❝If there was one thing Anthony Lockwood was afraid of, it would be Carolynne Blair Lynch's pure, mere, terrifying beauty.❞
𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭? Perhaps a day that didn't go your way so now you'd...
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𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐲𝐧𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐦 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬 in the gardens of Hanover Square, she was tight into his side with his arm around her to fend off against the harsh winds. They were looking toward Miss Wintergarden's house - Number 54. The house was a dark, thin shard, wedged like a rotten tooth between other, indistinguishable terraced town houses on the shadowy side of the square. How elegant they could have been, with their painted facades and columned porticoes framing their neat black doors. However, the recent storms had left dark stains on the stuccoed fronts, and the sidewalks and porticoes were a scattered waste of splintered twigs and leaves. No lights were on. The effect was of drabness and decay.
It hadn't rained since the morning, but patches of standing water studded the grass, dull as fallen coins, reflecting the gunmetal sky. A strong wind was blowing, and the naked branches of the trees did the thing all naked branches do in winter with the daylight slowly failing. They rasped and rustled like giant papery hands being rubbed together. The world was heavy with unease.
"She's an utterly awful woman," Lockwood grumbled. "Callous and ignorant and hysterical all at once. But she's given us a good and dangerous case here, Care, and we mustn't mess it up."
Carolynne snuggled closer to his side with a small yawn, "suits me."
George and Lucy were on their way, George had been working in the library and hadn't yet arrived so Lucy left to go find him. Holly Munro was back at Portland Row, doing neat things with paper clips. For the moment it was just Lockwood and Carolynne.
