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He placed a firm hand on her back when she hesitated and propelled her forward with a forceful motion that left her with little choice but to move ahead of him.
With more and more mysteries surrounding them, he was starting to feel he was fighting every shadow and half of London. It was odd because he had always been a quite calm and controlled kind of person. Someone who, when faced with a plethora of problems, identified which was most important and steadily worked through it until it was resolved. Now, his mind was jumping from one thing to another in a random direction that left him unsure of everything. He hated it, especially when his step faltered and he found himself studying the shop front again.
“Come on, let’s get this over with,” he murmured softly.
Marguerite opened the gate into the yard at the back of the shop and stepped through it. Once Joe was beside her, she turned to look at the small cobbled courtyard.
“Papa?” Marguerite whispered. She turned to the green door of her father’s workshop. It was closed, and there was no sign of the small candle her father usually had lit even in the height of day when the sun was shining. Everything was eerily quiet.
“Hello? Mr Donaldson?” she called.
She tried the door knob, but the workshop was locked. Shaking her head, she hurried across the yard and tried the back door to the shop. That was also locked.
“What’s this to?” Joe murmured. He nodded at
a second door beside it.
“That’s to Mr Donaldson’s flat.”
She lifted her hand to knock on it only for Joe to stop her. She jumped at the warmth that suddenly encased her chilled fingers and turned her head in time to watch him press a finger to his lips. To her surprise, he slowly turned opened the door to Mr Donaldson’s flat. Her eyes widened when it opened.
“How did you know it wasn’t locked?” she breathed.
“Lucky guess,” he replied with a grin.
Once inside, Joe studied the depths of the hallway. It was too dark to see much except for the stairs disappearing into the gloom of the upper landing. He had to take the risk that nobody was at the top of the stairs waiting for them.
“Come on,” he whispered. “But stay behind me.”
“I want to go into the shop first, just in case they are both there,” she said nervously.
Joe shook his head. “It’s locked. We will get into the shop later, right before we leave.”
Marguerite shook her head. “The outer door is locked. This is the inner door. It is always kept open.”
Joe turned the knob. His brows lifted when the door swung silently inwards.
“Not very good security,” he grumbled.
“Mr Wreake insisted it was always left unlocked because he kept forgetting his keys. I don’t think my father has bothered to lock it since,” she replied. “I want to check in here first.”
Joe considered that for a moment but reluctantly nodded. At least they would have less to explain to either man if they were found in the shop. If they were found in Donaldson’s flat then that would be a different matter entirely.
Marguerite entered the rear of the shop. Her nose wrinkled at the chill that pervaded even her voluminous cloak when she stepped inside the darkened room. It was too cold, as though it hadn’t felt the warmth of the fire for several days.
The back room contained a small square table that was littered with cups and plates, and was bracketed with two chairs. A small cupboard sat on the opposite side of the room, its drawers spilling over with polishing cloths and various paraphernalia used by the men. It didn’t look like anything had been touched for several days.
Shaking her head, she followed Joe into the main shop. It was small and adorned with nothing more than a small counter. The silence was broken by the rhythmic ticks of the clocks lining the walls. There was no movement of any kind except for the various pendulums which swung to and fro.
“It’s odd for it to be closed, I don’t mind saying,” she whispered, even though there didn’t appear to be anybody around to hear her except Joe.
“What’s your father’s friend’s name?”
“Hugo Donaldson,” Marguerite replied absently as she poked around in the drawers behind the counter. When nothing stood out at her as being amiss, she turned to Joe.
“Upstairs?”
Grimly, Joe nodded.
