by Archer, CJ
I turned into Wilton Crescent and strolled along the elegant curved street until I reached number fifty-two. It looked like the other grand houses in the crescent-shaped terrace with its cream stucco façade and colonnaded porch. The main difference I could see was the brass knocker on the door. It was shaped like a large paw.
A footman answered my knock and showed me into a spacious drawing room on the first floor crammed with furniture and knick-knacks. Aside from the usual piano, sofa and chairs, there were tables. Many, many small tables—a console table, a sofa table, at least three occasional tables and a sideboard. Scattered on top of them all were framed daguerreotypes, figurines, vases, busts, decorative jars, boxes and other little objects that seemed to have no use whatsoever except to occupy a surface.
I was admiring an elaborate display of shells arranged into the shape of a flower bouquet when a tall young man entered, smiling in greeting. He was handsome but not in the masculine, classical sense like Jacob but more angelic, prettier although not feminine. Definitely not. Blond hair sprang off his head in soft curls and his pale skin stretched taut over high, sharp cheeks. He wore small, round spectacles through which gray eyes danced. He looked younger than Jacob and if I hadn’t known they went to school together and were about the same age, I'd have thought him my own age or younger.
"Miss Chambers?" He glanced around the room, perhaps looking for a chaperone. Eventually his gaze settled back on me, or rather my hips, before sweeping up to my face. His cheeks colored slightly. "The footman said you wished to see me and not my mother?" It was a question not a statement. Mr. Culvert was probably unused to visits from unchaperoned girls.
I cleared my throat then held out my hand for him to shake. He looked at it like he didn't know what to do with it then took my fingers and gave them a gentle squeeze. "I'm definitely here to see you if you are Mr. George Culvert."
His face lit up. "Indeed I am." He squeezed again. His own hand was smooth, soft. It made me think of the split skin and bruises on Jacob's knuckles and again I wondered why a gentleman had hands more suited to a laborer or a pugilist.
Jacob chose that moment to appear beside me and I jumped in surprise. "Tell him you knew me before my death," he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied Mr. Culvert, "and that I told you about his interest in demonology. Pretend you also have an interest too and decided it was time you met. That should suffice."
But before I could say anything, Mr. Culvert said, "Do you have a supernatural matter to discuss with me?"
I choked on air and tried to cover it with a cough.
"Are you all right, Miss Chambers?" he said, frowning. "Tea is on its way but if there's anything else I can get you?" He took my hand again and patted it.
Jacob scowled at him.
I managed to stop coughing long enough to say, "Thank you, I'm fine."
Jacob, still scowling, approached our host and waved a hand in front of his face. Mr. Culvert didn't blink. "He definitely can't see me," Jacob said. "It must have been a guess—an uncannily good one."
"You're right," I said. "I do have a supernatural question. That's very intuitive of you, Mr. Culvert."
"Not really." He smiled sheepishly and dipped his head. "I happen to be aware of your work as a medium. I've wanted to meet you for some time." A faint blush crept across his cheeks. It was rather charming. Until I caught Jacob watching me out of the corner of my eye. No, he wasn't watching, he was glaring and his eyes had turned the color of a stormy sea. I tried not to look at him. I needed all my wits about me if I was to lie to George Culvert convincingly.
"So you believe I can really talk to spirits?" I said to Mr. Culvert.
"Yes of course. Why wouldn't I?"
"Many people do not."
"Many people don't know what I know about the supernatural." He indicated I should sit on the blood-red velvet sofa.
The footman re-entered carrying a tea tray stacked with tea things and a plate of butter biscuits, freshly baked going by their delicious smell. It was early for refreshments, early for making calls for that matter, but Mr. Culvert didn't seem to mind. Indeed, he seemed quite eager to chat. He sat in the chair opposite and leaned forward as the footman poured the tea.
I took my teacup and wondered where Mrs. Culvert was in the vast house. When the footman left I hazarded a glance at Jacob. He stood beside the mantelpiece, its height perfect for resting his elbow, and watched the proceedings with a closed expression. I thought he'd be impatient for me to ask questions but he said nothing, simply waited.
