Vyne led the way up a flight of wooden stairs to another door, which she unlocked. Hark followed her into the study.
The room was half the size of the hall downstairs, and far more chaotic. Hark had helped tidy it only three days before, but already it was back to its usual anarchy. By the rosy light from the round window in the ceiling, he could see every trestle table groaning under sprawled heaps of papers, vials, flasks, varnish bottles, and translucent eyes in jars. It always seemed funny that the shrewd, self-possessed doctor should be so incurable messy.
I’ve got my nose lodged in a rack of other people’s clothes when my best friend taps me on the shoulder frantically.
“How about this one?” Abigail asks, shoving a dead cat into my arms.
“Ew.” I jump back and nearly knock over a row of vintage dresses with yellowing sleeves and a certain old-lady smell to their armpits.
“Relax, Cham, it’s rabbit.” Abigail sniffs the collar and wrinkles her nose. “Or was rabbit.”