The Medium (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy #1)

by Archer, CJ

  He flinched. The hiring of staff so far down the household order probably wasn't something he'd be involved in. That would come under the housekeeper's jurisdiction, or his mother's if the housekeeper wasn't a trusted servant herself. My suggestion that he do it clearly shocked him. "Yes, of course. A new maid."

  Bless him, he was going along with the scenario with good grace. I was definitely warming to George. Despite insisting outside that he do most of the talking, he'd not once taken over the conversation. Of course that could have been because Mr. Blunt wasn't there.

  A flicker of uncertainty crossed Mrs. White's comfortable features but then she smiled. I suppose it must seem odd, not only that I'd accompanied George to find him a new servant, but also that I was the one keen for him to hire again. Perhaps she assumed he and I were engaged to be married and I was taking an active role in running his household already.

  My impish side wondered what Jacob would think of that.

  "Suggest he look at some suitable girls with her right now," Jacob said. "Then tell them you wish to remain here because you have a headache."

  I did as he said. I was afraid George would protest but his quick glance around the room suggested he knew Jacob was nearby and that we had a plan. George was no fool and he was turning into a wonderful ally.

  "An excellent idea," he said, standing. "Shall we, Mrs. White?"

  She touched my knee. "Will you be all right, dear? Can I get you some tea while you wait?"

  "No, thank you," I said. "I just need some peace and quiet."

  "It's best if she's not disturbed for a while," George said. He moved towards the door and before they left, winked at me over his shoulder.

  I winked back.

  Jacob's face turned dark. He crossed his arms over his chest. "He shouldn't be overly familiar with you. People will think there's something between you."

  I waited until the door was closed then I stood and faced him. He turned that dark scowl on me. "He winked at me, Jacob. It's not quite as familiar as coming into my bedroom. For example."

  His eyes turned the deep gray of a stormy sky. He took a long time to answer and I had the most disturbing feeling deep in my belly. Like a little flippity, somersaulting.

  I suspected—hoped—he was going to kiss me.

  CHAPTER 8

  Jacob did not kiss me. He spun on his heel and strode to the door. "Let's go," he said. "We don't have much time." Then he disappeared. I stared at the spot where he'd been standing and touched my lips. They tingled from the anticipation, and the disappointment.

  Was it so wrong of me to want him to kiss me?

  The door opened from the other side and he poked his head through the gap. "It's clear," he said. "Follow me."

  It would seem I had little choice. I blew out a steadying breath and walked behind him down the narrow wood-paneled hall, treading on my toes so as not to make a sound. The musty scent of dampness clung to the stale air and it was cooler than the parlor.

  I hoped Jacob knew where he was going. While haunting Blunt the previous night, he must have spent some time looking over the school. I wanted to ask him if he had a destination in mind but I dared not speak. I had no idea where Mrs. White and George had gone but I didn't want to risk being overheard.

  Jacob seemed content to do all the talking anyway and didn't appear to expect me to answer him. "The rooms along here are classrooms," he said, indicating the closed doors on either side of the corridor. One of the doors was ajar and I paused to listen.

  Mrs. White's voice came to me clearly. "The girls are given a grounding in arithmetic to help them learn about portions for cooking, making cleaning pastes and the like," she said.

  George responded but I didn't catch his words.

  Jacob waited at the end of the corridor. "There are some unsupervised boys down here," he said.

  I quickly followed him to a room that stank of shoe polish. Three boys aged about thirteen sat on stools at a long wooden table in the center of the room. Each of them had a fist thrust inside a boot, their other hand holding a blackened polishing cloth. Dozens more boots, some shiny but most covered in dirt, stood in rows on the table, and more again occupied a series of shelves on the opposite wall. It would take a small army to fill them all let alone clean them.

  The boys glanced up when I entered. Two of them jumped to their feet, the other took his time to stand. He was the only one of the three who didn't bow a greeting.

  "Who are you then?" he asked, his stringy blond hair falling over his forehead in jagged wisps.

  One of the other boys hissed something at him but I couldn't hear what. The blonde boy merely shrugged in response.

