Blaze, p.12
Blaze, page 12
The bartender slid the shilling off the bar. “That’ll be thruppence for the beer.”
Artemis was ready to argue, but a quick look from Tommy kept her from doing so. Instead, she put three pennies on the bar and joined Tommy as he walked over to the man’s table.
The mourning man didn’t look up, and after a moment of waiting, Tommy cleared his throat. “Mister Norris?”
Slowly, as if it took a great effort, the man lifted his head from his hands. His eyes were bloodshot and, although he looked right at them, they seemed to focus far away. He wiped his face with a rough hand.
“Yeah?”
“We’re sure sorry to ’ear about your son,” Tommy said.
He nodded numbly.
“If it’s all right, we wanted to ask you a few questions about him,” Artemis said. “If you don’t mind?”
He seemed unsure how to respond and finally managed a weak gesture toward the empty seat opposite him.
Artemis sat down and Tommy pulled up another chair.
Mr. Norris looked at them dully. “You with the papers?”
Tommy shook his head.
Mr. Norris rubbed his forehead. His hand trembled. “They came around earlier. Askin’ if he was in a gang. My boy weren’t no saint, but he weren’t one of those. He got himself into a little mischief now and then, but then all boys do, don’t they?”
“Do you know where he was the night …” Artemis trailed off. “That night?”
Mr. Norris’s forehead creased in thought. “I’m not sure. He and a few others had been goin’ to Highgate some nights. Just a lark. Got themselves one of them talkin’ boards.” He looked at them knowingly, and when they didn’t say anything, he lowered his voice and added, “A spirit board, you know, for talkin’ to the dead and like.”
A Ouija board, she realized. She’d read about them but had never seen one.
“Course, he knew it weren’t real,” Mr. Norris went on, “just a lark, like I said. People have been goin’ there for years. Just a little fun, don’t do no ’arm.”
“Do you know who he went there with?” Artemis asked.
Mr. Norris shook his head.
“I told him it was a foolish thing. Thinkin’ you can talk to the dead.” His eyes misted over and his voice grew hoarse. “No one can talk to the dead.”
Artemis and Tommy exchanged glances, silently agreeing to leave the man to his grief.
“Thank you for your time,” she said gently. “And we are so deeply sorry for your loss.”
He nodded numbly and resumed staring down into his half-empty glass.
Back at the carriage, Artemis noticed a distant and worried expression on Tommy’s face.
“What’s wrong?”
He shook his head, but something was bothering him. He went to check on the horse and gave the old mare a scratch along her jaw.
“You’re a terrible liar,” she said.
A brief smile flickered to Tommy’s face, but he ducked his head. “Seein’ Mister Norris like that. Just got me thinkin’ about my da, is all.”
Artemis understood. How could anyone look on the grief they’d just witnessed and not feel something?
“How is your father doing?” She liked Thomas. He’d been with them since before she could remember.
Tommy needlessly checked the bridle. “All right, I guess.”
He really was a terrible liar. Artemis knew how she’d feel if her father were seriously ill. Just the thought of it made her stomach dip.
Then she remembered something Tommy had said earlier. “You live near here, don’t you?”
He nodded.
“Why don’t we just stop in for a visit then? Just a quick one,” she added. “Just to say hello, see your father.”
There was a gleam in his eyes, but he shook his head. “We shouldn’t. Your father wouldn’t approve and—”
“He wouldn’t mind,” she lied. “Besides, there’s no reason for him to know.”
Tommy looked dubious.
“Just for five minutes. I know you’ll feel better if you can see him. And we’re so close.”
“I don’t know.”
Artemis had already decided. “Wait here.”
She hurried over to a girl in a black bonnet selling flowers from a basket and bought a small bouquet of purple asters. “This should cheer him up.”
Tommy didn’t look so sure, but Artemis was, and she started to climb into the carriage but paused on the step, reinvigorated by the chance to do a good turn.
