The Austen Playbook (London Celebrities #4)(105)

Griff indicated and turned left, and she rubbed a circle in the condensation on the window. “Griff, where are we going?”

“We’re paying a visit.”

When the car rolled to a stop in a quiet residential street ten minutes later, Freddy looked hesitantly out at the stone terrace house. She hoped he wasn’t moving to Whitechapel, because they lived two streets apart in Notting Hill, and it was extremely convenient just being able to jog back to her place in the morning if she’d forgotten something.

“Have you bought it? Is that the surprise?” She tried to sound enthusiastic.

“It’s not for sale.” Griff got out and came around to open her door for her. “The owner’s family have lived here since the early part of the twentieth century—although when times got tough, her family once took in paying guests.” He gestured with his chin at the upper floors. “Including former soldiers turned struggling artists.”

Oh.

Freddy pushed the door shut behind her and her lips parted as she gazed upward, from tiled doorstep to the window boxes on the third floor. “Was this Billy Gotham’s house?”

Griff put a gentle hand on her back as they walked up to the spotlight-lit front door, which was painted a sunny shade of yellow, a cheery note in the gloom of the night. “The owner got in touch after she saw Billy mentioned in an article about the film. She was a young child when he lived here, and she still remembers him. And Violet.”

Freddy glanced at her watch. “It’s very late to call on someone.”

“She works nights. Her shift starts at one o’clock, but we’ll be home by then.” Griff reached for the knocker. “And apparently we need a full moon for this.”

“How mysterious. And lycanthropic.”

Half a minute after his polite tap, the door was pulled open by a middle-aged woman with very kind eyes. “Mr. Ford-Griffin,” she said. “How nice to see you again.” She smiled at Freddy. “And this must be Miss Carlton. I’m Helen Abernathy.”

She stepped back to let them into the brightly tiled little hallway. “Do come in. It’s a foul night.” Closing the door behind them, she looked at Griff. “The room in question is on the third floor. The door on the left. It’s still more or less as it was then.” She lifted her shoulders. “Somehow I’ve never been able to bring myself to change it. I’ll let you go up by yourselves. I think it’s best experienced for the first time in private.”

“Thank you,” Griff said, and stepped back to let Freddy past, inclining his head towards the stairs.

Curiously, slightly apprehensively, Freddy started up, looking over her shoulder. “Why are we creeping around someone else’s house at almost midnight?” She found herself whispering in the quiet. It was spooky wandering around any darkened house in the middle of the night, let alone a complete stranger’s.

“There’s something here that Helen thought we’d like to see.”

There were two doors on the top floor, and Freddy hesitated, looking back at Griff.

“If there are werewolves,” he said solemnly, “I’ll protect you.”

She was smiling when she pushed the left door open and walked into the room beyond—and stopped.

“Oh.”

It was all she could say.

Griff came to stand beside her, and they stood in silence. Just looking.

It was a cosy little room, a romantic little room, with a desk and comfortable arm chairs, and books everywhere. A narrow bed was pushed against the wall. Just the right size for two people to have to curl up close. It was the sort of room that she’d love to have in a house of her own one day.

But her imagination wouldn’t have stretched to anything quite like this.

The renowned portrait artist had been a multi-faceted talent. During his time living here, Billy Gotham had painted the walls, from floor to ceiling, with the most beautiful murals—combining figures and cascading floral patterns and curlicues, rich gold and jewel-toned imagery. He’d turned the whole room into a walk-in illuminated manuscript.

“Violet collected illuminated manuscripts.” Griff tucked his hands back into his pockets as he turned, taking in the full effect, and Freddy remembered that small cluster of books in the Highbrook library.

As he spoke, the moon came out from behind a cloud.

And as the silvery light hit the walls, it seemed to sink into what Freddy realised were countless embedded fibres, and the entire scape of murals suddenly gained the illusion of a rich, plush texture that defied the crumbling plaster beyond. She could swear that if she reached out her palm, she’d feel the smooth nap of fabric rather than the cold rasp of paint.

The Velvet Room.

Her gaze fell on the small snapshot on the mantel. Walking over, she picked it up, already suspecting what she would see.

Violet stood beside a young man with messy hair, a pleasant face, and dancing eyes. The dark bob of her hair was familiar, the nose was very familiar, but here there were no hidden shadows and the gaze that looked out of the picture was happy.

Griff’s hand came to rest on Freddy’s hip.

Setting the photograph back in place, she reached into her bag and felt for the folded piece of paper that was still safely tucked into her planner. Carefully, she tucked Violet and Billy’s letter behind the snapshot.