by Kelley York
I permit those words and the kiss to chase away the remaining unease from everything we’ve faced since Mr. Foss showed up at our doorstep. Everything is all right. Maybe not fixed, but it will be. I’ll make sure of that. “Please tell me we’ve finished with this bloody job.”
He laughs. “Yes, I think so. Let’s go home.”
We intended to return to Evenbury just long enough to say our goodbyes and retrieve our things before being driven to the train station. The solemn faces awaiting us outside the manor certainly don’t bode well.
James approaches Adelia and Virgil with a smile and his hands in his pockets. “The spirits have been dealt with. What’s with those looks? Are you that sad we’re leaving?”
“Reverend Thomas is gone,” Adelia says.
James and I come to an abrupt halt.
“Pardon?” I say.
“Gone as in…taken off to the nearest gallows, right?” James asks hopefully.
Adelia frowns. “Gone as in the constables’ wagon was hijacked on the road, and Reverend Thomas was taken.”
A chill goes through me from head to toe. “And the constables?”
“Alive, by some miracle,” Virgil says. “They saw a horse on the side of the road and its rider on the ground and stopped to have a look. Whoever it was knocked them unconscious. When they woke, the man and Reverend Thomas were gone.”
Small blessings that the officers weren’t merely left for dead. But then, what of Reverend Thomas? On the one hand, if he’s no longer in custody, he’ll not have the opportunity to spill my and James’ secret.
On the other hand, we no longer know where he is, and who else might find out should he decide to run his mouth.
Or who else might fall prey to his twisted idea of doing God’s work.
A servant slips past us from inside the house, carting along our trunk to load it into the carriage. The four of us crowd closer, self-conscious now that we might be overheard.
James murmurs, “He spoke of The Order. Obviously, he was a member of…whatever it is. Do you suppose—?”
“That they rescued him?” Virgil asks.
I add, “Reverend Thomas did say The Order has eyes and ears everywhere. But rescue him to what end? Would he have been of some use to someone?” They’re useless questions none of us have answers to. Merely frustrated speculation. What I do know is that James and I will have our work cut out for us, trying to investigate this organisation. If it has something to do with summoning spirits, then stopping them certainly falls into our realm of expertise.
James smiles weakly. “We’ll hope Miss Bennett has some insight for us, hm?” He glances over his shoulder. “Now, I think our driver is waiting for us and we’ve a train to catch.”
I turn to Virgil. “You’re sticking around?”
“I’ve talked him into spending an extra day or two, just to help wrap up the inquest and answer any medical questions they might have.” Adelia gives a wide smile that tells me all I need to know about why he’s really staying. Virgil bows his head, ever so sheepish.
“Keep him out of trouble then,” I say, amused, casting a glance to the driver awaiting us by the carriage. I’ll admit, I’m sorely going to miss being tended to, not to mention the hot baths and full meals.
Adelia catches hold of my hand in hers. “I should be the one telling you two to stay out of trouble. If I have to come rescue you, I’ll make certain you regret it.”
I smile, bringing that hand to my lips to kiss the back of it. “I’ll do my best, but I’m afraid trouble follows James everywhere.”
“Terribly rude,” James mutters.
Virgil folds his arms across his chest. “The truth can be brutal.”
“Now, you look here!”
With a roll of her eyes, Adelia loops her arm with mine and leads me away a few paces, leaving the two of them to playfully bicker. “In all truthfulness, I will miss you both. I’m afraid Father won’t be up for having you back as guests, given that you know about his affair…”
“To be expected, but we’re not going to spread his secrets around. I hardly see what good it would do.” I come to a halt and look down at her. “The next time your father has business in London, perhaps you could pay us a visit. Aside from that, I suspect we’ll work together again in the future.”
Adelia’s brows lift. “Do you now?”
“You’re going to become an investigator, aren’t you? I look forward to being able to consult you on cases.”
She laughs and glances away, looking equal parts pleased and uncertain. “We shall see.”
I hardly think I need to tell Adelia she’s capable of anything she puts her mind to; she doesn’t need my validation. Or anyone’s, for that matter. But I know the obstacles she faces—namely, her father, and society as a whole—that will make her goals difficult to achieve.
Mr. Foss approaches to inform us it’s time to depart. Adelia bids us farewell, rising on tiptoe to place a kiss on my cheek. When I turn to Virgil to offer out a hand, he takes it, followed by a frown as he pulls me closer and wraps his other arm tight round my shoulders in a brief, awkward hug.
“You know where to find me should you need me,” he says before pulling away.
I chuckle, more out of surprise than anything else, because displays of affection from Virgil are as rare as unicorns. “What’s all this, then?”
Except I know he’s referring to the laudanum and our previous conversations. I know he’s offering his help, however he can, and the long look he proceeds to give me reaffirms as much.
So my expression softens, and I give his hand a reassuring squeeze before stepping back. “Thank you, Virgil. For being here, for everything. I don’t know what we’d have done without you and Adelia.”
“Died, probably,” Virgil says solemnly and without humour. I can’t tell if he’s joking, but he’s probably right.
