London Shadows (#1 Penderry's Bizarre)

Chapter Ten

While the carriage made the potholed journey to the library, Westman leaned back and listened to Sophie talk.

"I'll speak to my grandmother this afternoon about the party. I see no reason why she'd say no. After all, she's always trying to persuade me to try a séance."

"It's a good plan," he admitted.

Sophie smiled at him. "There, aren't you glad you didn't throw me in the horse's water trough?"

He scratched his sideburn. "Hmm... I haven't ruled it out completely."

She saw right through the hollow threat and continued to smile, spreading cheer like a contagion. Her disposition was enough to lighten even the heart of a beast, as she had called him outside the shop. She was more correct than he cared to admit - Jaded over time and worn down by the monstrosities he had seen in the world. Nobody could blame him for being cynical.

When they reached the London Library, he told her he'd wait. "George should be informed of the plan."

"I'll find him."

"Be quick about it. I have other things to do today."

***

Sophie entered the building, paid the entry fee and returned her books before scanning the vast library. Shelves of books lined the walls from floor to ceiling. A staircase and walkway encompassed the entire room, allowing access to the volumes on the upper level. She peered through the balustrades and found George sitting at a reading desk, his head bowed over an open hardback. Her boot heels echoed around the quiet room when she mounted the stairs. Dust seemed to linger in the air on the gallery, accompanied by the familiar and comforting - if not somewhat musty - smell of tomes, old and new.

George noticed her approach and looked up from the book to greet her.

"Hello, George. What are you reading?"

"Well, you know what Mr Westman said about Lord Crowthorne and black magic? Well, I found some books about witchcraft."

Surprised by his initiative, Sophie smiled and joined him at the desk. She studied the titles piled up on the surface. "The Witch Hunts of the North?"

"They were barbaric times. Tortured until they confessed. And then burned alive or hung. I almost feel sorry for the witches."

"How awful."

George stretched and leaned back in his seat. "How did you get on at the shop?"

"Not very well." She wandered over to peruse the books on the nearby shelf. "Mr Westman arrived and we interviewed the seamstress, but she wouldn't tell us anything. We think she's hiding something. And there was no talk of a new hat, which was rather disappointing. Oh, Mr Westman is waiting outside. He wants to tell you about the plan."

A surprised shout made her turn sharply.

"Are you all right?"

George was on his feet, staring at the book on the table. "Did you see it? A blasted mouse. It was sitting on the book."

She looked under the desk, but found no sign of a rodent. "Oh, I shouldn't worry. These old buildings are full of them."

George shuddered, staring at the open volume where the mouse had been. A sudden breeze flipped the pages, blowing them back and forth while the wind tousled George's hair and tugged Sophie's dress.

"Where is that wind coming from?" George asked with a frown.

There were no open windows in the library. Perhaps it was coming from the entrance, Sophie thought. This seemed unlikely, though. The strange rush of air turned ice cold and a book fell from the shelf behind them, landing on the walkway with a thud, followed by another, and another.