The Affinity Bridge by George Mann Page B

Coulthard sat at her desk, her face in her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks in desperation and dismay.
    “Oh, Miss Hobbes. I’m sorry that you should happen upon me in this state.” She looked up at Veronica as she came through the door.
    Veronica quickly peeled off her coat and hat and pulled a chair up beside Miss Coulthard, taking her hand in her own. “I take it there’s still no news?”
    Miss Coulthard, sobbing, nodded briskly. “We’ve had no word. Neither have his employers. We all fear the worst, Miss Hobbes. I can think of no reason why he’d stay away this long, unless the revenants have got him.”
    “Now, Miss Coulthard, we don’t know anything for sure. I do think it’s unlikely that he’s had a run in with one of these ‘revenant’ creatures. I hear lots of talk about them, all over the city, but I’ll admit I’ve yet to see one myself, and in truth, I’m starting to wonder if they even exist at all.” She smiled warmly. “Have you seen one with your own eyes, Miss Coulthard?”
“No, Miss Hobbes, I can’t say that I have.”
    “There you are, then. Neither of us can even verify their existence. So how likely do you find it that Jack may have encountered one on his way to work?”
    “Well…” Miss Coulthard wiped her eyes, sniffling. “I suppose not likely at all. It’s just…” She screwed her hands into fists, frustrated. “What else could have happened to him?”
    Veronica rubbed the back of her neck. “Well, that’s what we’ll engage the police to find out today. I’m sure it’ll turn out to be something quite innocent.”
    Miss Coulthard smiled. “Thank you, Miss Hobbes. I’ve been waiting here for Sir Maurice to accompany me, after what he said to me yesterday, but he hasn’t arrived as yet. I fear he’s made other arrangements or decided to go elsewhere this morning, on an errand or such like.”
    Veronica glanced at the clock, a slight frown crossing her face. “No, no. We definitely arranged to meet here this morning. I’m sure he’s just been held up. When he arrives we’ll put on a fresh pot of tea and then I’m sure Sir Maurice will send a note across town to his associates at Scotland Yard.” Veronica noticed that Miss Coulthard had reached into her pocket and was now clutching a small, sepia photograph to her chest. “Miss Coulthard, may I enquire as to the identity of the person in your photograph?”
    The secretary looked down, staring at the photograph as if seeing it for the first time. She held it out to Veronica. “My brother, taken before he went off to war.”
    Veronica took the battered old picture and gave it an appraising look. A man, dressed in a field uniform, posed for the camera, a rifle cocked over one arm, his other arm resting against a large stone plinth. The backdrop was a large canvas showing paintings of trees and other unidentifiable flora. “He’s very handsome, Miss Coulthard.” She turned it over. There was an inscription on the back, written in a shaky hand. It read: ‘Jack Coulthard, 1895’. “Where did he see action?”
    “Africa. He was invalided out a few years ago after he took a bullet in the leg. He healed up well enough, and then took his bar exams and applied for a position at Fitchett & Browns. They’ve done well by him, too. He’s made quite a name for himself amongst the junior members of the establishment.”
    “I’m glad to hear it, Miss Coulthard. Now, I think this photograph will be useful for the police, if you can bear to part with it for a short while? They’ll be able to use it to show Jack’s likeness to their officers. It’ll make it easier for them to spot him if they know exactly who they’re looking for.”
    Miss Coulthard nodded. “I thought as much.” She passed Veronica the picture, and watched as the other woman slipped it safely into her purse. “I don’t know what we’d do without him. It’ll ruin us if he can’t be found.”
    “I’m sure it won’t come to that.