Lockwood & Co: The Screaming Staircase

26

HORRORS OF COMBE CAREY

BLOODY TERRORS OF ‘RED ROOM’

SCREAMING STAIRCASE SECRETS REVEALED

Exclusive interview with A. J. Lockwood inside

For some days, rumours have been circulating about recent events at Combe Carey Hall and the sudden death of its owner, the noted industrialist Mr John William Fairfax. Inside today’s Times of London we are proud to reveal the true extraordinary story of that night, as told by one of its main protagonists, Anthony Lockwood Esq. of Lockwood & Co.

In an exclusive conversation with our reporter, Mr Lockwood describes the horrific cluster of Type Two Visitors his team uncovered at the Hall, the secret passages they explored, and the terrors of the notorious ‘death well’ hidden at the heart of the house.

He also explains the circumstances surrounding the tragic death of Mr Fairfax, who suffered a heart attack after being ghost-touched during the final confrontation. ‘He entered the wing against our advice,’ Mr Lockwood says. ‘He was a brave man, and I believe he wanted to witness the Visitors for himself, but it’s always perilous for a non-operative to enter an affected zone.’

Mr Lockwood also speaks openly about new developments in the Annabel Ward murder case. ‘Fresh evidence has emerged,’ he says, ‘which proves that the original suspect, Mr Hugo Blake, had nothing to do with the crime. Although the identity of her killer remains an unsolved mystery, we are delighted to assist in rescuing the reputation of an innocent man. It’s all part of the service we like to provide.’

Full Lockwood interview: see here.

John Fairfax obituary and appreciation: see here.

Today’s most up-and-coming psychical detection agencies: see here.

A week after our return to London, when we’d slept long and fully recovered from our ordeal, a party was held at 35 Portland Row. It wasn’t a very big party – just the three of us, in fact – but that didn’t stop Lockwood & Co. from properly going to town. George ordered in a vast variety of doughnuts from the corner store. I bought some paper streamers, and hung them up around the kitchen. Lockwood returned from a trip to Knightsbridge with two giant wicker hampers, filled with sausage rolls and jellies, pies and cakes, bottles of Coke and ginger ale, and luxuries of all kinds. Once this lot was unloaded, our kitchen virtually disappeared. We sat amid a wonderland of edible delights.

‘Here’s to Combe Carey Hall,’ Lockwood said, raising his glass, ‘and to the success it’s brought us. We got another new client today.’

‘That’s good,’ George said. ‘Unless it’s the cat lady again.’

‘It’s not. It’s Chelsea Ladies’ College. They report an apparition in the dormitories, a limbless man seen shuffling across the bathroom floor on his bloody stumps.’

I took a sausage roll. ‘Sounds promising.’

‘Yes, I’m looking forward to it too.’ Lockwood helped himself to an enormous slice of game pie. ‘That latest Times interview certainly did the job. We’ve got the right kind of publicity at last.’

George nodded. ‘That’s because we didn’t burn Combe Carey down. Though, having said that, we did kill our client. I suppose there’s always room for improvement.’

Lockwood refilled our glasses. We ate in companionable silence.

‘I’m just sorry,’ I said after a while, ‘that Barnes made you lie about Fairfax. He should have been publicly revealed for what he was.’

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Lockwood said, ‘but we’re talking about a very powerful family here, and one of the most important companies in England. If their top man were exposed as a murderer and scoundrel, there’d have been terrible repercussions. And with the Problem worsening daily, that’s not something DEPRAC was prepared to consider.’

I put down my fork. ‘Well, so what if there were repercussions? This fudge isn’t really justice, is it? No one’s ever going to know the truth now about Fairfax, or about Annie Ward, or how—’

‘Thanks to you, Lucy,’ Lockwood interrupted, ‘the ghost of Annie Ward got exactly what she wanted. Justice has most definitely been done. In fact it’s a great result, whichever way you look at it. Annie Ward gets her murderer, Fairfax is punished, Barnes gets his cover-up . . . And since Barnes needs us to keep quiet about the true nature of the case, he’s had to let me go to The Times with all the other juicy details. So that means we’ve got our free publicity too. Bingo. Everybody’s happy.’

‘Except Fairfax,’ George said.

‘Oh yes. Except him.’

‘I wonder what else DEPRAC’s concealing?’ I said. ‘Did you see how quickly they moved into that place, and started taking away material? It’s almost as if they were more interested in Fairfax’s suit and helmet than in his crimes. That helmet was so bizarre . . . I would have loved to take a closer look at it.’

Lockwood gave a rueful smile. ‘Tough luck. It’ll be in the vaults at Scotland Yard now, deep underground. You won’t see any of that stuff again.’

