Constable & Toop by Gareth P. Jones Read Free Book Online

from the circus.’
    â€˜I don’t know what exactly, but if Hetty says it’s going to be diverting I believe it will be.’
    â€˜It’s difficult not to be diverted when there’s a diminutive cyclops making off with the silverware.’
    This time Mrs Tiltman was unable to hide a smile as well, but it did not stop her from chastising her daughter for giggling.
    â€˜Please can I stay up and meet Hetty’s person?’ asked Clara.
    â€˜No,’ stated her mother. ‘Children do not attend dinner parties.’
    â€˜I could write an article about it.’
    â€˜You won’t be writing any such thing,’ said Mrs Tiltman.
    â€˜But—’
    â€˜I’ll hear no more about it.’
    Mr Tiltman smiled indulgently at his daughter. ‘If the person seems appropriate, I’ll ask Hetty to bring them round again to meet you one day soon,’ he said kindly. ‘But we are probably doing you a great favour by keeping you out of sight. I should prefer to be upstairs hiding away too.’
    Mrs Tiltman stood up angrily. ‘You are as bad as each other.’
    Lady Aysgarth stood too. She remembered as a child being given in church a vivid picture of Hell. Burning flames, fire and brimstone. She recalled sitting up one night reading Dante’s account of each layer, filled with sinners, toiling away for eternity. This was worse. Sitting at a table, listening to this family, planning a dinner party of vulgarity, spending their money on vile objects that seemed specially designed to uglify the house that bore her family name. She stepped through the wall into the hallway, turned to Ether Dust and drifted up to the attic.

9
The Anger of Viola Trump
    Jack sat down heavily on the bed Sam had made for him in the corner of his room.
    â€˜So how did you get the gift then?’ he asked.
    â€˜I’ve always been able to see Them,’ replied Sam. ‘Father used to think I was talking to myself, but it was always Them.’
    â€˜She’d heard of you, that one in the kitchen. You don’t want to be getting a reputation as a Talker. They all got things they want said to people, don’t they? You wanna spend your life running errands for dead’uns?’
    Sam shrugged.
    â€˜And why help her? Because she’s got a pretty face? You won’t get satisfaction from a dead woman.’ Jack laughed crudely.
    â€˜It’s not like that,’ snapped Sam, more angrily than he had intended. ‘She asked sweetly. She didn’t try to scare me or anything like that. I’ll help her this once.’
    â€˜The dead can’t be helped,’ replied Jack. ‘You want some female company you’d be better off doing what your old man did and preying on grieving widows.’
    â€˜Father met my mother when she came to bury her own father,’ said Sam.
    â€˜That right, is it?’ sneered Jack. ‘Then I stand corrected.’
    Sam didn’t want to talk about his mother. ‘Have you always been able to see Them?’ he asked.
    â€˜No.’ Jack unlaced his boots and pulled them off, releasing a terrible stench from within. ‘My first was a lad by the name of Brownin’. We were outside a pub up town. There was a drunken quarrel over somethin’. I forget what. A girl? A bet? Somethin’. Anyway, Brownin’ started saying things he shouldn’t. Speaking out of turn. So I silenced him with my blade.’
    Jack pulled out a knife. The handle looked grubby but the blade was as sharp and clean as Sam’s best bread knife. Jack held it up admiringly. Tenderly, even.
    â€˜You killed him?’ asked Sam.
    â€˜We’re all on paths towards our graves,’ said Jack, shrugging. ‘Some of us are goin’ faster than others is the only difference. Brownin’ was always headin’ fast. My little incision just pushed him on a little. I held him while the life drained out of him to keep him from