The barman placed a wooden bowl in front of her. “Help y’self. I’ll get your drink.”
Chastity took the bowl and squatted next to the fire, which was more a mass of coals reminiscent of hell than a cheerful blaze. A burned cloth sat next to the fire and Chastity used it to grip the ladle in the pot and fill her bowl with stew. She didn’t look too closely at what was in it, she didn’t care.
On her way back to her spot, she became aware of eyes on her. It was a feeling that ran up her spine and made her ears burn. When she reached her stool she set her bowl on the bar and made a show of having difficulty getting her cloak off. The motion allowed her a good look at the tavern behind her and she spotted a man who seemed out of place. It wasn’t his hair, which was long but not overly so. It wasn’t his clothing, which was somewhat more stylish than that of his companions but just as grimy, nor was it the wooden mug he held near his lips while he stared. It was his eyes. His were as blue as ancient ice, with an intelligence behind them that suggested he not only knew more than she did, but that he knew everything. The look on his face made Chastity shudder and she was about to turn away when he caught her looking. He smiled, and it was as warm as the smile of any proud father. But Chastity noticed it never reached his eyes. His eyes remained as cold as the ocean’s heart. She turned away and addressed her stew, which was as delicious as she’d expected. A moment later the barman returned with a hunk of hard bread and her drink. He was reaching for the coins still lying next to her bowl, but Chastity was faster. Her hand slapped down on the coins and she met his eyes.
“A moment, sir. I am curious about the old cemetery across the lane. Could you tell me why its closed?”
He rubbed the stubble on his chin and looked bored. “I don’t rightly know. Some nonsense about no more room, but looks to me like there’s plenty and someone’s taking care of them graves right proper, but no one goes in or out. None of my business, o’course.”
“What about anything out of the ordinary? Have you seen anyone who looked out of place?”
The barman shook his head. “I don’t spend me time staring out the windows at a cemetery, Miss.”
He glanced at the Chastity’s hand and she let go of the coins. The barman pocketed them and started away, but Chastity heard him mutter, “ghosts,” under his breath.
She finished her stew, drained her mug and turned to leave. As she donned her cloak she could see that the strange man was gone; he’d left nothing but his mug and a pile of change on the table. That wasn’t at all strange. What was is that he should have walked right past her on his way to the door, and she’d never even noticed him.
BACK OUTSIDE, CHASTITY returned to the southern gate where Jacob had said he’d seen the monster. Nothing had changed while she dined, but out of curiosity she tested the gate. It opened at her touch and stopped once it was wide enough for her to enter. Chastity pursed her lips in surprise and pulled the small derringer pistol from her purse. The small weapon held only two shots, but it was better than having no shots at all. She passed through the gate and closed it behind her before making her way through the graves, searching for any sign that someone or something had been abroad within.
The cemetery was quiet. They usually were, but somehow Cross Bones seemed even more so than most. The sounds of the city were muted though there was a busy thoroughfare no more than half a mile distant. The clop-clop of hooves on cobbles had been replaced by the soft hush of wind through old leaves, voices drowned by the soft creaking of the fence. It was enough to make Chastity pull her cloak tighter and hold her tiny pistol in front of her like a talisman. By the time she reached the oldest part of the cemetery where the mausoleums were, her hand was shaking.
“Get hold of yourself, Chastity!” she muttered. “You’re acting like a wide-eyed child!”
She stopped, closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. When she opened her eyes again, she’d stopped shaking. The sensation of loneliness and dread she’d felt was still there, but it was behind the self-control she’d taught herself over several years of Order service. She knew that whatever was causing the sensation, it wasn’t natural. And that likely meant she was on the right track. She continued on through the maze of mausoleums, pausing here and there to check names and dates, hoping that any might hold a clue to why someone wanted a cart-full of coffee delivered, or where it might have gone.
