“D’you think we took it too far?” he said.
Bill leered. “I’d say we didn’t take it far enough.”
“We were told not to hurt her too much,” said Bill. “I think a rape would have got us into hot water.”
Bill grunted. “Perhaps we’ll be asked to scare her again,” he said. “Then we could notch up the fright a little further, eh?”
Jim laughed softly, his hand creeping back to caress his knife. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s hope.”
“Don’t get your hopes too high,” said their dark mistress, appearing so suddenly beside them that the imps jumped back in consternation.
Her mouth twitched very slightly at their fear. “You scared her well and truly,” she said.
“We did!” the imps exclaimed together.
“But will she stay scared?” the woman whispered, then vanished.
SIX
St Margaret’s Parish Hall
Friday, 14th June 1940
Jack had been concerned about Grace for weeks. He had sensed the withdrawal in her after the night of the Great Marriage, and that withdrawal had only got deeper as time passed. He knew she was upset about his involvement with her mother, and suspected that she was jealous that Noah could now sense the weakness where before it had only been Grace and himself.
Jack hadn’t so much as laid eyes on her for almost three weeks, and had the distinct impression she was avoiding him. He was worried that Grace was tired of helping him, or that she believed that he would prefer Noah’s help to track down the extent of the shadow.
Preferences aside (and Jack was not entirely sure that he did want Noah before Grace), Noah wasn’t much help. Yes, she could sense the shadow, but she couldn’t discover any more about it. She could see what others had discovered, but she was not capable of discovering more than that on her own.
Jack could do that. Grace could.
Noah could not.
Jack had spent many sleepless nights trying to work out the significance. He’d sensed the shadow the instant he set foot back in London. Grace had sensed it immediately as well. Both she and Jack could, by slow exploration, discover new elements of this weakness, slowly building up a greater understanding of it.
Then, after the Great Marriage, Noah had suddenly felt it…but could do no more. She could not discover it, and Jack suspected that neither could she sense the shadow as strongly as he and Grace. Why? Why? What significance the Great Marriage? Why had the shadow opened up to Noah after that, if only fractionally?
Jack drove slowly towards the Savoy through the darkened city, the questions still tumbling about his mind, and still no closer to answering any of them than he had been over the past few weeks.
He needed to speak to Grace. Somehow, she was the key to all of this.
“Damn it,” he muttered, pulling up outside the hotel, “why is she always so cursed elusive?”
He ran lightly up the steps to the residents’ private entrance of the Savoy.
Robert Stacey was standing a few feet inside the foyer, hands folded before him, demeanour calm, eyes steady, looking for all the world as if he had been waiting for Jack.
“You’ll not find her at home tonight, sir,” Stacey said as Jack came through the door.
“I’m not looking for Noah,” said Jack, walking past the Sidlesaghe with a nod.
“I know,” said Stacey.
Jack stopped halfway to the lifts, turning to look back at the Sidlesaghe. “You know?”
Stacey gave a small shrug.
Jack bit down his annoyance. “Where is she, Stacey?”
“You’ll find Grace at the parish hall of St Margaret’s Westminster. There’s a dance there tonight. Lots of young things attending. She wanted to go. She said she didn’t want to be frightened, that she didn’t want to let them scare her.”
Jack looked at Stacey carefully, trying to sort through the implications of the Sidlesaghe’s extraordinary little speech. What was Grace doing, suddenly deciding to go to a parish dance? If Grace had been a normal young woman, rather than one caught up in three thousand years’ worth of hatred and ambition, then, yes, Jack could imagine she might have decided to go to a dance at the local parish hall.
But she was too withdrawn, too battered by all that had trapped her, and Jack could not for the life of him see her chatting gaily with numerous “young things” unable, on any level, to truly communicate with her. All in all, Jack thought a local dance would be hell on earth for such a one as Grace.
And…didn’t want to be frightened, she didn’t want to let them scare her? What the hell…?
“Stacey? What has happened?”
“I am surprised you don’t know, sir.”
“What the fuck has happened, Stacey?”
“Grace was attacked, about two weeks ago. Down in Rotherhithe, out trying to aid you. She came home, her clothes in tatters, her body bruised. She would hardly speak of it, and begged me to say nothing, but—”
“What happened to her?”
“So far as I can work out, two men attacked her, held a knife to her, tried to rape her. Threatened her with appalling violence.” Stacey paused, watching the expression on Jack’s face very carefully. “I wouldn’t be surprised if those two were the Penitent Ripper.”
Jack went so cold he was amazed his heart didn’t stop beating. The imps. It must have been the imps. Jesus Christ, what the hell was Catling playing at?
“I’m sure you’ll see her safely home tonight, Major,” Stacey said.
“Why didn’t you tell me about it earlier?”
“I’m telling you now, Major.”
Jack swore, then turned for the door.
The parish hall of St Margaret’s Westminster had been carefully blacked out so that no light shone from window or door, but Jack could clearly hear the sound of music and laughter coming from within.
In the first months of the war night-time entertainments—the cinema, theatres, dances, restaurants—had largely shut down, either by government order or because people were too frightened to go out. As the war dragged on and Hitler neither invaded nor bombarded London with gas or fire, people had slowly relaxed, and the dance halls, cinemas, theatres and restaurants re-opened.
As he parked his Austin, Jack wondered how long this false sense of security would last. Neither Hitler nor Catling would leave the city entirely alone.
Not forever.
Inside, the parish hall was alive with music, light, jostling bodies, laughter and chatter. Jack paused just inside the door, tucking his military cap under one arm, surveying the scene.
Where was Grace?
He peered through the throng, trying to see her, but the dance floor was so jammed with tightly packed, moving bodies that Jack thought he’d have a better chance of spotting a distant star on a stormy night than of picking out Grace.
“Major?” said a voice at his elbow, and Jack turned.
A clergyman stood there, smiling at him. “Welcome to St Margaret’s, Major. We weren’t expecting our friends from across the Atlantic just yet, however. You came here because…?”
Despite the man’s smile, Jack could see his suspicion.
“I’m looking for Grace Orr,” he said.
The clergyman’s face cleared. “Oh, Grace! Yes, of course she is here. I’m glad a friend…you are a friend, yes?”
Jack managed a smile. “Yes. I’ve been a friend of the family for more years than any of us care to remember.”
“Of course. Well, I’m glad a friend of Grace’s has managed to arrive. Maybe you can drag her out of the kitchen. Several of the young men here would love to ask her for a dance.”
“The kitchen?”
The clergyman waved in the direction of a door at the back, and Jack nodded his thanks and started to press his way through the crowd.
Grace was standing at the sink in the little kitchen, her arms in suds up to their elbows. As soon as she realised someone had entered—alerted not by the sound of the door, but by the sudden rush of noise as the door opened—she turned about, grabbing at a tea towel as she did so.
She froze as soon as she saw who it was, the tea towel draped over her arms.
Jack closed the door, slightly stunned by the depth of relief that flooded through him as he saw she was safe. He swept his eyes around the kitchen, halfexpecting the cursed imps to leap out of some shadow, but they were alone.
He looked back to Grace, taking a moment to study her.
She was wearing a pure white dress of some slinky material, sleeveless, and cut in close to waist and hip. A long-sleeved bolero jacket of the same material was draped over the back of a nearby chair, and Jack saw Grace’s eyes flicker towards it.
He realised that the tea towel was not so much an aid to drying her arms, but a means of hiding her scars until she could slip on the jacket.