𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞┃ Anthony Lockwood┃2┃

Chapter Twenty Two - Aickmere Brothers Department Store

Aickmere Brothers department store, reached by a lengthy taxi ride that looped around the edges of the Chelsea containment zone, was easily the most impressive building on the western reaches of the King's Road. A hulking yet austere presence, occupying an entire block, it rose four clear storeys to its parapet roof. Grooved pilasters, decorative columns embedded into the stonework, ran like ribs along the walls. Windows glittered. High above, coloured pennants snapped and ruffled in the wintry breeze. A brightly uniformed commissionaire stood sentinel outside the entrance doors. From a distance, when you were standing on the little knoll of green grass where the road kinked south, it looked every bit the equal of the mighty stores of Oxford Street. As you crossed the street, however, you began to notice the smog stains on the peeling stone facade, the tired paintwork on the door frames, even the flakes of scurf scattered on the shoulders of the commissionaire's patched coat. Not everything was quite as glamorous as it seemed.       

Which included the pretty patch of grass opposite, surrounded by chichi fashion shops and coffee bars. George, nudging Nola as they crossed, pointed at it. "Plague pit."

"And the prison?" She asked.

"Most likely under Aickmere's."

Fifty yards further up the street, a line of DEPRAC barricades, identical to the ones in Sloane Square, prevented access to the heart of Chelsea. Aickmere Brothers was certainly fortunate not to have been caught up in the evacuation. Then again, it had not reported any ghosts.

"Curfew at five. Closing is at four." The commissionaire, a boggle-eyed, red-faced man with a moustache like that of a bearded walrus, looked askance at them as they filed through the revolving doors: Lockwood, George, Holly and Nola. They scarcely squeezed their work bags through, particularly Nola. Her rucksack bore a heavy, jar-shaped load. Their rapiers jangled against the panels of curving wood.

Once, the mighty entrance hall would have proclaimed the store's glories with a fanfare. Spiralling plaster columns, decorated with gold leaf, held up a blue painted ceiling, studded with stars, planets and plumply capering cupids. On the walls, murals showcased fauns, nymphs and a host of exotic wildlife. Straight ahead were twin escalators, on either side of a central stair, which led up to the next level. You could imagine the live music, the jugglers and fire-eaters of long ago... Now the murals were faded, pasted over with DEPRAC warnings and announcements of forthcoming sales, and the gold leaf on the columns had peeled away. Shoppers idled amongst cases of uninspiring lavender goods and a few tatty mannequins. Chintzy music piped distantly through a crackly speaker system.

The only remotely impressive thing in the hall was a vast fake tree in front of one set of escalators, constructed of metal and slabs of bark, with tissue leaves of red, orange and gold. It looked intricate and fragile. The company set their bags down before it. Lockwood went over to reception.

"It's gone downhill since I was last here." Holly Munro said. "Or maybe I was too young to notice."

George was surveying the room. "Yeah, don't think much of the displays." He said. "Some of these mannequins are hideous... Oh – it's you, Quill. I thought you were an exhibit."

Quill Kipps, Kat Godwin and Bobby Vernon stepped forward out of the shadows of the tree. They too carried heavy bags. Bobby Vernon had an enormous salt gun strapped to his shoulder.

"This is precisely why I was against coming here. We'll have comments like this all night. He's worse than the ghosts." Kat Godwin rolled her eyes furiously.

George held up his hand. "Sorry, I'll be good now. This is Holly, everyone."

General introductions followed. Kipps was all smarm and emollience, and Bobby Vernon actually let out a giggle as he shook her hand. Kate Godwin was particularly stiff upon meeting Holly.