Lockwood had accepted to take the case of the ghost who touched my mother before I had even finished explaining what Mary had told me. While I finally took my shower, the others started to get things ready for the case. Within two hours the usual preparations were made. George packed our equipment, Holly made calls to reschedule our planned appointments, and Lockwood went out to get us train tickets to the first train up north for the following morning.
On the way back home he had run into Quill Kipps, who had offered to watch Portland Row while we were gone. Penelope Fittes' comment about the 'vulnerability' of Portland Row was fresh in our minds. In the end Lockwood had passed that duty on to Flo Bones, a relic woman we worked with from time to time. And so the five of us found ourselves at King Cross Station, making our way to the right platform. Nobody spoke as we walked through the crowd. I didn't know whether that was because they were feeling uncomfortable (I certainly was), or because it wasn't even seven am yet, and nobody was awake enough to form coherent sentences.
As we made our way through the station, people went out of their way to avoid us. It was too early for agents to be out under normal circumstances, and our presence made people uneasy. At night agents were respected for providing the only defence against The Problem, in the sunlight nobody wanted to see us. Despite our lack of coordinated uniforms, we were easily recognized as agents by the rapiers hanging form our belts and the kitbags filled to the brim with ghost hunting supplies. Lockwood wanted to be prepared for everything, so we all had multiple lengths of iron chains, about two-dozen canisters of iron fillings each, and a multitude of magnesium flares and salt bombs stuffed in our bags. On top of that, I was also carrying my backpack, with the skull in the jar safely tucked inside.
The skull was active. I could feel the slight psychic pressure it gave off in my temple. If I opened my backpack, I knew greenish Other Light and a repulsive expression would greet me, but by some unspoken spoken agreement with the others – literally, I was the only one who could hear it after all – it had decided to keep its mouth shut as well for once.
The train was still empty when we boarded, so we had plenty of choice where to sit. We claimed a small booth with four chairs facing each other, arranged around one of those little tables attached to the train wall. Kipps had to take the seat across the aisle. He'd have to lean over if he wanted to talk to us, but it was too early for conversation, anyway. In the next few minutes, more and more passengers trickled into our train cart, although people gave our seats wide berth when they recognized the kit in our baggage, stored in the baggage racks above our heads. It was as if we were the passengers of the Vauxhall underground ghost train and coming too close would trap them with us for all eternity.
The only bag I had kept with me was my backpack, which I had put on my lap after sitting down in the window seat. George was sitting across from me, his nose buried in the free newspaper he'd grabbed from one of those stands on the platform. Holly was sitting next to him, looking through some kind of health magazine I didn't bother to read the name of, but both Lockwood and Kipps were leaning back in their seats with their eyes closed, trying to catch some more sleep.
They had the right idea, if you asked me. We had gotten up at half past five to make sure we were able to catch the first train up north, which left at seven. We needed the time to give our kit a final check, have a decent breakfast and get to King Cross Station in time. For agents, that is practically the middle of the night still, and I had caught very little sleep that night in the first place. Each time I closed my eyes, I heard Mary's soft stutter as she told me Mam had been Ghost Touched, and I was left wondering how it was possible that my mother, the woman who hardly even went outside if it was cloudy, was at the station late enough to get Ghost Touched. It just didn't make sense. So when the train left the station, I leant against the window and closed my eyes as well.
Do you know that weird state when you take a nap, when you're not quite awake but still sort of aware of what's happening around you? That's what I experienced during the first part of our journey. My thoughts drifted until I was half dreaming, but I could vaguely hear the voices of my friends filter through my clouded mind. I picked up on loose fragments mostly—Kipps complaining about being unable to sleep in a moving train, Holly asking how long we had to get to the other platform when we would transfer trains in Newcastle, that sort of thing—but George's voice shook me back into alertness about an hour later.
"Is Lucy okay though? Knowing your mother is going to pass away must be awful," he said. His voice was soft, probably because he was trying not to wake me up, but I was alert immediately. I shifted a little in my seat, fighting the urge to open my eyes, and kept listening.
"She must feel terrible," Holly replied in a whisper. "She was so quiet yesterday, I think she may be in shock." The empathy in her voice made me feel weird. I wasn't feeling terrible at all. Tired, yes. Perhaps worried about what was going to happen when I saw my sisters again, but that had nothing to do with the current situation. I always dreaded going to my hometown.
