In a small, quiet courtyard off Fleet Street Sam found the house Tanner had mentioned. A plaque next to the door read aysgarth house. He wanted to understand how Jack was fulfilling his half of the bargain. To do that he had to speak to the ghost inside that house. He climbed the stairs and knocked on the door. The rain had grown steadily heavier since Seven Dials and Sam’s black funeral attire was soaked through.
An elderly butler answered. ‘Yes?’
‘I’m here about the chimneys,’ said Sam.
The butler looked him up and down. ‘You don’t look like a chimney sweep,’ he said. ‘Besides, we have a contract with Mr Compton to clean our chimneys.’
‘Yes, that’s who I work for. He said to meet him here.’
‘The chimneys aren’t due for cleaning this week,’ said the butler.
‘This is Aysgarth House, isn’t it?’
‘It is.’
Behind him a man’s voice said, ‘Who is it, Hopkins?’ A smartly dressed man appeared, clearly superior in status to the butler from the confidence in his voice and the way the butler stepped out of his way.
‘He says he’s due to meet Mr Compton the chimney sweep here, Mr Tiltman, but Mr Compton is not due here today,’ replied Hopkins.
‘He definitely said to meet him at Aysgarth House,’ said Sam. ‘But if he’s not inside I’ll wait outside for him. Sorry to bother you.’ He turned round.
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Mr Tiltman. ‘It’s pouring with rain. You can come and wait in the drawing room. I’m sure Mr Compton has just got mixed up and will be here presently.’
‘But, sir,’ started the butler.
‘What?’ asked Mr Tiltman.
‘You know how Mrs Preston and your wife feel about visitors since . . . the incident.’
‘Oh, nonsense. They wouldn’t have me turn away this polite, if rather soggy, young man to catch his death while waiting in the rain.’ He turned to Sam. ‘What’s your name, lad?’
‘Sam Toop, sir.’
‘You’re not planning to gain entry to rob or murder us, are you?’
‘Not at all, sir.’
Mr Tiltman laughed. ‘I didn’t think so. Hopkins, the day we lose our humanity because of actions by those who have lost theirs is the day that we may as well give up. Come on in, Sam Toop.’
Hopkins opened the door wide and Sam followed Mr Tiltman through the hall into the drawing room.
‘So you’re learning the trade from Mr Compton, are you?’ asked Mr Tiltman, who had a disarmingly friendly nature and raised eyebrows that implied the world was endlessly amusing.
‘Yes,’ replied Sam.
‘I think this may be the last time he cleans these chimneys for us.’
‘You have a new contract?’
‘No, we are to move.’
‘Why would you move from this house?’ asked Sam, looking around admiringly.
‘I would not but my wife would,’ replied Mr Tiltman. ‘Which, if you know anything about marriages, means I would also. She wants to move us to the suburbs and condemn me to a life of train journeys to and from my work in the city. I’ve no idea where yet, but I imagine my estate agent will find somewhere suitably ghastly.’
‘Honor Oak is pleasant enough, and well positioned for such a journey.’
‘Is that true? I shall mention the name to my man. Anyway, at the risk of appearing rude, I have some work I must attend to. Do you mind if I leave you dripping here until your master arrives?’
‘That’s fine. Thank you for letting me in. I’m sure he won’t be long.’
‘Very well. Nice to make your acquaintance, Sam Toop.’
Mr Tiltman closed the door behind him, leaving Sam alone in the room. Sam wondered that a man with such a house could be so trusting and not assume he might steal some ornament then make his escape. He walked to the door and listened for footsteps. He didn’t want to betray Mr Tiltman’s trust, but he needed to find the ghost.
‘You’d better not be planning on stealing nothing from this house. This family have been through enough as it is,’ said a voice behind him.
He turned to see the ghost of a ragged little girl standing behind him.
‘I’m not going to steal anything,’ said Sam.
In different circumstances Sam might have laughed at how the girl jumped as she realised that he had heard what she said. ‘You can see me?’ she said, astonished.
‘My name is Sam. I’m a Talker.’
‘I’m Emily. What’s a Talker?’
‘It means a living person who can see and hear the dead. How did he get you in here?’
‘Who?’
‘The man who got you into this house. How did Jack persuade you to enter?’
‘You know his name? You know that man’s name?’
‘Yes. He’s my uncle. How did he convince you?’
‘He didn’t convince nor persuade me,’ said Emily. ‘He slashed my throat and dragged me in.’
Sam’s eyes were drawn to the slit in Emily’s throat. He had to steady himself as Emily’s words sunk in. He remembered Jack showing him his knife, with its sharp blade and stained handle. He remembered Inspector Savage talking of his previous victim having his throat cut. It was suddenly extremely clear what was happening. Jack was using Tanner for something and in return he was filling infected houses, but Jack wasn’t negotiating with ghosts. He hated talking to ghosts. Jack was taking innocent people off the street and murdering them. He was killing them for their ghosts.
Emily was talking. She wanted to know why she had died, but Sam didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t bring himself to utter anything other than, ‘I’m so sorry . . .’
‘Father?’ The voice came from the hallway. The door opened and another girl stepped in, this one very much alive. The girl’s hair was as short as a boy’s. She had large hazel eyes and was undoubtedly the most beautiful thing Sam had ever set eyes on.
‘Who are you?’ she asked.
‘I’m Sam,’ he replied idiotically. ‘I’m waiting for . . .’ but he couldn’t remember the name of the chimney sweep and his voice trailed away.
‘Who were you just talking to just now?’ she asked.
‘No one,’ said Sam. ‘That is to say, I was speaking to no one but myself.’
‘You haven’t told me who yourself is,’ said the girl.
Mr Tiltman entered the room behind her and Sam was struck by the family resemblance. ‘Clara,’ he said. ‘I see you’ve met Master Toop. He’s waiting for Mr Compton.’
Sam felt confused. Emily was still talking to him, demanding an explanation about why she had been killed. He glanced at her and saw Clara following his gaze.
‘He’s very clean for a chimney sweep,’ said Clara.
‘I’m learning the trade,’ replied Sam.
‘Yes, I suppose it must take some training to get that dirty,’ said Mr Tiltman, making Clara laugh.
‘I have to go,’ said Sam.
‘But Mr Compton hasn’t arrived yet.’
‘I don’t think he’s coming,’ replied Sam.
‘Very well, then.’ Mr Tiltman moved out of his way. Sam saw him exchange a glance with his daughter, both of them clearly amused by his behaviour, but Sam couldn’t concentrate enough to even attempt to act normally. He had to get out and escape this house. He felt terrified by what he had just learnt and paralysed by the girl’s beauty. Emily was crying.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Sam, making for the door.
The Tiltmans looked confused at the apology, not realising it had not been meant for them.