Mr Hazard followed Cecilia, a half-smile on his face. His frown was fleeting. “Good afternoon.”
Bram cleared his throat and stuck out his hand. “Good afternoon. Bram Goodfellow. I’m a friend of Armando’s… and young Cecilia’s, of course,” he added, winking at her.
Armando’s uncle shook his hand. “Uriel Hazard. What brings you to the zoo?”
“A desire to see exotic feathers attached to real birds,” said Bram.
Mr Hazard grinned. “Ah, yes. The ladies of Mayfair and their propensity for wearing animal parts.” He lowered his voice. “I confess, I do on occasion wear a peacock feather in my top hat.”
Bram smiled, not just at the tale, but at the man’s acceptance of the picture Bram was presenting. He had no doubt whatsoever that Uriel had recognised him. After all, they had danced together many times.
“I’m sure it turns many heads.” Bram looked down at the excitable girl. “Are you enjoying the zoo today?”
“I love the zoo. Did you know that Jingo’s keeper is not even as tall as his trunk?”
“I did not.”
“Come with us. It’s alright if Bram comes with us, isn’t it, Uncle?”
“Of course,” Uriel agreed, raising a questioning eyebrow. “If Bram is agreeable?”
“I’d be delighted.”
“Delighted indeed.” Uriel huffed. “Why anyone would come here voluntarily eludes me.”
“Jingo did a…” Cecilia beckoned Bram closer and cupped her hand around his ear. “It was a great big steaming pile of—”
“What Cecilia is trying to say is that the elephant ruined my shoes,” said Uriel.
Bram laughed. “Oh dear.”
“Mr Goodfellow, they were crafted from the finest Italian leather.”
“How did she talk you into returning to such a dangerous place?”
“It’s those big, brown eyes,” said Uriel, hand on heart. “They are my weakness.”
Cecilia giggled. “Last week, you said blue eyes were your weakness.”
“That, my dear, is also true. And the green ones. Eyes. Eyes are my weakness. One eye, two, three, eight, it matters not.”
Cecilia giggled and said, “Spiders have eight eyes.”
Uriel shuddered. “If something is going to have eight eyes, it should do us the courtesy of having four heads.”
“I thought you didn’t mind how many eyes someone had,” said Bram playfully.
“Oh, I see how it is. Siding with this… Cecilia, do not pick that up.”
The child’s hand hovered above the gruesome lump of whatever it was. “It’s just an owl pellet. The bird man told me.”
“No touching anything,” said Uriel, his nose turned up. “I should see about getting you your own cage in your very own zoo, you feral creature.”
Cecilia giggled. “You are so funny. Would you visit me at the zoo, Uncle Uriel? You could feed me grapes through the bars.”
“Grapes? Perhaps you are confusing zoo animals with sultans?”
“What’s a sultan?”
“It’s like a prince,” said Bram.
“I could live with being a princess,” said Cecilia.
They laughed and talked as they made their way around the zoo without incident. Bram was pleased to find the birds still wearing their feathers. They were enjoying themselves enormously until Uriel declared it was time to return the princess to Armando, hustling Cecilia through the zoo gates like they were being chased by stampeding animals.
Bram laughed as he followed the duo to Baker Street station. Cecilia spent most of the journey on the Underground giggling at her own wobbling head, and when that ceased to be amusing, Bram entertained her with silly faces and exaggerated bouncing, earning himself many huffs and muttered curses from their fellow passengers.
It was only when they disembarked at Tower Hill that they realised something was very wrong.
The screaming was the first clue. The orange sky was the second.
“What’s going on?” Bram asked a passing man.
“Corpses are rising from the bloody river, that’s what.”
6
I’m an Angel, Darling