She rounded an old and ugly vault made of chipped stone and stopped dead in her tracks. Beyond, only a few yards away, lay the remains of a low wall, now nothing more than discarded, broken stones. In the middle, amongst a handful of gravestones so old they were barely visible, was another vault, this also made of stone covered with a mix of ivy and lichen. The ancient stone door stood open and Chastity could see the flicker of a lantern or torch within. Her senses told her she was alone, but still she turned to survey the area; there was nothing but the old vault, scattered graves and eerie silence. She turned back and crept toward the vault, her weapon held at the ready. When she reached the vault door she was surprised to see it was surrounded by white roses still fresh and in bloom. Curious, she touched one of the blossoms and was rewarded with a sharp pain in her finger. She pulled away and saw drops of crimson welling from the tiny pinprick in her flesh. She applied pressure, first to make it bleed, then to make it stop. When she looked back at the flowers, the one she’d touched was as red as her own blood. She was tempted to cut it free and give it to Herbert to study, but she had more important things to do. She ignored the flowers and turned her attention to the chamber ahead.
The inside of the vault contained two large stone slabs upon which lay the rotting remains of two human beings so old it was difficult to tell if they’d been male or female without a forensic exam. A lantern hung on an old rusting chain that descended from the ceiling and a variety of tools and equipment, too new to have been part of the burial, lay scattered about the chamber as if someone had just left and was coming back to finish their work.
Chastity entered and began a search of the small chamber, but could find no tangible evidence as to who or what had been within the vault, or why. Those interred were long dead, there were no flowers or other gifts of mourning, nothing but the strange tools. As she searched, however, she became aware of an unmistakable odor.
Moody.
She followed the scent to a patch of clear slime in the far corner, where the largest stones met just below ground level. She knelt and touched a finger to the patch, not surprised to find it was still wet and somewhat sticky.
“What are you doing in here?” a voice demanded.
Chastity straightened and turned to see the cold-eyed man from the tavern. He was standing in the doorway with a revolver leveled in her direction. He held it as if he knew how to use a weapon, and had.
Chastity smiled and kept her hands low where the nearby remains hid the derringer she still held at the ready. “I’m sorry, I was taking a walk through the cemetery and saw the light. I thought someone might be working and willing to share some information about the cemetery. My name is Chastity MacLeod, I’m with the Dispatch.”
“You’re the woman from the Barrel and Sword. This is my family’s vault, Miss MacLeod, and it is private property. I must ask you to leave. Now.”
Chastity palmed the derringer and moved into the open, her smile still in place. “Of course, I didn’t mean to pry. I am working on a story about the real reason the cemetery was closed. What are you working on in here, if I may ask?”
The man stepped aside so she could pass. As she did he flashed the same false smile he’d displayed in the tavern. “I thought you weren’t going to pry. Good day, Miss MacLeod.”
“Good day, Mr…um?”
The man clicked his heels and bowed his head, just enough to show respect. “Dippel. Hans Dippel. Excuse me, Miss MacLeod, I have work to do.”
He motioned with the revolver and Chastity stepped out into the cemetery. She walked back the way she came, but stopped when she was out of sight of th
e vault. There was no way she was leaving without getting some idea as to what Dippel and Moody were up to. She dropped her cloak behind the next mausoleum and turned back, using trees and vaults as cover until she had a view through Dippel’s vault door. She was surprised to see he and his tools were already gone. It had taken but a handful of minutes for her to circle back, but there was no sign of him. Where had he gone?
She waited another few moments, but Dippel didn’t return. She weighed going back without knowing where he was and decided against it. It was too dangerous without more weapons. She might be able to stop Dippel, but she was carrying nothing that would stop Moody. Losing a hand had merely inconvenienced him, her little derringer wouldn’t even penetrate his slimy hide.
Chastity retraced her steps to where she’d left her cloak. She gathered it up, shook the leaves out and spread it over her shoulders for what warmth it would provide against the growing chill that wasn’t just from the wind.
