The Strange Case of Finley Jayne

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“You’re the very spawn of Satan and I’ll not have you darken this door ever again.”

Finley Jayne jumped as the door was slammed in her face, leaving her standing alone in the small, damp flagstone square that acted as the servants’ entrance to the town house.

She’d been fired—well and good—by Mrs. Brown, the housekeeper. Normally being called the spawn of Satan would upset Finley, but lately she’d begun to wonder if the sentiment wasn’t true. This was, after all, the second job she’d been let go from.

At least the old crone could have let her collect her things.

Just like in a stage-comedy, the back door opened once more and Finley’s carpetbag sailed out of the dim interior. She caught it before it could strike her in the face.

“Oy!,” she cried, but the door slammed shut again—and this time Mrs. Brown locked it from the inside. She heard the tumblers fall into place as the bitter old woman turned the wheel engaging the mechanism which could only be opened once again by a punch card.

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