"You lose a lot, when your parents pass away…" I almost jumped at the sudden sound of Lockwood's voice. I hadn't realized he was awake. The others seemed surprised as well, and there was some uncomfortable shuffling, and somebody cleared their throat awkwardly.
Lockwood's voice was soft when he continued speaking. "It's the small things. Knowing you'll never be able to have tea and biscuits with them again. That your mum won't be there to bake your birthday cakes anymore-"
"My mum never did that." I took a deep breath and opened my eyes, taking in my friends' surprised faces. "My sisters did. Mam didn't want to make time for such things." Kipps got up from his chair and walked closer to our seats so we wouldn't have to shout across the aisle. "Isn't that a bit of a harsh conclusion?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.
I thought back to the countless times I came home after a long night with Jacobs, to find someone waiting in the kitchen with a teapot on a light. Usually it was Rebecca or Grace, who'd curl up in the rocking chair with a book in an effort to stay awake until I had made it back safely. Sometimes Mary took the job instead, and there were a few instances when I'd just started working for Jacobs when it was Margaret, Alice or Judith, before they moved out. As far as I could recall, Mam hadn't waited up for me once.
"Is it?" I asked. "It was always one of the twins who waited up for me with a cup of tea after a night of work. Mary usually cooked, and we all took turns doing the laundry. Mam did enough laundry for work she used to say. I'm just saying she's no Mrs Cubbins."
I adjusted the backpack on my lap, avoiding meeting my friends' eyes. The skull was still giving off a steady thrum of psychic energy, but it was soft and strangely comforting. Not that I'd ever tell the thing that.
"What kind of work does your mother do?" Holly asked.
"She's a washerwoman," I replied. "Does the laundry for the two hotels in town."
"I see…" Holly seemed unsure on what to say now, and for a moment an awkward silence fell.
Quill, who was still standing next to Lockwood, broke it after a moment had passed.
"Was that enough to feed…" he paused to do a mental calculation, "nine people?"
"Eight people, she took up the extra job after my father died. But it wasn't. The moment she legally could, she took me to agent Jacobs so I could be apprenticed."
"That would be when you turned eight, right?" Holly asked, carefully flattening her skirt over her legs. I was about to reply when Kipps cut in.
"But you don't get paid significantly at that age, unless you do a full-time apprenticeship-" He broke himself off and stared at me with wide eyes. "Were you pulled out of school?"
Suddenly it was impossible to meet anyone's eyes, so I kept my gaze trained on the window. The landscape flitted past in a blur, as if somebody had smeared out a wet oil painting, but in the reflection of the glass, I could see the others' faces. Lockwood's was set in a deep frown, George was glaring at Kipps, and Holly and Kipps exchanged an awkward look.
"It's not that big of a deal," I tried, not turning around. Speaking to their reflections was easier. "There are a lot of kids who stop school before the assessment tests if they become agents-"
"Most still get tutoring though." Kipps interrupted. Holly shook her head to try to get him to shut up, but he ignored her. "Did you?"
I tightened my grip on the backpack, pulling the canvas tightly around the ghost jar (which made the skull up its activity in a moment of silent protest) and tried to fight down the blush of shame. "No."
Lockwood saved me from the embarrassment of having to elaborate on the subject of my education, by clumsily changing the subject.
"How many sisters do you have exactly, Luce?" he asked
I turned back to face him, eager to divert the attention to this line of conversation.
"Six," I replied. "I'm the youngest. From young to old, there's Mary, then the twins Grace and Rebecca, Alice, Judith and lastly Margaret, who's about twelve years older than me."
"Large family," George remarked.
"You should've seen the fights for the bathroom in the mornings," I joked. This got a chuckle out of the others, and for the first time that morning, some of the tension seemed to fall away. "Of course, there are their families as well. Gatherings are busy occasions."
We spent some time discussing my sisters, and slowly I forgot about the tension I felt earlier. The rest of the four-hour journey flew by, and soon after our transfer in Newcastle, the sloping grain fields around my hometown came into view.
