For the first time since Bunny arrived in England, the sun showed its face, low and bright over the Westminster rooftops. Ribbons of smoke puffed from the chimney stacks, twirling on the northern breeze. Now and then, pedestrians passed by, their faces tucked down inside thick knitted scarves. Bunny's button-up boots fell in step with Jim's polished shoes. Or perhaps it was the other way around. The fresh snow underfoot twinkled and crunched.

"What do you think of England?" he asked.

"Honestly? Cold, strange and no joy at all. My uncle hasn't been very welcoming, which is odd because he used to be such a happy soul."

He glanced at her and offered his elbow, out of good manners, she supposed. Not wanting to offend him, she slipped her hand through the crook of his arm.

"What happened to him?" he asked.

"I'm not sure, but the Carte family had something to do with it."

Surprise crossed his face. "Indeed?"

"He says they took everything from him. It's such a pity. He's nothing like the man I remember. I wish I knew how to help him."

"Your family isn't having much luck. This way. There's a cab-stand on the Victoria embankment. It's only a twenty-minute walk. I must say I'm surprised you came without your chaperone."

"Anju was asleep. I didn't have the heart to disturb her."

"You appear to be close."

"I've known Anju a long time. When she was orphaned, she came to live with my father's cook and his wife at our home. We played together, explored outside the cantonment. She's the kindest person I know." She glanced at him. "How is your eye now?"

"Much better. Am I fit to be seen in public?"

She looked at the bruise, a faint ring of mottled green. "Of course."

"That will please my grandmother. For a while I had the perfect excuse to avoid her Valentine soiree."

"What's that?"

"Why, a party for Valentine's day, of course."

"Well, what's that?"

His head snapped in her direction. "Valentine's Day?"

"Is it some sort of festival?"

He smiled. "Yes. Every year, on the fourteenth day of February, we celebrate the Feast of Saint Valentine. It's considered a romantic day. Lovers express their feelings for each other with flowers, chocolates, greetings cards and that sort of thing."

"How sweet."

"My grandmother is hosting an event. There will be a piano recital, poetry readings, all in a romantic vein. I suppose I ought to attend for Freddie's sake."

"Your friend, Mr Westman?"

"Yes. My grandmother pounced on the poor fellow with an invitation and he couldn't say no."

She listened to him with an indulgent smile, shivering. The wool of his coat sleeve was warm and bobbly under her hand. She drew closer.

"Valentine's Day sounds nice," she said. "Perhaps there is a pleasant side to your country after all."

"It's your country too, Miss Spencer."

"My friends call me Bunny."

The sun glinted in his eyes when he looked at her. "Very well, Bunny. My friends call me a lot of things, most are too offensive to repeat."

She laughed and nudged his shoulder.

Elegant white townhouses drifted past, and a group of children in fur-trimmed coats, happy as macaques, gathered snow into a tall pile. They patted clods of powder to the snow statue, its eyes of coal staring ahead, unblinking. Soon the homes tapered away, replaced by buildings of commerce. Quiet vendors manned the road, their stalls billowing with steam. The delicious smells of roasted chestnuts, baked apples, and hot mulled wine filled the air. Wisps of orange and cinnamon wrapped around Bunny's senses. She peered at the street stalls, fascinated. An old woman in a caped-coat opened the lid to a baked potato can and a sweet and earthy aroma puffed into the chilled air.

Just then, a flower seller ambushed them, a patched blanket flapping around her shoulders.

"Confound it," muttered Jim.

The woman waved a piece of plant in Bunny's face. "Lucky heather, darlin'?"

Bunny manoeuvred around the woman's basket of heather, tugging Jim with her. "No, thank you."

The flower seller countered her move and blocked their path once more. "It'll bring you good fortune."

A large hoop of gold hung from one earlobe and flashed in the sunlight.

Bunny shook her head and tried to pass, but Jim stopped and unfolded her arm from his.

"Very well, very well," he said with a weary sigh.

To Bunny's confusion, he reached into his pocket and brought out a silver coin. The woman's eyes fixed on the money, and she took it, placing the sprig of heather in its place.

"God bless you, young man," she said before pursuing her next customer.

When she was out of earshot, Bunny said, "Why did you do that? She was very rude."

"She's a gypsy. It's incredibly bad luck to refuse a gypsy."

