Le Gentilhomme Aimant Sans Pitié - Lockwood x Lucy

What the Hell is that Chain for?!

"Le Gentilhomme Aimant Sans Pitié"

Lockwood x Lucy

Lockwood and Co. Series

Summary: What happened with La Belle Dame Sans Merci, but reverse.

————Lockwood————

Our clients certainly made an image of themselves. There were two of them; an older man and a girl possibly our age. The man was short and roundish, he wore a yellow jacket with leather patches on the elbows, a grey waistcoat which was pushed outwards by his belly over a white v-neck shirt that allowed some of his chest hair to show and some deep red pants that basically screamed for attention. Quite a looker really.

The girl beside him was skinny and scrawny like a malnourished kitty. She had a pair of faded jeans and a long pink shirt that fitted her much too big and only managed accentuate how thin she was. Her mouth was a delicate, sad line, her eyes sunken and seemingly far into the unknown and her face framed with a long mane of hair that somehow shadowed her eyes.

"This is Mr Lewis Tufnell" Holly said as they walked in "Mr Tufnell and..."

"And Charity Budd" Mr Tufnell walked forward and shook out hands. The lass moved behind in a trance-like state, her hands heavily perched together in front of her. In fact, too heavily-

I looked at Lucy to make sure she noticed them too, and of course she did. George walked in with the tea ready and stopped, open-mouthed when he saw it too, and Holly was feverishly gesticulating at us.

The girl was being held by a chain. It didn't matter how polished and shiny it looked, it was a chain.

Mr Tufnell did not wait for an invitation and sat down on the sofa, pulling the girl down after himself. She seemed to sink into the couch, her shoulders slouching and the chains clicking softly as she settled herself.

I cleared my throat.

"Er, good morning" I began a little uncertain "I'm Anthony Lockwood. Now, Mr Tufnell-"

"Call me Lew!" He exclaimed flamboyantly "Plain Lew Tufnell! That's how I like it. No airs and graces about me, I hope. Proprietor of Tufnell's Theatre, not to mention Tufnell's Marvels and Tufnell's Traveling Fairground of Astonishment and Delight. More to the point, I'm also a man at his wits' end, for my establishment is cursed by an evil spirit that threatens me with ruin" He made a small pause to sigh and notice Holly's seed cake on the table "Ooh. Is that little morsel for me? Smashing!"

"Well, we were kind of hoping to share it out between us" George said, but I raised my hand.

"Before we deal with cake or curse, there's one thing we need to discuss..." I hoped Mr Tufnell would take a hint, but he was obliviously clueless "Well, we can't help noticing the chain..." The man seemed startled for a second there, but then smiled.

"Oh, that's just for dear Charity's safety. Don't worry about it" I frowned.

"I don't. But-"

"She won't hurt you or your associates, no, not poor Charity here" He patted her long hair "She's just not so particular about herself, if you take my meaning. See that cake knife there? If I weren't vigilant, she'd be on it in a trice. Bury it in her own heart, she would, and spoil your lovely carpet"

I looked between the carpet and the knife, noticing how the others did too, then looked at the girl, pale and distant.

"She'd stab herself?" Lucy asked carefully.

"Assuredly"

"Surely, Mr Tufnell" Holly, who was perched in George's chair, chimed it "If she's, well, ill, she should be in a hospital. She needs doctors-"

"No doctor can help her now, miss" Lew Tufnell shook his head sadly "They'd drug her and truss her around while her life drains out of her regardless of what they try. In a day or two she'd just be another corpse who's spirit's gone. Waste of time, doctors. No, miss, we need you. That's why we are here"

"I don't understand" I said after a little silence in which I looked around at the others "I'm sorry, but I'm not sure what we can do to help her. Now, if there's a spirit in your establishment-"

"It was the ghost that did this to poor Charity" Mr Tufnell said. We gazed at the lass again; at her stillness, her passivity, her unseeing eyes.

"Ghost-touched, you mean?" George asked.

"No, not touched physically" Mr Tufnell answered, "thought, it was a close call, her heart is snared; his sucking her spirit out of her, making her weak. I don't think she'll live farther than two more nights, maybe less, then he'll come to finish what he started" He looked at the girl sadly "If you destroy him, maybe it'll break the link. Maybe she'll come back. I dunno"

I crossed my legs in a businesslike manner. I still disliked the chain, but if it was the only thing preventing her from ending her life in a hurry, then something better be done, and quickly "You'd better tell us about this ghost, then" Lucy got to her feet.

"I think first we should all have some tea"

"And I think" George moved too "I should bury this cake knife where it belongs"

"That'll be splendid" Mr Tufnell exclaimed "I love cake" Lucy started fumbling with the teapot and the cups in the tray.

"Some tea for miss Charity too?" Lucy offered her a cup, but the lass remained impassive.

"Oh no" Mr Tufnell took the cup from Lucy's hands "She's not eating anymore, not since it happened anyway" As she took care of the rest of the cups, I noticed how Lucy's nice skirt went up a few centimeters (particularly on her behind) as she lowered herself a little. I kept my eyes away from the compelling image, as I had taught myself to do for the last years, but unmistakeable noticed how Mr Tufnell did not.

"Well" He remarked a little to himself, but loud enough for all of us to listen "You're a bright little shower, and no mistake. Scrubbed and shiny and pleasing to the eye. I could find jobs for you on one or two of my shows, if this agency lark doesn't work out" He flashed her a washy smile, which I noticed only made her frown a little scaredy "Couple of little dresses, a few sequins, twinkly tassels in appropriate places...you'd fit right in"

"That's nice to know" I said through gritted teeth, my insides furiously boiling with something I couldn't quite name "George here will bare it in mind. Now, how can we help you in our present capacity as professional psychical investigation agents?"

"Tell us about this evil spirit" Holly spoke crisply. She also hadn't liked his comment; none of us had. She turned a page to her notepad and held her biro ready "What is it, how it appears, and how its affecting this poor girl"

"Its not just Charity who's been affected, I'm afraid; there's been a death too. The theatre and fairground are no longer a safe place for young lassies, no thanks to him" He took a great bite of the cake "I'll be brief. I'm a busy man; I can't sit around all day munching cake, even if you can. Well, the background's quickly told. You'll have heard of Tufnell's Traveling Fairground, no doubt. Been in the family a hundred years. My old dad now, Frank Tufnell, he used to take it up and down the country, but what with the Problem, travel's no longer safe. So, the last twenty years we've taken roots in Stratford, east London. There's an old theatre in the site- Palace Theatre, its called; been there a couple of hundred yeas itself, they say- and we use it for magic shows and circus entertainments, as well as housing Tufnell's Marvels. The fair's set up permanently around it. A tenner gets you entry for the whole shebang, and for that, my friends, you have a feast of wonderment that never ceases or runs dry. Plus a free hot dog for kids on Sundays. Now that's what I call value"

Listening to the man's blubbering was like listening to the radio's continuous advertisements about this and that and the other. Boring. I listened to him nonetheless, looking out the window for something more interesting to look at "Indeed. You mentioned something about a ghost"

"I did. It walks the theatre's corridors at night in the guise of a cloaked man, athletic and suave, or so I'm told, yet with an evil heart" He shuddered greatly "His already taken one of my lasses, and Charity here won't linger long. Any young lady he meets never lives to tell his tale. They call him..." He looked at the girl beside him and leaned forward, his voice descending into a whisper "They call him...Le Gentilhomme Aimant Sans Pitié"