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The case of the haunted piano began much like any other. Lockwood and Lucy took the tube to Kilburn, then walked five blocks in the rain. Lucy laughed at Lockwood as he stepped around puddles to avoid the bottoms of his slacks getting soaked. She, meanwhile, splashed straight through every single puddle in her boots.
They rang the bell of the address Holly had given them and an elderly lady let them into the house. Lockwood surveyed the sitting room she led them to. The furniture was old and the decorations were antiques, but the place seemed well cared for. No dust or suspicious cobwebs.
The woman served them tea and biscuits, then explained that she’d hired them because her niece had seen an article about them and it had mentioned what a good Listener Lucy was. At this, Lockwood couldn’t help but gush just a little about Lucy’s abilities. He threw a brilliant smile in her direction and caught her blushing into her teacup.
“And why exactly did you feel this case required a good Listener Mrs… Madam,” Lucy asked, preventing him from launching into a story about the Screaming Spirit they’d vanquished the week before.
“It’s my piano,” the woman said, gesturing to the corner where a very old, upright piano stood. “It’s been in the family for ages. I inherited it from my mother. Haven’t played in years, arthritis you know. I used it to teach my children when they were small. I tried to offer it to my daughter or my son, but they say they don’t have the space. Not surprising, real estate being what it is these days, you know.”
He caught a sideways glance from Lucy that he interpreted to mean, “and how long do we have to listen to this woman’s family history?”
“So then I was thinking I might give it to my niece, though I don’t think she knows how to play. Still, it might be nice—”
“What about the piano caused you to engage our services?” Lockwood asked.
“It’s haunted.”
Lucy coughed, turning her head to the side so the lady wouldn’t see her rolling her eyes at Lockwood. He smirked back at her, but said politely, “What makes you say that?”
“Well, it plays when no one is touching it. No one is even in the room, and it will just start playing.”
That had Lockwood’s eyebrows rising clear up to his hairline. “Is it actually playing? I mean, can you actually see the keys moving?”
“Oh, I’m not sure. But I’ve heard it several times in the middle of the night. It woke my grandson up the last time he stayed with me.”
Lockwood considered this. If the piano keys were actually moving, that meant either a poltergeist, or a very powerful Spectre. If it was merely the echo of music, then it must be very powerful to be heard by someone as old as their client. Either way, they were in for an interesting night.
The old lady took a cab to her son’s house for the night and Lockwood and Lucy assessed the situation.
“So, it’s definitely the piano, do you think?” Lucy asked.
“Seems probable.” Lockwood nodded.
“So we’ll set up our chain circle in here then?”
“Yep.”
“Want me to do that while you make us more tea?”
“Who’s in charge here, you or me?”
“Well, me, clearly.” Lucy grinned up at him, her eyes twinkling in the light of the setting sun, then went to work on the chains.
They drank their tea on the sofa as the sun sank below the horizon. Once it was dark, they did a quick tour of the house, checking for Death-glows and cold spots, finding little. The house had the usual lavender candles and silver charms, which seemed to have done enough to keep the haunting out of the bedrooms, at least.
They returned to the sitting room and gave the piano a more thorough going over. Lockwood sat on the battered old bench, and ran his fingers over the keys. It was badly out of tune. Not surprising, if it hadn’t been touched for so long. He’d been meaning to have the tuner out for his mother’s old piano in the library at some point, but there always seemed to be other expenses that were more pressing. He would never have guessed that keeping up a house like 35 Portland Row would be so costly.
Lucy was standing to his right, trying to see behind the piano with a penlight, her hair falling over her face like a curtain. Lockwood had the urge to brush it off her face, but resisted.
“Anything?” he asked.
“No, but…” she cocked her head. “Actually, I think I hear…”
She closed her eyes, Listening. Lockwood rose carefully, silently stepping nearer, watching her face intently.
Plunk!
Lockwood just about jumped out of his skin. On instinct he reached for Lucy, her hand still lying atop the piano. His hand found hers in the dim light, fingers slotting through hers like puzzle pieces clicking together.
“I’m listening,” she breathed, and Lockwood wasn’t sure if she was speaking to him or the Visitor, but it was enough that he paused, rather than yanking her back immediately. Instead he hovered a moment longer, his other hand squeezing anxiously around the handle of his rapier.
And then the music began. It was tentative at first, soft and distant, as though echoing from the walls. But the melody swelled and suddenly it was like the song was in the room. He glanced down at the piano, half expecting to see the keys moving, but they were still. He wondered if he touched the piano, would he feel the vibrations? He so rarely Heard anything on cases, that for a moment he was lost in the sheer marvel of it. The music was beautiful, a ghostly sonata, and for some reason it was vaguely familiar. He wondered if it was a piece he’d heard his mother play a lifetime ago.
That thought brought him to his senses. What the hell was he doing, standing here listening when he ought to be fully on his guard. No wonder Lucy was so often swept away.