  "My name is Emily Chambers," I said. It was rather a relief not to see recognition on their faces. True anonymity at last.

  "Find out what you can from them," Jacob said. "I'll keep watch." But he didn't disappear immediately. Instead he sized up the three boys. Although none of them were tall lads, they were all as tall as me and would undoubtedly continue to grow if their lanky limbs were any indication. The two boys who'd stood quickly didn't quite meet my gaze and shifted uncomfortably as if they couldn't keep still. The other boy, the blond one, not only met my gaze but held it.

  "I'm 'Arry Cotton," he said, "and this is Johnny Fife and Peter Bowker." The one who'd hissed at him was Bowker. He and Fife smiled shyly at me and blushed hard. Harry Cotton seemed to think this was funny and sniggered.

  "Call if you need me," Jacob said then disappeared.

  "You the replacement?" Harry asked. Of the three boys, he looked to be the oldest, or perhaps it was simply because he had the beginnings of a leaner, harder jaw whereas the other two still had the soft, rounded faces of children. Fife had a set of dimples in either cheek.

  "Replacement?" I asked.

  "For Mr. Felchurch. 'E up and left yesterday. Got a job as a slave at some toff's 'ouse."

  "'Arry," Bowker whispered loudly.

  "Slave?" I asked.

  "Footman," Fife said, blushing again and still not meeting my gaze.

  "Slave," Harry Cotton said and sniffed. "As good as." He threw his cloth down on the boot he'd been polishing then spat on it. He followed up his show of defiance with a raised brow at me. Obviously he lumped me in with those same toffs.

  "Ah. No, I'm not Mr. Felchurch's replacement." I stepped closer and lowered my voice. I particularly wanted to capture Harry's interest. I suspect if anyone was going to talk, it would be him. The other two were either too afraid or too good. "I'm the employer of Maree Finch," I said, bending the truth. "Do you remember her?"

  "Yeah," said Harry, shrugging one shoulder. "So?"

  "So...she's gone missing. I need to find her."

  Bowker and Fife exchanged glances but there was nothing guilty in their expressions, just concern. Cotton continued to meet my gaze. He crossed his arms over his chest and thrust his hands up under his armpits. "Why do you need to find 'er?" he asked. "She nick something of yours?"

  "No," I lied. I was becoming very good at it with all the recent practice. "I'm simply concerned for her." That at least was the truth. I hated to think where Maree had gone. More than likely she'd joined her brother and was learning how to become a better thief. Of course there were worse occupations for a poor girl to learn on London’s streets but I didn't want to contemplate that scenario.

  Harry snorted. "And I'm the king of bloody England."

  "I am worried about her," I insisted. "I'm worried that she'll end up like that brother of hers. If she's caught she'll be sent to the workhouse or prison."

  Fife shuddered and twisted his fingers together.

  "Least Tommy Finch ain't got no master but hisself," Harry said.

  "Now we both know that's not true." I was going out on a limb but it was a step I had to take, not only to win Harry's trust, but to get him talking. "I know Tommy Finch is guided by someone else, someone who wouldn't care if Tommy or Maree got caught." It wasn't unusual for gangs of boys to be ruled by an older man
, equally poor and desperate but more experienced in avoiding the police. Those unscrupulous men certainly didn't care about the wellbeing of their charges—London was teeming with boys and girls eager to take their place.

  Harry blinked and looked away. The defiance was still printed into his features but I sensed he was wavering.

  "Do you know who?" I tried. I was met with silence, which was to be expected. "Then can you tell me where I might find Tommy?"

  "What, so you can dob 'im in?"

  I glanced at the door. This wasn't going at all well and I didn't have much time. "No, so I can coax his sister back to her job. She was good at it." Why couldn't he see the benefits of reliable, honest work for someone like Maree, someone with little education, no home, no parents and few other choices? Why couldn’t he see it for his own sake? "She was cared for there with a roof over her head, food on the table and clothes to keep her warm. What's going to happen to her now?" I hadn't realized I'd been moving closer to him as I spoke so that now I stood right in front of him, my face only inches from his. "Well? Is her brother going to take care of her?"

