Jackaby (Jackaby #1)(29)
Here and there around the earthen floor sat desks and cabinets, half enveloped by vines and weeds. Chairs, chests of drawers, and even paintings on the walls were fringed with moss, as though nature had crept in through an open window and caught them by surprise during the night. They simply became a part of one lush, well-furnished landscape.
“I was against it, at first.” Jenny’s voice came from just over my shoulder. “Jackaby didn’t exactly consult me. He has a way of acquiring a lot of favors, especially from his more unconventional clientele. Now, though, I can’t imagine the place without it. On a clear night you can throw back the drapes and let the stars catch in the ripples, and the water bounces their light right back up to the ceiling. It’s really quite beautiful. For a man who professes to be entirely rational and scientific, he can’t seem to steer clear of the impossible and magical.”
The last rays of the setting sun were bleeding red and orange across the sky, and faint waves of the warm light played across the ceiling above the pond. It made the room feel serene and ethereal. My gaze gradually found its way back to Jenny, who was watching me with pursed lips.
“Do you have feelings for him?” she asked.
“Feelings for who?” The image of a certain young policeman popped involuntarily into my mind, and my cheeks flushed as I pushed the thought away.
“For Jackaby, of course.”
“Oh—goodness, no!” I had not intended my response to sound quite so aghast, but the question had caught me by surprise. My reaction seemed to please the ghost, however, and her expression softened.
“You needn’t be quite so shocked at the idea. He is a good man . . . and a not unattractive one.”
“I suppose,” I said, with some difficulty. “Perhaps if he could be convinced to burn that atrocious hat.”
Jenny laughed, a bubbling, honest laugh. “Oh, I know! I know! I’ve given up on that battle. Don’t worry—he’ll wear it less often come spring.” Her pretty giggle was infectious, and I found myself chuckling, too. “There is someone, though, isn’t there?” Jenny asked.
“I—well, I haven’t—no. Not really.” Strong cheekbones, deep brown eyes, and curls of jet-black hair beneath a police cap snuck back into my mind, and my cheeks grew hot again. “No.”
Jenny sighed. “Don’t waste time. Life is too short for unrequited love. Take it from an expert.” She swept across the woodwork and greenery toward the center of the room. Her weightless steps stirred the blades of grass like a faint breeze. “Fetch a bit of bread from the chest, would you?” she called back.
I glanced behind me and found, against the wall, a simple wooden crate containing a few loaves of dry bread. I selected one and trotted along the path to catch up. The floorboards tapered off into a grassy mound, where the ghostly lady sat perched on a wrought-iron park bench facing the pond. She patted the seat for me to join her.
“Why did you come here, then?” she asked as I sat down.
“It was your idea,” I said. “It is nice, though, you’re right. Very peaceful.”
“Not to the pond, silly. Why did you come to work for Jackaby?”
“Oh, that—well. It happened rather quickly, I guess,” I said. “I’ve been in eastern Europe for much of this past year, and only recently docked in the States. Just looking for work, I suppose. Any job would do, so long as it paid for a roof over my head. And there was a posting . . .”
A mallard fluttered over the surface of the pond toward us, etching a shallow wake with one webbed toe before landing at the water’s edge. I broke a chunk off the loaf and tore it up as I spoke, tossing the crumbs into the nearby grass.
“Now that I’ve gotten involved—I don’t know. It’s all rather exciting, of course, and more than a bit unbelievable. I should very much like to help solve mysteries and save lives. I fancy there are worse ways to earn a day’s wages.”
“He’s quite mad, you know. But adventure can be very appealing.”
I nodded, watching the duck waddle up the bank and begin nibbling at the crumbs. “My father was a bit of an adventurer,” I found myself telling her. “Although I’m not sure he would fully approve of my current situation.”
I chose not to mention that I had carefully avoided knowing what my parents thought for the past several months. Since making the decision to abscond with the tuition money to fund my travels, I had deliberately kept out of touch. I had sent an occasional postcard, assuring them of my safety and well-being, but never with a return address, nor any way to trace my current whereabouts with any real precision.
My mother worried, I knew, but my father . . . For my entire life, I had revered the man, and for my entire life, I had heeded his command to stay behind as the dutiful daughter while he marched into discovery. It was not that his word no longer held its power over me, but just the opposite. Secretly, I feared that if he gained the chance to summon me back home to safe monotony, I could only oblige.
Jenny’s voice gently broke the silence I had left. “Spending too much time around Jackaby can be . . . dangerous. That doesn’t frighten you?”
“Well, yes, it does a bit, I suppose,” I admitted. I had been getting similar warnings all day, from that unpleasant woman at the telegraph office to Inspector Marlowe—even Jackaby didn’t seem to think I could handle the job. “But today—I don’t know how to explain it. It was so easy to get caught up in it. It felt so natural. Like how you think things ought to be when you’re a child and you’ve been reading storybooks and listening to fairy tales. I guess I forgot about being frightened because it felt good to finally be in the adventure.”