evening.
Downstairs, he found a new fire and the table laid for breakfast. Elsie hurried in with coffee and a shy smile. “Good morning, sir. Fog’s cleared. We might even see some sun later.”
Still half asleep, Langton let Elsie bustle about him like a mother hen. Only after his second cup of strong coffee did he say, “Elsie, I’d like to ask a question.”
She set down the tray of toast and waited, her hands held loosely in front of her apron. “Sir?”
“Have you ever heard of the Jar Boys?”
The good humor left Elsie’s face. “I have, sir.”
“Go on, please.”
Her hands tightened. “When my auntie’s youngest was on her way out, sir, close to the end, a man came calling. Well dressed, he was, spoke very far back, but Auntie ran him from her house, threatened to get the priest and the coppers, begging your pardon.
“Ten years old, I was, sir, but I knew he was a wrong’un; I thought he was a Resurrectionist after the body. After he’d gone, Auntie told me about the Jar Boys, how they wait like leeches and take away your soul. I heard it from other people, too. Always planned to steer clear of them, sir, if I could help it.”
Langton looked down at the table. “Thank you for telling me, Elsie.”
The maid went to speak, then curtsied and left the room.
Alone for the moment, Langton wondered what he’d hoped to hear from Elsie. Perhaps some honest common sense from a girl with her feet firmly on the ground. Perhaps he’d wanted her to laugh and tell him the Jar Boys were a fanciful fairy story used to frighten children in their nurseries. She’d only confirmed the words of Mrs. Grizedale and the Professor.
Back upstairs, as he bathed and dressed, Langton still didn’t want toaccept the Jar Boys as truth. He told himself that he needed more information. He had a good idea where he might find it.
The front doorbell rang as Langton finished dressing. He called downstairs, “Is it McBride?”
“It is, sir,” Elsie said.
As Langton came down, he saw Elsie and McBride take a step away from each other in the hall. McBride, blushing, turning his derby hat in his hands, said, “I’ve a hansom waiting, sir.”
Turning away to grab his coat from the rack, Langton hid a smile. “I’m sure I’ll be late, Elsie.”
Then, almost at the door, he took an envelope from his pocket. “Elsie, will you make sure Doctor Redfers receives this?”
“I’ll send a boy around with it this morning, sir.”
Outside, Langton could see down the steep road to the city and a sliver of grey river. Roofs still bore slabs of snow, but the fog had receded. The Transatlantic Span reared up, immense and faintly unreal, its scale dwarfing even the steel-hulled liners and freighters at the docks.
The police driver touched his cap with the whip. “The station, sir?”
“The Pier Head first.”
As they climbed into the hansom, Langton asked McBride, “Is Forbes Paterson back on duty yet?”
“I saw the inspector in the canteen yesterday, sir.”
Forbes Paterson supervised the officers who investigated the various swindles in Liverpool: the false investment companies, ersatz solicitors bringing news of amazing inheritances, and art dealers selling stolen or fake works, particularly following the latest fad for all things Egyptian. His duties also included the growing problem of manipulative clairvoyants, mystics, soothsayers, tarot readers, and mediums. If any officer on the force knew about the Jar Boys, it would be Forbes Paterson.
This made Langton think of Mrs. Grizedale. “Constable, a detour; take us to Hamlet Street in Everton.”
Mrs. Grizedale’s house seemed asleep. Most of the curtainsremained closed, while no new footsteps showed on the front garden’s snow, but dark smoke drifted from the chimney. Langton looked back from the front door and saw McBride watching him from the hansom window.
After two rings on the bell, a face appeared behind the glass; the door opened just enough to show
Downstairs, he found a new fire and the table laid for breakfast. Elsie hurried in with coffee and a shy smile. “Good morning, sir. Fog’s cleared. We might even see some sun later.”
Still half asleep, Langton let Elsie bustle about him like a mother hen. Only after his second cup of strong coffee did he say, “Elsie, I’d like to ask a question.”
She set down the tray of toast and waited, her hands held loosely in front of her apron. “Sir?”
“Have you ever heard of the Jar Boys?”
The good humor left Elsie’s face. “I have, sir.”
“Go on, please.”
Her hands tightened. “When my auntie’s youngest was on her way out, sir, close to the end, a man came calling. Well dressed, he was, spoke very far back, but Auntie ran him from her house, threatened to get the priest and the coppers, begging your pardon.
“Ten years old, I was, sir, but I knew he was a wrong’un; I thought he was a Resurrectionist after the body. After he’d gone, Auntie told me about the Jar Boys, how they wait like leeches and take away your soul. I heard it from other people, too. Always planned to steer clear of them, sir, if I could help it.”
Langton looked down at the table. “Thank you for telling me, Elsie.”
The maid went to speak, then curtsied and left the room.
Alone for the moment, Langton wondered what he’d hoped to hear from Elsie. Perhaps some honest common sense from a girl with her feet firmly on the ground. Perhaps he’d wanted her to laugh and tell him the Jar Boys were a fanciful fairy story used to frighten children in their nurseries. She’d only confirmed the words of Mrs. Grizedale and the Professor.
Back upstairs, as he bathed and dressed, Langton still didn’t want toaccept the Jar Boys as truth. He told himself that he needed more information. He had a good idea where he might find it.
The front doorbell rang as Langton finished dressing. He called downstairs, “Is it McBride?”
“It is, sir,” Elsie said.
As Langton came down, he saw Elsie and McBride take a step away from each other in the hall. McBride, blushing, turning his derby hat in his hands, said, “I’ve a hansom waiting, sir.”
Turning away to grab his coat from the rack, Langton hid a smile. “I’m sure I’ll be late, Elsie.”
Then, almost at the door, he took an envelope from his pocket. “Elsie, will you make sure Doctor Redfers receives this?”
“I’ll send a boy around with it this morning, sir.”
Outside, Langton could see down the steep road to the city and a sliver of grey river. Roofs still bore slabs of snow, but the fog had receded. The Transatlantic Span reared up, immense and faintly unreal, its scale dwarfing even the steel-hulled liners and freighters at the docks.
The police driver touched his cap with the whip. “The station, sir?”
“The Pier Head first.”
As they climbed into the hansom, Langton asked McBride, “Is Forbes Paterson back on duty yet?”
“I saw the inspector in the canteen yesterday, sir.”
Forbes Paterson supervised the officers who investigated the various swindles in Liverpool: the false investment companies, ersatz solicitors bringing news of amazing inheritances, and art dealers selling stolen or fake works, particularly following the latest fad for all things Egyptian. His duties also included the growing problem of manipulative clairvoyants, mystics, soothsayers, tarot readers, and mediums. If any officer on the force knew about the Jar Boys, it would be Forbes Paterson.
This made Langton think of Mrs. Grizedale. “Constable, a detour; take us to Hamlet Street in Everton.”
Mrs. Grizedale’s house seemed asleep. Most of the curtainsremained closed, while no new footsteps showed on the front garden’s snow, but dark smoke drifted from the chimney. Langton looked back from the front door and saw McBride watching him from the hansom window.
After two rings on the bell, a face appeared behind the glass; the door opened just enough to show
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