Fogging Over

by Annie Dalton

  “Are you saying that a man has no right to better himself?” he burst out. “Must he then stay in the situation he was born to, no matter how degrading?”

  “Dear, dear, we seem to have touched a raw nerve,” someone muttered.

  “Yet with education and a sincere desire to improve himself, a poor man can change beyond recognition!” Uncle Noel was almost shouting now. “Such a man might even come and mingle with you gentlemen in your precious club and you would be none the wiser!”

  And dashing his glass to the floor he stormed downstairs and out into the street. We had to hurtle after him.

  “I thought all Victorian guys were supposed to go in for stiff upper lips and repressing their feelings,” I panted.

  Georgie’s uncle was barging drunkenly into other passers-by. He was so pickled that his thoughts were jumped out at us. I’m twice the man they are. No-one ever gave me so much as a helping hand. My father grudged every paltry penny he gave my mother. I was his by-blow, his bastard, so I had to make do with second best; a second-best school while my brother went to Eton, living in that poky house while they lived in luxury.

  “Why is he so obsessed with his parents not being married?” I asked Brice. “Loads of my mates’ parents weren’t.”

  “It’s different in these times,” Brice explained. “If a Victorian was born on the wrong side of the blanket, he was considered disreputable, a really bad lot.”

  Georgie’s uncle flagged down a passing hansom cab. We climbed into the high unsprung vehicle, with its smells of leather and horses, and went clipping through the foggy streets.

  ‘Try harder, Noel,’ Mama kept saying. Uncle Noel was still fuming to himself. ‘Pass your exams, show him how clever you are, and you’ll make your father proud of you yet.’ There was no money to send me to university, so I worked as a legal clerk by day, and sat up all night studying for the bar. Papa will be proud of me when I get my articles, I thought.

  “Don’t you feel just a tiny bit sorry for him?” I whispered.

  Brice shook his head. “I think Uncle Noel is quite sorry enough for himself.”

  When we got back to Portman Square, Georgie’s uncle went straight to his study and poured himself a generous glass of booze. Then he stumbled to a curtained alcove and pulled back the curtain. Behind it was a painting of a young fair-haired woman in a white dress.

  “Haven’t we seen her before somewhere?” Brice said, puzzled.

  “It’s the woman in Georgie’s locket!” I gasped.

  We stared at each other as this sank in. Then Brice gave an evil chuckle. “Well rock’n’roll, whaddya know! Uncle Noel had the hots for Georgie’s mama!”

  “Second best, I was always second best in everything.” Uncle Noel was really working himself into a state. “Then I met you, Marguerite, and I thought my luck had changed.”

  He went on rambling drunkenly about how he’d loved Georgie’s mama at first sight, but he was poor and illegitimate so he hadn’t dared to approach her.

  “You could have grown to love me in time,” Uncle Noel sniffled. “But before I could pluck up the courage to speak, my half-brother stole you away from me.”

  Brice’s eyes widened. “That sounds like a motive to me!”

  The uncle opened a drawer and took out a framed miniature of the widowed Marguerite with her two small children. I was startled to see they were both wearing dresses!

  “Oh my poor darling,” he groaned. “Little Georgina gets more like you every time I see her.”

  My mouth dropped open. Georgina! NO way!

  Tough, streetwise, cigar-smoking Georgie was really a girl!!!

  I saw Brice’s smug expression and realised he’d known all along.

  I thumped his arm. “You rat! Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I knew you’d figure it out eventually,” he grinned.

  The door opened and a tiny woman came in, wearing a full-length nightdress and a prim little bed-cap with trailing ribbons. “Do try to control yourself, beloved,” she said sharply. “The servants will hear.”

  Uncle Noel’s wife might have been pocket-sized, but she was totally deadly. The room was suddenly crackling with ruthless vibes.

  Her husband guiltily went to cover the portrait, but Aunt Agnes smiled. “I am not jealous of your Marguerite,” she said with poisonous sweetness. “For she is dead and I am very much alive.”

  “You are indeed a formidable woman!” He tried to embrace her but tiny Aunt Agnes ducked neatly under his arm.

