, thank you." Sophie stirred a spoonful of honey into her tea.
"It's still early. He may return today."
"Perhaps. I'll send a servant to his house again."
Primrose offered her a sympathetic smile. "Have faith, my darling."
"I do try, but it's so unlike Jim not to send word of his whereabouts. It's been a fortnight now. What if he's been involved in an accident?"
"I'm certain we would have been informed by now if that were the case."
Sophie's spirits sank lower. "Yes, I suppose you're right. But then, where can he be?"
At that moment, an urgent knocking sounded at the front door and Sophie jumped to her feet. The butler, Edgar, answered the door and raised voices ensued, followed by determined footsteps.
Sophie and Primrose turned their eyes to the door and a stern looking lady appeared, closely followed by a boy with a wailing infant in his arms. The boy was thirteen year old George Penderry, to be precise - Sophie's younger brother - and he was carrying Jim's ward, Felicity.
Harry abandoned her breakfast, thoroughly offended by the baby's cries, and shot out through the door.
Edgar was on the woman's heels, looking apologetic at his failure to hold her back. "A thousand pardons, Misses, she wouldn't wait."
"It's alright, Edgar," Primrose reassured him over the sound of Felicity's crying. "George, this is a surprise."
He answered with a grin and a bow of his head. "Dear Grandmother, good morning."
Sophie freed him of the copper-haired baby. "There, there, Felicity."
She rocked her gently. Fat tears rolled down the child's red cheeks and Sophie mopped them away with her handkerchief. "Goodness me, you poor thing. George, I thought you were at boarding school?"
George cleared his throat and examined his fingernails. "Oh, that."
"Young Master Penderry was expelled from boarding school last week for an extremely naughty prank," the woman enlightened them.
Their snowy-haired grandmother gasped and shook her head in disappointment. "George, really. Whatever will your brother say?"
When not at boarding school, George lived with his brother - an arrangement made several months ago when Jim had turned twenty one and taken control of his inheritance. While her brothers resided in their late parent's property, Sophie had remained with their grandmother. Jim was the closest thing to a father figure that George had.
"And who might you be?" Primrose asked the woman.
"My name is Miss Harris. I'm the baby's nanny. That is to say, her former nanny."
"What do you mean former?"
"Mr Penderry has failed to return," Miss Harris answered sharply. "Which is why I have no choice but to quit my position. My salary has not even been paid."
"Your salary, oh heavens." Sophie turned to Primrose. "Can't we sort this out?"
She nodded without hesitation. "Of course we can. Dear little Felicity must have a nanny. How much are you owed?"
Miss Harris looked grave. "I'm afraid it's not that simple. The household staff have not been paid either and the money Mr Penderry left for bills has been spent. Two of the staff left earlier this week and the other leaves today to find work elsewhere. There is no food, no coal, no cook, and no maid to clean the rooms or wash the clothes. In short, I alone can't meet the children's needs so I've brought them here to you."
Sophie looked at her grandmother, equally shocked by the turn of events.
"The boy has the keys to the property and their belongings are downstairs by the entrance," Miss Harris told them.
George confirmed his possession of the keys by proudly swinging the bunch on his finger.
Primrose protested. "You're not leaving, are you? What of the baby's needs? James didn't rescue her from that wretched orphanage just to see her passed around like a parcel."
"And what of George and his studies?" added Sophie.
Miss Harris heaved an impatient sigh. "I refuse to work for an unreliable employer. I suggest you make enquiries with the local schools. They don't look favourably on troublemakers, I must say, but if you're lucky, one of them may take him. As for the baby, she's content enough now. This young woman looks capable enough."
Sophie looked up when she realised the nanny was talking about her. "Me? Oh no, I don't have any experience with babies."
"You'll manage."
"But-" Sophie began to object, but the other woman cut her off.
"If Mr Penderry should return any time soon, please remind him to forward my salary. He has the address of the agency. Good day to you."
With that, Miss Harris left the house just as swiftly as she had breached it, leaving the poor children alone with the two astonished women.
Primrose sighed. "Well, this is unfortunate timing. I'm expected at Crowthorne Towers this weekend for a party. Lord Crowthorne has a ghost hunt planned."
Sophie groaned. "Not another ghost hunt. This is the third one this month."
For reasons she couldn't fathom, the supernatural had become very fashionable with the wealthy people of London. But Sophie found the idea of creeping around a dark castle - while a psychic called upon the spirit of someone's long-lost Uncle Herbert - more than a little silly. And psychics always turned out to be fakes.
Primrose ignored her grumblings.
George shoved his hands into his pockets and grinned. "The supernatural is all the rage, Sophie. Why, everybody's talking about it."
"I'll stick with the natural world, thank you," she replied lightly.
"Sophie takes after your great-grandparents," Primrose reminisced. "They were famous experts on plants, you know. Perhaps she could mind you and Felicity while I'm away."
"We won't be any trouble," George reassured her. "In fact, you won't even know I'm here. Is that ham?" He picked up a fork and plate from the sideboard before helping himself to the cold meats. "Bang up! I'm starved. Felicity is too, but she needs her sleep more by the look of it."