“Luce,” he hissed, tugging gently on their still entwined hands.
Her eyes popped open and she looked over at him hazily.
“Lockwood?” Lucy said, a dreamy quality to her voice that worried him. He took a step back, then another, leading her slowly away from the piano, not wanting to disturb the Visitor who for the moment at least, seemed peaceful.
“Come on,” he whispered. “We’re certain the piano is the Source now, yeah? We can wrap it in chains and call DEPRAC to get it tomorrow.”
“No,” Lucy said, seeming to come back to herself and glancing over her shoulder in a way that put Lockwood on edge.
“Why not?” he asked, feeling a tension creep into his shoulders.
Lucy turned back and saw him, rapier half raised in anticipation of an attack. She tsked, and put her hand out, forcing his arm down. She pushed him backways gently, and he went, refusing to take his eyes off the source of the hauntingly beautiful music.
He half stumbled over the edge of their chain circle, but Lucy caught him.
“There,” Lucy said, releasing him. “Now we’re safe. No need to disturb her.”
“What do you mean?” Lockwood asked suspiciously, looking down at her.
“Oh Lockwood. I know you won’t believe me, but she’s not dangerous.”
Well, she was right about one thing, at any rate.
“She just wants to play,” Lucy continued, before he could object. “Her name was Clara. She was sick—tuberculosis I think. She grew weaker and weaker, until she could barely play children’s tunes. Music was the only thing she loved, and even that was taken from her by the end.”
Lucy’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears, shining in the darkness.
“We can take care of everything tomorrow. But tonight… Can we just let her play? One last time?”
Lockwood sighed. He wanted to argue. He wanted to wrap the piano in chains and take Lucy home, where she was safe. But he knew, even as he opened his mouth to argue, that she had already won.
“Alright, Luce,” he said with a sigh.
She smiled up at him gratefully, and it was almost all worth it, just for that. She turned so that they stood shoulder to shoulder, listening to the music, an audience of two.
The song changed to something happier, more lilting, He felt Lucy sway slightly, and realised she was moving to the music. He glanced down at the top of her head and couldn't help a small smile from catching the corner of his mouth. Who else in the world would stand in the dark, in a haunted house, dancing to ghostly music.
“Luce,” he said on impulse, “do you want to…?”
“Hmm?”
Before his saner mind could intervene, he set his rapier down on the kit bags and turned, offering Lucy his hand.
“What?” she asked, half suspicious, half laughing.
“Would you care to dance?”
“Oh!”
Now she looked slightly flustered, and he wondered if the lights were brighter, would he see her blushing? He waited, and after a moment, she placed her hand in his, letting him pull her closer. He put his other hand on her waist and she gripped his bicep as they swayed slowly, together.
“I, um, don’t really know how to dance,” Lucy said softly. “Is this right?”
Lockwood chuckled softly. “I have no idea, Luce. It’s my first time.”
It was nice, Lockwood decided, but a little boring. He’d never danced with a girl before, but he’d seen it in old movies. They always did fancy moves, with lots of turns and kicks and lifting the girl up by her waist. He suspected if he tried any of that, they’d fall right over. That, or Lucy would deck him.
But he pulled her a little closer, so that he could feel the warmth of her body against his chest, his hand wrapping around to the small of her back. He could smell her shampoo, and was sorely tempted to place a kiss on her hair, but worried that might be weird?
Instead he bumped his nose against her forehead and she looked up at him, her eyes shining in the dark. He leaned down, his cheek brushing against hers, her breath hot on his chin.
“Is this alright?” he asked and felt her nod.
For a long minute, he wondered if he ought to kiss her. If he just leaned a little closer, their lips would meet and then… what? He wasn’t too clear on that part either. Again, all he had to go on was memories of black and white films, where the kissing always seemed more like wrestling with lips, and there was usually a dramatic crescendo of music.
As though their Visitor were listening to his thoughts, the music swelled, not anything so dramatic as he’d seen in the films, but he had the strangest sense Clara was encouraging them. Lucy tilted her head and that was all it took for Lockwood to fall inexorably into her gravity, leaning that one centimetre closer so that their lips brushed.
It was almost nothing, really. A soft, gentle bump of his mouth against hers. But somehow, it was everything. He waited a moment, to see whether Lucy really would deck him now, but she didn’t. He thought her eyes were closed, her face still tilted towards his. So he kissed her again. It seemed that this was something that would take a little practice, and he was more than willing to put in the effort, if she’d let him.
The music slowed and stopped. Eventually, Lockwood pulled back, taking a deep breath and glancing over at the piano. All was still.
“Is she gone?” he asked.
“I think… Yes, I think so. I think maybe she just wanted to play for someone who would appreciate it. Who would understand what it meant to her.”
“I guess we can go home, then. Call DEPRAC tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Lucy said, looking up at him in a way that made his heart lose its rhythm for a beat.
He took her hand once more, squeezing it softly.
“Well then, Luce. Let’s go home.”