by C. J. Archer
Jacob stiffened and stared hard at the fireplace.
“Theo is very busy,” I said. “He has his legal studies and is working in a law office three afternoons a week.” Theo might be a gentleman, but he was as poor as me. Well, perhaps not quite that poor, but he wasn’t well-to-do like his rich and titled relatives. He needed to work for a living. Celia thought a lawyer was a decidedly good prospect for me, and I had to agree that a girl in my position couldn’t hope for better.
“That may be so,” she said, “but he seems to find the time to visit us often.” The triumphant lift of her chin was most certainly for Jacob’s benefit. She didn’t dislike him. She just didn’t think he was a good influence on me. Looking at it from her perspective, I could see why. Being in love with a ghost was not something I would wish on anyone. Our future together depended upon my death.
But I had no choice in the matter. The heart will feel what the heart will feel.
“Go on, Jacob,” I urged him. “Tell me what to look for.”
He collapsed into the armchair once again. “The Administrators believe the Waiting Area is being sabotaged.”
“Sabotaged! By whom?”
“And why?” asked Celia.
“And how?”
“I cannot tell you how,” he said. “The Administrators haven’t discovered the method. They’ve been too busy trying to keep the weakest spirits within the Waiting Area. As to the whom and the why…” His exhausted gaze locked with mine. “We think it’s the same person who brought the demon to this realm and summoned the spirit of Mortlock.” Mortlock was the vicious ghost who’d possessed Adelaide and then George.
“Your killer,” I said on a breath.
Jacob nodded. “He was trying to hurt me through you and my family, but I think he has a new tactic—destroy me directly. I can’t pretend I’m not glad,” he said quietly. “All I ever wanted was for my loved ones to be safe.”
My insides melted. To be classed alongside his family was an honor. To be called a loved one was a dream come true. “Perhaps he somehow knows you haven’t been here and thought you no longer cared for me.”
“Or perhaps he saw Hyde visiting frequently and decided you no longer cared for me.” His voice was dark but gave no indication of what he thought of the matter. Considering he was the one pushing me in Theo’s direction, I would think he was happy with this unexpected benefit.
“Your scenario does seem more likely since he cannot see you,” I said.
“His murderer is doing this?” Celia frowned. I could see she was trying very hard to keep up with the conversation despite only hearing half of it. “It does seem likely after all the trouble he’s caused so far.”
“Or she,” I said. “The murderer may be a woman.”
“True. Whomever it is, they have a great deal of knowledge about the supernatural.”
“Someone from the Society for Supernatural Activity perhaps.”
“You’re thinking of Price?” He shook his head. “I’m not sure if anyone in the Society is that knowledgeable. They’re mostly a group of men and women with an interest in demons, ghosts, and inexplicable phenomena. The knowledge required to do this is obscure and beyond a little dabbling in the supernatural.”
“Price might have gained that knowledge from another source.”
“So might anyone else.”
“Not that you are going to confront this Mr. Price,” Celia said. “I absolutely forbid you to go anywhere near him. Do you understand me, Emily?”
“Of course,” I said. “I wouldn’t do anything so stupid.”
Celia huffed.
Jacob narrowed his eyes. “For once I agree with her. Do not do anything yet except go through the books in George’s library. If you can’t find something there, we’ll have to wait for the Administrators to guide me when they’re ready.”
I expected Jacob to disappear to conserve his energy, but he remained, watching me intently. It was unnerving but exhilarating at the same time. He was the most handsome man I knew, his features strong and defined. There were no weak lines on his face or in the set of his broad shoulders. He wore only the shirt and trousers he’d died in, and I couldn’t stop my gaze wandering to the gap where his shirt opened at his chest. I wanted to kiss him there, feel the smooth skin and tease a sigh from his lips.
He suddenly faded again and I opened my mouth to call him, but he returned.
“Are you all right?” My heart pulsed in my throat and I swear I could hear the clang my nerves made as they jangled.
He nodded. “Emily, do you recall that I said I would look for your father in New South Wales?”