I decided to follow our original plan. "I heard about you through a mutual friend of ours," I said to Mr. Culvert. "Jacob Beaufort. I believe you went to Eton with him."
George Culvert's brows shot up into his snowy blond curls. "You knew him?"
I nodded and sipped my tea in an effort to disguise my lie. I had one of those faces that was easy to read so the better I hid it, the better I could lie. "His sudden death must have shocked everyone at the school."
"It must have, but I wouldn’t know." He too took a sip of his tea but watched me the entire time over the rim of his cup. "He died after we'd both left Eton. Jacob had gone on to Oxford I believe."
My ghost had failed to mention that fact. Jacob shifted his weight. "It was so long ago," I said lightly. "I find it hard to recall the dates."
Mr. Culvert lowered his cup and locked his gaze with mine. "And he wasn't my friend."
Oh dear. This was going to be more difficult than I imagined. "He, uh, mentioned you though. Frequently."
Jacob groaned. "Tell him we were in the same debating team once."
"You were on the debating team together," I said.
"No, that was my cousin, another Culvert," Mr. Culvert said.
"Oh."
Jacob shrugged. "I thought it was him." He frowned, shook his head. "I just can't seem to recall him. The uncle I spoke to in the Waiting Area was adamant his nephew George went to Eton in my year level. Why can't I remember him?"
"It must have been some other team then," I offered. "Cricket?"
"I didn't play sports unless I had to," Mr. Culvert said. "And Jacob and I were never on the same team. He was always in the firsts—cricket, rugby et cetera. I was...not. So you see, I'd be very surprised if he noticed me at all."
Jacob sighed. "He's right. It's a large school and our paths probably never crossed."
"He was like that," Mr. Culvert went on.
"Like what?" I finally had a chance to find out more about my ghost and unfortunately he had to be listening. Perhaps I should have stopped Mr. Culvert before he said something Jacob ought not to hear.
Or perhaps not. I might not get another opportunity to discover more. If Jacob didn't want to listen he could simply vanish and return later.
Jacob, however, did not disappear. He'd gone very rigid and that steely glare was back. "Emily, don't," he said.
He was right. It wasn't fair. I sighed. "Nevermind," I said.
"I don't mind," said Mr. Culvert cheerily. He passed me the plate of biscuits and I took one. "But surely you would know what he was like, being his friend."
"Emily," Jacob warned.
"Uh..." With my mouth full of biscuit I couldn't say anything else without spraying crumbs in my lap and over the floor. The thick Oriental rug was so lovely and I really didn't want to embarrass myself in front of my host...
"He was quite oblivious to those around him, wouldn't you say?" Mr. Culvert said, somewhat oblivious himself to my plight.
Jacob stepped between us and I could practically see steam rising from his ears. "Emily, stop this line of questioning. Now." His fingers curled into fists at his sides. "Please." The plea, uttered so quietly I barely heard it, caught me off guard and I inhaled sharply.
It was the wrong thing to do. A clump of half-chewed biscuit lodged in my throat and a fit of coughs gripped me. Mr. Culvert handed me my teacup, stretching straight through Jacob to do so. I dared a glance at the ghost's face as I sipped.
It was dark and threatening but there was something else there, something...vulnerable. I wanted to reach out to him but I dared not. Instead I held on tightly to the cup as I moved a little to the left along the sofa to see around him.
"Yes, oblivious," Mr. Culvert said, not looking at me now. He seemed lost in memories from his Etonian days. "And self-absorbed."
"Self-absorbed?" Jacob spun round. "I was not!"
"He had his circle of friends and anyone who fell outside that circle simply didn't get...seen." Culvert shrugged and I didn't get the feeling he was bitter, just observant. I suspect George Culvert was very good at observing people. There was something quiet and watchful about him. Whereas Jacob was all contained energy simmering beneath the surface, Culvert seemed gentle to the core. I could imagine him watching people from a corner of a room through his spectacles, determining their strengths and faults, seeing how they interacted with others. Jacob on the other hand, was a man of action.