IT TOOK SOME time to locate a coach heading back across the bridge and the sun was but a sliver above the horizon when she stepped out of the carriage. She stood outside, shivering in the cold and watched it descend below the horizon before entering the Sanctuary. Though she’d left the cemetery behind, for now, she’d been unable to shake the glacial chill or the feeling that she was somehow being watched. Twice she’d asked the driver to take another street just so she could make sure she wasn’t being followed.
Safely in her room, she added wood to the smoldering fire someone had lit for her and huddled in front of it, hoping a cheery blaze would wash away the last vestiges of the odd strange feeling. She was starting to feel human again when there was a knock at the door. She opened it to find Asok on the other side, a scrap of grubby paper in his hand.
“Sorry t’bother you, Chastity,” he said. “But there’s a message from the Dispatch. Inspector Price is trying to reach ye, he’s left a callin’ card down at the office.”
Asok offered her the scrap of paper, which simply said ‘Price looking for MacLeod, Dispatch” followed by an address written in Asok’s curling script.
“Did he say why?” Chastity asked.
Asok shook his head. “Just said ‘e’s looking for ye, an he’ll be at home this evenin’.”
“Curious. Thank you, Asok, I will see to it directly.”
Asok nodded, but didn’t close the door. He was staring at her.
Chastity smiled and leaned against the door. “Was there something else?”
“Are ye alright, Chas? Ye look like ye’ve seen a ghost.”
She hadn’t been aware it showed. “I had an odd afternoon, Asok, but nothing I cannot handle. I’m fine.”
“Are ye sure, lass? Should I send one of th’ ladies around with some mead and warm soup to cheer ye up?”
Chastity laughed and patted Asok’s gnarled hand. “I am well, Asok. I promise.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he let her close the door on his scowl. When he was gone, Chastity returned to her place by the fire. She was curious as to what Inspector Price could want. She didn’t think he had identified her the night before, but he was a smart man, anything was possible. Still, he wasn’t likely to arrest her on the spot, not unless he was certain she was the person who had stolen his evidence. Since that evidence was now nothing but a scattering of ash, she was safe. Assuming he was the man she thought he was. After a few minutes of thought, she started getting dressed for the evening. She lingered over her night armor and weapon belt before settling on a single pistol and her sword belt. It didn’t carry as much as her weapon belt, but would pass casual inspection. It was in vogue for the women who went alone at night to wear a blade or gun and as such, most passersby wouldn’t even notice.
She found a Hansom cab waiting outside and she gave the driver, an older man with a Scottish accent, the address provided by Asok. A short time later, as a light snow began to fall, Chastity stepped out onto the sidewalk in Bayswater. The large white building in front of her contained numerous residences, all numbered in gold. The one in question, 42B, was below street level and Chastity took the steps down to the heavy wooden door. She pulled one of her calling cards from her purse and knocked. To her surprise, Price himself opened the door a few moments later. He had doffed his coat and wore a plain white shirt beneath a black vest. A watch chain hung across his stomach and his Colt was holstered low on his right hip. When he saw her, he moved his hand from the pistol’s grip and leaned against the door jamb.
“Good evening, Miss MacLeod, I appreciate you coming to my home. This could have waited until morning.”
Chastity blushed and offered him her card. “I wasn’t expecting you to answer the door. The message I received was vague so I thought I should come as soon as I could.”
Price dropped the proffered card into a bowl next to the door and stood aside, offering entrance. “I don’t hold with all that genteel servant business. I can answer my own damn door.”
Chastity entered, not surprised that the entryway was devoid of any decoration save a silver horseshoe over the door. Price closed the door behind her and guided her down the short hallway to a parlor, also furnished with only a handful of things. A wide sofa of patterned cloth sat facing the window while a high-backed chair sat beside the fireplace. A pipe smoked in a holder beside the chair and Chastity noted that the position of the chair allowed for a clear view of the outside stairs through the open drapes. From there Price could see anyone coming to his door or the door above.