‘Good thing I nicked these goggles, then,’ George said. He pulled down the thick glass eye-pieces, which had been hanging on the back of his chair. ‘They’re very odd,’ he said. ‘They don’t do anything, as far as I can see. They’re just a bit blurry; make your eyes feel weird . . . There’s a strange little mark on them too – just here. What do you think that is, Lucy?’

He passed them over. The goggles were heavier than I’d expected, and very cold. When I squinted close, I could just make out a tiny image stamped on the inner edge of the left-hand lens . . . ‘Looks a bit like a funny-looking harp,’ I said. ‘One of those little Greek ones with the bendy sides. You can see the strings, look. Three of them . . .’

‘Yeah. Well, it’s not the Fairfax logo, that’s for sure.’ George tossed the goggles on the table between the jellies. ‘I suppose all I can do is keep experimenting.’

‘You do that, George,’ Lockwood said. We raised our glasses again.

‘We’re almost out of ginger beer,’ George said suddenly. ‘And we need to top up the doughnuts. This is another serious mission, which you can leave to me.’ He hopped to his feet, opened the basement door, and disappeared below.

Lockwood and I sat facing each other. We met each other’s eyes, smiled, and looked away. It was suddenly just a little bit awkward, like the old days back again.

‘Listen, Lucy,’ Lockwood said. ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.’

‘Sure. Fire away.’

‘When we were back there in the library, and Grebe was going to shoot you . . . You got the necklace out and purposefully freed the ghost, right?’

‘Of course.’

‘Which saved our lives, so obviously it was a great decision. Well done again. But I was just wondering . . .’ He studied the sandwiches for a moment. ‘How did you know it wouldn’t attack us too?’

‘I didn’t. But since Fairfax was definitely going to kill us, it seemed a risk worth taking.’

‘OK . . . So it was a gamble.’ He hesitated. ‘So the ghost-girl didn’t talk to you?’

‘No.’

‘She didn’t tell you to get the locket out of its case?’

‘No.’

‘She hadn’t, in fact, told you to take the locket from her body in the first place, back on the night of the fire?’

‘No!’ I gave him my trademark L. Carlyle quizzical grin. ‘Lockwood . . . are you accusing me of being controlled by that ghost?’

‘Not at all. It’s just sometimes I don’t quite understand you. In the library, when you held the necklace out, you didn’t seem frightened in the slightest.’

I sighed; it was something that had been on my mind too, ever since it happened. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘to be honest, it wasn’t hard to guess the ghost would focus on Fairfax: I think we all could have predicted that. But you’re right. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t attack us again. She didn’t tell me, though. I sort of sensed her intentions. It’s a thing that comes with my Talent sometimes. I not only read the emotions of the past, but also, faintly, what the spirit’s thinking now.’

Lockwood frowned. ‘I’ve noticed once or twice you seem to know subtle stuff about the Visitors we fight,’ he said. ‘Like that ghost by the willow the other day. You said he was in mourning for someone dear . . . But maybe you heard him say that?’

‘No, he didn’t speak at all. I just felt it. I may have been wrong. It’s hard to know when to believe these feelings, and when not to.’ I picked up a chocolate truffle, toyed with it, and put it back down. I’d made a sudden decision. ‘The thing is, Lockwood,’ I said, ‘I don’t always get it right. I’ve made bad mistakes before now. I never told you about my last case before I came to London. I sensed the ghost there was a bad one, but I didn’t trust my intuition, and my supervisor didn’t listen to me either. Well, it was a Changer, and it fooled us all. But I almost saw through it. If I’d followed my deeper instincts, I might’ve got us out in time . . .’ I stared down at the tablecloth. ‘As it was, I didn’t act. And people died.’

‘Sounds very much like it was your supervisor’s fault, not yours,’ Lockwood said. ‘Listen, Luce, you followed your instincts perfectly at Combe Carey, and because of that we all survived.’ He smiled at me. ‘I trust your Talent and your judgement, and I’m very proud to have you on my team. OK? So stop worrying about the past! The past is for ghosts. We’ve all done things that we regret. It’s what’s ahead of us that counts – right, George?’

George had kicked open the door. He had a crate of ginger beer in his arms. ‘Everyone happy?’ he said. ‘Why aren’t you both eating? We’ve a lot of food still to get through . . . Oh drat. I forgot the doughnuts.’

I got up quickly. ‘No worries,’ I said. ‘I’ll get them.’