"So superstitious." She took the bunch of tiny white flowers from his fingers and poked it into his button hole, giving it a secure pat.

One corner of his mouth curved. "It's my job to be superstitious."

A street-organ played somewhere, its spectral pipe music floating on the air. By the time they spilled out beside the River Thames, the noise of the city had dimmed to a quiet hum. Here, along the promenade, they found a lull. A thick guard-wall framed the river, topped with snow like an iced loaf. Sunset loomed in the West, and a man went about his work with a long light-cane. He ignited the gas lamps adorning the wall as though they were candles on a cake.

"Ah." Jim smiled. "Allow me to show you the better side of London. Come along."

She joined him by the wall where he leaned over and peered into the river. The dark waters whispered and sparkled along the estuary. Turning around, he leaned beside a black lamp post, his elbows in the frosting. A cast iron sturgeon fish coiled around the shiny pillar, its eyes bulging above a fat-lipped mouth.

"Handsome fellow," she said.

"Why, thank you, Miss Spencer."

"I was talking about the fish."

With a grin, he patted the cast iron sturgeon. "Inspired by the sea monster living in the river."

"Really?"

He winked in reply and beckoned her to follow him to an empty granite pedestal adorning the wall. With his sleeve, he cleared off a slab of crunchy snow, and hoisted his body onto the ledge. "Come on. Second to a gas balloon, this is the best view you'll find anywhere."

He stooped and offered to help her.

Time was pressing on, and she'd told Anju she'd be back before sundown.

She stared at Jim's strong hands, then at his handsome face. "Well, I suppose I can spare a few minutes."

Climbing didn't bother Bunny. Not when she'd spent most of her childhood upside down in trees. She set her satchel on a bench, then put her hands in his. Bracing one boot on the ledge, she raised herself. He caught her in his arms and they teetered for a moment, finding balance.

"Don't worry," she said, glancing at the drop to the river. "I won't let you drown."

Amusement lit his face, and he loosened his hold. "I believe you."

The embankment wall stretched towards the horizon, lit by the chain of sea monster lamps. Beneath streaks of cherry cloud, a bridge of stone arches spanned the river, connecting the fog shrouded sprawl of warehouses, chimneys and industry to the embankment. On their side of the river, imperial London climbed into the sky. Like a snow-capped crown of gothic spires and towers, each peak caught the last rays of sun. And fading into the dusk went smoky apparitions, escaping the cosy fireplaces of a million English homes.

London was breathtaking, she just hadn't realised until now. Every place in the world had its good and bad patches; places you shouldn't venture alone. But this part of London was a good patch, she decided. And she didn't feel so alone with Jim by her side. He watched the barges on the river, the wintry currents stirring his hair.

A smile crept to her lips when she recalled her fingers buried in those soft curls.

"Thank you for the tour," she said. "Is it part of the Penderry's Bizarre service?"

He chuckled. "No. Westman is always reminding me to keep work and leisure activities separate."

"This is your personal time? Well, now I feel dreadful for imposing."

"Rubbish. You could never be an imposition." With a hop, he got down from the wall and brushed snow off his coat, then turned to help her.

But Bunny was already on the ground. She straightened up, amused at the sight of his upstretched arms. He was gallant, and she was grateful, but a girl didn't need a boy to do everything for her. She peeked in her satchel and found Pikoo gnawing the chicken bone.

They started towards the cab-stand and Jim shoved his hands in his pockets. "Don't fret about a thing, Bunny. All will be well in the end."

"Don't you ever worry about anything?" she asked.

"Not if I can help it. I hear worrying turns your hair white."

"I thought that was seeing a ghost?"

"Hm, that can't be true. I've seen lots of ghosts. Investigator of the paranormal, remember?"

Soon they reached the cab-rank, and she boarded a hansom cab.

"Will I see you again?" The question blurted from her mouth before she could stop it.

"What does your intuition tell you?"

The warmth in his expression set her heart racing like a runaway horse. Then the cab pulled away and Jim's figure shrank. She huddled in the seat, rocked by the uneven ground as the sun went down, the last rays peeking under a cloak of gloom.

