Read The Singular & Extraordinary Tale of Mirror & Goliath: From the Peculiar Adventures of John Lovehart, Esq., Volume 1 (Notebooks of John Loveheart, E) for Free Online Page B

“Ladybirds are little witches.” His mouth stretched impossibly wide into a demon dazzle of teeth.

    T he demon had come for the grandfather clock. He questioned my father and then he tortured him. When he still had no answer as to its whereabouts he stuffed my father into his obsidian sarcophagus. Shut the lid on him.
    When the lid was finally opened my father was gone.
    Floating in space somewhere .
    He let the servants go; took over the house and stole my father’s money. Sent out advertisements with a reward promised for information on the missing clock.
    And he waited.
    “I am your father now,” Mr Fingers said.

V: August 1888
Tea and cake with Mr Loveheart & Mrs Foxglove
    I wake up in a plump , pillowed bed to see Goliath sitting quietly by the window, reading The Times. His great bear bulk blocks the sunlight, blanketing me in shadow. The darkness spreads out before me like a roll of carpet to stuff Cleopatra in. Roll her up like a sausage and dump her in front of a Roman Emperor, who’ll unravel her whilst licking his lips and plucking a grape from its skin.
    Goliath smiles at me gently. “Good morning.”
    “Is Mr Loveheart dead?” I say.
    “No. I chased him away. Have some breakfast, little one. There’s toast and honey.”
    I stare out of the window at the sea. We are in a fisherman’s cottage. We are still in Whitby. An envelope rests on the table by the honey jar.
    “What is that?”
    “Mr Loveheart has invited us for afternoon tea.”
    “Why? What does he want?”
    “He wants to talk to us both. He wants to negotiate.”
    I spread my toast with a big dollop of butter and honey. “I want to hear what he has to say for himself.”
    “Very well, then.”
    “And if he tries to hurt me, I know you will turn into a lion and eat him,” and I stuff a large piece of toast and honey into my mouth.
    Late morning, Goliath carries me up the steps to the abbey and tells me stories of sea imps and underwater worlds.
    The skies are full of soft cocoon-like clouds and the air smells of salt and seaweeds. I stare out at the sea on top of Goliath’s shoulders and it is as blue and as deep nightmares. “Do you think Captain Mackerel has found a mermaid to marry?”
    “I think he has found two. And they catch fish and pearls for him. And he is very happy, and the cat has a pearl necklace and is very happy.”
    We arrive punctually at our tea and cake destination. It is the home of Mrs Foxglove who, Goliath informs me, has a collection of death masks and an interest in tea-leaf reading. It is a large green cottage looking over the sea on the cliff, purple flowers and ferns overgrown in the garden and a bronze fox head as a doorknocker.
    Goliath knocks three times and a tall lady with long white hair and delicate tortoiseshell spectacles opens the door, eyes like bright blue periwinkles, her voice impish and light. “Do come in. Mr Loveheart is already here. He does love my cakes.”
    The cottage has low ceilings, which make Goliath stoop, his great bulk negotiating the corners and doors. The air smells of sea-flowers and something else, something sinister. Goblin green walls are the backdrop for Mrs Foxglove’s collection of plaster of Paris death masks; there must have been hundreds of them, each with a different grimace and look of horror eternally fixed upon their faces.
    We enter the sitting room, where more masks line the walls and an elegant table is laid with numerous cakes and a large pot of steaming tea. And there sits Mr Loveheart, in green velvet with red hearts embroidered on his jacket; he has a mouthful of cake and a big grin upon his face. He remains seated as we enter, while Mrs Foxglove pours the tea. “Now help yourselves to cake. I have six sorts: Victoria sponge, chocolate, vanilla cream, lavender, cherry and almond, and Mr Loveheart’s favourite: lemon drizzle.”
    Mr Loveheart continues to grin, while chewing his mouthful.
    “May I ask how you two are acquainted?” asks Goliath,