Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (56 page)

He had never expected to hear such emotion from the Angel, or Gwyn, as Jeanie called him. The intensity of the lovers spat drew him and he listened in rapt attention until he heard one door close and then the front door slam with the tumble of the lock turning. Whatever Jeanie had done, she had won the fight with the Angel and walked out, presumably unscathed. The seed of respect he found he carried for the mortal girl took root. Not many mortals who argued with a vampire lived to see the next moment.

Shifting onto his side, Fernando smiled. He had learned more about the Angel than any other Chosen. Much of it still remained occluded in mystery. Why a Chosen would need to be taken care of during a Channel crossing made no sense to the Noble. It was the revelation of the name that could be used as currency with others of their kind.

What Fernando would keep to himself, for now, was the disclosure of the Angel’s lack of trust towards, it seemed, everyone. The reasons, held in trust by Jeanie and the Angel’s sire, were yet to be discovered. This was a mystery he would deliciously glean and then he would have more pull amongst the Chosen. Even if he could not discover who was poisoning them, the knowledge of the Angel’s secrets would hopefully be enough to get Katherine to release his properties and holdings.

Yes, this would do just nicely,
he thought, closing his eyes in the anticipation of some truly wonderful dreams.

T
he sun descended in a shocking blue sky, basking the city in
unusual warmth for the end of October. Bird calls from lonely standing trees and high reaching eaves mingled with the bustle of the busy city. Men and women alike hawked their wares, pulling or pushing small carts along the cobbled road only to be forced out of the way by grand coaches hurrying to unknown destinations on large rimmed wheels. Patrons moved from storefront to storefront carrying parcels of newly imported delectables. Others hurried by foot to appointments. It was so much like London that Jeanie could not wipe the grin from her face, but the reason was the self-satisfaction that she had discovered the whereabouts of the office of V. Corneilli & Sons.

Despite the concerns the Angel and Fernando had about how long it would take, Jeanie had been pleasantly surprised to find the office was fairly easy. After leaving their hotel room she had found the concierge more than helpful. A few slowly spoken questions ended in her showing the grey haired gentleman the battered shipping note. Rising from his seat, he guided her to the restaurant and invited her to have breakfast while he personally looked into finding the address for
la mademoiselle
.

Feeling quite conspicuous eating alone at a table in the centre of the restaurant, Jeanie graciously accepted the meal that most individuals seemed to be oohing and ahhing over. Soon her moans joined in the chorus as she bit into the sausage. When the waiter brought her tea at the end of the meal she knew she had to find out what it was that she was eating. With gestures and stilted English he walked away nodding, leaving Jeanie with the distinct impression that he was placating her inability to speak the language.

It did not take long for Monsieur Legard to reappear, her shipping slip in hand. With a smile and a nod, he placed it on the table and she could see, written in a small precise hand, an address.

Beaming at the elderly concierge, Jeanie had tried her best to express her gratitude and was relieved when he returned her smile. Then he explained that the sausage she had thoroughly enjoyed was imported from Germany and their restaurant was the only one in Calais that had them. He was thrilled she had delighted in the breakfast.

Ear tips burning red, Jeanie had sipped the last of her tea as the waiter brought the bill. Not wishing to sign it to the room, she pulled out of her coat pocket the money that should have gone to Captain Richardson. Her eyes went wide at the amount and then looked at the bill. Biting her lip she realized she had to change the pound notes into francs and reluctantly signed the bill to the room with what she believed to be a sufficient tip. She hoped that Fernando would not begrudge her having a meal. If he did, then she knew the Angel would pay for her, again. It was a thought she did not relish despite her knowledge that he would not mind.

Leaving the hotel to the bright crisp early morning, Jeanie had delighted in having the doorman hail a cab for her. She was starting to feel high born with all the attention and assistance from the hotel staff. So used to being the menial help, having the tables turned so dramatically and unexpectedly made her head spin as the coach shuddered and bumped along the road.

The sound of the horse’s hooves clicking against stone mingled with the city’s awakening as its natives arose to greet the day. The rights of passage of their regular morning rituals brought them to the trials and tribulations of another day. Soon grandiose shop fronts and tenements gave way to the smell of salt and the decay of the sea front.

Gazing out the window, low squat buildings lined up beside one another. Simple painted signs marked some of them as offices and warehouses. Others sat darkly with windows painted black or boarded up. Coaches moved past, while men on bicycles rattled into the business area on their way to work. The crescendo of industry filled the air and it took a moment for Jeanie to realize that she was no longer moving.

Hand reaching to open the door, Jeanie sat back, shocked, when it opened of its own accord and a wooden step was placed down outside the lip of the door. Peering around, she saw the footman standing still and tall, his white gloved hand holding the door open. Gathering the skirt of her dress, she stepped down with the assistance of his steady hand. Heady with the royal treatment, Jeanie wondered if this was what Cinderella felt like and when would her coach turn back into a gourd and the horses into mice.

In English and with much gesticulation, Jeanie managed to convey to the driver that she wanted him to wait for her. Paper in hand, she timorously walked to the warehouse front, its sign proudly proclaiming in white-rimmed red lettering on a black background;

V. Corneilli & Sons

Shipping & Receiving

She was in the right place. This was the source of the spice that was killing the vampires in London. This is where they had to go to find the information to get the Good Father back.