  “Formidable, some might even say ‘frightening’,” she quoted.

  “My love, I didn’t mean - have you been spying on me, Agnes?” he asked in dismay.

  “You bet your sweet life she has,” Brice muttered.

  “Purely for your own good,” Aunt Agnes said calmly. “You lack the necessary steel to follow our plan through to its conclusion. Luckily I am strong enough for us both.”

  “But when I think of Marguerite’s daughter ending her days among drunks and pickpockets,” he blubbered. “I have such nightmares, Agnes…!”

  “It’s only seeing her that upsets you,” she interrupted swiftly. “Once the brats are out of harm’s way, you’ll feel better.”

  I heard Brice inhale sharply.

  “I bet she’s got a fur coat made from baby Dalmatians, don’t you?” I whispered.

  Aunt Agnes poured them both a drink and mockingly raised her glass to the portrait.

  “Silly girl!” she said in musing voice. “She might still be alive if she had married you. Indeed, dearest, she would have married you, if it hadn’t been for your half-brother’s selfishness. Wasn’t it enough that he stood to inherit the law firm and all your father’s money? Did he have to break your heart too?”

  “He was so cold and cruel that he left me no choice. I had to become cruel just like him, or go under,” Uncle Noel sniffled.

  Aunt Agnes gave a low chuckle. “But what a sweet moment it must have been, when you saw that proud old man standing in the dock like a common criminal.”

  I was shocked. She was shamelessly manipulating him, constantly reminding him how he’d suffered, making him feel like the money he had stolen from these kids was actually owing to him.

  Uncle Noel gave her a watery smile. “Yes, yes, a very sweet moment.”

  “And the ripples go on and on. First your father’s public shame, then your brother discovering that the father he so worshipped was a liar and a thief. They both died broken men, Noel. They tried to destroy you but you broke them!”

  “But my brother suffered for so many years before he died, and then Marguerite—” he began.

  “Don’t interrupt, beloved,” she snapped. “The force of your revenge has reverberated through three generations of Hannays. It needs only one more act of courage, and they’ll be gone forever. Then your father’s fortune will all be ours.”

  “But what if someone finds out that I falsely accused my own father of embezzling…!”

  “Who is going to tell?” she said contemptuously. “Not that fool Edwin Godbolt. He is terrified you will harm his sister. And the man who forged those false documents, Alfred Rose—”

  “Lilly,” her husband corrected her. “Alfred Lilly.”

  “Lilly is in the Union Workhouse, and the matron says he has only days to live. That leaves that old villain Lovelace, and by now he’s either dead or committing new felonies on the other side of the world. For all we know he died of typhus on the transport ship, like your father.”

  Uncle Noel gazed at his wife with a kind of awe. “You make everything so simple, my love.”

  “But it is dearest, it is,” Aunt Agnes said triumphantly. “Wonderfully, exquisitely simple!”

  They left the room arm in arm, leaving me and Brice totally stunned.

  I gulped. “This isn’t just a field trip any more, is it?”

  “No,” he agreed soberly.

  “It’s a mission now, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

&
nbsp; Chapter Eight

  Let’s get out of here,” said Brice. “This house gives me major chills.”

  I automatically headed for the door. Brice immediately grabbed my arm. “You keep forgetting you’re an angel!” And he pulled me through the wall into the cold dark street outside.

  Melanie, you just shimmered through a wall! I told myself, stunned. It was actually quite a groovy sensation.

  Brice was still ranting. “And that aunt is a complete snake. Her husband practically destroyed an entire family and she’s just cheering him on to the finishing post!”

  I gulped. “She was talking like she wanted him to make them, you know, disappear.”

  “I’m sure Noel Scrivener knows a few v. unsavoury Victorians,” he said grimly. “It wouldn’t be hard for him to find someone to bump his nieces off, no questions asked.”

  “We should go back and tell Lollie and start figuring out what to do,” I said.

  I saw Brice’s expression change at the mention of Lola. “Actually, I could do with a few minutes to get my head together.”

  “Oh, OK,” I said hastily, “I’ll beam back by myself.”