And the action I suspected he was about to perform could end in someone getting hurt and himself being exposed.
"Tell him I am not self-absorbed," Jacob snapped.
I gulped and tried not to look at him. "That's a shame," I said quickly. "Because you're both nice people. I'm sure you would have got along."
"Not everyone would think that way," Culvert said.
"Oh but you seem very nice to me."
He blushed again and bowed his head. "I was referring to Beaufort. He was well liked by most at school," he said, "adored even. But certainly not everyone put him up on a pedestal. I'm sure some would have preferred to drag him off it."
"I wasn't on any bloody pedestal," Jacob said, drawing himself up to his full height.
I found that hard to believe. I'd spent much of the previous night picturing him on one, made of white marble and carved in the Roman style.
Jacob edged toward Culvert, looking like he wanted to make his presence known in the most dramatic way a ghost can. It was time to steer the conversation away from the subject of Jacob before Culvert found the rug pulled out from under him, quite literally.
"Perhaps it wasn't Jacob who told me about your father's collection of books on demonology, perhaps it was someone else." I hoped I sounded convincing but I suspect I came across like a flighty female. "The fact of the matter is, I have an interest in demons and I'm hoping you'll be kind enough to allow me to make use of your library to further my studies."
Culvert pushed his spectacles up his nose. "You're interested in demons?"
"Yes. It's a natural extension from my other activities, don't you think?"
His mouth twisted in thought. "I suppose so. Is there any demon in particular you want to study?"
"Shape-shifting demons."
He paused. "Well that's a coincidence."
"Why?"
"A book on shape-shifting demons was stolen from my library just last week."
CHAPTER 4
Jacob and I exchanged glances. The coincidence was too close for my liking. One week a book on demonology is stolen and the next a shape-shifting demon just happens to be summoned from the Otherworld? Unlikely.
"Stolen!" I said to Mr. Culvert. "By whom?"
George Culvert drummed his fingers on his knee, sighed, drummed some more then finally answered me. "I'm sad to say that it must have been one of the servants. I can see no other explanation. No one enters during the day without Greggs the footman letting them in and the house is locked up at night. It must have been someone who lives here and since Mother and I do not need to steal it..." He sank back into the chair, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed. He looked like a deflated balloon. I knew what it was like to have a trusted servant steal from you. Bella's predecessor had taken the payment from one of our séances before we'd had a chance to put it away. Celia and I had been devastated when we saw the money fall out of her apron pocket.
"Perhaps it wasn’t a servant. The book could have been missing for some time," I said. "Months even. If it's an obscure one and your library is large, you wouldn't have noticed it. You probably had any number of people come into the house in that time."
"Good point," Jacob said with admiration.
Mr. Culvert shook his head. "The missing book is large with a beautiful red leather spine. It made quite a hole in my shelves and I noticed it missing immediately. I questioned the servants of course, but none owned up to the theft. However I'm quite certain it was one particular maid. She has been with us for only a month, and as the newest member in the house, I'm afraid suspicion naturally fell on her. Besides, the girl was very nervous when I questioned her."
"She's still with you?" I asked.
He nodded. "I couldn't dismiss her without evidence and I never found the book despite having the housekeeper search the room the girl shares with two other maids."
"We'll speak to her later," Jacob said.
I'd been thinking the same thing but wasn't sure if involving George Culvert any more than he already was would be a good idea. On the other hand, the more we spoke to him, the more I liked him and thought he could be trusted with all the information we knew. He might even prove helpful.
And I had a feeling he wouldn't think I was mad for talking to a ghost.
Before I could think further on the matter, he stood and offered me his hand. "Would you like to come with me to the library, Miss Chambers? We might as well get started on your research topic."
