Page 55 of The Fulbourn: Pitch & Sickle

The woman strode up to the third door on the right and knocked before leaning through to speak to the occupant. She was there for some time.

Silas glanced at Pitch. He was chewing on his bottom lip, watching her. His lack of sleep was showing, with dark rings beneath eyes still tinted honey brown. Silas missed his emerald gaze desperately. Had missed it last night even as the prince rode him so beautifully, so deeply. Silas pinched the back of his hand, settling his thoughts. Hardly the time.

The woman stepped back into the corridor and waved them forward. ‘This way please, gentlemen. Dr Severs is on his rounds, but his assistant, Mr Weatherby, can see you now.’

Silas saw the shadow cross Pitch’s face, and spoke up quickly. ‘Wonderful, we appreciate that very much.’

She stood aside, waiting until they had entered the room before closing the door with a quiet click behind them.

Silas’s eye was drawn to the office’s floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covering all walls save for the one where wide windows opened out onto the driveway they had just traversed. There was a sprawling desk set in front of the view, covered in loose papers and opened books, with a smaller writing desk off to one side. Dr Severs’s assistant was at his employer’s desk, just setting the telephone’s receiver into its cradle. His melody struck out at Silas.

Kitsune. Yako.

He struggled to compose himself, darting a quick glance at Pitch, whose smooth expression belied nothing.

Mr Weatherby was of the same natural kind as Mr Ahari.

‘Gentlemen, please take a seat.’ The kitsune had a surprisingly high voice and unexpectedly long nails. A striking chap for his aquiline nose, bowl-cut black hair, and sharply cut suit of chestnut brown. ‘Miss Grindel says you are asking after Edward Charters?’

For no reason in particular, it bothered Silas to hear the lieutenant’s name on this man’s lips.

‘That’s right,’ Pitch said, showing no sign that there was anything untoward about finding a kitsune here in employ at the asylum. For all Silas knew, it was quite common to find naturals pursuing a career. ‘We’d like to see how the poor chap is settling in. If only for a minute or two.’

Pitch seated himself in one of the leather armchairs set in front of Dr Severs’s desk, making it clear he was prepared to wait. Silas followed suit and eased himself into the spare chair, which creaked with his weight.

‘Absolutely, of course. Perhaps it will do him good to see some familiar faces. He’s rather morose.’ There was something unsettling about the way Mr Weatherby’s eyes darted between them. Every movement he made was rapid, like the way of a lizard. ‘I’ve put a call in to the nurse’s quarters to see where Dr Severs is on his rounds. He’s finishing up in the women’s wing and will come by to collect you on his way through.’ He made his way over to a rounded table that held a floral teapot and assortment of cups. ‘The water is still hot. Tea, gentlemen?’ He was pouring before they could reply. ‘Sugar anyone? Slice of lemon, dash of milk?’

‘A dash of milk for me, thank you.’ Silas was not in the least bit thirsty, but he accepted the cup and took a few sips. The brew was hot, with a hint of cardamom. He stared out the window as Mr Weatherby poured a cup for Pitch, adding the five heaped teaspoons of sugar that had been requested. A few nurses and patients strolled the gardens, taking the air in the weak sunshine on offer. Silas studied each of them, looking for sign of Edward, of course, but for Charlie also. Wondering if the lad might have secreted himself into the asylum somehow.

If he was here at all.

Silas took a big gulp, letting the scalding heat melt his sudden panic. He’d been holding on to the hope that Charlie was here, somewhere, and now he was about to find out if he’d been a fool.

‘And how do you know Mr Charters?’ Mr Weatherby was asking.

‘Just family friends,’ Pitch replied.

‘I thought the family had decided to keep his admission very confidential. You must be close to Mrs Charters.’

A prickle of unease lifted the hairs on Silas’s neck. He decided it best to say nothing and let Pitch handle the conversation.

‘To be honest, I rather think that too much whisky and gin was to blame for the mention of it. I had a conversation very late in the evening with Mr Fothergill at a party and rather hammered him until he told me where Edward had gone. He’s not to be blamed. I can be quite insistent when I wish.’ He was not batting any lashes here. Throwing his enchantments at another natural was hardly wise, considering they still had the elixir’s disguise. ‘And Edward and I have been firm friends for a long while. We’ve been through much together. I’d like him to know he has my support. I’m also prepared to contribute funds to his care, if need be.’

Mr Weatherby seemed happy with that. ‘Truly? How very kind, but I do believe Mr Fothergill has it all in hand.’

‘I’m sure he does.’ Pitch sent a pointed glance towards the mantel clock. ‘Do you think it will be long?’

‘No, no.’

But it wasn’t a short time either. They sat in quiet, awkward silence for another ten minutes, with Mr Weatherby’s beady eyes flicking up from his cup to watch them both, and Pitch’s tapping foot becoming more than a little irritating. Silas finished his second cup of tea, the daemon refusing another. By the time the telephone rang, he was close to dozing off and nearly leapt out of his seat at the calamitous disturbance.

Mr Weatherby answered. ‘Yes, Doctor. I see, yes. Yes. No, no, they are quite content.’ Pitch scowled at that. ‘I’ll bring them along now, of course. Yes, we’re just finishing off a cup of tea.’ His glance slid to where Pitch was stealing another spoonful of sugar, adding it to the dregs of his tea. Silas should be used to the way that Pitch was stared at by those around him. He was beguiling, no matter the wig on his head or the coat on his back, but seeing the way Mr Weatherby regarded him had Silas rising to his feet and moving to the window so as to promote distraction. ‘Very good, sir. We will hurry along.’

The kitsune hung up the telephone, and the sojourn in the office was over.

‘This way, if you please. And I must warn you, some of what you will see is disturbing. Some of our residents are very unwell.’

They followed after him. Silas stood back to allow Pitch ahead of him. He touched at the daemon’s back in that place he favoured.