I had not been sure what to expect when Holly informed us that the music teacher from Lanfort College for Talented Youngsters would arrive in an hour, but our client certainly defied any expectations. I had been mentally preparing myself for somebody similar to the headmistress of Chelsea Ladies' college, who had spent the entire time of her interview looking at me like I was a beggar on the street. Instead of a severe middle-aged lady with greying hair in a tight bun and small spectacles, our client was a beautiful woman in her thirties. She had dark, wavy hair that was held back in a pretty silver hair clip, and wore a soft pink floral dress under a fashionable overcoat.
"Thank you for meeting me on such short notice, Mr Lockwood," She said after shaking Lockwood's hand and introducing herself as Iris Jefferson.
"It's not a problem, Mrs Jefferson," Lockwood assured her. He courteously took her coat and hung it on the coatrack next to George's jacket. "Shall we go to the sitting room? You can tell us all about your problem while enjoying a nice cup of tea." He jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen behind her back. George took the hint and disappeared down the hall. Holly and I joined Lockwood and our client in the sitting room.
"These are my associates, Lucy Carlyle and Holly Munro," Lockwood explained, gesturing at us as he took a seat in his armchair. "Our other colleague, George Cubbins will be along with the tea shortly."
"All right," Mrs Jefferson said. She smoothed down the fabric of her dress as she sat down on the couch and daintily folded her hands in her lap. The motion drew my attention to the silver bracelet that gleamed around her right wrist. Like most adults, she didn't quite seem to know how to conduct herself in our sitting room, and her eyes kept flicking from us to the exotic ghost memorabilia on the walls.
Holly dug up a pen and a notepad from the depths of a sideboard drawer while we waited for George, and I settled into the armchair across from Lockwood's.
"I'm terribly sorry, but is it possible to start without waiting for Mr Cubbins?" Mrs Jefferson asked after a minute had passed in uncomfortable silence. Lockwood hesitated and shared a look with Holly and me. I shrugged at him, not sure it would matter, but Holly decisively shook her head.
"We'd rather wait for George, if you don't mind. He is our head of research, so it is important that he gets all the information from you directly, Mrs Jefferson," she explained.
For a moment it seemed like Mrs Jefferson wanted to protest. She'd already opened her mouth to say something, but then she deflated a bit, shooting a glance at her bracelet. Only now I realised that it was actually a wristwatch.
"You're right," she sighed, "of course you are." Luckily we didn't have to wait for George long. After a few more uncomfortable minutes, he entered the sitting room with a tray that held our tea set and a plate of glazed buns. When he had finished pouring everybody a cup of tea, he sat down as well. Lockwood leant forward in his chair.
"So, what can we do for you, Mrs Jefferson?"
Mrs Jefferson steeled herself. She sat up straighter and squared her shoulders, trying to appear strong.
"I think there is a Visitor in my studio," she stated, her voice crisp and clear. Then she quickly reached for her cup of tea on the low coffee table. Despite the show of confidence she had put on, the porcelain cup still rattled softly against its saucer until she brought it up to her mouth to take a sip.
"Straight to the point," George muttered, appreciation showing in his tone. Lockwood just raised an elegant eyebrow.
"What makes you think so, Mrs Jefferson?" I asked. It was rather refreshing to have a client who didn't beat around the bush.
"I get caught by this bone deep feeling of melancholy at the end of my workday," our client started after lowering her cup back down to its saucer. "It is impossible to keep the studio warm, despite the heater being on at full force. For the past few days things have been getting moved from where I had left them when I come in in the mornings."
This certainly piqued our interest.
"And you are sure you didn't misplace things yourself?" Holly asked, looking up from her little notepad.
Mrs Jefferson sent a sharp look in her direction. "Miss Munro, if I was just messy I would not be sitting here," she asked, and for the first time, a bit of strict teacher shimmered through her meek demeanour. She shook her head, making her hair dance with the movement.
"It is not just papers lying on the other side of the desk, I am talking about music stands being moved across the room and the lid of the grand piano being propped up. Those are not things I would forget I moved myself!"
"Of course not, Mrs Jefferson," Lockwood said in his placating voice. He used the voice on creditors, annoyed police constables and difficult clients alike, and it did the trick on Mrs Jefferson as well. Some of the tightness in her shoulders lessened and she let out a soft sigh.
"Can you tell us how long this has been going on?" Lockwood continued.
"I am not quite sure, to be honest. Things moving around is certainly a recent development, but the strange feeling creeping up on me has been there ever since I started using the studio back in July. I started leaving early to avoid it, but with the days getting shorter as we're nearing winter, it settles in earlier every day." She shot another glance at her watch after finishing her sentence.
