Ghostly Echoes Read Online Free PDF

Fiddleham had been very kind to me since my arrival—it had only tried to kill me once—but there are two New Fiddlehams: one that knows the light and another that keeps to the shadows. Some corners of the city, I was coming to find, were always dark, as if to spite the sun. At the bottom of a steep hill, I saw a clothesline hung with wash that looked as though its ground-in stains might be the only things holding the tattered fabric together. Between the rags hung a little burlap dress sized for an infant. It was stitched with care, but the words “Gadston Golds” and a picture of a potato were still visible on the side of the skirt. The fabric looked itchy. A pang of sympathy ran through me. I had been raised in privilege, always looking up a little wistfully at the aristocracy, hardly aware that there were people lower down on the social ladder who did not know the bother of having a maid put too much starch on a day dress. I had never thought about the children born in the dark.
    Jackaby pressed forward up the hill. He rarely took the same route twice, but I had come to know the landscape well enough to tell we were not bound for the police station.
    â€œSir,” I called after him. “I thought you said we were going to talk to the commissioner.”
    â€œWe are, though we will not find him behind his desk this afternoon. Commissioner Marlowe has scheduled an impromptu meeting with Mayor Spade. He has postponed all other matters and explicitly forbidden any of his subordinates to interrupt, so I gather their conference is of a sensitive and urgent nature.”
    â€œI don’t suppose we’re going to wait patiently for that meeting to conclude?”
    â€œGiven the news Lieutenant Dupin delivered him this morning, the news which I relieved the good lieutenant of before leaving the station, I think it is safe to assume we know the topic at hand. Our business is one and the same, so they will have to pardon the intrusion.”
    â€œI suppose it won’t be the first time you’ve needed a pardon from the mayor.”
    â€œSome cases go more smoothly than others,” he confirmed with a wink. “Not everyone appreciates my methods.”
    As we climbed the hill, the housing improved visibly with each block. We came to neighborhoods whose properties were spaced more and more comfortably apart, until it became a bit of a misnomer to call them neighborhoods at all. Proud white houses—houses that looked as though they might prefer to be called
manors
—were bordered not by their neighbors’ walls, but by sprawling, elegantly manicured gardens. Here we found the mayor’s home, a stately colonial building. Marble pilasters framed his broad front door, and the whole structure was a testament to right angles and symmetry. It could not have been less like our abode on Augur Lane.
    Jackaby rapped the knocker soundly. A long-faced man in a starched collar and black necktie opened the door. “Oh dear,” the man moaned.
    â€œBertram!” Jackaby patted him on the arm affably as he bustled past him into the front hall. “It’s been ages, how are the kids?”
    â€œI remain unmarried, Mr. Jackaby, and I’m afraid you can’t be seen just now.”
    â€œNonsense. Miss Rook, can you see me?”
    â€œCertainly, sir.”
    â€œWell, there you have it. You must have your eyes checked, Bertram. Now then, is our meeting in the drawing room? I hope I’m not late, I would hate to keep the commissioner waiting.” Without giving the butler time to reply, Jackaby strode past him into the house.
    Bertram hurried after, urgently trying to get ahead of Jackaby, but my employer spun gaily. I followed close on their heels.
    â€œNo, he is not, Mr. Jackaby. And you are not expected today. Please!”
    â€œAh, the study, then—of course. No need to bother yourself, I remember the way.”
    â€œMr. Jackaby! This is a private