The baby had indeed fallen asleep in Sophie's arms.
Primrose sighed when she gazed at George. "You grow more like your brother."
"Jim..." Sophie said, remembering. "Well, this settles it. I'm going to find a constable right this instant."
"Sophie, you shall do no such thing," declared Primrose.
"Why not? Jim must be in trouble. He never neglects his staff, especially when it concerns his family."
George looked alarmed, but Primrose swiftly intervened.
"Do not panic, lamb. I'm sure nothing untoward has occurred. He's been delayed, and his letter has simply been lost in the post, that is all. But it wouldn't hurt to see if your Uncle Broom has heard from him. I'm sure George won't mind escorting you to his house to find out."
George forced down a mouthful of ham and smiled at her. "It would be my pleasure."
He truly did grow more like Jim with every passing year. It made Sophie's heart ache, but she managed a smile in return. "Very well, we'll visit Uncle Broom this morning, but if he hasn't heard from Jim I'll be going to the police straight away."
Primrose nodded. "Agreed."
***
It was almost midday by the time Sophie had readied herself and climbed aboard the gig beside George. With Sally the scullery maid now looking after Felicity, Sophie took the reins and made herself comfortable. George, who'd been resting his chin in his hand while he waited, sat up straight and sighed.
"Why can't we travel in the carriage?" he asked. "It would be much warmer."
"The gig is faster."
Sophie urged the grey horse onward, racing out of the street and ignoring the stares from pedestrians. After navigating the busy streets of Mayfair, they found themselves clear of the crowds and heading on course along an empty, tree-lined road. George held onto the hand rails.
"This is awfully fast," he shouted over the clatter of hoof-falls.
"Just a precaution," she said, snapping the reins. "Quiet roads such as these are often prime haunts for thieves and murderers. We shouldn't dawdle."
"It looks like rain."
She glanced up at the darkening sky. The gig had no cover and all she possessed to shelter her head from the threatening rain was her favourite gold and black hat with the pink coloured silk roses. Even her autumn cloak was hoodless. Perhaps she should have chosen the carriage, but it was too late now.
"We're going to get drenched," he said.
With a glance his way, she noticed that he wasn't even wearing a coat, only a simple jacket buttoned up over his shirt and waistcoat. "Not if we keep a good speed. Where's your coat?"
He peered down at himself and shrugged. "I had to sell it to buy yesterday's supper." He turned to look at her, worry in his young face. "You know what you said earlier, about Jim being in trouble, do you really believe something bad has happened to him?"
"I - I don't know. He should have written by now, don't you agree?" She couldn't bear to worry him, so she took a deep breath and forced a cheery smile. "His letter has probably lost its way, that's all. It happens all the time. No doubt we're worrying for nothing and he'll return to us safe and sound. Then I'll feel like a complete goose."
George cast her a thin smile. "That's what I thought... until I read his articles."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, everyone says he's a journalist, but that's not the case."
As far as she was aware, her brother was indeed a journalist, working alongside Uncle Broom to report bizarre occurrences around London. Their uncle was a man of science, but even he couldn't resist the lure of fashion, it seemed. Taking advantage of the country's appetite for the supernatural was no doubt a profitable venture, but Sophie had never read his spooky magazine.
"He's a reporter for Uncle Broom's magazine," she assured him. "But I must admit I'm not a follower of his stories."
"Then, you don't know what he does?"
"As I said, he's a journalist."
"No. He's a monster hunter."
An angry rumble of thunder sounded from the heavens and Sophie looked up with apprehension. "My goodness, a monster hunter?" She laughed at the idea. "Jim was never very good at hunting. He couldn't aim to save his life when he went pheasant shooting in Hampshire."
"It's true, Sophie. If you read his reports you'll see for yourself. Jim writes about ghosts, werewolves and vampires and all sorts of other strange things. Don't you see? He must be in danger."
"You don't really believe in those things, do you? It's just folklore."
"His reports are true!"
A fat drop of rain struck her cheek and she cracked the reigns again. The ground raced by beneath them with a roar, but when they rounded a bend, they saw a slow moving carriage hogging the road ahead.
George sat forward. "Shouldn't you slow down?"
"No need for that. He'll make way, I'm sure." She raised herself from her seat and called politely. "I say, would you let us pass, please?"
The driver gave no response, although the dog beside him glanced back at them.
Sophie tried again. "Make way please!"
Still no response.
She sat down and focused on driving. "Oh, botheration. He can't hear me over the rain. George, try to get his attention."
"Very well." George cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled: "Gangway!"
His rude shout earned a surprised glance from the coachman who swerved aside, letting Sophie pass. Dust and dirt from the road blew up in the gig's wake, covering the poor coachman and his vehicle.
"Sorry," she called over her shoulder, mortified by George's manners and her own poor driving skills.
The coachman stopped the carriage, coughing and waving the dust away while the dog barked angrily at the retreating offenders.
"Oh dear." She winced. "That's never happened before."
Suddenly, they hit a big pot-hole with a jolt and a splintering crack tore the air. To their shock, George's seat tipped a foot closer to the ground and the gig wavered out of control.