“Come now, dear William,” James calls, giving Adelia and Virgil one last smile and nod. “I don’t know about you, but I’m eager to get home.”
He hops up into the carriage and I follow suit, settling in beside him. “Ready to begin planning that holiday of ours, are you?”
“Indeed I am.”
As the carriage begins its trek away from Evenbury, I lean my shoulder into his. “Good. I think we’ve more than earned ourselves a vacation.”
James grins a mile wide, filled with the brilliance and liveliness of a child, as though the last few weeks hadn’t nearly killed us more than once. “And cake?”
I laugh loudly enough that our driver undoubtedly overhears me. “Yes, darling. All the cake we can eat.”
WHITECHAPEL
One of the things I appreciate about Aunt Eleanor is that she knows when to not ask questions.
When I show up at her home one rainy afternoon without warning, she only peers into my face for half a moment before stepping aside and saying, “Come in, Preston.” She doesn’t ask me what I’m doing there, if there’s anything I’d like to speak about, or how long I’m staying. She only asks me if I’d care for some tea or a light lunch and then leaves me be.
It’s just what I need, that silence. In fact, it’s why I came here instead of heading home where Mother would immediately notice something off and come at me with a hundred questions.
I don’t know what I would say, anyway; I can’t begin to sort out the chaos of my current state of mind and I find the subject matter too delicate to discuss with…well, anyone. Even a beloved aunt, an oddity who I know deep in my heart would never ultimately judge me for whatever I brought to her table.
Over the next several days of my visit, Aunt Eleanor goes about business as usual, keeping busy between clientele, matters of the house, and needlework. I assist her where I can, of course, because I am a well-mannered person and I’m rather invading her space, but most of what she does has no need for an
y other involvement and so I’m left to my own devices.
My time is spent in a largely unproductive manner. I get up in the morning at a respectable hour, clean myself up and dress, tend to any chores that need to be tended to, exit the apartments when Aunt Eleanor has clients, and then I…
Sit around.
Stare out of the kitchen window.
Dwell.
I think of Benjamin.
Despite it all, I’m sorry to have left him alone. I worry about what he’s going through, what he’s thinking and feeling right in this very moment. It has to be difficult for him, and it will only grow tougher still. He’s been thrust into a position—no, into a life—he is woefully underprepared for, and forced to interact with a previously absent father who now wants to take the reins. From what little I’ve gleaned of Franklin Hale, he is a cold and demanding man. Not the sort of person one could ever imagine having helped create someone as soft and sweet as Benjamin.
I wonder how he’s faring. Has he started his new job yet? I wonder if the work is difficult or if it’s something he enjoys. I cannot for the life of me imagine Benjamin stuck indoors all day, overseeing factory workers or organising files or…whatever other mindless tasks are involved in office work. It isn’t that I think he’d be terrible at such things—he always had an organised mind—but I can’t envision such things being engaging or fulfilling for him. I can’t imagine he greets each day bright eyed and with excitement, bubbling over at the thought of puttering around with paperwork.
More than that, Benji is alone, and that worries me.
I don’t think for a moment he will ever have a strong, warm relationship with his father, and he has no other family, no friends that he’s spoken of. Has he made any? I hope, of course, that he has, but I know him to be so shy and quiet that it’s not likely unless someone approached him and insisted. What are the odds there?
No, it’s far more likely that he’s sticking by himself and—what if someone is giving him trouble? What if someone is cruel? Benjamin has always been so terribly gentle, a human being too sensitive for his own good, and I just…
I know I worry too much, but when it comes to him, I cannot help it. I never dreamt we’d be in this situation. Perhaps I should have, perhaps it was the only reasonable outcome, but he’d grown to become my closest friend in our years together at Whisperwood. No, more than that—he’d become the most important person to me, someone I held dear.
I suppose I had just thought we’d always be together.
Lord knows I’d tried to keep it that way.
I have no idea what to do with myself now, or what comes next. Logic says I ought to return home, to help Mother and Father on the farm. It’s unfortunate, then, that I have no interest in doing so. Even Father has always said I have stars in my eyes and a sense of wanderlust that cannot be quelled. I’m too independent and too eager in my newfound adulthood to find any real pleasure in running back to my family home. No interest in city life, no means of starting my own farm or whatever else I might do and…
I don’t know. I honestly don’t. I’d never thought beyond that whole, Benji and Preston together bit and, without that, all I have right now is—moping, I suppose. That’s what I’ve been doing, what my aunt has been allowing me to do without question.
It’s time that I need, perhaps. Or I hope that I need. If I can just sulk myself out, let these emotions and disappointment run their course… Doesn’t Aunt Eleanor always say that fate finds us one way or another? Perhaps the universe will reveal a path to me if only I wait and see.
How funny is it, then, that I’m thinking on that exact sentiment when James and Esher walk through the door. Those two seem to be at the centre of so much in my life; maybe some part of me was expecting them to arrive. It’s good to see James’ face.