I took his hand and heard a grunt from Jacob. I casually raised my brows in his direction, challenging him to tell me what bothered him so much about the courteous action, but he merely grunted again and turned away. We both followed Culvert down to an enormous room on the ground floor filled to bursting with books. The library took up two entire levels and every spare space of wall was covered in shelves crammed with books of all shapes and sizes. Each wall had a ladder to reach the higher volumes, and two big arched windows framed with heavy crimson drapes allowed light into even the furthest corners. For night, cast iron gas lamps topped with crouching angels were bolted to the vertical sides of the shelves and were also positioned on pedestals beside most of the chairs. The mahogany furniture looked heavy with solid, stumpy legs ending in clawed feet, so unlike the spindly pieces in the drawing room. There were two leather-inlaid desks, one small and one large, and deep reading chairs upholstered in red leather that looked soft enough to curl up in. A small fire burned low in the enormous hearth to keep the chill away and the thick rug covering most of the floor gave the room a warm, welcoming feel. It was my idea of heaven.
"You like it." Mr. Culvert seemed genuinely pleased.
"It's wonderful," I said on a breath. "Are they all works dedicated to demonology?"
"Not all. Only half of that wall there." He indicated the wall opposite the door, the only one where the shelves weren't interrupted by windows or the fireplace. "The rest are volumes on other supernatural phenomena, and there's a few novels and medical texts too. My father's tastes were eclectic."
Even Jacob looked impressed. He went straight to the demonology books and scanned the shelves. "This might be a good one to start with, Emily."
I came up beside him and extracted the book he indicated. "An Introduction to Demonic Phenomena."
Culvert pulled out a chair at the large central table. "Would you like to sit while you read?"
"Thank you, Mr. Culvert."
"Please, call me George."
I smiled at him. "And you shall call me Emily."
"That's a little informal on such short acquaintance, don’t you think?" Jacob said, suddenly standing behind me.
I wanted to retort that he and I had dispensed with formalities on an equally short acquaintance but I couldn't alert George to his presence. Not yet. And I suspected Jacob would tell me the normal rules didn't apply to him anyway because he was a ghost.
I sat in the chair—I was right, the leather was soft and welcoming—and flipped to the table of contents. Jacob returned to browsing the shelves while George closed som
e books he had open on the other side of the large desk and tidied his notes.
"George!" came a shrill voice from outside the room. "George, do you have your nose buried in a blasted book again?" A striking woman dressed in a burgundy satin gown with excessively puffed sleeves and a cascade of ruffles on the skirt strode into the library. She stopped abruptly when she saw me and fixed me with a glare that could have frozen the Thames in summer. "Oh. You have a guest." She didn't sound pleased although she seemed surprised.
I lifted my chin and gave her a sweet smile in return. It was a tactic I'd seen Celia use at our séances. Whenever she was faced with a skeptical audience member, she would charm them. It worked most of the time. "Emily Chambers," I said, rising. "Pleased to—."
"I wasn't addressing you."
I plopped back down in the chair. So much for charm.
I felt rather than saw Jacob move up beside me. "Would you like me to pull the pins out of that ridiculous hair style and poke them one by one into her ear?"
I laughed then tried to stifle it but only ended up making a horrid snorting sound. Mrs. Culvert's glare—for I'd guessed it to be her—turned even frostier. I could not, however, quaver anymore, not after Jacob’s offer. She did indeed have a rather ridiculous hairstyle, scraped back so tightly it made her eyes slant. The ridiculousness was amplified by her tiny hat with the very tall feathers shooting straight up from the crown in a V-shape. I'd not seen anything like it.
George placed a book on the table and gave me an apologetic grimace. "Mother, this is Miss Emily Chambers. She was a friend of Jacob Beaufort."
"Beaufort!" Mrs. Culvert's eyes widened and she suddenly smiled. It was dazzling and changed her face from one of severity to friendliness. The transformation was remarkable, if insincere, and I could see she must have been a beautiful woman in her youth. She had the same well-defined cheekbones as her son and a luscious, wide mouth with perfect teeth. "Such an illustrious family, and such a lovely boy was poor Jacob. So handsome and charming. Clever too. Cleverer even than you, George." This she said with a satisfactory gleam in her eye. George merely shrugged.