by Rebecca King
“What? At all?”
Cecily was so peeved at the notion that Tahlia forgot she was in public, and Cecily was her maid, and grinned.
“Not at all,” she warned her. “Not unless you are spoken to. Take a seat on the chair they show you and sit still. Don’t fidget, put your hands in your lap, and wait until I have finished. They will ignore you because you are there to chaperone me.”
“I may as well be a piece of meat,” Cecily grumbled, clearly put-out at being such a nonentity.
She visibly jumped when a dapperly dressed gentleman suddenly loomed out of the fog toward them. The steady tap-tap of his cane against the cobbles was muffled by the dank atmosphere and only heightened the strangeness of their creepy surroundings.
“I want to go home,” Cecily moaned.
Tahlia silently agreed with her, but studied the façade of the solicitor’s office with renewed determination.
“Let’s get this over with. Then we can go back to uncle’s house and make a start on sorting through everything. The more we can do today, the less we have to do another day.” Tahlia wasn’t certain who she was trying to convince, herself for her maid.
“Amen to that,” Cecily replied.
Although she would never admit it to Cecily, Tahlia would only relax again once they were back in the safe confines of Henry’s house. It was unnerving the way that there were muffled sounds of movement all around them yet they couldn’t see another living soul. People suddenly appeared out of the fog and disappeared again as quickly. It was disconcerting to say the very least.
Unsettled, Tahlia squared her shoulders and entered the offices of Kibble, Witham and Kemp. Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long before a small gentleman scurried out of one of the offices at the rear of the building. He practically raced toward her, a broad smile of welcome on his face.
“Good morning, ma’am, I have been expecting you to contact me,” he called gaily as he came to a stop before her.
“I apologise for calling by unannounced. I happened to be in London, you see, and found a letter from my uncle last night,” Tahlia explained.
She was a little nonplussed when Mr Kibble nodded. “I have been pondering what to do if you didn’t contact me. Suffice to say that now you are here I can complete the last of your uncle’s requirements. Let’s go into my office, shall we?”
Inside his office, Tahlia watched as the small man darted this way and that. He removed piles of papers from his desk, two chairs, and a shelf, and cleared space on the littered surface of a side table. He waved absently at Cecily, who studied a rather rickety chair in the corner of the room in dismay before perilously taking a seat. Tahlia dutifully perched on the edge of a rather battered seat Mr Kibble held for her, and waited patiently for the solicitor take a seat behind his desk.
Once he did, rather than speak to her, he began to rifle through a pile of papers.
“Now, where were they? Yes, yes, here they are. I have them here,” he muttered. As he spoke he searched through one pile before discarding them onto the floor and turning his attention to a second pile. “Yes, here they are.”
He held the papers up to show her, a proud smile of accomplishment on his face. Dropping them onto the table before him, he began to flick through the pages.
“Now, what do we have here then?” he muttered.
Tahlia watched him. She wasn’t sure if he was talking to her, or himself. Either way, she tried not to fidget with impatience while he hunted for whatever he was looking for.
“Now, I have all the paperwork ready like you asked me,” the small man began. “Oh, please do forgive me. I, heaven’s above, please, I beg of you, please forgive my ill-manners. Would you like some refreshments? How about a nice cup of tea?”
Tahlia immediately shook her head. The manner in which the man fluttered from one thing to the next was amazing, but also a little disconcerting. If she didn’t hurry him along any, she was likely to spend today in his office. Time was short, and her discomfort was rife. She already wanted to sneeze, and did so when he unsettled a pile of books closest to her and released a plume of dust into the air.
“Oh, please forgive me,” he muttered.
Tahlia’s gaze flew up in astonishment when he suddenly jumped up, raced around the table, and bowed before her.
“Please forgive me. I am Mr Bartholomew Kibble, of Kibble, Witham, and Kemp. I dealt with all of your uncle’s legal matters, and have the delightful task of offering you our services as well, my dear.”
