Stone Cold Read Online Free PDF

into the road.
    When they got back to Edmonton Crescent Matty helped Sherlock unload his stuff. ‘Well,’ he said brightly, ‘that’s it then. I’ll see you around.’
    ‘Perhaps you could come in,’ Sherlock said. ‘Check the place out.’
    Matty looked down at his scruffy clothes and dirty hands. ‘I dunno. People around ’ere are very particular about who they invite into their houses. I ain’t sure I’ll fit
properly.’
    Sherlock was about to argue with him when a voice interrupted them. ‘You’ll be young Master Holmes then?’
    He turned to see a large lady dressed in black crinoline. She was standing on the steps of number 36, staring down at them. Her hair was grey, her eyes were a faded blue, but her fierce
demeanour was offset by the way her eyes crinkled in a smile of welcome.
    ‘I am,’ he said. ‘My friend here was just—’
    ‘Get yourselves inside, into the parlour, both of you. I’ll make a pot of tea. There’s scones, jam and cream, if you’re hungry.’
    ‘Actually—’
    ‘We’re starvin’,’ Matty interrupted.
    ‘Well then, come ye in and relax. I can’t have starving children on the street. What would the neighbours think?’
    Sherlock indicated his bags and trunks. ‘What about—’
    ‘I’ll get one of my boys to fetch them in,’ she said. ‘That’s “my boys”, as in the boys who fetch the coal and shine the shoes in the house. There are
also “my boys” who are staying here, as you will be, and “my boys”, as in the five strapping lads that my late husband left me with, but they’re scattered around the
south of England now.’
    ‘I’m sorry to hear about your husband,’ Sherlock said. That would explain the black clothes – she was in mourning. ‘When did he die?’
    ‘Thirty-five years ago next month,’ she said. ‘Now, come on in. You’re making the street look untidy, and if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s
untidiness.’ She thought for a moment. ‘And gypsies. And dogs.’
    Sherlock glanced at Matty and raised an eyebrow. Matty looked back at him with an unreadable expression on his face. ‘I think you’ll fit in here just fine,’ he said
quietly.
    They climbed the steps to the doorway and passed through into the house. It was possibly the neatest place Sherlock had ever seen on land. He was used to life on ships, where everything had to
be stowed away where it couldn’t fall over and break in case of rough seas, but this was the first time he had seen the principle applied on terra firma.
    ‘Your husband was a sailor,’ he ventured.
    ‘Bless you, that’s right.’ Mrs McCrery was right behind them as they entered the sitting room. ‘How can you tell? Is it the drawing?’ She indicated a framed sketch
on the wall of a bearded man in uniform, arms folded and staring out at the observer from beneath heavy eyebrows.
    ‘Er, yes,’ he replied.
    ‘You two make yourselves comfortable. I’ll go and get the tea.’
    ‘And the scones,’ Matty said, settling into a comfortable chair as Mrs McCrery left. ‘I like this place.’ He leaned back, and the frilly lace material that ran along the
top fell across his face. He struggled free. ‘What
is
this thing?’ he said, holding the lace up and examining it.
    ‘It’s an antimacassar,’ Sherlock explained patiently.
    ‘What’s that when it’s at ’ome?’
    ‘It prevents macassar oil from gentlemen’s heads from staining the material of the sofa.’
    ‘Oh.’ A pause. ‘What’s “macassar oil” then? Is it like oil for oil lamps?’
    ‘No, it’s for the hair. It conditions it, and makes it easier to comb. It’s made from coconut oil and ylang-ylang oil.’
    Matty ran his hand through his own unruly hair. ‘Oh. Should I be usin’ it?’
    ‘I don’t think so. I really don’t think so. The grease from the hot pies you keep eating seems to do a good enough job.’
    Matty sniffed. ‘Reckon you’re right.’
    Sherlock looked around. There wasn’t that