By 10am the next morning, the five of them were standing outside a two-storey, Tudor house with a colourful garden bursting with wildflowers at the front. A hand-painted wooden sign attached to the front gate proclaimed it to be the Blakely Bluebell Bed and Breakfast.
"Someone fancies their alliteration,'' George muttered as they wound their way up the narrow garden path, lugging an assortment of rucksacks and kit bags.
They had finally arrived at the quaint village of Blakely after a rather tense train trip, thanks to an incident involving George's elbow, a cup of tea, and Holly's now ruined favourite white skirt.
Despite that inauspicious start, and the grim reason for their visit, Lucy couldn't help but feel her spirits lift as they clambered onto the small train platform at their destination.
Blakely was tidy and compact, with meandering lanes that all seemed to lead to a bustling square at the top of a small rise in the village centre.
The sun was shining, and compared to their last out of town job, their accommodation looked much more pleasant.
Despite the charming environs, the few people they had passed on their walk to the Bluebell had looked grim and harried. The recent uptick in Visitor activity was clearly taking a toll.
Lockwood lead them through the front door and into a small lobby, where a grey-haired woman was waiting for them.
Lucy guessed she was maybe in her mid-fifties to early sixties. Dressed in a long flowery dress with her hair tucked up in a loose bun and a pair of round red spectacles perched on her nose, she looked like an art teacher crossed with an owl.
"You must be Lockwood & Co!'' She greeted them warmly, shaking Lockwood's hand. "I'm Agnes Little, owner of the Bluebell. We're so glad to have you here.''
"The pleasure's all ours,'' Lockwood replied with one of his trademark disarming smiles.
"Your rooms are ready upstairs, although I'm afraid a couple of you may have to share,'' she smiled back, gesturing towards a sweeping wooden staircase.
Lucy saw Kipps grimace, clearly having flashbacks to their last trip. He and George had not proved to be particularly compatible roommates.
Agnes pointed out a cosy dining room and lounge as she led them upstairs.
"I also own the pub next door, you're more than welcome to work from there if you need somewhere to base yourselves,'' she said, gliding along a long carpeted hallway. "That lovely inspector told me to mention that all your meals are included, in case you were wondering.''
Trying to reconcile her knowledge of Barnes with the idea of a 'lovely inspector', Lucy almost crashed into the back of Agnes when she came to a sudden stop.
"Here we are!'' She said, gesturing to a pair of wooden doors and another on the other side of the hall. She handed three keys to Lockwood. "I'll leave you to make your arrangements. I'll be right next door if you need anything.''
With that, their colourful host disappeared back down the stairs, humming to herself as she went.
It turned out their accommodation consisted of one room with a single bed, one room with a queen sized bed, and another room with a set of creaky wooden bunks.
"Remind me never to come on another trip with you lot again,'' Kipps said gloomily, eyeing the bunks. It was pretty clear how the sleeping arrangements would have to work.
Looking relieved, Holly claimed the first key, clearly pleased to have a room to herself. Lucy and Lockwood would share the queen, which they were also pleased about. That left Kipps and George with the bunks.
"I call bottom bunk,'' George grumbled, snatching the final key from Lockwood. Kipps trailed after him, looking despondent.
They regrouped an hour later in the aforementioned pub, which turned about to be another Tudor-style building with a low raftered ceiling and large brick fireplace.
It was mostly empty, except for a lone elderly man seated at the bar and a small group of wizened women talking intently over a long table.
Agnes brought them over a tray of drinks as they settled into a group of armchairs beside a dusty window; water for Holly, a beer each for Lockwood, Lucy, and Kipps, and, inexplicably, a glass of sherry for George.
"Right Georgie, what can you tell us,'' Lockwood said, taking a swig from his glass.
George cleared his throat and consulted the battered black spiral bound notebook in his hand.
"It looks like Barnes was right. Up until about four weeks ago, the village of Blakeley had pretty much the usual amount of activity for a place this size. Mostly Type Ones, the occasional Type 2, nothing of note. Like everywhere else, recorded incidents were starting to drop off. Then all of a sudden, there was a huge ramp up. A priest and a parishioner were killed at the Catholic Church just off the village square. A week later, a little girl died and her two friends were ghost-locked when they got caught out by what sounds like a spectre while they were cutting across their school playground to get home one evening. And there have been at least six other reports of activity since then, two at houses on opposite sides of the village and four at the local cemetery.''
They all sipped their drinks in silence for a moment as George put away his notes.
"That's a hell of a ramp up,'' Lucy said eventually.
"Agreed,'' Lockwood rested his chin on his hands thoughtfully. "I think the first thing we should do is head out tonight and try to find and destroy as many of the known visitors as we can. We need to reduce the risk of anyone else getting hurt. Then tomorrow, we start trying to figure out who or what is causing all of this unrest.''
They all nodded. Tackling the existing Visitors needed to be their first priority.
The afternoon passed in a companionable haze as they waited for the sun to go down.
A heated competition got underway after Kipps discovered a pool table in a room branching off the main bar.
The boys entertained themselves with disparaging each other's skills while Holly and Lucy ignored them and chatted contentedly on an outside picnic table in the late afternoon sun.
After a couple of hours Lucy rubbed her shoulders, frowning as she felt how warm they were.
She was wearing a light sundress to make the most of the weather, although she would swap it out for more practical clothing later on.
"You look a little red,'' Holly observed, sitting up. She'd been stretched out on the opposite side of the table with her eyes closed.
"Wonderful,'' Lucy grimaced. Just as she contemplated heading back to her room to get a cardigan, the pub door swung open and the three boys emerged.
It was clear from Lockwood's wide grin and George and Kipps' scowls who had claimed victory.
Lockwood slid onto the seat beside her while George and Kipps did the same on either side of Holly.
Lockwood gave her a quick peck on the cheek and a jaunty wink, while the others made various gagging noises.
"Lucy, you know your boyfriend cheats, right?'' Kipps ground out. George nodded vigorously.
"Nobody likes a sore loser, Quill,'' Lockwood said mildly.
Rolling her eyes at the whole lot of them, Lucy checked her watch. It was 5pm, still several hours before they would head out in search of the dead and not-so-buried.
"Well I don't know about you lot, but I'm going to have a nap before spending the night fighting for my life,'' she stood up, yawning. Lockwood met her eyes and a meaningful look passed between the pair of them.
"You know what,'' he said, leaping up quickly to join her. "That sounds like an excellent idea Luce.''
This time they could still hear the others making various sounds of disgust by the time they reached the door of the bed and breakfast, hand in hand.