I waved my hand in dismissal. “Never mind that now. There are more important things to be done first.”
“Your situation is important too, Em.”
“Thank you.” I gave him a grim smile. “But it can wait. Besides, you may not be able to travel so far in this state.”
“When this is over, and if I am able, I will find him for you.”
“You won’t need to go anywhere,” said Cara from the doorway. My ten-year-old aunt nodded a greeting at Jacob as she came into the drawing room carrying a plate of almond biscuits. She was a medium, like me, the ability to communicate with spirits having been passed down to us from our distant African ancestors. She looked pretty with her dark wavy hair tied up with blue ribbons. She wore a matching blue dress that used to be mine, but Celia had pulled it out of the attic and given it to Cara when she came to live with us.
“What do you mean?” I asked her.
“He’s here in London.”
“My father? Your brother?”
“I seen him,” Cara said, setting the plate on the table.
I waited for Celia to correct her sentence, but she didn’t. My sister must have been shocked into stupidity by Cara’s announcement. One glance at her proved otherwise, however. She sat primly on the edge of the sofa, her gaze upon her hands in her lap. It was only on closer inspection that I noticed them shaking.
“He came here while you were out,” Cara said. “Lucy let him in and I watched them talking. He didn’t see me.”
“Do you mean the man who didn’t leave his name or calling card?” I asked.
“He looked like us,” she said, her serious eyes fixed on me. “Only a little bit darker.”
No wonder Lucy had been eyeing me surreptitiously when she said a man had come calling. She must have suspected he was my kin but had not wanted to broach the subject of our similarity, or had not known how to do so politely.
“Did he say anything else?” I pressed Cara. “Did he mention where he is staying?”
She shook her head. “He asked if Mrs. Chambers and Miss Celia Chambers still lived here. Lucy told him Mrs. Chambers was dead and you two were out. Then he left.”
“What was his reaction to the news of our mother’s death?” I asked. “Did he seem upset?”
She shrugged one shoulder.
“I wonder why he came back from New South Wales.” It was all so surreal, so fantastical, that I couldn’t quite take it in. My father, Louis, was back and he’d come looking for us. We thought he’d made a new life for himself in that far-off land and didn’t want past relationships to interfere with it. That’s what Louis’ father, my grandfather, had told us. Since Mama and Celia never heard from him again, we’d assumed old Mr. Moreau spoke the truth.
“Tea,” said Celia. The single, decisive word punctured my thoughts. “Where’s Lucy? We must have our tea.”
I caught Jacob watching me, his finger slowly stroking his lips. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“I think so. My grandfather will probably know where he is.” I rose, but Celia pulled me back down onto the sofa with a hard jerk.
“You are not going anywhere,” she snapped. “And you are certainly not going to see that madman.”
“But my father—”
“No! If Louis wishes to visit us, then let him come.” She smoothed down her skirts, so it was difficu
lt to see if her hands still shook. “We will not go chasing him around the city. Understand?”
“Yes, Celia.”
She squeezed my arm then rose and left the drawing room muttering about tea.
Jacob sighed. “You’re going to visit your grandfather, aren’t you?”
I nodded. “Of course.”
“Good,” said Cara. “I’ll come too. I don’t like being left out.” She arched her eyebrows at me then at Jacob, a childishly defiant gleam in her eyes.
I sighed. “How much did you hear?”
“Everything.”
The defiance vanished and she knelt on the floor in front of me. She clasped my hands. “You can trust me, Emily. I want to help.”
“And you will,” I said to placate her.
“Indeed,” Jacob muttered. “We may need all the help we can get.”
CHAPTER 3
I couldn’t get away from the house without Celia noticing until the following day. When she went shopping early the next morning, Cara and I slipped out. My aunt insisted on coming with me. I didn’t see the harm in allowing her, and it was nice to have company. We caught the omnibus to the Leather Lane market where François Moreau kept a stall selling fruit and vegetables. It was easy to spot the faded red awning over his cart next to the lamp seller, despite the crowds.
