James Blaylock - The Aylesford Skull

“No, indeed. It’s utterly unreasonable, Mrs. Langley, and therein lies its attraction. I’ve come to suspect that reason is a much overrated commodity.”

“Perhaps it is, ma’am. That’s enough stirring, Cleo. They’ll be leaden if they’re over-beat.”

There was a clattering outside, the unmistakable sound of a wagon rattling up the wisteria alley. Alice’s heart leapt into her throat, and she rushed into the gallery again, her hand to her mouth, her heart beating, nearly unable to breathe. But it wasn’t their wagon, and Langdon and Hasbro weren’t driving it. A boy she didn’t know sat on the seat. He reined up before the steps and climbed down, Alice already opening the door before he had a chance to knock.

“I’m Alice St. Ives,” she said without preamble. “Have you news of my husband?” She had almost said, “my son,” but caught herself, not wanting to tempt fate.

“No, ma’am,” the boy said. “I’ve got a letter from Mother Laswell, what just came up with the coach from the village at Cliffe.”

“ From Mother Laswell? And who are you, then?”

“I’m Simonides, from Hereafter Farm,” he said, plucking off his cap. “She said I was to find you mortal quick and give you this, and I’m to say that the wagon is yours to command. I’m to drive you out to Cliffe Village if you choose to go. Old Binion here is what’s called a trotter, ma’am, bred up to it – tolerably fast and at your service.”

He handed across an envelope. Mystified, Alice tore it open and read it, and then read it again. She looked up at the wisteria alley and then glanced across the lawn to where Finn’s cottage stood empty in the sunshine, her mind revolving.

“Will you give me ten minutes?” she asked. “And then we must hurry.”

“Ten minutes, ma’am, and we’re off.”

Alice came out through the door in nine, followed by Mrs. Langley, who held Cleo in her arms. She and Cleo would be fine, Mrs. Langley told her, along with sundry other bits and pieces of advice as Alice had thrown things into her bag, including clothing for Eddie. From her seat beside Simonides Alice promised to send word from Cliffe, promised any of a number of things to Mrs. Langley and Cleo both.

As the cart clattered away, she looked back at the two of them still standing on the veranda, in her mind seeing herself standing there the day before yesterday, filled with unhappiness, watching Langdon racing away from her. She was no longer standing and waiting, however, which had been her fervent wish, but she had no idea exactly what she was doing, only that she had an urgent need to find out.

Finn ran, his mind laboring to see a clear way before him. The front yard was blessedly empty – his good fortune, may it last. The walnut tree stood before him, and he was into the lower branches and climbing before he gave it another thought. No one cried out. The morning was still. He went straight to Eddie’s window and looked in through the rippled, dirty glass. Eddie was asleep on the bed – no surprise in that. Finn knocked hard on the casement, but the boy didn’t move. He knocked again. Still nothing. He yanked the sleeve of his velvet jacket up over his clenched fist and hit a windowpane fast and hard, the glass shattering. Eddie sat up, and Finn saw that the boy knew him instantly – no balaclava now. And there had been the wink and nod through the rear window of the coach. Eddie looked around wide-eyed and sprang out of bed, immediately putting on his slippers and vest, ready to bolt.

Finn slipped the latch on the window and pushed it open, and then slid over the sill and dropped to the floor. “They’ll be after us,” he said to Eddie. “Can you climb the tree?”

The boy shook his head, his face betraying his unhappiness with the idea. Cleo might have been game for it , Finn thought, but Eddie was on the cautious side. Finn should have taught the boy to climb, of course, but it was too late to start now. He looked around the room, considering his options, of which there were none. He slipped the bolt high on the door and peered out: a long hallway leading away to the left, where there was a set of stairs; to the right a dead end. It was the stairs or nothing.

“Look here,” Finn said to Eddie, crouching down so that he was something like the same height. “You and I are going to find our way out. I’m hellfire smart, but you’re smarter than me by far. The two of us can do it together. The Professor – your father – is close by, down along the bay. If we can win free, you and I can find him easy as kiss-my-hand. He’ll take the both of us home in his airship. Do you hear what I’m telling you?”

Eddie nodded.

“Then be ready to run. If they catch me, don’t wait. You keep running. When you’re outdoors, take to the trees and hide.” He gripped Eddie’s hand, said, “Now,” and swung the door open, starting forward even as he saw that someone blocked the way – George, alone, his finger to his lips, his head shaking.

“As you value your life, do as I tell you,” George said, his voice low. Finn nodded, and George said to him, “Follow me, then. You’re leaving Shade House for good and all, and quickly. If we meet someone, you’re my prisoner, do you see? Play your part, boy.”

They descended the stairs at the end of the hall, sounds of loud talk and laughter below. Finn was happy to play his part, whatever it meant. He had been right about George, he thought, and he and Eddie were in luck that it was George sent to fetch them. There was no earthly reason for him to be playing them false. At the second floor he led them hurriedly down the hall, the noise from below diminishing. He swung open a door, closing it behind them, Finn still gripping Eddie’s hand as they followed him readily across a broad room where there stood several tables and empty kegs. An open fireplace lay along one wall, big enough to walk a horse into. They passed into another room, this one with an oven, a coal scuttle alongside, an open arch behind, which led to a stairway where a dirty window of bullseye glass looked down at the millwheel.

They followed the stairs downward, Finn hearing what sounded like the rattling of a doorknob from somewhere above. George glanced back, evidently having heard it himself. At the base of the stairs stood two more doors, one of which George opened, hauling them through before barring it with a long timber, desperately quiet and cautious about it. He put his finger to his lips again, and tiptoed deeper into the room, where the three of them stood still, Eddie glancing at Finn, who winked at him and nodded.

After a moment of silence, someone tried the door, turning the knob, the door opening a quarter inch before jamming against the timber. The door shook heartily now. There was another silence – someone listening, perhaps – and then the receding footsteps of the person ascending the stairs. George let out a breath and nodded, and Finn felt a sense of relief for the first time that morning. Apparently they were in some sort of storeroom, given the sacks and crates haphazardly stacked on the flagstone floor. It came to him that they must be very near the kitchen, and indeed there was another low door. Perhaps McFee himself was in the room beyond.

“You’re meant for the stage, boy,” George said in a quiet voice, “with that tale of your poor brother dying of the bloody jack and you making cheeses. You’ll do well in the world, if you don’t find yourself murdered first. It was you in Spitalfields, wearing the balaclava, wasn’t it, coming after the boy alone? I recalled the green of your coat when I saw it in the daylight.”

“Yes, sir,” Finn said. “That was me.”