In a daze, Tahlia shook his pro-offered hand and watched as he settled down behind his desk once more. It was a relief that he was now sitting still. She hoped he remained so because she was bursting with curiosity.
“Thank you,” she replied. “Now, about my uncle’s house-”
“I have the necessary documentation here for you to sign to make it yours.” He beamed at her as though she had achieved a major coup.
Tahlia almost hated having to deflate his triumphant eagerness. But, she suspected that if she didn’t do something she would be steamrollered into doing something rash – like keeping the place. That was the last thing she wanted to do. She held a hand up to halt him when he took a deep breath in readiness to launch into his next set of instructions.
“I wish to sell my uncle’s house,” she announced into the expectant silence.
Mr Kibble’s breath whooshed out in a rush. He stared at her blankly over the top of his spectacles for several moments in disbelief.
“Pardon?”
Tahlia heaved an impatient sigh. “I wish to sell my uncle’s house. I have absolutely no intention of ever residing in London again. With that in mind, I see no reason to keep it. Ergo, I wish to arrange its sale. As quickly as possible, because I have pressing matters waiting for me back at home,” she declared firmly.
“Home?” Mr Kibble repeated weakly.
“My home. In Rutland,” Tahlia prompted.
“Yes, yes, I believe that was where I wrote to you,” the solicitor replied absently.
“That’s right, you did,” Tahlia replied.
She didn’t think he was listening to her because he was muttering while she spoke, but she carried on regardless.
“It is a small county next to Leicestershire,” she prompted, wondering if he was a little dense.
“Yes, I am aware of where Rutland is,” Mr Kibble mumbled.
A frown started to crinkle his brow.
“I should like to get back there as quickly as possible,” Tahlia prompted when the solicitor stared down at his papers.
He appeared to be unable to comprehend why someone would want to live in such a place as Rutland.
“There is no stipulation in the will that requires me to keep my uncle’s house for a ridiculous period of time, is there?” she asked when the solicitor didn’t speak.
“What? Oh, no, nothing like that at all,” he assured her. “I can, of course, make the necessary arrangements for its sale should you wish?”
“My uncle was fond of London, Mr Kibble, but it was his home,” Tahlia replied, softening her stance slightly. “It is not my home, and I have no wish to make it so. I cannot keep a property like that here, and have no intention of renting it. It needs to be owned by someone who will look after it in the manner to which my uncle would have approved.”
Mr Kibble nodded. “I see. Well, if that is your wish then that is what we shall do.”
“I intend to select the items in the house I wish to keep, but the remainder will need to be sold. The proceeds can be forwarded to me in Rutland. Are you able to recommend someone who might be able to deal with that?” She asked.
Tahlia wondered if Mr Kibble was a man to sulk. Something seemed to have put him out of sorts. His behaviour upon hearing her news had swiftly turned a tad unprofessional. However, he was a solicitor, nothing more. There was certainly no earthly reason why he should object to her selling her uncle’s house, or she should care if he did.
“I shall, of cou
rse, pay the necessary fees should you be willing to act on my behalf?” Tahlia prompted when he didn’t answer her.
Mr Kibble then seemed to realise she was there and peered up at her.
“Of course we will act on your behalf,” he replied. Before her very eyes he seemed to collect himself. Drawing in a deep breath, he nodded and returned to being professional again.
“Thank you,” she replied primly, inwardly relieved at his acceptance.
Another problem solved, she thought with relief.
“We can oversee that for you,” he pierced her with a hard stare over the top of his spectacles. “At a cost of course.”
“Of course,” Tahlia replied, uncaring what that cost was as long as she didn’t have to stay in London a moment longer than she absolutely had to.
Money was no object now she had all of her uncle’s not insignificant wealth. She would pay the solicitor whatever she had to if it meant getting out of London faster.
