An hour later, fortified by a constant supply of Earl Grey, the office had become a hive of activity. Newbury was working through his notes from the previous day, attempting to make sense of the various newspaper reports and apparent sightings of the 'glowing bobby' around Whitechapel. He was wearing a frown, lost in thought and deep concentration.
Veronica was hard at work clearing the spare desk across the other side of the room, unpacking her small box of belongings and filing the many sheaves of abandoned notes she continued to find in drawers and random piles all around the office. She had placed her jacket over the back of her chair, rolled up the sleeves of her blouse and attacked the mess like it was some sort of villain in need of appeasing. Newbury was suitably impressed by her fastidiousness.
It was into this scene that a distraught Miss Coulthard came running, late, her hastily tied bun coming loose so that strands of her hair flapped around her face as she came to rest in the doorway, breathless. Both Newbury and Veronica looked up in concern.
Newbury was on his feet immediately, worry etched on his face. "My dear Miss Coulthard, whatever is the matter?"
The woman cowered, as if afraid of what she had to say. Veronica offered her a heartfelt smile.
"Oh sir, it's my brother Jack. He disappeared yesterday and we've every fear that he may have succumbed to that terrible plague."
Newbury shuffled uneasily. "I understand your concern completely, Miss Coulthard. Look," he indicated his visitor's chair, "come and take a seat for a while and Miss Hobbes here will fetch you a hot cup of tea." He glanced at Veronica apologetically and she waved dismissively before hurrying off into the other room to organise another pot of tea.
Newbury put a hand on Miss Coulthard's arm in an attempt to reassure her. "Now, why don't you tell me exactly what you know?"
The diminutive woman looked up at him, a pained expression on her face. "In truth, sir, there ain't that much to tell. Jack went off to work yesterday morning as normal-to Fitchett and Browns’, the lawyers-and never came back. We had a restless night, worrying what kind of a mess he'd got himself involved in, as he's never been one to loiter before coming home of a night. My sister-in-law and I took ourselves down to the law offices first thing this morning, to enquire as to his whereabouts, and it seems he never even made it that far." With this she let out a wracking sob, bringing her gloved hand up to her face to stifle her tears. "They had no idea where he was, or why he hadn't shown up for work the previous day."
Newbury sat back in his chair, looking thoughtful. "I'm sure we'll find a suitable explanation, Miss Coulthard, if we apply ourselves. Now, tell me, what makes you think it's the plague?" He looked up at the sound of the kettle whistling in the other room, and caught sight of Veronica, listening to their conversation from the doorway. He nodded approvingly and then returned his attention to the crying woman before him.
"There have been terrible things happening in our neighbourhood, sir, terrible things indeed. Revenants, they're calling them. Victims of the plague, found staggering around in the fog of a night, like wild animals, baying for people's blood. Bloodshot eyes, peeling skin; they're like walking corpses, wandering around in the darkness, waiting for passers-by. The plague transforms them into mindless monsters." She crossed herself to ward off the thought of the horrifying creatures.
Newbury nodded. "I'm well aware of the phenomenon, Miss Coulthard. It's thought the plague was brought here from India, borne over by returning soldiers. It inspires a terrible brain fever and a degenerative state in the flesh. Was Jack bitten by one of these walking cadavers?"
"Not that we know of. Jack knows better than to loiter in the dark these recent months. But I fear he must have encountered one on his way to work that morning. The fog was thick around Brixton and it may have been upon him before he had an opportunity to flee."
Newbury shook his head. "Unlikely, Miss Coulthard. As I understand it the victims of this plague find the light painful to their eyes and will avoid stepping out during the daylight hours unless desperate or provoked. Remember, they are driven by animal desires, and not those of a rational human being. Besides, anyone bitten by one of these creatures will incubate the illness for a number of days before showing any symptoms. If your brother was indeed harassed in the street he would have likely retained his senses and sought medical assistance at a nearby hospital. I'm sure, therefore, that there must be another explanation as to his disappearance."
Miss Coulthard was still shaking. "You really think so?"
Newbury smiled. "Indeed. There are many things that can keep a man away from his home for a night, Miss Coulthard, and whilst some are less savoury than others, I'm sure in this case there'll be a reasonable explanation." He paused whilst Veronica placed a steaming cup of tea on the desk before Miss Coulthard. "Now, see yourself right with that cup of tea and then take the rest of the day off. If there's still no news tomorrow come and see me again and we'll file a missing persons report with Scotland Yard."
Miss Coulthard braved a smile. "Thank you, sir. It's just… we're all so on edge, what with the strange things that have been happening. Time was when we would have laughed it off. But with these revenants walking the streets…"
"I know, Miss Coulthard, I know. The plague has us all concerned for the well-being of our loved ones and friends. I promise I'll keep my ear to the ground for any clues that may help you to locate your brother." Newbury stood and edged his way around the desk. "You stay put for a moment, Miss Coulthard, whilst I have a few words with Miss Hobbes." He crossed into the adjoining room, straightening his jacket and pulling the door shut behind him.
Veronica looked up. "What is it?"
"I'll wager it has something to do with drinking or gambling, or both." He shook his head.
"Is there anything we can do to help?"
"No. I'm convinced the situation will resolve itself. Another day or two and the man will show up at his own door, hungry and not a little sheepish. Either that or they'll find him in a cell across the other side of the city, too embarrassed at his own behaviour to tell his family where he's been."
There was a rap at the outer door to the office. Veronica glanced quizzically at Newbury before crossing the room and allowing the door to swing open in her hand, revealing a messenger standing in the hallway, a small card clasped in his right hand.
"Message for Sir Maurice Newbury, ma'am."
"Thank you. I'll see that he gets it." She took the card from the young boy and turned to Newbury, who had sidled up behind her, his interest piqued. He took the card from her and turned it over in his hand.
"It's from Bainbridge." His face had taken on a grim aspect. He looked up at Veronica. "Get your coat. There's been another murder."
Chapter Three
The cab clattered noisily over the cobbled street as its pistons churned furiously and the driver swore at the mechanism in a half-hearted attempt to make it run faster. In the back, Newbury and Veronica sat in silence, jolted by the speed at which the vehicle rumbled towards its destination and the unevenness of the road. At the front, the driver sat upon his dickey box, pulling levers to direct the angle of the wheels as the steam-powered pistons fired with noisy abandon and the cab bounced along on steel wheels softened with rims of polished hardwood. Veronica couldn't help thinking that, whilst it might have taken them a few minutes longer, a traditional horse-drawn carriage may have offered them a more comfortable alternative to the loud, dirty transport within which they now sat. Newbury, on the other hand, was a keen supporter of progress, and whilst even the driver seemed to be having difficulty keeping the contraption under control, Newbury appeared to be relishing every moment of their tumultuous journey.