A Study in Sable by Mercedes Lackey Read Free Book Online

were as . . . eclectic . . . as the customers. That was putting it kindly. To put it unkindly, it looked as if the owner of the shop had gone to every jumble sale in London and bought up every odd teapot, teacup, napkin, and tablecloth he or she could find.
    At the back of the shop, there was a table set a little apart from the rest—or as much as a table could be, given the crowded conditions. There was a middle-aged woman there, holding court, it seemed, among a small group of incredibly serious-faced and fantastically garbed people. But when she spotted John coming toward her through the shop, she made shooing motions at them.
    â€œOff you go, my chickens,” she said genially, although their faces betrayed their disappointment at being sent away. “John and I have something serious to talk about.” She looked from one to another of them with bright, sharp eyes. “Well, sit, sit. You never come to me, John Watson, unless you’ve questions to ask.”
    All of them took the motley assortment of vacated chairs. It appeared the jumble sale habit of the teashop owner extended to thefurnishings. Nan took the opportunity to examine this person that John had brought them to see. She didn’t look particularly prepossessing; late middle-age, plump, with a good-natured, round face, black hair put up in an untidy chignon under a black hat a-dance with jet ornaments. Her gown was black as well, an odd sort of outfit that seemed to be designed as an Artistic Reform tea gown, but instead of being made in fabrics of jewel tones with heavy embroidery, it was in black satin and velvet with jet bead embroidery.
    â€œNumber 10, Berkeley Square,” Watson said without any preamble.
    The woman pursed up her lips, and shook her head. “You’re a brave boy, you are. You couldn’t get me next or nigh that place if the last dollop of Devon Double Cream in the world was just inside the threshold.”
    Watson looked around at the four of them. “I think we can at least find out what’s in there, and discover a way to lock it up before it kills anyone else.”
    The woman looked at each of them in turn, eyes narrowed.
Sizing us up,
Nan thought.
I think she’s a magician of some sort.
    â€œThat may be,” the woman replied. “But I know when I am outmatched, and whatever is in there, it’s too much for the likes of me.”
    â€œBeatrice, if anyone knows anything more than I’ve been able to discover, it’s probably you,” Watson said flatly. “We’ve determined that the hauntings didn’t start until after the owner went on some expeditions to dig up Roman ruins and brought back artifacts. But that’s all we know.”
    She tapped her index finger against her lip, her eyes lost in thought. “Well . . . there’s a great deal of anger and hunger there, more than I’ve ever seen in a haunt in London.” She glanced over at Nan and Sarah. “Ghosts don’t do well in London; all the friction of so many living souls about tends to thin them out and they go to tatters.”
    Sarah nodded understandingly.
    â€œSpirits
anchored
or
bound
to something, however, are another story. So it does make sense that your devilish thing is bound tosomething physical.” She pursed her lips. “I do have a thought, Johnny. Buy me some teacakes, like a dear.”
    John Watson didn’t even blink. He got the attention of a passing waitress and ordered the teacakes, and for good measure, some sandwiches and scones, for which Nan, for one, was very grateful. “I think we can take the time for a proper tea first, unless you can think of a reason for us to hurry, Beatrice.”
    â€œI can never think of a reason to hurry through teatime,” she countered, and kept the conversation going on a lighter note, telling John and Mary stories about her circle of friends, which seemed to include everything