Chapter 17
‘Holy cow, it’s Downton freaking Abbey,’ Esmerée said as soon as Poe turned in to the grounds of Highwood. ‘You live here? What are you, like the king or something?’
Poe smiled. He’d had the same reaction himself the first time he’d seen Highwood. ‘I think Estelle might be a distant relation of the royal family, although she’s surprisingly coy on the matter.’
‘Holy cow,’ Esmerée said again.
Highwood was an impressive building, more so because of its simplicity.
It was square, symmetrical. No fancy wings or turrets or bell towers.
Like a regular home, only twenty times bigger.
Poe parked outside the imposing double front door and turned off the engine.
Estelle was waiting for them. He and Esmerée got out of the car.
He hadn’t asked her to, but Estelle had gone full-on goth. Black jeans, ripped. Black jumper, oversized and also ripped. Skull earrings and harsh make-up. Lipstick so red it looked like arterial blood.
‘Welcome to Highwood, Esmerée,’ she said. ‘Poe tells me you’re between accommodation.’
‘I ain’t gonna bow,’ Esmerée said sulkily.
‘Well, ain’t that a shame, doll,’ Estelle said, matching her American accent. ‘Come on, let’s go inside and get something to drink.’
She led them into the main kitchen. Poe now lived in a house that had two kitchens.
The big one where they ate most of their meals, and a smaller one that had once been used by the staff.
Estelle had the kettle on the Aga. She poured boiling water into a teapot the size of a basketball and added twelve tea bags. She and Poe liked their tea strong.
‘Poe isn’t allowed a sweet tooth any more, so we don’t have any soda or cookies, but we can send out for anything you want tomorrow. Feel free to root around the fridge or the freezer. If you can’t find anything, just ask me or Poe or Brunton.’
‘Who’s Brunton?’
‘Highwood’s butler,’ Poe said, embarrassed.
‘And what do you want in return?’ Esmerée said. ‘Because if you think you’re getting a free chambermaid, you can eat my farts.’
‘Oh, I like her, Poe,’ Estelle said mischievously. ‘And why would I want you to clean for me? That’s what I have Poe for.’
Which elicited a smile. ‘Poe’s OK,’ Esmerée said.
‘Yes, he is. And if you let him, he will help you.’
‘No one can help me,’ she said.
‘Did he tell you about the time I walked through fresh snow into this very house and found someone had murdered my dad?’
‘He didn’t tell me shit.’
‘Mine were the only footprints going in, and he hadn’t been dead long enough for the murder to have been committed before it had snowed.
And to top it all, I had firearm residue on my hands.
The police arrested me and charged me with murder.
They thought they had a cast-iron case. Do you know why I didn’t think no one could help me? ’
Esmerée shook her head.
‘Because I had Poe fighting my corner. And Poe doesn’t stop fighting. Ever. If you let him, he’ll fight your corner too.’
Esmerée was silent for almost a minute. ‘I’ll take a cup of tea,’ she said eventually. ‘Eight sugars, please.’
‘Good call,’ Poe said. ‘Can I have eight—’
‘Not if you want something to happen later,’ Estelle said.
‘You got no chance, lady,’ Esmerée said. ‘Him and Ladder Legs have been whacking off to porn all afternoon.’
After Estelle had stopped laughing, she said, ‘What was Matt doing at Cowie House?’
‘I’ll tell you about it later.’
‘He was beating the shit out of these drunks, last I saw,’ Esmerée said. ‘It was soooo funny.’
‘Where’s Edgar?’ Poe said, before Esmerée could get into the minutiae. His excitable, idiotic spaniel had usually slobbered all over his face and pissed all over his shoes by now.
‘Brunton’s butchering a lamb. Where do you think he is?’
‘Who’s Edgar?’ Esmerée asked.
‘You’ll see,’ Poe replied.
She did. And within five minutes, Edgar had accepted her into his family.
‘What time’s your train, Poe?’ Estelle asked.
‘Me and Tilly are on the nine forty-eight out of Carlisle.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Staying in the office tonight. She’s finishing some freelance work for Alastor Locke.’
Esmerée yawned and stretched.
‘Do you want me to show you your room, Esmerée?’ Estelle said.
‘Sure. I’d better get an early night if we have a train to catch.’
‘You’re not coming,’ Poe said.
‘The hell I’m not!’
‘This isn’t the start of a debate. You’re fifteen and I’ll be visiting some seedy as fu … heck places. There will be things I need your help with, but this isn’t one of them.’
‘Well I ain’t staying in this creepy-ass house on my own.’
‘No, you’re not,’ Estelle said. ‘You’re coming to work with me tomorrow.’
Esmerée folded her arms and pouted. ‘I’m not sitting in a stuffy office while you type letters for your asshole boss.’
Estelle smiled. ‘I work in a mortuary.’
‘What’s a mortuary?’
‘What you Americans call a morgue.’
‘Where they keep dead people and shit?’
‘Exactly where they keep dead people and shit. And tomorrow I’m performing a post-mortem.’
‘What, like cutting up some dead dude?’
‘Yes. The police want me to figure out what killed him.’
‘And I can watch?’
‘You can help if you want.’
‘For real?’
‘Of course.’
Esmerée’s grin was wider than the Wetheral viaduct. ‘I am soooo down for that.’
‘I thought you might be. Now, if you thought Poe was starting early, you’re in for a rude awakening. Literally. I’ll be knocking on your door at five thirty.’
Over Esmerée’s head, Poe mouthed a silent ‘Thank you.’