Infernal Devices - KW Jeter [52]
She turned to glare at me from the head of the stairs. "Good day, Mr Dower," she said frostily. "You shan't have long to wait."
The veiled threat, delivered with such authority, left me rooted to the spot. Distantly, I heard her curt bark to Creff downstairs, the shop door opening, and her sweeping exit.
This last encounter, on top of all else that had happened, surfeited me to exhaustion. I found my bed and toppled into it, sinking into a blackness more comforting than the moiling thoughts that filled my battered skull.
I was roused into that desolate condition, familiar to anyone who has ever fallen asleep in daylight and woken in darkness; that bleak, entombed feeling somehow tinged with both guilt and self-pity. A stifling dream of falling under black water ebbed away as I sat up and watched the familiar contours of my bedchamber take shape in the gloom. Voices had been shouting in the dream; I could hear them still. As my brain cleared, I realised that the heated words were coming from the shop downstairs. I quickly pulled on my clothes and hastened towards the clamour.
In the shop, I discovered Creff in furious remonstrance with the villainous Scape. Both had grasp of the kitchen broom between them; Scape resisted my assistant's efforts to push him, and his companion Miss McThane, back out the door.
"Call this sonuvabitch off," cried Scape, catching sight of me at the doorway behind the counter. He wrested the broom away from his opponent and threw it into a corner.
Creff assumed a pugilist's stance, with first circling in front of his face. "They forced their way in, sir," he shouted to me. "Knocked, they did, and before I could recognize the brigands, they was in." He took an easily dodged poke at Scape.
"I'll handle this," I said, interposing myself between them. I drew myself up to full height and directed a stern expression at the other's blue spectacles. "Quit these premises," I ordered. "Immediately; you have nothing of interest to relate to me."
Scape finished straightening his greatcoat, disarrayed by the exertions of his brief combat. A thin smile broke in his angular visage. "Think so, huh? Well, maybe you better think again, fella. Ol' Bendray asked us to come round and… renew his invitation to you. He wanted to make sure you knew just how much he'd like you to come on out to his place."
My voice went colder: "You may tell your employer that I have no desire to accept his hospitality. Not at this time, nor, I doubt, at any point in the future. Convey my regrets however you wish; I would rather return to gaol than set eyes on any of you lot again."
"Really?" Scape's tongue distorted his cheek as he gazed at me. "Maybe we could make the invitation seem more interesting to you… you never know…"
A hand lightly touched my shoulder; I turned and saw Miss McThane, eyes half-lidded, smiling at me. "It'd be really nice if you came," she said. "There's a lot just you and I could talk about–"
I pulled away. "Please remove yourselves; both of you. My mind is completely resolute on the matter. You are wasting your time – nothing will alter my decision."
"Maybe; maybe not." Scape stepped over to the window and flung the shutter open. "How about this for starters?"
Massed torch-flames at the end of the street cast a lurid, flickering glow over my face, as I stepped close to the glass and gaped out at the scene. A mob of people were shouting encouragement to the speaker who addressed them from atop an overturned crate. To my horror, I saw an effigy stuffed with straw, swaying over their heads. It was no Guy Fawkes at the end of the rope; a crudely lettered sign around the figure's neck spelled out DOWER THE JACK.
I staggered back from the window, but not before recognising the upraised speaker as Mrs Trabble. "My God," I said hoarsely. "She's… she's gone and–" I broke off, unable to contemplate with what infamies she could be regaling the riotous assemblage.
Scape surveyed the mob with a calmly critical eye. "Lot more of 'em now," he noted. "Look like a fun-loving bunch,