It was cool in the basement, which was why we’d stored the food down there. After the warmth of the kitchen, the chill made me shiver a little and my flushed face sting. I pattered down the iron stairs, listening to the others’ voices echoing through the ceiling. It had been good to chat with Lockwood, but I was happy for an excuse to slip away. I didn’t find it easy thinking about the past, or about my close connection to the ghost. Not that I’d lied to him about it. I hadn’t been getting directions from the girl – at least, not consciously at any rate. Unconscious communications? To be honest, that was hard to know. But this particular evening I wasn’t truly bothered either way. Tonight we were relaxing; tonight we were having fun.

The doughnuts were in the high-security storeroom, which was the coolest place of all. I’d put the tray on a shelf just inside. It would be easy to reach; I went in without bothering to switch on the lights. As soon as I did so, I tripped over a large box of prawn cocktail-flavoured crisps that George had helpfully left lying in the middle of the floor. Losing my balance, I fell forward against the shelves, first knocking against something hard, then collapsing on something soft.

Easy to know what I’d sat on, at any rate. The doughnuts. Well, Lockwood could have those.

I got up, brushed sugar off my skirt, and reached in darkness for the tray.

‘Lucy . . .’

I froze. The door had swung shut. Four sticks of yellow light were all that showed; otherwise the room was black.

‘Lucy . . .’

A low voice, whispering directly in my ear. Far off, yet close at hand. You know the deal.

I didn’t have my rapier, I didn’t have my belt. I had no defences at all.

I stretched a hand back blindly, feeling for the handle of the door.

‘I’ve been watching you . . .’

I found the handle; pulled it a little, not too much. Not yet. The four sticks of light yawned yellow, splintering the dark into an expanding mesh of grey. There in front of me, sitting on the shelf above the doughnuts: a humped shape beneath a spotted handkerchief.

‘Yes . . .’ the voice whispered. ‘Go on . . . That’s it.’

I reached out, pulled away the cloth. Today the plasm in the ghost-jar glowed pale and green. The horrid face was fully formed, and superimposed so precisely upon the skull beneath that I could hardly see the bones at all. The nose was long and the eye-sockets cavernous and wide. The mouth grinned evilly; pinpoints of light glinted in the centre of the sockets.

‘About bleeding time,’ the ghost said. ‘I’ve been calling you for ever.’

I stared at it.

‘That’s right . . . Little me. Cuddle up close, and let’s have a chat.’

‘Not a chance.’ I considered the jar. It was silver-glass, which kept the ghost trapped. I’d struck it when I’d fallen, but hadn’t broken it. The glass was whole. So what had changed?

‘Oh, don’t be like that.’ The face now wore a wounded look. ‘You’re different from the others. You know you are.’

I bent closer, inspecting the plastic seal at the top of the jar. Yes: up at the seal, one of the yellow flanges had twisted where I’d knocked against the jar. It had swivelled like a tap, exposing a little grille of iron that I hadn’t seen before.

‘You’re not callous, like that Lockwood, or downright nasty, like that Cubbins,’ the ghost went on. ‘Ooh, the things he’s subjected me to, the cruel indignities! One time – you’d scarcely believe it – he put me in the bath and—’

I reached out for the yellow tap. At once the mouth in the jar flexed urgently. ‘No, wait—! You really don’t want to do that. I’ll make it worth your while. I can tell you things, you see. Important things. Like this. Death’s coming.’ The mouth grinned wide. ‘There. What do you think of that?’

‘Goodbye,’ I said. My hand closed on the plastic.

‘It’s nothing personal,’ the ghost cried. ‘Death’s coming to you all. Why? Because everything’s upside-down. Death’s in Life and Life’s in Death, and what was fixed is fluid. And it doesn’t matter what you try, Lucy, you’ll never be able to turn the tide—’

Maybe not, but I could sure as hell turn the tap.

I did so. The voice cut out. I stared at the face in the jar. The mouth continued to move; the whole face shook. Bubbles fizzed and spiralled furiously through the plasm.

No. This was our night of celebration. No dumb ghost in a jar was going to spoil it for me.

I pulled the spotted cloth back over the top of the glass, picked up the tray, opened the door and left the storeroom. I crossed the basement and slowly climbed the spiral stairs.

Halfway up, I heard Lockwood roaring with laughter in the kitchen. George was talking. He was in the middle of some anecdote.

‘. . . and then I realized he wasn’t wearing any! Imagine that! Spending eternity without your trousers!’

Lockwood laughed again. Really laughed, I mean. He’d thrown his head back, I could tell.

All of a sudden I wanted to be in there, sharing the joke with them. I hastened my steps. Bearing a tray of slightly squashed doughnuts, I climbed quickly out of the darkness towards the warm, bright room.