  To my surprise, he said, “Don’t rush off. Let’s just walk around the square for a bit, see how the rich live.”

  It was well past midnight and the square was almost deserted. Outside one brightly lit house a coachman was dozing in his coach, waiting for someone to finish socialising inside. Most of the windows were dark. The fog had practically gone, there were just drifty veils here and there, but the air felt damp and raw. After a while I noticed Brice shivering in his T-shirt.

  “You don’t have to freeze or did you forget you’re an angel?” I teased.

  “Oh, yeah.” He genuinely hadn’t noticed.

  I could see this struggle going on inside him. He seemed desperate to get something off his chest, and suddenly he just blurted it out. “I was just trying to take care of her, you know. Guys are supposed to do that. Then she accuses me of acting like a dog with a bone!” He swallowed. “Was that how I seemed to you?”

  “Do you want the honest truth?” I asked.

  “Well, I certainly don’t want you to lie,” he said scathingly.

  “Well, you have been acting a bit possessive.” I took a breath. “I guess we both have.”

  What are you doing? I thought. You almost apologised to Brice!

  Just then a little grey cat came running up to us. Reuben had started teaching me this cool angel language which is understood by practically all animals, so I petted her and tried out a few basic phrases.

  I noticed Brice darting sideways glances at me. Suddenly he said, “I think I’m a bit out of my depth with this boy-girl business.”

  “Hold it right there,” I told him nervously. “Is this going to get embarrassing? If so I’m out of here pronto.”

  He grinned. “I’m not going to ask you about the angels and the bees. It’s boy-girl feelings I’m having trouble with.”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, well, you’re a guy. What can I say?”

  “I wish that’s all it was,” he said. “Can you even imagine what my life was like before the Agency took me back? I’ve been hanging out with some dark characters, you know. I feel like one of those kids raised by wolves, except with me it was demons and ghouls.”

  “I know! It must have been a total nightmare.” I pulled a face. “Sorry, that came out sounding really dumb. You’re right. I can’t even imagine what the Hell dimensions are like. I don’t know how you survived.”

  “I don’t think I did, not totally,” he admitted. “But Lola seems to think - she’s so amazing, isn’t she?”

  “She’s the best,” I said softly.

  “I never dreamed someone like Lola would look at me twice. I guess I got a bit carried away.” Brice took a deep breath. “Sorry if I acted like a jerk.”

  “Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly behaving like an angel.” I paused and shook my head. “Did I really say that?”

  I held out my hand palm upward to show him it was starting to rain. “Have you finished soul-searching now? Because I am dying to see Lollie’s face when we tell her Georgie is actually a girl!”

  Back at The Three Cripples, we found a touching scene. Georgie was curled up fast asleep on the floor by the glowing embers of a fire, cuddling the ugly dog for comfort. Around her in a protective circle were dozens of radiant globes of rose-coloured light.

  Lola had been re-reading her Angel Handbook while Georgie was sleeping. When we came in, she whipped off her glasses, smiling. “Hi.”

  “Pink lights,” said Brice. “That’s nice.”

  I saw his lips twitch. I knew he was thinking, pink for a girl.

  “I thought they’d help him feel safe,” Lollie explained.

  “Help her feel safe,” I corrected demurely.

  Lola’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding!”

  “It’s true,” said Brice. “Young Georgie Hannay here is actually Georgina. You can’t blame her for disguising herself as a boy, living on the streets and with the Ripper on the loose.”

  We scrutinised Georgie’s face by the glow of Lola’s angel lights.

  “I can’t imagine how I ever thought she was a boy,” I said softly.

  Lola shook her head in wonder. “That’s one brave little human.”

  I went to sit by the hearth where a few embers still gave off heat. “Brice knew straight off,” I said in a casual voice.

  I saw my sharp-eyed friend register that Brice and I had declared a truce, but she just said, “So what else did you guys find out?”

  We explained how Georgie’s uncle had developed this major grudge because his legitimate half-brother had married the girl he loved.

