“What a ruddy mess,” Bremerton snarled, storming down the stairs but not before pausing on the landing, careful to keep his boots out of the gore. “Just unbelievable. Are you going to stand there or help the man? You two girls, you stay where I can see you. Two dead bodies in this house in as many days is no damned coincidence.”
“Go with him,” I mouthed to Lee when Bremerton had turned his back and begun descending the stairs. Then I nodded carefully toward his uncle’s rooms. This was my chance. He might not be out in the gardens, but two flights of stairs would provide me enough time to search his writing desk for a sample. Lee backed away from me, but not because I had asked. His eyes were wide, suspicious, trained on me as if he was seeing me anew. Whatever he saw frightened him. And of course it would. Who wouldn’t grow doubtful after so much death?
Poppy, Lee, and the dog followed Bremerton down the stairs. I made to do so as well, but turned back at the last moment, shuffling against the wall and out of sight, then doubling back to Bremerton’s rooms. His voice boomed through the house, the sound echoing up in the rafters and the open galleries looking down onto the foyer. I heard the kitchen door open and shut, and then another door.
“Such commotion!” The green door. It was Mr. Morningside, come to see what all the fuss was about. At once, Bremerton exploded, scolding him for the way the house was run, and for my behavior in particular. Well, I could deal with that later. Bartholomew joined in the shouting match, barking feverishly, inconsolable.
I had stopped and faced the banister to listen, but now I whirled around to sneak into Bremerton’s room. Of course I was distracted and in a hurry, and hadn’t stopped to listen to my more immediate surroundings. I turned and came face-to-breathless-face with one of the Residents.
It stood sentry in front of Bremerton’s door, its long, spindly feet hovering just above the floor, its clawed toes barely scratching the carpets. The huge white eyes watched me at a tilt, as if the creature was trying to make out my intentions. Every instinct within me said to flee. The shadow monster was as tall as two of me stacked, and its oddly proportioned body plucked the deepest, most primal cords of fear in my belly. But I had to fight that terror and silently shout it back down.
I approached it slowly, arms spread, hands open in a gesture of surrender. The bruise on my wrist ached blindingly for a moment, worsening as I neared the thing. I would endure. I would ignore the pain.
“I just want to look inside,” I murmured. It tilted its head the other way, tenting its too-long fingers. “It’s for Mr. Morningside. I’m trying to work something out for him.”
The Resident floated to the side, revealing the doorknob. It did not leave or dissipate, but I had enough room at least to access the door. And I tried. Locked. Cursing, I rattled the knob, but the lock was strong.
“Like thissss,” the Resident said, startling me. It crowded in close but I held my ground, watching as one of its slender black fingers lengthened, then hooked and slid with perfect ease into the keyhole. I heard a soft click and the lock released.
It withdrew its hand, holding it closely to the chest. Then it simply watched me, silent as I opened the door as slowly and quietly as I could.
“Thank you,” I whispered. The cold, odd presence still unnerved me, especially knowing it was out in the hallway observing me, but at least it passed out of view as I ducked into the room. The curtains were pulled shut, the room lying in heavy darkness. It smelled oddly sweet and rank, yet it looked as though nobody had stayed in the room at all. All of Bremerton’s things were stacked neatly next to the bed, as if he anticipated leaving at any moment.
The strange stench worsened the farther I moved into the room. He must have told Mrs. Haylam he wanted his room untouched, for someone would have seen to that smell by now. I pinched my nose shut and tiptoed to the desk. There was nothing on top of the desk, just an undisturbed pen and ink. A well-loved Bible was there, too, though when I flipped through it I found no annotations in his hand. The drawers were likewise barren. Nothing. I sighed and pushed through to the bedroom, swallowing a retch from the worsening smell of rot. Had he left a bit of food to molder and not known it? What could possibly cause such a stench . . .
I knew in the pit of my stomach that it was a bad omen. Only death smelled that way; the sweet yet tainted perfume of decaying flesh.
The bedroom held nothing for me, and I wondered over the wisdom of opening his bags to look inside. He might return at any moment. The argument in the foyer had dwindled, or else they were speaking more quietly and rationally now. I lingered, staring down at his bags and worrying my lower lip. The chance to poke around might not come again. I would do it.
I knelt, nearly losing my composure and the fortitude of my stomach, the reek of rot so overwhelming it made my eyes water. Reaching for one of his bags, I stopped, trembling. Something shiny and black poked out just the smallest bit from under the bed frame. Gently, I leaned closer, holding my nose, finding at last the source of the smell . . .
There was no need to touch it; I could see the dainty black hoof and a hint of pure white wool stained with old blood. It was as if Joanna’s kind voice whispered through my head.
You’ll both like that. I thought you might be gone for good; second wee one this week to wander away. If only we’d found the first.
Here it was. I stood, quickly, so quickly that my head spun from the smell and the shock. What was this wretch doing with a murdered lamb under his bed? I needed to clear my mind. Focus. There had been a lamb painted in blood on the wall behind Lee’s mother. Could this be the connection I needed? I backed away from the bed to escape the smell a little and pace, and when I turned I saw it, plain as anything.
I hadn’t bothered to look at the door after I closed it behind me, but now I had the penmanship sample I needed. Blood pounded in my ears; a shortness of breath that felt like drowning made my chest tight and clenched. Well, this was proof, but I did not want it, not like this, not when it made my flesh prickle with cold.
Shaking, I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out the scrap of paper, holding it up to compare against the words written in blackening blood on the door. The slants and loops were the same. A match.
AND THEY OVERCAME HIM BY THE BLOOD OF THE LAMB
I mouthed the words to myself with the paper still held aloft. I mouthed them as the door burst inward and George Bremerton flew at me with pistol cocked and ready.
Chapter Thirty-Six
A scream like ice shattering across a frozen lake ripped through the room. I had never heard anything close to that pitch, so high and terrible it made my mind practically bend. It was the Resident outside the door. It was clawing at the air, at the open door, as if some invisible barrier prevented it from ingress.