Pickwick House was located on a swath of land between the River Tweed and the Whiteadder, just a few miles west of Berwick. The drive from Blakelaw was a little more than two hours. We did our best to stop at every inn and pub on our way, flashing the sketches I’d drawn of Curst Eckie and Sore John to ask if they’d seen any rough-looking strangers in the past few weeks or months. One woman at a tavern near Coldstream said she thought she’d seen the pair of men a few weeks back, but she couldn’t swear to it. She complained that it had been dark and she hadn’t been looking for trouble. No one else admitted to seeing them, and I didn’t know whether to consider that a good or a bad sign as we neared the manor.
Either way I was nervous. What if the body snatchers were staying on Lord Shellingham’s estate? What if they became suspicious of our arrival? Trevor and Anderley had joined us, and I had made sure to bring my gun, but two gentlemen, a valet, and a woman with a single-shot pistol were hardly a match for four Edinburgh criminals, and perhaps Lord Shellingham and his friends. I wanted to believe that the four gentlemen who had planned this would not harm us, but I didn’t know them well enough to be sure. I had seen with my own eyes how even good men could be driven to do horrible things if the pressure to do so and their own fear were strong enough.
The approach to Pickwick House was made through a thick copse of trees that widened suddenly to reveal the manor. The main block of the house stood directly in front of us, with stairs leading up to a four-columned portico. Wings stretched out on either side of the main block to wrap around the drive, enclosing it almost like a courtyard. The drive branched off to the left and to the right toward other parts of the manor. We all leaned forward to peer out the windows on either side of the carriage as it entered the courtyard, trying to see whether trouble lay down either of the branches of these paths, but they were both clear of people and obstructions.
The weather had been inhospitable all morning. Intermittent periods of icy rain had spat at us from the sky. A few degrees cooler and the precipitation would have been snow, but the temperature hovered stubbornly above freezing, allowing the wind to whip sharp pellets of rain at our faces instead of soft snowflakes.
I cowered inside my cloak as Gage, Trevor, and I descended from the carriage. Anderley would ride in the coach around to the stables and enter through the servants’ entrance, as expected, which would also allow him the opportunity to search that part of the property for any sign of the Edinburgh criminals. I welcomed Gage’s steadying arm as we climbed the dozen or more stairs to the front doors. When we reached the top, we’d expected a servant to be there to attend to us, but instead we were forced to wait. Trevor knocked several times, and his fist pounds became harder with each minute that passed.
As time stretched, an uneasy feeling came over me. I glanced over my shoulder into the courtyard below us, but it was as gray and empty as when we’d arrived. Regardless, we were exposed here, and I couldn’t be sure whether it was the prickles of chilly rain striking against my back that so unsettled me or something else. Whatever it was, I decided I didn’t like this place, no matter its ornate, classical beauty. It was eerie and rather desolate, as if it were only a hollow illusion.
“Do you think it’s deserted?” Trevor turned to ask, his brow furrowed in frustration.
Gage grimly surveyed our surroundings, his face glistening with the cold spray of the rain. “A manor this large? Surely there’s someone here. A skeleton staff, at the very least.”
Trevor frowned and reached out for the doorknob. It turned in his hand, and the door swung open a crack. He looked back at us one more time, and then pushed the door open. If nothing else, we needed to get out of the stinging rain, at least long enough to decide what to do.
Trevor crossed the threshold into the darkened interior. “Hello!” he called. “Is anyone here?”
Gage and I followed, staring around us at the vast, echoing entrance hall. The gloomy light passing through the windows above illuminated a black and white tiled floor and a round wooden table standing at the center of the space. A grand staircase swept up the right side of the room, along the hall’s rounded walls, ending in shadows above.
This was all I had time to notice before the percussive bang of a gun broke the silence. The window above us shattered, and glass shards rained down on us as we dove for the ground, tinkling as they struck the floor. I gasped and then cringed at the sharp sensation on my leg. I worried that a piece of glass had sliced into my skin, but then as the icy sensation spread, I realized we’d dived into our own growing puddles of water as it had dripped off our clothing.
Our ears still ringing from the noise, Gage pushed himself upright and dragged me toward the center of the room.
“Stay low,” he ordered.