“Well, come on,” she said. “Carriage isn’t going to drive itself, is it?”
Tommy nodded.
Artemis settled into her seat and took a sniff of the flowers. They smelled clean and fresh and sweet. These were sure to help.
* * *
Tommy’s home wasn’t far at all, just off Roman Road near St. Barnabas. It wasn’t as poor as some of the surrounding areas, although a feeling of want still lingered in the air.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Tommy said self-consciously as he helped her out of the carriage. “You can wait ’ere, if you like. No one will bother you and I’ll only be a tick.”
“Don’t be silly,” Artemis said, and started toward the front steps.
Tommy hurried to open the front door to the three-story building for her.
“Upstairs,” he said, gesturing uneasily to a rickety looking staircase.
The building was as dark and depressing on the inside as it had been on the outside. The Doyles weren’t poor, technically, but looking around, poverty no doubt lingered just outside the door, ready to knock at any moment.
Artemis had never thought of herself as spoiled. Being best friends with a Clifton disabused her of that notion early in life. But she was. She’d never really appreciated how very lucky she was to have what she did. She’d known the truth of it only in the offhand manner one does at Christmas or a charity event, but she’d never really thought about it.
She’d spent so much of her time thinking about what she didn’t have. Compared to the Cliftons, she and her father had nothing. But compared to the Doyles, they had everything. It was another humbling moment in what was shaping up to be a continuing series of them today.
Suddenly, she felt awkward being here, but she was too far in to back out now.
They walked up to the first floor. Tommy hesitated but then opened the door to his home for her. “Mum, it’s me!” he called out as they entered.
The living room was small and cluttered with too much furniture, but neatly kept. Two little boys of about five or six got up from their spot on the floor and threw themselves at Tommy’s middle.
“Wot are you doin’ ’ome?” one of them asked.
“Tommy, play with us,” the other demanded as he tugged on Tommy’s sleeve.
A round little woman in her early forties, who Artemis realized was Tommy’s mother, came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron.
“Is somethin’ wrong?” she asked, then froze as she saw Artemis.
She looked around nervously, as if embarrassed by the state of the room. Then, in an anxious bluster, she shooed the two small children away from Tommy and shifted a few things around on the end table in a vain effort to make it look proper.
The children untangled themselves from Tommy’s waist and then promptly laid across the back of the sofa like jungle cats until their mother swatted at them with her dish towel, sending them running. Carefully trying to adjust the rogue hairs that had slipped from her bun, she turned back to them.
“Just came to check on Da,” Tommy said.
His mother nodded but her eyes never left Artemis. She forced a smile to her face and said between taut lips, “You could have let me know we were ’avin’ company.”
Artemis stepped forward. “That’s my fault, I’m afraid. We were in the neighborhood and I insisted we stop by.”
“In the neighborhood?” his mother asked, slightly incredulous.
Artemis held out her hand. “I’m Artemis Schäfer. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Doyle.”
Mrs. Doyle tentatively shook Artemis’s hand.
It seemed odd that Mr. Doyle had worked for them for so long and yet she’d never met any of the rest of the family. In fact, other than giving Thomas one of Mrs. Perry’s lemon tarts to take home at Christmas, she hadn’t given them much thought at all. The realization made her uneasy.
“Can I get you somethin’, miss?” Mrs. Doyle asked. “We don’t ’ave much, but—” She stopped and dug into the pocket of her dress. “Ollie, go down to the corner and get us nice bottle of ginger beer, right luv?”
The older of the two little boys appeared magically at her side, hand outstretched.
“Thank you, but don’t go to any trouble on my account,” Artemis said. “Please.”
Tommy interceded before his mother could press the point. “We’re just ’ere to say ’ello to Da, Mum.”
She looked at once relieved and a little insulted. “All right. Can I get you some tea?”
The fact that she was working so hard to be accommodating made Artemis feel all the worse for barging in. “No, thank you. Really.”