It took us a while to gather our luggage—kitbags and rapiers weren't exactly easy to manoeuvre inside a train—but soon we got off the train and were standing on the small platform of my hometown's station.
Saying Whitton on Dean had a station was almost overselling it. There were two platforms covered by corrugated iron and minimal brickwork, which meant that there was always a draught whistling through the station. The station hall, if you could call it that, was barely 30 feet by 30 feet, and only contained a few lockers, a kiosk selling sandwiches and the local newspaper, and of course the office of the stationmaster. Not that a bigger station was necessary. The trains going in each direction only stopped here once an hour, and the only other traffic it got was the intercity from Newcastle to Edinburgh, which only came through.
The porter on this side of the station quickly killed his cigarette and made his way towards us. I recognised the young man—I think he lived a few streets from my old house—but couldn't remember his name at the moment.
"Carlyle and friends?" He asked, his voice sounding a little hoarse.
Lockwood bristled a little next to me at the way the porter addressed us. I could hear Quill snicker softly.
"That's us," I confirmed, trying not to laugh at Lockwood's reaction.
"Leave yer luggage to me, Morley's waiting for you in the car park."
"Peter's waiting for us?" I asked. I had met Peter Morley when I first started out at agent Jacob's. He was about five years older than me, and he'd look out for us younger kids when we first came along on cases. He had lost his talents young—they faded soon after he turned seventeen—and moved to Newcastle soon after to build a life there. He was also currently dating Grace.
"I just said that, didn't I?" The porter asked irritably. I nodded and set down the kitbag I was carrying, motioning for the others to do the same. All of us held on to our rapiers, Kipps fished his goggles out of his kitbag before handing it over, and I kept my backpack strapped to my back.
The porter raised an eyebrow, drawing my attention to the little scar above it. Suddenly I remembered his name again. It was Samuel. He was the older boy who'd fallen against the doorpost at school when I was six.
"I can handle all of it, you know," he drawled.
"Oh, we don't doubt that," Holly said. She smiled up at him kindly before I had the chance to tell him to mind his own business. "But we'd like to keep the rest with us." She batted her eyelashes for extra effect, and Samuel sighed.
"Whatever," he muttered, and he started to load our luggage on to his cart. "You'll be the ones folded up in that little car of Morley's."
Peter Morley immediately caught our attention when we walked to the car park. If you were to describe Kipps' hair as ginger, Peter's was firetruck red, and he had so many freckles they seemed to melt together into rusty patches. Now that he wasn't an agent anymore, he'd discovered his fondness for bright colours, and something about him just radiated cheer and kindness. I could see why my sister had fallen in love with him.
He pulled me into a tight hug when we reached him.
"I'm so sorry, Lu," he whispered before quickly releasing me. He knew I wasn't one for physical contact most of the time. "You must be Lockwood and Co!" He said after turning his attention to the others. "I must confess I thought there were only four of you"
"Ah yes, Kipps is a recent addition to the company," I explained.
"Consultant," Kipps corrected me.
"Same thing. This is Anthony Lockwood, George Cubbins, Holly Munro and lastly Quill Kipps." I introduced my friends. Peter raised his hand in greeting.
"And guys, this is Peter Morley, a family friend. He was part of Agent Jacob's team when I first joined."
"And Lucy's soon to be brother-in-law," Peter added.
I whirled around to stare at him. "When did that happen?" I asked him. Peter tilted his head in genuine confusion.
"Last month?" the statement came out as a question. "I proposed on our anniversary. Didn't Grace write to you about it? She said she would."
So much for being in the loop.
"I haven't had a letter from her since she responded to my change of address…"
"Maybe it got lost in the mail? Wouldn't be the first time." Peter suggested, and I gave a shrug in response.
"Maybe…" I muttered, casting a quick glance at the others. They watching us awkwardly, waiting for us to finish the conversation.
"Anyway, I'll be driving your friends to your Mam's house," Peter said, "but I think it's best I drop you off at the clinic immediately. Mrs Carlyle's in a bad way."
My stomach dropped at the news, and I gave a shallow nod.
"Let's go…"
A/N: Chapter 2! I hope you enjoyed reading this. I'll try to get another chapter or two out before I go on vacation, but I'm not making promises. Let me know what you thought in a comment!