After a while, the cab came to a sudden stop and shouts filled the road. Bunny peered out at the unfamiliar part of town and spotted the source of the disruption. In a puddle of milky moonlight, a dark horse lay on the snow beside an overturned cart. Steam rose from the animal's body, and its hooves kicked up clots of snow. Men hopped over scattered potatoes and rallied around, trying to aid the owner of the cart.

"Looks like your journey ends 'ere," said the cab driver.

"But I have no idea where I am."

"Your street is two turns that way, through High Street. I'll knock a bit off the fare."

She glanced at the dark street with apprehension, then nodded and paid the driver. Evening mist meandered between buildings, floating across the road behind her. The men with the fallen horse disappeared from sight, and the sound of their voices offered little comfort as she passed dark alleys and mysterious shadows. When she turned onto High Street, she recognised her surroundings and picked up her pace.

The market sellers had packed up their stalls and gone, leaving behind the odd wrinkled carrot or parsnip on the cobbles. Outside a public house, dangerous-looking men loitered, drunk and singing at the top of their lungs. One pair launched into a fist fight and fell into a stack of crates. Bunny gasped and ran to avoid the empty bottles that rolled across the pavement. She kept to the shadows, slowing when the drunks were far behind her.

From an unlit doorway, a young man in a ragged suit stepped out and stopped in front of her. His eyes lit up with recognition. "'Ello again, girly. Where are you off to, then?"

Her heart lurched when he blocked her path. "Step aside."

Three more boys dribbled out of the building to join him, sensing some excitement.

He took a step towards her. "What's your hurry? I just want to talk to you."

His friends encircled her and her hands clenched with anger and fear. Just who did they think they were, surrounding her like hyenas?

"What you got in there, then?" he asked.

He reached for her satchel and she grabbed the shoulder strap, twisting from his reach.

"Go away," she snapped.

"Oi, settle down."

A second boy grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides. She struggled in his grip while the raggedy boy shoved his hand into the satchel. High-pitched chattering erupted from the bag, and the young man swore sharply. He yanked his hand free, clutching his bitten finger. Before he could react, Bunny kicked him hard in the shin, her shoe connecting with solid bone. He cried out in pain.

"Let me go," she snarled, twisting in the other boy's grasp.

She stamped on his foot and bit hard on his arm, making him suck air through his teeth.

"Blimey. She's a hellcat," he said with a grunt, tightening his hold.

The raggedy boy recovered and glared at her. Suddenly, a guttural growl sounded beside them, emanating from an alley steeped in darkness. A pair of glowing yellow eyes watched them.

"What the bleedin' hell is that?" asked one of the boys, backing away.

Whatever they had planned, they were quick to abandon their designs and run. Terror seized Bunny's body, and she watched the eyes grow larger. A sleek, black body followed, covered in fur. From out of the alley, the wolfman emerged. It peered at her from beneath its brows, and its clawed hands and feet took measured steps towards her. She willed her legs to move and backed along the icy cobbles until her shoulders met a wall.

Oh, my. I'm going to die.

Pikoo chattered and struggled inside her satchel. She clutched the bag protectively, her pulse thundering in time to the werewolf's sickening pants. Then she remembered the bottle Jim had given her. She fumbled in her empty pockets, her panic rising.

Where is it?

The monster edged closer. With a cry, she turned to run, but tumbled into a stack of empty market crates. The wooden pallets crashed around her, and she hit the ground, barely twisting in time to save Pikoo from being crushed.

Hot breath puffed heavily against her hand, and a damp nose nudged her palm. Her mind whirled with fear until she heard the creature's sobering whine. Something was different this time. She opened her eyes and realised the werewolf was not the same beast from Hyde Park. This creature was leaner, its fur glossier, and there was no ferocious, wild eyed look of murder in its face.

"What do you want?" she uttered, her throat tight.

The werewolf took her cloak in its tapered, clawed fingers and Bunny gasped, unsure if she should risk fleeing. She doubted her shaking knees were strong enough to carry her, let alone outrun the creature. It tugged her cloak, encouraging her to stand and walk. Cautiously, she rose and took several steps, heading towards Appleby's street. Like a dark sentinel, the werewolf followed at her heel. By the time Uncle Appleby's house came into sight, she found the courage to run. Only when she reached the garden gate did she dare look back. Fog glowed around the street lamps and drifted across the empty road.

The werewolf had vanished.