The Kindred of Darkness Read Online Free PDF Page A

he was working for the Department – and Mr Teazle nodded.
    â€˜That we do, Mrs Curie.’ His voice was like his person, soft and unassuming.
    â€˜I’m looking for shipping records,’ she said, thankful that the six pounds she’d just paid absolved her from having to come up with a story about why she wanted this information. ‘An arrival in this country, probably from the Balkans, with a crate or an outsize travel trunk – anything above four and a half feet in length, weighing over a hundred and fifty pounds. This would be the end of January.’
    He jotted something on his notepad. Even at a distance of four feet, Lydia hadn’t the slightest idea what.
    â€˜I need names and all addresses that you can find. And I’m afraid the matter is urgent. If more than one operative can be put on the task, I would greatly appreciate it.’
    â€˜Very good, ma’am.’ He might have been taking an order for tea and biscuits at a café. ‘You realize you may be dealing with several hundred addresses?’
    â€˜Yes, I understand that. If any of these trunks came in through a receiving office, information about their ultimate destination would be appreciated. Do I need to pay you anything extra on account?’ She reached for the battered leather handbag that she’d borrowed – along with a deplorable hat and an out-of-fashion chintz frock – from Mrs Grimes, and felt his glance size up … what? Her willingness to part with money over and above the retainer, in comparison with her out-at-elbows dress? Her too-new shoes?
    Or was he used to people coming into his office, asking for information about shipping records or people’s movements and giving accommodation addresses and false names?
    â€˜Quite all right, ma’am. I’ll send an account at the end of the week.’ He rose, and escorted her to the door. ‘Do coffins count?’
    She hoped her startle wasn’t visible.
    â€˜A man can transport a deal of effects in a coffin, ma’am, and no customs official will think to open it. Particularly if the owner’s thought to put a dead chicken in it, before leaving home. Begging your pardon, ma’am.’
    â€˜Definitely coffins.’ The thought that any Balkan vampire would do something that obvious hadn’t occurred to her, but of course, who would be looking for one?
    Except vampire hunters.
    â€˜Very good, ma’am.’ Mr Teazle opened the door.
    As she descended to the smoky heat of the London morning, she hoped wretchedly that she wasn’t going to get the poor man killed.
    A short cab-ride took her to Broad Street, where another ‘Private Enquiry Agent’ from James’ address book had his offices. Henry McClennan was Scots, fat, brisk and bustling, and assured her in his high, surprisingly light voice that for £6 7s he could have two of his operatives at Somerset House by noon, ascertaining whether any of the properties listed had been willed to anyone since 1907.
    If Grippen knew she could track vampires through their property, he’d have changed the ostensible ownership of his own since then.
    She turned the matter over in her mind as she walked the hot pavements toward the Women’s Temperance Hotel on Blomfield Street.
    Vampires didn’t rent. How could one risk it, if the smallest ray of the sun’s light would ignite unquenchable fire in that pale and fragile flesh?
    They needed – demanded – absolute control over their surroundings. No wonder the thought of angry and suspicious dock-workers made Lionel Grippen nervous.
    So who
was
hiding this Mr Zahorec?
    That morning, as soon as it grew light, she had checked the ground in the open strip of earth behind her house for wheel tracks. The Slipe, as it was called – too wide to be a lane but not quite wide enough to be considered a yard – gave access to the stables, kitchens, and domestic offices of New College,