Just then the front door flew open and a boy of about eleven poked his head in. “Mum, Ronnie’s got ’imself stuck again.”
“I swear that boy’ll be the death of me.” Mrs. Doyle said through pursed lips.
“Tryin’ to get through the gate near St. Mary’s again?” Tommy asked.
The boy who’d brought the message nodded and his mother humphed. “I should leave ’im there this time. Serve ’im right.”
With another sigh, she turned to Tommy. “I’ll be back in a tick, if I don’t kill the boy. In which case, you’ll see me in ten to fifteen years.”
Tommy gave a hearty laugh.
Mrs. Doyle turned to the boy she’d called Ollie. “Keep an eye on the little ones, luv.”
Ollie nodded once. He couldn’t have been more than six and he was in charge? And just how many more Doyles were there?
Mrs. Doyle nodded a hasty goodbye to Tommy and Artemis and hurried off to rescue her son.
Ollie marched off toward the kitchen and a small hand slipped into hers.
She looked down to see the other little boy smiling up at her.
“Hello,” she said.
“Leave ’er be, Rupert,” Tommy scolded.
“It’s all right,” she said and smiled down at the boy, who looked up at her with big brown eyes and long black lashes.
Tommy shrugged and started toward the back of the flat. Rupert followed, giving Artemis’s hand a tug, urging her to follow along.
They passed by the kitchen where Artemis noticed twin boys, no more than two, standing on chairs at the kitchen table. They were … cooking, sort of. More like making a horrible mess with flour and eggs. Little Ollie stood by sternly and ordered them to keep the eggs in the bowls.
“How many brothers do you have?” she asked as Rupert continued pulling her down the hallway.
“Seven. There’s eight of us, including me. Really, miss—”
“Artemis,” she corrected, smiling down at Rupert, who beamed back at her.
She couldn’t imagine growing up with so many siblings. It must be maddening, and more than a little wonderful, too.
“Must be nice.”
“Crowded is more like it.”
The three of them stopped in front of an open doorway.
“Tommy?” someone asked in a deep familiar timbre. The voice might not have been as robust as usual, but Artemis knew who it was just the same. She leaned through the doorway to see Thomas sitting up in bed. She hadn’t meant to just walk in on him like this. She’d absently let Rupert pull her along, and now she was face to face with a rather pale and definitely uncomfortable-looking Thomas Doyle.
“Miss Artemis?” he choked out, pulling the bedcovers up a little higher.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean ….” She trailed off, looking away, her cheeks burning. As Rupert slipped his hand out of hers and scurried down the hall, Artemis wished she could follow him.
What was I thinking? She looked down at the flowers she held, feeling all kinds a fool.
Thomas cleared his throat. “It’s quite all right, miss. Kind of you to visit.”
Artemis grimaced. Not only had she barged into this private home, but she’d seen him … this way. Vulnerable and in his nightclothes!
Moving past her embarrassment, she noticed something else. The Thomas Doyle she knew was a tall and broad-shouldered man, but the one lying in bed was anything but that. His usually ruddy complexion was wan and his face looked puffy and soft.
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” she said. “I should—”
She started to turn away, but his voice stopped her.
“It’s all right, miss. I was just surprised, is all.”
He still looked deeply uncomfortable, but it seemed he would rather be so than make her feel uncomfortable or unwanted. What was the humbling score up to now?
“We were runnin’ an errand nearby,” Tommy said quickly. “I just … wanted to see ’ow you was gettin’ on.”
Thomas looked ready to lecture his son on the impropriety of taking personal time, much less his taking his employer’s young daughter with him, when Artemis spoke up.
“I suggested we come,” Artemis said. “It was my idea. We were so close and ….”
A faint polite smile lit Thomas’s otherwise tense face. “It was very thoughtful of you, miss.”
His gaze shifted to his son and his expression tightened.