  “So Scrivener decided to take revenge on the entire Hannay family,” said Brice. “He used his dodgy contacts to acquire forged ‘evidence’ that would make it seem as if his hugely well-respected old man, Charles Hannay, had embezzled his clients’ money. It was obviously a brilliant forgery, too, because the judge sentenced him to be transported - only he died of typhus before he reached Australia. Are you going to eat all that trail mix, Mel?”

  “Oh, no, sorry!” I took over the story while Brice munched.

  “It looks like Georgie and Charlotte’s papa never got over the shame of having his father publicly humiliated. He and Marguerite eventually had kids, but by then I think his world had like, basically crumbled.” It was only now I was explaining it to Lola that I totally understood this myself.

  “So their dad gradually gave up the ghost and died of a broken heart,” said Brice. “And a few years later, their mama followed.”

  Lola shook her head. “So Uncle Scrivener is indirectly responsible for these kids being orphaned.”

  “He’s totally one hundred percent responsible!” Brice sounded furious. “Not only that, he makes it seem as if Georgie’s mama and papa were feckless parents who left their two little girls destitute. Then this guy has the nerve to whinge about having nightmares!”

  “Someone must have known what was going on,” Lola said.

  “Yeah, Edwin Godbolt, who was conveniently sent to gaol for a crime he didn’t commit,” said Brice. “Scrivener’s threatened his sister, so while she’s still alive, he can’t tell what he knows.”

  “There is one other witness,” I reminded him. “That old forger, Alfred Lilly. But the aunt said he’s going to pop off at any minute.” I yanked at my hair. “It’s SO frustrating being invisible. If we could just materialise for five tiny minutes we could go to Scotland Yard—”

  “No way!” Lola said sternly. “Last time you pulled that stunt you almost got expelled.”

  Brice looked interested. “Why haven’t I heard this story?”

  I let out a shriek. “OMIGOSH, guys! I know what we’re going to do!!”

  I was so overexcited, I actually had to fan myself with both hands before I could get the words out. “We’ll go to Minerva’s first thing and Brice can ask his spirit buddies to tell Geo
rgie and Charlotte what their evil rellies are up to. If the girls can get to Alfred Lilly in time, he can maybe make this like, deathbed confession to the cops or whatever.” I beamed at them. “Well, what do you think?”

  “I’m grudgingly impressed,” Brice admitted.

  I blew on my nails. “Not bad for an airhead, huh?”

  “It’ll mean giving Georgie a cosmic nudge,” said Lola. “She might have her own plans.”

  Brice emptied the last of my trail mix into his mouth. “Sweetheart, if the Agency wanted to play it by the rules, why would they send us?”

  Lola and Brice started swapping troubleshooting stories. I moved closer to the fire, staring into the dying embers.

  Brice had made it sound like this had always been a mission, a mission that just happened to be in educational disguise. This bothered me, because deep down I knew I’d let Georgie down. Not only had I allowed my personal business to get in the way, I’d deliberately distanced myself from her. Georgie’s life was unbelievably painful. So to protect myself, I’d reinvented her as some quirky little Victorian character I was studying for a project.

  But now I took a proper look at her, I mean really looked at her vulnerable little face as she slept by the fire, and I thought, in another life she could be me and I could be her.

  And you know what? I felt really grateful that after so many stupid mistakes, I’d been given another chance to help her.

  Then I thought: How karmic is that! Like, before I could help Georgie, I had to learn all this incredibly heavy stuff about myself. And then I thought, it’s true what they say about the Agency. It really does move in mysterious ways.

  Next morning, Georgie had dark circles under her eyes. She was so exhausted she could scarcely drag her clothes on.

  “Have you got somewhere safe to sleep tonight, dearie?” the landlady of The Cripples asked her anxiously.

  “Me? Lor’ bless yer, missis, I got dozens of places I can go,” Georgie boasted in her street voice, but I felt terror go through her like a blade. Because since her mama died she didn’t have anywhere safe to go, not tonight, not ever.

  It was wet and windy outside and Georgie had to stop on the doorstep to turn up her collar. Two grim-faced bobbies stood guarding the alleyway where the girl had been murdered.