“Well, if you can sign these papers to transfer the property over to you for now. I will then arrange for the necessary papers to be drawn up that will allow me to act on your behalf with regards to the sale. You will need to come back to sign those. They should be ready for you tomorrow. Would that be agreeable to you?”
Tahlia nodded energetically. “Of course, I am grateful for your assistance. You do have my address to forward your bill to me in due course?”
Mr Kibble nodded and began to rifle through the pages once more. When he didn’t remove one, she decided to prompt him.
“My uncle has informed me that he left me a note with you. It is some sort of correspondence he wished to remain secure?”
“Yes, of course.” Without hesitation he then selected a folded note, closed with a seal, and handed it to her. “He instructed me to give you this on the day the house is signed over to you. He said that he wished it to remain safe and could we hold it for you? Of course, I agreed.” He slowly opened a drawer in the desk beside him and withdrew a single key attached to a small piece of wood. “He didn’t tell me what the key is for but he asked me to give you this with it. Maybe the instructions are in his letter. Now, let’s sign this paperwork.”
Somewhat mollified and confused in equal measure, Tahlia nodded slowly and studied the familiar scrawl of her uncle’s handwriting. She was burning with curiosity but daren’t open it. She was afraid to take even a quick peek inside until she was in the quiet privacy of her uncle’s study. Clutching the key in her hand she studied it. It was large and ornate, the kind of thing in popular use a century ago. Now, it felt big and cumbersome. It was so large it barely fit into her purse, but she managed to squeeze it in beside the letter and close the clasp. Setting her bag in her lap, she then forced her attention to the papers Mr Kibble was explaining to her.
She hoped she could get out of there sometime soon, preferably before she sneezed again.
Half an hour later, armed with several rolls of parchment, the mysterious key, and the letter from her uncle, Tahlia took her leave of the solicitor. Once on the pavement she paused and handed Cecily the parchment.
“Well, I would like to say that I am glad to be out of there, but now I am not so sure,” Cecily muttered as she studied shifting shapes in the smog.
“We have what we need now so let’s get back to the house,” Tahlia suggested, unsurprised when Cecily threw her a relieved look.
“How do we hail a carriage in this?” Cecily asked with a frown.
She could hear the distant clip-clop of horses’ hooves and suspected they came from the main high street at the far end of the small mews they were in. It was too dim to be sure.
“Let’s go out onto the main road,” Tahlia suggested. “We should be able to see something in the passing traffic. If not, we shall have to walk and hope for a break in this smog so we can find something.”
Tahlia knew it was risky to walk anywhere in London, especially with the smog so thick, but there was little she could do. She tried to plot where they were but had little recall of the solicitor’s offices at all. She wished now she had asked Mr Kibble to assist her. It was too late to back now, though. If she returned she doubted she would leave Mr Kibble’s office for another hour and she couldn’t bear that. She had never concentrated so much in her life and right now needed a stiff drink.
“Let’s go this way, I think,” Tahlia whispered and hurried toward the noise filtering through the dank air.
When they started to move, their situation swiftly became considerably worse.
“I can’t see anything,” Cecily cried as she tried to peer at the ground beneath her feet. “Let me go and see if I can find a carriage.”
Before Tahlia could say anything, Cecily vanished into the fog.
“Cecily?” she called, but her maid didn’t hear her.
Tahlia’s heart lurched as a sense of helpless isolation swept through her. The small hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She shivered beneath the strength of the wave of foreboding that hit her; something was wrong, she just knew it. Being in the smog all alone was hideous, but her fear didn’t stem from that. It came from something entirely more sinister. The atmosphere had just shifted, as though waiting for something.
“Hello?” she called tentatively.
She let out a squeak when an elderly lady carrying a basket suddenly materialised at her elbow.
“I wouldn’t be standin’ there if I were you, dearie,” the woman cackled before she disappeared again.
Tahlia opened her mouth to reply only to whirl around when another gentleman appeared behind her.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he growled as he side-stepped around her and vanished just as quickly.