They’ve been in Buckinghamshire for a while on a job, Aunt Eleanor previously told me. I can’t recall how long it has been since I last saw them, though it has been several months. Upon spying them as they trudge through the front door, looking worse for wear, bandaged and bedraggled, I almost laugh.
“You two look like you’ve been getting into trouble.”
James’ head lifts at the sound of my voice. Through his exhaustion, he doesn’t hesitate to offer me a bright grin. “Just a bit of it,” he says, more energy in his tone than anyone else would possess. “But we won in the end, so that’s all right.”
I clap him briefly on the shoulder in greeting, and Esher as well. Esher, of course, reacts more like a normal person who has been away for a while on tiring work: with a muted nod and a weary glance in my direction. I can imagine he’s more interested in sleeping for a week than any socialising.
That’s fine, honestly; the hour is late enough. I offer to fetch their things from the carriage and won’t pester them with small talk, even though I know I could easily rope James into it and I’m so desperate for any sort of distraction. It won’t kill me to wait.
In the morning, they still aren’t in the best of shape, but they’re certainly better than they were the night before. James, especially, seems to have bounced back with vigour, though I would expect no less from him. He gobbles down all his breakfast and whatever Esher doesn’t finish of his own plate, going over everything they’ve been through in the past weeks.
I’ve never quite known what to think of the work James and Esher do. Prior to our third year at Whisperwood, I’d taken Aunt Eleanor’s talk of ghosts with a grain of salt and a polite smile. Now, after having dealt with them myself, having experienced it… It’s dangerous work, often thankless and even ridiculed. From what I’ve heard, the pay isn’t even enough to cover a steady supply of food more often than not.
We’ve barely finished breakfast when my aunt, largely silent up until this point, turns to the pair of them. “I’ve a letter for you two. Another job.”
James brightens. “What is it?”
“The client is in possession of a box that needs transporting,” she says.
Esher’s mouth turns down. “We’re not couriers.”
She taps her spoon delicately against the edge of her teacup. “I’m told this particular piece of cargo has a bit of a dark past. A spirit attached to it, perhaps. I’ve not seen it for myself, so I couldn’t tell you more than that.”
“And the pay?” James asks.
“Aside from all expenses of travel being covered…let’s say it’s likely more than you made from the job in Buckinghamshire.”
I don’t know how much that particular job paid but judging by the way James and Esher’s eyes go wide as plates, I would say it’s a lot.
“All expenses paid,” Esher says slowly. “Where would we be going, exactly?”
Aunt Eleanor brings the cup to her lips. “America.”
James blinks. “America?”
She nods.
I can see in his expression James wants to instantly say yes, how there are a million questions at the tip of his tongue. Where in America? What is the item? What is said to haunt it? Who wants it transported and to what end?
Before he says anything further, though, his gaze slides questioningly to Esher. Esher, who says nothing, but who is already watching James with a measured look. His expression is unreadable. To me, at least. He and James have been like that for years, able to hold entire conversations with their eyes. Whatever it is Esher is trying to communicate, clearly it works because James’ shoulders slump.
After a moment, he nods mutely before swinging his gaze back over to my aunt. “America’s a bit of a journey,” he says. “And we’ve only just returned. We’d actually planned a bit of a holiday to unwind.”
She shrugs. “I thought as much. You may write back and let them know they will need to look elsewhere.”
A frown tugs at James’ face. He hates denying anyone’s request for help, has always been like that for as long as I’ve known hi
m.
I find myself sitting up a little straighter and before I can stop myself, I say, “I’ll do it.”
Three pairs of eyes swing my way.
“You’ll what?” James asks.
I shrug. “I’ll do it. You two look like you need the time off. I’ll give you a finder’s fee, of course.”
“It might be dangerous,” Esher points out. “They felt the need to request someone with paranormal experience instead of tossing it on a ship like common cargo.”
I offer him a nonchalant smile in response. “It can’t be that bad. Besides, I’m not exactly in the dark. I’ve watched you two at work before, and I’ve spent a lot of time with Aunt Eleanor. When would I need to leave?”
Aunt Eleanor watches me, calculating. “Two weeks.”
“All right, then. Surely that’s some time to give me a few lessons? I can figure out anything else as I go along. I transport a package and keep it safe. How hard can it be?”
James shakes his head. “There’s no telling how long you’d be gone.”
“It’s a good thing, then, that I’m in possession of free time and flexibility.”
I know none of them want me to take the job, but in the end, what solid argument do they have against it? It needs to get done, and better by someone with a little bit of knowledge than someone with none.
“Then you have some learning to do,” my aunt eventually says with some reluctance.
That gives us a solid week for a few courses, cramming in whatever information they think might be useful, and then to drill me on it. I’m a good boy and even take notes, though I honestly don’t think I’ll have use for most of it. If it makes them feel better, it’s no skin off my nose, and on the off chance that something does happen…at least I’ll be prepared.
I don’t honestly know if this is the right thing to do, and it’s such a huge task to take on in the swing of the moment, but perhaps this is what I was waiting for. Something to do, some direction to take, a purpose. Something that would get my mind off other matters. It has to beat sitting around, at any rate.