  "Tommy'll see 'er right," Harry said thrusting out his chin. "'E's got integ, integra... 'E takes care of 'is own and I ain't gonna rat 'im out so you can make yerself feel good by thinking you're saving 'is sister. None of us will." This last he said to the other two, an unspoken threat threading through his tone.

  Neither Bowker nor Fife disagreed with him. They shuffled their feet and kept their gazes firmly on the table.

  I was trying to think what to say next to convince them to help me when Jacob appeared. For once I didn't gasp or squeal in alarm. I was growing used to his sudden appearances.

  "You need to leave," he said, pacing. "Now."

  I hurriedly thanked the boys and left. Out in the corridor, I could clearly hear Mrs. White's voice. It came from around the corner and she was coming our way.

  "In here," Jacob said. He indicated a closed door. "It's a storage room."

  I slipped inside, alone, then closed the door. I dared not feel around me in the darkness in case I knocked over a broom so I stood still and waited. The stink of old dampness was stronger than out in the corridor and the underlying scent of shoe polish, tallow and other smells teased my nostrils. I heard the voices of Mrs. White and George in conversation as they passed and wondered if they would enter the room I'd just vacated. Hopefully none of the boys would tell her I'd been there.

  The door opened and Jacob drew me out by the hand. His cool fingers soothed my hot skin. "You have to get back to the front room before you're discovered."

  "But I haven't learned anything useful yet," I whispered.

  "Then we'll just have to think of another way." He glanced up the corridor. "But not now." He put a hand to my back and gently pushed me forward.

  "What's the hurry?"

  "There are no other classrooms after that one. Mrs. White and George will be returning to collect you soon."

  I sighed. "Very well, I suppose—."

  A door on my right suddenly opened and a man of giant proportions, with a beard and moustache of equally monstrous size, filled the doorway. He stopped when he saw me, and his two pale, yellow-green eyes narrowed.

  "It's Blunt," Jacob said. He drew himself up to his full height and although he wasn't as tall as the schoolmaster, he looked just as impressive and rather more dangerous thanks to an expression that could have been hewn from rock.

  "Who are you?" Blunt bellowed. "And what are you doing here?" It was difficult to tell if he was speaking in such a formidable tone simply to terrify me or if that was his normal volume. If it was indeed to scare me, it worked.

  "Don't let him see your fear," Jacob said. He stood so close to me our arms brushed. The small contact bolstered my confidence. He was right. I had nothing to fear. I was not one of Blunt's pupils. "I won't let him hurt you."

  I do so like having my own ghost for protection. I wasn't sure what Jacob would use as a weapon—he couldn't use his fists on someone who couldn't see him—but I didn't care. His presence alone was enough for me.

  I lifted my head and met Blunt's gaze. Jacob shot a small smile my way. "That's it," he said.

  "I was looking for Mrs. White and my friend George Culvert," I said to Blunt. "I believe they came this way. I've got a headache you see, so I waited in the drawing room while they looked for a suitable new maid." I pressed my fingers to my temples and feigned discomfort. Blunt's expression didn't change so I couldn't be sure if he believed my little act or not. "Unfortunately I don't feel any better so I was looking for George to ask him to take me home."

  Blunt's moustache twitched and two wet lips appeared through all that hair. I think he was smiling at me. Or not. It was hard to tell. "Who were you talking to just now?" He looked over my head down the corridor. "There's no one here."

  He'd heard me!

  "Tell him your name," Jacob said, "and let him make his own conclusions." He chuckled darkly.

  "Forgive me, I haven't introduced myself," I said sweetly. "My name is Emily Chambers and I—."

  "Chambers!" Blunt's eyes widened. "The spirit medium?" His gaze quickly flicked past me again, side to side, over his shoulder then back to me once more before going through the routine again.

  Perhaps my reputation wasn't such a bad thing after all. I tried to keep my satisfied smile to myself. "The very one," I said.

  He shuffled closer then bent almost double to speak to me at my level. He reeked of cigar smoke. "A ghost haunted me last night. You weren't, ahem, talking to it just now by any chance?"