Standing before the office, she stared up at the striking sign. Fernando had told her to find the place and come right back. She had found it, but she wanted to do more despite the Angel’s fears. Uncertainty filled her as she realised she did not know what to expect on the other side of the door, let alone what she would do if things turned for the worse. Placing her hand on the weathered brass doorknob, she gave it a turn. A gasp of surprise escaped her slightly parted lips as the black painted wooden door easily swung outwards sending chimes ringing. Stepping into the dimly lit front room, the door closed behind her with a soft click.

The small front office was unoccupied, in the centre stood a large oak desk with piles of papers stacked neatly along one side while the rest was strewn with writing utensils and scattered note paper. Gloaming gaslight lit up the space with a slight orange glow exuded from sconces irregularly situated along sidewalls made up of large chalkboards. Schedules, shipments and the names of the conveyances from port to port and country to country stood out whitely against the black contrast. Along the back wall filing cabinets stood row upon row only to be broken up by the single door leading to the warehouse.

Suddenly the back door opened, admitting a middle-aged man in professional business attire of dark charcoal grey. His bald pate gleamed above the close cropped salt and pepper hair around his ears.

“
Est-ce que je peux vouz aider
?” he asked, staring at her from across the room.

Jeanie frowned, unable to understand the words but got the gist of the meaning. She had come this far and had no plan. Damning herself for a fool she was about to turn and leave when a glimmer of an idea popped to mind. Pointing to herself, she said as clearly as her accent would allow, “English?”

Realization widened the man’s steel grey eyes as he stepped towards the desk and sat down. The chair squeaked against the wooden floor. “
Oui, mademoiselle
, I speak English.”

Left standing in the middle of the room, Jeanie felt at a disadvantage and hoped that her quickly spun excuse for being here would be convincing.

“Oh thank heavens,” she feigned, speaking slowly enough that hopefully he would understand. “My name is Jean Anne Stuart from the Aberdeen Stuarts. I have travelled from Scotland on behalf of my brother’s hotel, to make contact in the hopes to set up importation of certain spices that seem to be receiving rave reviews in England.”

She watched the man’s grey brows draw together as he glowered. “What spices would that be?”

Uncomfortable by his piercing stare, Jeanie tried not to fidget as she pulled out the shipping order. “My brother was recently down in London visiting his holdings when he came across an establishment for dinner. After thoroughly enjoying himself on the best meal he’d ever had, the proprietor gave him this.”

She passed the shipping note to the gentleman.

Taking the wrinkled paper in his well-manicured hand, he flattened it out on the desk before reading it.

Jeanie nervously watched as the man’s jaw tightened and then relaxed as he let out his breath in a hiss.

“My brother and I are hoping to bring this spice to Aberdeen. He is so hoping to have his restaurant be the first to use these spices. We are hoping that your shipping firm would be able to direct us to the individual or the company to make such arrangements.”

The chair made a grinding sound as the man pushed it back to stand, paper still in hand. “I’m sorry
mademoiselle
, you would have to speak to Mr. Corneilli for that information, and he is currently out of the country.”

Shoulders slumped in disappointment she frowned.
“When do you expect him back?”

Turning towards the back door, he stated, “When Mr. Corneilli is finished with his business abroad.” With that he disappeared into the back.

Left standing, abandoned, Jeanie stood with her mouth open at the sudden departure and the rudeness of the gentleman – if he could be called that. Releasing a huff of exasperation, she turned and exited the shipping office, pleased to quit the dark dreary place. It was when she was climbing back into the carriage that she realised that he still had the shipping slip.

Turning unsteadily on the step to gaze back at the office, she thought to go back in to demand the paper. She dismissed it when she realized that she no longer needed it. She could bring the Angel and Fernando here, and would not it be a sight to see Mr. Pomp meet two vampires who will not take no for an answer.

The coach jerked into motion once she was settled and the door closed, carrying her away from the decaying fish smell and the monotony of the warehouses. Leaning back against the embroidered cushion, Jeanie smiled at her accomplishment and it was not even noon yet.

The coach dropped her off at the hotel where Monsieur Legard was more than happy to exchange some of her sterling notes to francs. Still excited from her encounter at the shipping house, Jeanie hoped that the Angel would not begrudge her for doing a little shopping before going back to their room.

The sun was dipping down towards the west when Jeanie returned to the hotel, shopping bag in hand. Her exuberance in the beginning had faded over time with the encroaching fatigue from the lack of proper sleep. She had intended to return earlier to the hotel room and the Angel when guilt at what she had done to him worried itself into her consciousness.

It was the look on his face as he sat huddled, sunlight blazing all around the curtained bed that forced a knot into her belly. She had never seen him like that. The only time he came close was when she had opened the curtains in Fernando’s home, but she had not known what sunlight could do to him. Now she did and Jeanie could not believe what she had done and cursed herself, feeling deplorable.

She had demanded trust from him. Yelling at him that he did not trust her and then had the audacity to turn it around, throwing it back in his face after all that he had disclosed to her. All she wanted was to go out and help and she flooded sunlight into the room instead of talking with him. She had not trusted him enough to let her go and she hated herself for that.