Price motioned to the sofa. “Have a seat. Can I get you something? All I’ve got is whiskey, lemonade and some root beer that isn’t too bad. If you’re hungry I’ve got some of your meat pies from the shop down the street. They aren’t bad, with a little honey.”
Chastity began to shrug out of her coat. “Lemonade will be fine, thank you.”
Price suddenly remembered his manners. He took the coat and hung it on a rack nearby. When he turned back, he was frowning.
“I’m surprised to see you wearing a weapon, Miss MacLeod. I didn’t think it was fashionable here in the big city.”
“Fashionable or not, a smart woman doesn’t go alone at night without some means of protection. This is a perilous world, Inspector, as well you know. I’ve never seen you without your Colt.”
Price touched the revolver at his hip with one finger. “Point taken, Miss MacLeod. Let me get your lemonade.”
Price left the room and Chastity took the opportunity to look around. Though the room was barely furnished, she was certain it was the room he spent the most time in, aside from a bedroom, perhaps. Books were stacked beside the chair alongside a tin cup that looked as if it had seen many cups of very bad coffee. Chastity could smell it from a few feet away.
The resting pipe was made of wood and ivory with a well-chewed stem. The tobacco within the bowl was fragrant with a hint of cinnamon that was manly and somehow soothing. She loved cinnamon.
Above the fireplace was a portrait that depicted an attractive woman with hair the color of sunshine and eyes the matched the grass behind her. Cradled in her arms was a blue-eyed infant looking out at the world from beneath a fringe of brown hair. She didn’t recognize the artist’s signature, but the date indicated the painting was only three years old.
Price entered and offered her the blue tumbler he was holding. “My wife and son.”
Chastity accepted the lemonade and sat on the sofa, legs crossed in front of her. “Beautiful. Both of them. Will they be joining you here in London?”
Price sat by the fire and tried to bring some life back to his pipe. “They died. Two years ago.”
Chastity looked away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“You couldn’t have, but thank you.”
He puffed on his pipe and blew a stream of smoke toward the fireplace, where the heat carried it away. “I wanted to talk to you about this case I’m working on. You seem to have a keen eye for details. I know you didn’t believe that the killer was a maddened dwarf, I eventu
ally came to the same conclusion. Tell me, did you ever find Calvin Moody?”
Chastity kept her face blank, but the sip of lemonade she’d taken had become acid on her tongue. She swallowed and set the glass on the side table.
“I asked after him at Diablo Brothers, but he wasn’t in. Why?”
Price looked at her over his pipe. “I tracked him down, after a fashion. He has an apartment a few streets away from the show, though I doubt he will return. Are you sure you didn’t visit him? Mr. Reynolds said he saw a woman fitting your description.”
Chastity shook her head. “Mr. Reynolds? I don’t believe I know him.”
“He owns a shoe shop in Whitechapel. Mr. Moody rents an apartment above his store. They had some commotion last night, but only Mr. Moody appears to have been injured.”
Chastity pulled her notebook from her purse and licked the end of her pencil. “How was he injured? Did it happen in the chimney?”
Price continued to stare at her. “I cannot say, it is a police matter.”
“Ah. Was that all you wanted to ask? If I’d found Moody?”
Price knocked his pipe out into the fireplace, set it aside and began to roll another nut of tobacco between his hands. “Not really. I need your help, Miss MacLeod. Calvin Moody, if he was indeed the killer, has slipped away. You were on the right track before, where do you think he’s gone now?”
Chastity sipped at her lemonade, it gave her a moment to think. Her only clue to Moody’s whereabouts was Cross Bones and she had no idea if he would be there or if he was something Price could handle. The average man turned tail and ran in the face of the supernatural, but Price wasn’t an average man.
“Do you remember Jacob Lancaster?” she asked.
“The coffee clerk? Yes, he appears to have fled the city after committing a minor theft unrelated to the case. I believe Moody is our man.”
Requiem (The Penny Dreadfuls Book 1) Page 10