  I dropped my voice to match his. "I can't discuss that with you. Professional reasons, you understand."

  Jacob tipped his head back and laughed. It was very difficult not to laugh along with him.

  "Ah." Blunt nodded and straightened. "Yes, of course, you and your sister have to make a living. No one knows about the necessity of a good business ethic more than me." He puffed out his barrel-sized chest, which pushed out his waistcoat and tightened the pocket watch chain. I kept one eye on it in case it snapped and I had to quickly get out of the way of any flying links. "I called on you both this morning but you were out," he said. "Perhaps you could have your sister contact me to schedule an appointment. I am in great need of your services."

  "Of course."

  "Tell her it's urgent."

  "She's always prompt."

  "Good, good. Now to that headache of yours. Can I have someone bring you a draft?"

  "No thank you, I'll be fine once I get some rest."

  "Tell him you're here because Maree Finch left Culvert's employment after stealing a book and you need another servant," Jacob said. "Mention what the book was about too. I want to see his reaction."

  I did and watched Blunt's face. All that facial hair made it nearly impossible to gauge his thoughts but his eyes gave away his sharp interest.

  "I see," he said, thoughtful. "Demonology you say. An unusual topic."

  "Mr. Culvert and I suspect Maree stole the book for someone else," I said. "Her brother perhaps."

  The ragged ends of his beard twitched as his lips pursed. "You ask a lot of questions for a girl."

  I wasn't sure if that was a slight on my age or my sex or both. Either way, it rankled. "Professional curiosity," I said.

  His eyes widened. "You think Tommy Finch has something to do with the haunting here?"

  I put my finger to my lips. "Lower your voice please, Mr. Blunt. We wouldn't want to alert the spirit to our suspicions."

  "You're very good at this," Jacob said. "Have you considered performing on the stage?"

  It really was difficult to ignore him when he was in such a good mood. Actually, it was difficult to ignore him at any time. He was simply so...obvious. "I need to consider all possibilities," I said to Blunt, "particularly where a book on demonology is concerned."

  "Yes, of course." The schoolmaster clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. He appeared to be thinking hard, decidi
ng whether to say something or not. Finally he spoke. "So you think the stolen book has something to do with the haunting?"

  "Perhaps. It is a remarkable coincidence. The book goes missing then Maree goes missing and a disgruntled spirit pays you a visit."

  "You are wicked for letting him think there's a link," Jacob said with a grin. "I like it."

  "So tell me about Tommy Finch," I said. "Has he returned to the school since his departure?"

  "Absolutely not." Blunt's beard shook with the vigor of his denial. "We don't allow pupils who've left us to return. Not ones like Tommy Finch. He's no good. A bad seed. I hope his sister hasn't joined him in his illicit pursuits. She was a good girl, reliable and quiet. I like the quiet ones."

  Jacob bared his teeth in a snarl, all hint of humanity gone.

  "Let's hope she's safe somewhere," I said quickly, keeping one eye on Jacob. I didn't think he would hurt Blunt but I couldn't be certain about anything where Jacob was concerned. He was proving to be unpredictable.

  "This demonology book," Blunt went on. He stroked his beard and paused for several beats. Eventually he sighed and shook his head. "I'd better tell you. It might be important."

  "Yes?" I prompted when he hesitated again. He had my full attention, and Jacob's too. My ghost had finally stopped glaring daggers at the schoolmaster.

  "A gentleman from the school's board mentioned demons to me quite recently."

  "How does one casually slip demonology into a conversation?" Jacob said.

  "In what context?" I asked Blunt.

  Blunt waved a hand, dismissive. "We were simply discussing our private interests, away from work you understand, and he said he belongs to the Society for Supernatural Activity and has a particular interest in demons." The organization's name sounded familiar. "Indeed, he mentioned your friend Culvert as also being a member with the same interest."

  Of course! George belonged to the same society. So this board member probably knew about George's extensive library on the subject. The coincidence was too close for my liking. "When were you talking to him?" I asked. "Could Maree have possibly overheard the conversation?" Or was there some other tie-in with her brother? Or were neither of them involved at all?