BEHIND US, CRABAPPLE locked the front door to Fezziwig’s former office, stifling the sound of a nearby newspaper boy calling “Fire! Fire! Great fire in London only yesterday! Read all about it!” The stench of smoke and burning chemicals still impregnated my hair, yet so was the horror from the clock tower chase, the confusion following Adelaide’s abrupt revelations about her lineage, and the exhaustion from the most harrowing week of my life.
We crept through the front room, passing the rudimentary fireplace and a mahogany pedestal desk that now bore wilting sprigs of holly and cards of condolences. The building was unoccupied; Fezziwig’s body had been transferred to a funeral home after the wake, and Jane Fezziwig had escaped the morbidity by packing up her daughters and travelling to fa