Disorientated, confused, and growing increasingly scared by the second, Tahlia realised she must be standing in the centre of the pavement. Stepping to one side, she bumped into a solid wall of masculine chest.
“Sorry,” she muttered awkwardly.
To her horror, rather than mutter something and disappearing like everyone else had, this man grabbed her roughly by the elbows. She gasped in protest when she found herself unable to move. Fear clogged her throat. Her nostrils were assailed by the stench of the grime on the grubby hand which clamped hard over her mouth. Terrifyingly, Tahlia found her scream was reduced to nothing more than a feeble squeak of surprise. She kicked and writhed in protest when the man started to drag her toward an alley she hadn’t even realised was there.
Her slight weight was no match for her attacker’s strength, and she swiftly lost the battle to gain purchase with her feet and prevent him from dragging her anywhere.
“Cecily?” she gasped when she did manage to loosen the man’s hold. But of course, she received no answer.
The cry for help resulted in the man’s brutal hold over her mouth becoming harder. She clawed cruelly at the ruthless fingers to get some much needed air into her lungs. In a bizarre twist, the sight of the blissfully unaware pedestrians walking mere feet away without a care in the world rendered her even more desperate. She began to claw, kick, and hit the man behind her in any way she could, but was dragged into the darkness void beside them.
Nobody heard her scream.
Where are you, Cecily? She thought desperately, her eyes scouring the smog for someone to help her.
Nobody even glanced in her direction. It fuelled her paralysing fear that nobody knew where she was. Anything could happen to her now and nobody would know until the fog lifted. She couldn’t see anything to use to help her free herself. The only sound she could hear once in the alley was the heavy breathing and occasional grunt of the man behind her. She tried to kick out with her feet but only succeeded in unbalancing herself. Digging her boots into the cobbles, she could find very little purchase to delay the inevitable. Stars began to dance behind her eyes with the need to draw in much needed oxygen. When sickness loomed, she dug her nails into the softer flesh of his hand, tugging and pulling with all of her might.
“Give us yer jewels,” her attacker
growled.
The menace in that heavily accented voice gave her the chills. Before she could do anything to comply with his demands, she felt the sharp tug of her necklace against the back of her neck. She knew immediately that this was a mugger, and would have given her assailant all of her jewels, if only he let go of her. But she couldn’t speak. All she could do was tug at his hands and try to get her mouth free so she could breathe and speak to him.
When the edges of her world began to fade, she pulled desperately at two fingers, and finally succeeded in drawing in a much needed breath.
“I said give me yer jewels,” the man repeated. “And yer bag.”
Her fingers tightened instinctively on her bag. While she was happy for him to take the wretched jewels if he seemed so determined to have them, he would not get his hands on the bag. No matter what he threatened her with, she couldn’t part with that. It had the mysterious key in it for one. Thankfully, the man hadn’t pulled a knife on her or anything, and that renewed her determination to fight him with everything she had.
Aware of pressure against her wrist, she glanced down in time to watch her pearl bracelet disappear off the end of her fingers. She instinctively clenched her fists and watched the bracelet snap showing pearls onto the cobbles beneath their feet. Strangely, the man didn’t pay any attention to them. He continued to drag her deeper into the alley.
The only valuable item Tahlia had left now was a small brooch attached to her dress and, of course, her bag.
The man suddenly shoved her roughly against the wall beside them, and began to fumble beneath her shawl for her other wrist. He also tried to grab her bag.
“Give me the bag,” the man snarled into her ear.
Refusing to give him anything he wanted, she clenched the bag in tighter fingers and stubbornly refused to relinquish her hold. Trying to do two things at once put the man at a distinct advantage. It left Tahlia free to scream as loudly as she could.
“Shut up,” her attacker snarled.
Rather than appear panicked, the man sneered at her as he cupped her chin in ruthless fingers. One long forefinger pointed upright and was placed firmly over her lips.