lockwood and co♡ locklyle

19・❥・truth among the trees

Lucy♡

1673 words

♩

Can you hear me calling

Out your name? ♬

You know that I'm falling and I don't know what to say

I'll speak a little louder, I'll even shout ♩

You know that I'm proud and I can't get the words out ♩

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ: Everywhere. Fleetwood Mac

 ♬

Chapter Nineteen. Truth among the trees

The air was cool and crisp, sweetened by the scent of flowering magnolias. I lay limply in our hammock, strung up between the two oaks in our back garden. In the many years, I had lived at Portland Row, I could count the number of times I had strayed into the garden on one hand.

It wasn't that it was an unpleasant place to be, quite the opposite in fact as I considered it with fresh eyes. It was a lush and shadowy space that had been left to grow on its own devices. Ivy threaded itself around each low branch and wound up the porch beams erratically. The far wall was lined with blooming magnolia bushes and a herb garden that George had constructed. It was a nice enough spot to slip away to when I had spare time on my hands and the weather didn't threaten to freeze my fingertips off, which of course was rarely ever. Except now, it seems.

 Lockwood had delayed our job bookings for a few days, telling George and I that the three of us needed some time to catch a break. I suppose after a couple of serious injury-inducing cases and a disastrous run-in with extended family, a break was needed and happily welcomed. And with the weather deciding it would play nice for the time being I had ventured into the depths of our garden to seek some peace and quiet.

Lockwood was managing just fine with this newfound free time. Assuming he hadn't moved from where I last saw him, he was upstairs completely lost to the world, fast asleep on his bed. I sat with him until he fell asleep. He had been self-conscious about it, but I had reassured him that he had nothing to be embarrassed about as long as he managed to get a few hours of sleep in.

"Sleep." I had said. "I'll fight the bad dreams off if they come and get you."

George on the other hand couldn't stay still. This morning he was all jitters and restless limbs, which resulted in him being scolded by Lockwood and I on more than one occasion to stop tapping his legs. Since then, I'd had to escape outside to put an end to the constant stream of bangs and clashes that were resonating from our basement. He had impulsively decided that it would be a good idea to sort our storage cupboard and was taking this newfound job incredibly seriously.

So here I was, listening to the quiet hum of suburban London and the soft chirps and whistles of sparrows and finches nestled in the garden's undergrowth, disturbed now by the very presence that I was trying to avoid. George's boots thumped down the garden steps and waded through the long grass to reach my side. "Hullo there Lucy," he said loudly, dropping a basket at his feet. He looked back and forth expectantly between me and the basket of rusted rapiers. "What do you suppose I do with these?"

I rose an eyebrow and tried to conceal my discontent with his presence, disturbing the tranquillity the garden previously held. "Those old things? Well, they're clearly no use to us anymore," I affirmed.