It took surprisingly little to capture Elspeth Fry, as surely as a fish on a hook. While astute in matters of occult danger, she was not as suspicious of matronly women standing on ordinary front steps.
The woman saw the Inquisitor walking past, on her way to visit a friend of her natal family. She called to her from the road. "Good afternoon. Mrs. Fry, isn't it?" The woman, who wore a gray house dress and gardening gloves, waved from the afternoon shadow of the house. Her feet did not leave the steps. "I thought that was you. You were Ellie Thomas before marriage, weren't you? Come here, dear, I am a friend of your mother's."
With head cocked to the side, Elspeth pushed past the groaning gate. She was confused, but since she was on her way to visit friends, she thought it reasonable that her parents knew of this family, as well. "I must apologize. I'm afraid I don't remember you." In the yard, the air felt cooler, and she resisted the urge to rub her arms.
"Oh, you wouldn't," the woman said. She took off her gloves. "Your mother and I haven't spoken in years. I'm Margaret Taylor." She was quiet until the young lady in the impeccable dress came close. "Well, look at you, as pretty as picture. I was terribly sorry to hear of your husband's passing." She nodded and looked into the house. "Won't you come in for a moment and meet my daughter?"
And that was all it took. Once inside the house, the door slammed into place, and Elspeth was left alone in the gloom and the silence. Margaret Taylor was gone.