Artemis held up her little bouquet of flowers. “I’ll just wait for you, Tommy. It was very good to see you, Thomas. I hope you’ll be feeling better soon.”
“Thank you, miss.”
Artemis cast a quick apologetic glance at Tommy, who smiled dimly in return and took her flowers. Escaping down the hall, she left father and son to talk.
She was sitting on the sofa playing scratch-cradle with Rupert when Tommy joined them a few minutes later.
She stared at him, mortified by what she’d done. She’d practically—no, literally—barged into his home. How did one make amends for that?
“I’m sorry, Tommy,” she said softly.
“It’s all right.”
Tommy leaned down to Rupert. “Go ’elp Ollie and the twins.”
The little boy nodded and hurried off to the kitchen.
“Is your father very angry?” Artemis asked.
“At you?” Tommy shook his head. “Me, though?” He winced. “Not gonna be pretty tonight.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again. She’d forged ahead without taking others’ feelings into account. Even if she meant well, it simply wasn’t right.
“Why didn’t you stop me?” she asked.
He gave a half-laugh, then seemed to realize she was serious.
“Not my place, miss.”
Then she realized that he had tried to stop her, in a polite way, but she’d been so intent on what she wanted she hadn’t picked up on the clues. Unfortunately, he couldn’t outright say no to her, not with her father as his employer. He wasn’t just being courteous, he was following the unwritten, yet unmalleable rules of social structure.
How she hated those rules.
“Well, I am sorry. And, if I start to make a fool of myself again, I hope you’ll say something.”
He cocked a brief smile. “You sure about that, miss?”
Artemis laughed. “Yes. Well, I suppose I’ve done enough damage here for one day.”
Tommy offered his hand to help her stand.
“I’ve embarrassed the living,” she said, “Let’s see what I can do with the dead.”
Artemis looked out of the window at the enormousness of Highgate Cemetery as Tommy drove them up Swains Lane. How were they ever going to find anything in a place this massive?
She decided this was a fool’s errand just as the carriage pulled to a stop. The cab jiggled as Tommy climbed down from his seat.
“This wasn’t a very good idea, I’m afraid,” she said.
“No, it’s not.” he replied as he opened the door.
She got out, confused. “If there’s no point, why oblige me?”
“I didn’t say there was no point, just agreeing it was a bad idea.”
“I don’t understand.”
He chewed the inside of his lip. “I think I might know where they went.”
“How?”
He didn’t speak, or even look at her.
“You’ve been here?” she asked.
“Once. I was thirteen. Bunch of friends come on a dare. One of the older ones said ’e could talk to the dead. There’s this place that’s supposed to be ’aunted and … well …” He shrugged.
“All right. Show me.”
He started into the woods and Artemis fell in behind him.
“And did you?” she asked.
“Did I what?”
“Speak to the dead?”
He snorted. “Me brother popped out from behind one of the graves, scared me ’alf to death, but that’s as close I come.”
Artemis laughed.
“This way,” he said, leading her deeper into the forest.
Even though it was midday, the forest was dark. The canopy was so thick it nearly blotted out the sun. The whole area seemed to come alive. Leaves rustled in the wind, birds cried overhead, and occasionally, a larger animal wailed in the distance. It was beautiful and a little unnerving. She’d never been this deep into the woods before and she felt oddly trapped. When they finally emerged to find a path she sighed in relief.
“Over ’ere,” Tommy said.
A large obelisk was ringed by several mausoleums. She started to look around, not sure of what she was even looking for.
“Miss?” Tommy said.
“Artemis.”
“Miss Artemis.”
She laughed as she walked over to him. “Just Artemis.”
A small smile curved his lips briefly. He held up a small wooden block shaped a little like a heart. She took it from him and turned it over in her hand.
“A planchette,” she said.
“Is it French?”
“The word is. It means little plank. It’s used to move around the board and receive the message from the other side.”