"Do you have somewhere to be?" George asked curiously. He leant forward to reach for a glazed bun, but a stern look from Holly made him reconsider.
"Lunch break ends in half an hour," Mrs Jefferson said by way of an explanation.
"Does the school not know you are here?" I asked in surprise.
Her cheeks flushed red, but despite her obvious embarrassment she answered.
"No, They don't," she said. "Of course I have alerted the board of my suspicions, but they don't think there is an issue."
I exchanged a look with Lockwood, who seemed to be just as taken back by the admission as I was.
"Why not? He asked. "I would think having a Visitor on school grounds would pose a real threat to the school's students?"
Mrs Jefferson seemed to deflate. She raised her hand to her head as if to run it through her hair, but lowered it halfway through the motion to fold them in her lap again.
"Not to the school's students, no," she said, her voice sounding a little bitter. "The regular school day ends at half-past two, and all students are gone from the premises by three o'clock. They aren't the ones I am worried about. Since September I have been teaching private violin lessons in the studio, you see. I get two or three students each afternoon, and the last one of them is usually on their way around four, but lessons protract sometimes…"
"Does the board not care about the safety of your private students?" I asked, my eyebrows knitting together in a frown.
"I wouldn't go as far as to say they don't care," Mrs Jefferson said with a sigh. "But they are worried about what might happen to their reputation if it gets out that they allow teenagers who don't pay the tuition to be taught on school grounds. It took me ages to negotiate for permission to use the studio after hours because of that. Can you imagine what a Visitor on school grounds would do to that reputation?"
"Wouldn't be very good for it, I imagine," George agreed.
"Is that why you came to us then?" Holly asked. She put down the notepad for a moment to take a sip of her tea.
"I thought it would be more discrete than hiring a larger agency, yes," Mrs Jefferson confirmed. "My husband remembered your agency from news articles about Combe Carey Hall and the Aickmere department store a while ago, so I know you are capable agents." She gave a wry smile. "It also helps that you are a lot cheaper than some other agencies. Without the school board supporting me, I can not afford a team from Fittes or Rotwell."
"I hope we can be of service to you, Mrs Jefferson," Lockwood said. He flashed the bright smile that always seemed to instil confidence in its recipients.
"So do I Mr Lockwood," Mrs Jefferson replied.
Now that it was clear that Lockwood had decided we would take the case, George took his turn. He sat up a little straighter, pushed his glasses further up his nose and spoke.
"As you are missing your lunch break, I must offer you a glazed bun," he said, offering her the plate. Holly shot him an annoyed look. She had been trying to get us to tone down the junk food, but if the client took one, so could we. Mrs Jefferson chose a bun, and George triumphantly took one as well before turning his attention back to the case.
"Has there been an increase of spiders in the studio?" was his first question. Spiders flock to places with high psychic activity, so agents often used them as an indicator to the location of the source of a haunting. Mrs Jefferson shook her head.
"There are a few near the doors and windows of course, but it's October, so that's to be expected. To be quite honest, I haven't noticed any striking changes over the past few weeks.
"Alright… Have there been Visitors on the grounds in the past? Or do you perhaps know about any incidents that occurred on school grounds? Accidents or crimes of passion, that sort of thing."
Again Mrs Jefferson shook her head. I spaced out at this point. George was good at what he did – his research had saved our lives on multiple occasions before, which he liked to remind us of- but I always had a hard time bringing up the interest in historical facts that seemed to drive him. Holly was still listening attentively, but when I shot a look at Lockwood, he was subtly trying to hide a yawn by bringing his hand up to scratch at his nose. He saw me looking at him and gave me the small, lopsided smile that he reserved for his closest friends. I couldn't help but smile back at him.
Roughly fifteen minutes later, after George had grilled Mrs Jefferson for all the information she could give him, and Lockwood had told her we would stop by the studio the following day, Holly walked our client to the door.
That afternoon George left for the National Newspaper Archives and didn't return until it was time for dinner. He dropped a shockingly thin folder onto the table after we had cleared away the remnants of our meal and proceeded to explain he had barely found anything. The school grounds had not been the scene of any incident that would be likely to leave psychic traces – as the college was located in Kensington, one of the older parts of London – and there were no notable dead people associated with the place either.
Based on the available information, or more the lack thereof, we decided that Lockwood and I would handle the case by ourselves. George had put up a short protest, but much to his chagrin, he had to admit that there was no reason to prepare for something like a cluster or strong type two.
A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for a while, and I decided to just post the first chapter. I'm also still working on my other fanfictions, but I just wanted to put something out. This is a case fic set after The Creeping Shadow, and I estimate that it will have three chapters. Let me know what you think!