London Shadows (#1 Penderry's Bizarre)

Chapter Six

                  

Jim Penderry had inherited a terraced house from his parents. The slim building stood on Jermyn Street, shoulder to shoulder with a restaurant and a taxidermist. In the distance, Big Ben chimed the hour and Westman checked that his pocket watch was running on time. Five o'clock in the afternoon and daylight had faded considerably.

The door into Plunkett's opened and a patron staggered outside, followed by the sounds of chatter and laughter. The aroma of stew and dumplings, mingled with the smell of wet cobblestones and George held his stomach, looking pained.

"I'm starving," he moaned.

Sophie shook her head. "After all that food this morning?"

"That was hours ago," the boy declared. "I'm a growing chap, you know?"

In the neighbouring house on the left, an oil lamp in the downstairs window flickered, illuminating the placard that hung behind the glass.

R. Gabb. Taxidermist

Westman turned to Blinks and passed him a few coins. "Find somewhere for the horses to rest then meet me back here."

When he faced the buildings again, a movement in the taxidermist's window distracted him. The heavy curtain shifted as though somebody was watching them, then dropped back into place. Sophie unlocked her brother's front door and Westman strode over to join her. A cold droplet of rain struck his cheek.

"Inclement weather," he remarked.

She opened the door. "It is indeed. I think I should prefer to avoid another drenching."

Darkness greeted them when they entered the house, accompanied by a chill that suggested no fire had been lit in some time. Sophie and George hesitated in the entry hall, forcing Westman to ease them forward so that he could close the door behind him. Silence descended upon them. The only noises detectable to Westman were the rhythmic ticking of a clock and the sound of his own steady breathing.

"Where are the candles stored?" he asked.

"In the drawer over here." George felt his way through the gloom to a side table in the hallway.

Westman joined him by the table and struck a match. Soon they each held a lit candle and surveyed their surroundings.

"Well, this is it, Mr Westman," said George. "I'm sorry it's so cold, but we ran out of coal."

"What about paraffin for the oil lamps?"

George shook his head before something occurred to him. "There may be some in Jim's office."

"We should check." Sophie seized the lead and headed for a door at the back of the hallway.

Westman followed. He was quite happy for Sophie to go searching, after all, he preferred to work alone. Huge shadows danced on the walls when they entered what was unmistakably Jim's office. Who else would keep a glass cabinet filled with such bizarre and grotesque souvenirs? Discretion had never been Jim's forte.

Westman plucked a candelabra from the top of the cabinet and wedged the candle into the holder. Candle light was not ideal, but it would have to suffice for the time being. The curtains at the window were open, casting moonlight on the surfaces. Rain began to lash at the glass, adding yet more shifting shadows to the room.

"Where should we begin?" asked George.

Jim's office was reasonably organised, but it would take time to go through everything.

"I'll search for his notes," Westman replied. "You look for a diary or calendar. Check the drawers. And try not to make a mess."

A warm glow brightened the room.