Part 2 (2/2)

He flinched, in surprise, then followed her through to the small kitchen. Suddenly he felt cold.

The gla.s.s roof was black from the smoke. The air was full of it, a dense cloud that did little to m.u.f.fle the noise of the people and the engines. Professor Isaac Dobbs pushed open the door of the carriage and stepped down on to the platform, waving for a porter. Dobbs was in his later years, his hair a shock of tousled white that seemed out of place in the grimy station.

'You know,' he said to his companion as a porter hurried up to their first cla.s.s carriage, 'it is difficult to see that science has much further to progress. We can travel even to these remote places at the speed of steam and we have within our grasp the secrets of the universe.'

The younger man smiled in reply. 'Oh I think there is a good deal of room for advancement still, Professor. Whole areas that are as yet unexplored. That is why we are here, after all.'

Dobbs waved the porter in the direction of their baggage and watched as the man easily loaded the suitcases on to a trolley. 'I think we shall find a rational explanation well within the boundaries of our existing understanding, don't you?' he told the younger man. 'There is surely no mysticism or quirk of supernature to be discovered here.' He levelled a stare at his companion. 'Despite your rather fanciful and I might add unproven whims and ideas.'

The younger man did not answer. He followed Dobbs along the platform, the porter pulling his trolley after them. The porter's whistling seemed to cut through the smoke and steam and rise above the noise around them.

There were several taxi*cabs waiting outside the station. The cabbies were wrapped up in dark cloaks against the cold, the reins emerging from layers of dense fabric to connect the drivers to the horses which blew more hot steam into the heavy atmosphere. Dobbs waited for the porter to lead them to the frontmost cab. As the bags were loaded, he gave instructions to the cabbie.

'Middletown, if you please. We are expected at Lord Urton's house within the hour. Do you know it?'

The cabbie nodded, his face emerging into the glow of the gaslight for a moment as it tilted forwards. 'I know it,' he said.

'How long will it take?' the younger man asked as he clambered after Dobbs into the cab. 'Time is of the essence.'

'This time of day, shouldn't be more than an hour. Could be a bit less.'

The young man paused, mid*way between the ground and the compartment. 'Thank you,' he said. 'That's very helpful.'

As they left the cobbled streets of Ambleton and headed through the countryside all light disappeared. There was heavy cloud, and nothing was visible through the windows. Dobbs s.h.i.+fted nervously in his seat, checking his pocket watch every few minutes.

'I hope we shan't be late,' he muttered. 'I do so hate to be late.'

'A few minutes at most,' the younger man said with a smile.

'And if we get lost?'

'The driver knows the way. Probably he travels this route many times a week.'

They travelled on in silence, a frown settling on to Dobbs's face. After a while, Dobbs unb.u.t.toned his coat and let it hang open, revealing his jacket and waistcoat beneath.

'Do you feel it too?' the younger man asked.

'Feel what?' Dobbs snapped. 'Not some more hocus pocus of yours, I trust?'

'A feeling of... oppression.' He sucked in his cheeks thoughtfully. 'As if there's about to be a summer storm.'

'It is the middle of winter, in case you hadn't noticed.'

'Mmm,' agreed the other man. 'Although it is is getting warmer. Don't you think?' getting warmer. Don't you think?'

'No. I don't.'

'Yet you have unfastened your coat, professor.'

Dobbs checked his watch again, as if to imply that it was to facilitate this that he had opened his coat. 'May I remind you, yet again... ' he said with exaggerated patience.

'I think you are about to,' his companion murmured.

'...That the Society for Psychical Research,' Dobbs continued with a glare, 'is an offshoot of the Royal Society. Not some crackpot mystic organisation given to experiencing feelings and doc.u.menting gossip. We are scientists, we apply precise rigorous rules to the study of these so*called psychic phenomena.'

'Even so, there is a difference, wouldn't you agree Professor, between approaching that application from a position of scepticism and approaching it with a mind open to the possibilities that they imply.'

'Hah. We have the tools of explanation already to hand,' Dobbs retorted. He gave a slight gasp as the cab lurched over a b.u.mp in the road. When he had recovered, he went on: 'What is not exposed as trickery or imagination can be deciphered by the application of modern science.'

'I beg to disagree.' The other man seemed to be enjoying the familiar debate whereas Dobbs resented the need for it yet again. 'We have the tools of a.n.a.lysis a.n.a.lysis. Explanation should surely follow. It is not... ' He looked round as if for inspiration. 'Not a taxi*cab to be jumped on before we know where our destination might be, where our journey may lead.'

Dobbs leaned forward, his face set in an expression that was dangerously close to a grimace. 'Primitive man must have marvelled at the supernatural magic of a lightning storm. Even our grandparents had no explanation for the phenomenon. Yet we know it to be an electrical discharge caused by a change in atmospherics. This warmth, this oppression you claim to feel is almost certainly a phenomenon of the same ilk.' Satisfied, he leaned back in his seat and turned his attention to the blackness outside.

'Once again, I fear we must agree to differ,' the younger man sighed. 'But one day, one day we shall come across something which your science cannot readily explain.'

'That may be, young man,' Dobbs said, his mouth curling into a faint smile. 'But whatever Lord Urton may suspect, I doubt very much that we shall come across it in this benighted neighbourhood.'

They drew up at last, several checks of Dobbs's pocket watch later, outside a large house. Lights were burning in several of the ground floor windows, but the upper floors appeared to be in darkness. The structure was cold and stark, a solid blotch against the darkened sky.

There were lights outside the porch, and in their yellowed suffusion Dobbs and his companion dismounted from the cab. The young man made his way to the front of the cab, and took the bags and cases as the cabbie handed them down.

'Your horse,' the young man said.

'What about her?'

'She's been ill.'

The cabbie paused, suitcase hovering above the young man's head. After a moment the suitcase continued its journey to his outstretched hands. 'Yes, she has' There was a note of caution in the cabbie's tone.

'But she's fine now,' the man a.s.sured the cabbie. He reached for the last case. 'Born under Aries unless I'm much mistaken. Given to moments of headstrong behaviour. Got a weak stomach.'

'I'll say.' The cabbie climbed back down to his seat. 'Found a pound of cheese in the gutter. Must have lain there a week or more. Made her sick for days.'

'How much do we owe you?' Dobbs asked, cutting across the conversation. He did not wait to hear the answer, but motioned for the other man to pay. Dobbs made his way to the porch and rang the bell. His coat flapped loose in the night air. There was indeed an uncommon warmth and humidity to the evening.

The taxi*cab departed in a clatter of hoof beats an the driveway. They waited outside the front door in silence. Eventually, deep within the house, they could hear footsteps approaching. The bolt was drawn back and when the door opened it revealed a middle*aged woman dressed in a neutral charcoal dress that complemented her undistinguished grey hair. Her face was long and her hooked nose threatened to reach down to her upper lip as it curled upwards to meet it. She surveyed the visitors through narrowed eyes.

'Professor Dobbs,' Dobbs informed her, 'and Mr Gaddis. To see Lord Urton.'

The woman did not move or speak.

'We are expected,' Gaddis told her.

<script>