[Anthology] The Paranormal 13- now With a Bonus 14th Novel!

by Dima Zales

  "You might as well be," Jacob said. He looked skyward as if he'd find some patience there, or some way of convincing me I was being a fool. "Bloody hell, Emily, coming here is dangerous. Do you understand?"

  The door opened at that moment and I smiled at the maid in relief. We introduced ourselves and George asked to speak to someone in authority.

  "Mr. Blunt the master's gone out," she said, "but Mrs. White'll receive you." She showed us into a room that appeared to be either an office or a drawing room or perhaps acted as both. It had a small, unlit fireplace, a large desk with hard, unpadded chairs on either side of it, a sofa and two armchairs, none of which matched, and a threadbare green rug on the floor. There were no decorative items on the mantelpiece, no paintings on the walls and not even a bookshelf near the desk. On second thought the room couldn't possibly function as an office as there wasn’t a scrap of paper in sight and the inkwell appeared empty. It must be entirely for the use of visitors then.

  The maid left, leaving George, Jacob and I in awkward silence. Having a three-way conversation when only one of us can speak to the other two is difficult at best. It's absolutely awful when we're quarrelling. George and I seated ourselves on the sofa, a respectable distance between us, while Jacob remained standing by the door, arms crossed, glaring at me. It was most disconcerting. My face felt hot and a thousand things ran through my mind. Of course I voiced none of them. In fact, I tried not to look at him at all. I failed.

  Thankfully Mrs. White didn’t take long to arrive. She wasn't as old as I expected, only a little older than Celia I'd guess, but more homely. Her soft brown eyes crinkled at the corners and a series of lines bracketed her mouth as she smiled at us. Her dark hair, streaked with gray, was pulled into a loose knot and her black gown could have been worn for mourning a loved one or simply because she liked the color. It did suit her although the large bustle at the back didn't flatter her dumpy figure.

  "Now, what may I do for you?" she asked after introducing herself.

  "I'm George Culvert," George said before I could answer.

  Her eyebrows rose. "Mr. Culvert? You took on one of our girls, didn't you?"

  He nodded but didn't explain what had happened to Maree Finch. He indicated me. "This is Miss Emily Chambers."

  Mrs. White paled. "Chambers? Miss Emily Chambers?"

  George's eyes twinkled behind his glasses. "You know her?"

  It would seem my reputation as a medium had preceded me. It was happening more and more lately. Over the last month or two, the mere mention of my name was enough to cause strangers to ogle me, or walk quickly in the opposite direction. I suppose it meant Celia and I were garnering a good reputation for our work, which in turn would generate more appointments for our séances. But I couldn't be as happy as her about the increase in our trade, not if it meant more reactions like that of Mrs. White.

  "I would say she knows of me, is that right, Mrs. White?" I asked, trying to allay any fears she might have with a warm smile.

  Her hand fluttered to her chest and she gave a nervous little laugh. "Forgive me, yes, I have heard of you, Miss Chambers. Indeed, only this morning the master of our little school, Mr. Blunt, was telling me he was going to contact you." She pursed her lips. "He was very insistent."

  "Oh? He wishes to communicate with the dead?"

  "I believe so but you'd have to discuss the particulars with him." She clicked her tongue and sighed. "I don't know what's got into him. He's never been interested in the supernatural before."

  I glanced at Jacob. He grinned. It was breathtaking, quite literally—the air whooshed out of my lungs and my throat went dry. It was rather a relief to see he'd snapped out of his bad temper too.

  I smiled back at him.

  "The Misses Chambers have an excellent reputation." George smiled too but I suspect not for the same reasons as us. I hadn't told him about Jacob's haunting of Mr. Blunt. "I highly recommend them. Emily really can communicate with spirits."

  Jacob snorted and came to stand beside me. "It seems you have an admirer."

  "Indeed, she was just speaking to one outside," George went on. He sounded like a proud older brother. It was rather sweet.

  Jacob groaned. "If he tells her my name I might have to throw something."

  "Thank you, George," I said quickly. "I'm sure Mrs. White isn't interested."

  He opened his mouth to say something but must have caught my don't-you-dare expression because he shut it again.

  Mrs. White didn’t appear to notice our exchange, or she was too polite to let us think she had. "Your sister left a calling card when she collected Lucy yesterday, you see," she said. I knew the ones. Celia had a habit of leaving them wherever she went so that it acted as a form of advertising. "Mr. Blunt was going to call on you today. I can't think why there's such an urgency." She shrugged.

  "Perhaps he's being haunted," George said.

  I choked but managed to turn it into a cough. Jacob patted my back and I continued to cough although the need had gone. I simply liked his touch. A lot.

  "Are you all right, Emily?" George asked, shifting along the sofa towards me.

  Mrs. White stood. "I'll get some water."

  I stopped coughing and Jacob stopped patting. "I'm fine, thank you." I refrained from looking at him for about two seconds then couldn't help myself. Unfortunately he had his back to me, striding towards the door. Avoiding me again. He was making quite a habit of it.

  Mrs. White sat down. "How is Lucy getting along?"

  "Very well," I said. "I think she's a little perturbed to be working in the house of someone who can see ghosts, but she doesn't seem too afraid." She'd got through the night at least, which was more than I could say for one of our previous maids.

  "Good, good. And how is Maree?" she asked George.

  "Ah," he said. "She is the reason we've come here. She's disappeared—."

  "Disappeared!" Mrs. White shook her head. "No, no, no, not Maree. She's such a good girl. We never had any problems with her here."

  "She also stole a book from me."

  Mrs. White stifled a gasp with her hand. "Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear. Are you sure?"

  "Quite sure." George told her about our interview with Maree Finch and the reasons for our suspicions. "The odd thing is," he said in finishing, "is that she can't read. So why steal a book of all things?"

  "A very good question," Mrs. White said. She frowned and shook her head slowly. "I simply can't believe Maree would do such a thing. And a book too when she can't read, as you say. What was it about?"

  "Demonology," George said before I could deflect the question. I thought it was one we should avoid answering truthfully. I didn't want to alarm the lady.

  But Mrs. White didn't seem as disturbed as I thought she would be. I'd expected a vehement denial of Maree's interest in demonology, or a little gasp or some show of distress over the book's subject matter. As it was, she simply paled. It was a considerable paling but nevertheless it wasn't a fierce reaction. "I see. Well, that's an … interesting topic for a young girl."

  "Particularly for a young girl who can't read," Jacob said. "It's not the sort of book that will help her learn."

  I agreed wholeheartedly. "We think she might have stolen it for someone else," I said.

  "For her brother," George added.

  "Her brother! You mean Tommy Finch?"

  "I suppose we do," he said. "He attended this school for a while, didn't he?"

  Mrs. White flicked imaginary fluff off her skirts, her attention on the task and not us. "He was but only briefly and that was some time ago. I don't know why he left. I’m not privileged to everything that occurs with the boy pupils. You'd have to ask Mr. Blunt."

  "Has Tommy Finch been back to the school?"

  "Certainly not!"

  "Right," George said. He cleared his throat. "I think you've told us everything we need to know."

  "Don't leave yet," Jacob said. He stood beside George but watched me. "Suggest that Culvert look at
another girl to replace Finch."

  I wasn't sure what Jacob had in mind but I trusted his judgment. "Then let's move onto the real reason we came here," I said to George with a smile. He gave me a blank look. "A new maid."

  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.

  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 ha
d 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.