The Empty Grave (Lockwood & Co. #5)(67)
‘They were murdered, Lucy. Yes.’
‘And you think that Marissa and the Orpheus Society—’
He held my gaze. ‘I don’t think that, Lucy. I know.’
17
Whatever the drawbacks of Flo Bones’s nursing techniques – and judging by the state of Lockwood’s bedroom when we next looked in, these included a total lack of interest in cleanliness, air quality and the orderly disposal of bloodied bandages – it could not be denied that they produced results. George was sitting up in bed that morning, wedged among pillows and living-room cushions, with Lockwood’s best dressing gown draped over his shoulders and a tray of cakes lying at an angle on his lap. His face was horribly discoloured, with the bluish-purple flush of a soft plum, and there was a white compress taped over his left eye. Somehow he had contrived to balance his broken spectacles on his swollen nose. He looked like an elderly owl that had recently fallen out with a woodpecker. But his one good eye was open and sparkling with intelligence, and that was enough to have me grinning like an idiot as I sat on the bed beside him.
‘Look at you!’ I said. ‘You’re alive and awake, and sitting up and everything!’
‘Not so loud.’ George’s voice was stronger, but as raspy as a piece of sandpaper scouring out an ashtray. ‘You’ll wake poor Flo. She’s done in.’ He nodded over to the corner of the room, where a still shape in a puffa jacket lay curled up in the centre of a nest of tumbled clothes. Flo’s knees were drawn up, her head rested on her hands. She had removed her hat, and her matted straw-blonde hair radiated around her like a deformed starfish. Her eyes were closed. She was breathing long and deeply.
Lockwood blinked. ‘Wait! Are those my jumpers? And my best shirts tucked under her muddy boots? You’ve emptied out the contents of my drawers!’
‘She needed something cosy to lie down on,’ George said. ‘You wouldn’t deny her that, surely.’
‘There are two spare duvets in the airing cupboard!’
‘Oh yeah. Didn’t think of them. Anyway, keep it down. She’s been nursing me all night. In all honesty, I feel quite caked out …’ With painful movements George set his tray aside. His good eye inspected our cuts and bruises. ‘What’s all this, then? You trying to steal my thunder here?’
‘We’ve been out,’ Lockwood said, ‘getting something for you.’ He placed the copy of Occult Theories on the bedspread. ‘Hope it’s worth it.’
The lower half of George’s purpled face parted in a wonky grin. ‘Christmas has come early! Thank you …’ He patted the book weakly. ‘Which was it, Fittes or Orpheus?’
‘Orpheus,’ Lockwood said. ‘Speaking of which, if you’re no longer almost dying, you might want to start reading pronto. We may not have much time.’
Our raid on the Orpheus Society was a turning point. We knew this without discussing it. First the attack on George, and now our retaliatory expedition – lines had been crossed by both sides, and there was no possibility of returning to the watchful truce of a few days previously. Consequences were inevitable; the question was in what form they would come. Personally, I expected a rapid payback. It wouldn’t have surprised me if Marissa Fittes and a crack DEPRAC team had shown up before lunch time to lead us away in chains.
But nothing like that happened. The day was quiet – or at least it would have been if Lockwood hadn’t taken the opportunity to leap into action.
Despite his lack of sleep, the events of the night had galvanized him; he radiated a strange mercurial energy that would not let him rest – and all of us were caught up in its tow. Sooner or later, our enemies would respond: in the meantime we had to make preparations, and to that end Lockwood devoted our efforts. He was everywhere, his eyes bright, his voice calm and measured, issuing orders and making plans. Kipps, who had crashed overnight on our library floor (having rejected our offer of George’s room), was sent into central London with a shopping list as long as his arm, Holly was dispatched to Mullet’s, and Flo Bones, once she had finally awoken, was likewise pried from George’s bedside and given a job to do.
‘I need your ear out there, Flo,’ Lockwood said. ‘I need to hear what’s being talked about among the relic-men. Any rumours, anything strange that’s been heard or seen, particularly if it involves Sir Rupert Gale or any of the Fittes lot. News travels fast in the criminal underworld, and you’ve got the best antennae of anyone I know.’
From the expression on her face I expected a trademark Flo diatribe at this point, but she just went quiet, nodded and slipped away into the garden. When Lockwood really wanted something, it was very hard for anyone to say no.
After that, Lockwood himself departed, leaving me to keep an eye on George. He wouldn’t say where he was going, and I watched him stride off down Portland Row with a queasy sensation in my stomach. Since making the shocking discovery about his parents, Lockwood had seemed curiously upbeat, even elated at the turn of events. It was the same brittle defiance I’d seen in the cemetery, only now sharpened with new purpose. Our enemies were in plain sight, and the deaths of his parents weren’t quite as meaningless as he’d believed. I understood why that might please him. Still, given the forces now ranged against us, and the unlikeliness of getting help from Barnes, DEPRAC or anyone else, I could only be fearful of where it would end.