I wasn’t looking forward to seeing my grandfather again. He had a tendency to laugh like a madman, which I suppose he was. Getting straight answers out of him had proved difficult so far.
“Have you seen him?” I asked Moreau after we explained the reason for our visit.
“My boy?” he said with a lilting French accent. “Bah! He’s a fool, that one.” He rearranged the onions in their display box on his cart but not for any discernible reason that I could see except to keep his hands busy. The new pattern looked exactly like the old one. “Imbécile.”
“Papa, you do know that he’s back, don’t you?” asked Cara.
“He went to New South Wales. Long, long way away.”
“Yes, but he returned,” I said, trying very hard to keep the note of impatience out of my voice. “Has he been to see you?”
François didn’t look up as he swapped onions with onions, over and over again, his brown hands fast and nimble. “He went to New South Wales. Better there for people like him. People like us.” His fingers suddenly stilled and he clenched an onion in his fist. His head jerked up and his pitch-black gaze drilled into me. “Go! Now! Leave Louis be. He is my only son.”
“But Papa,” Cara begged, “tell us where to find him. He is my brother and Emily’s father.”
François shook the onion at her. “Go away! You not my daughter no more. You be with them now. They trouble,” he muttered. “Girls always bring trouble.”
I clasped Cara’s hand and drew her away from my grandfather, her father. It was a mistake to come to the market. We weren’t going to get answers from him. We would simply have to wait for Louis to come to us. He had once, hopefully he would again.
“How did you live with him for as long as you did?” I asked Cara as we wended our way through the stalls selling everything from eels to hair combs, sherbet to Dutch dolls.
“We didn’t talk much. He brought home food and I kept out of his way. He wasn’t like a real father. He didn’t even know about me until I was eight.”
That she could speak so calmly about her father’s disregard amazed me. He had not asked her how she fared with us, people who’d been complete strangers to her mere weeks ago. Then again, Cara was quite detached. Her eyes lit up at all the usual things, like new clothes or toys or a plate full of cakes, but when it came to more serious emotions, she seemed incapable of feeling anything.
I took her hand and was surprised that it trembled. It seemed I was wrong. She was upset by the encounter. It amazed me that it didn’t show on her face.
I squeezed her fingers and she squeezed back but neither of us spoke of François Moreau again.
We dodged the early morning shoppers and loafers and made our way up Leather Lane. Street sellers shouted over each other to catch our attention, but we ignored them. The man with shrimps poking out of his hat-band crying, “Shrimps at a penny a pint,” smelled particularly foul. We gave him the widest berth of all.
“I must get to George’s,” I said, hurrying Cara through the maze. “I’ll see you home safely first.”
“I can go on my own.”
“I know, but I would be a terrible niece if I allowed my aunt to roam the streets unattended.”
She giggled and I grinned. We both saw the absurdity of an aunt being seven years younger than the niece.
“Are you going to look through Mr. Culvert’s books to find out why Mr. Beaufort is fading in and out?” she asked when her giggles subsided.
“Yes.” It was nice not to be the only one able to see and hear spirits anymore, even though it meant I couldn’t have secret conversations with Jacob when she was near. Cara’s very existence made me feel less of a freak.
As luck would have it, an omnibus was letting off passengers and continuing in our direction. It had seats inside where it was warmer than riding on top, and I informed the conductor we wished to travel as far as Chelsea.
“Can I help you and Mr. Culvert?” Cara asked as we took our seats.
“Not yet,” I said. “But I’ll be sure to let you know if there’s something you can do.”
“Good. I don’t like being left out. I am ten, you know, not a baby.”
***
I made sure Cara arrived home safely, then I set off again before Celia could stop me. No doubt Cara would tell her where we’d been and I would get a lecture about my disobedience later. So be it.
George was just stepping out of his carriage when I strolled up to his Wilton Crescent house. “Emily!” he said, beaming. “What a lovely surprise.” Then he suddenly frowned. “Or is it? You look a little anxious.”
“I am.” I decided not to tell him about my father’s return. That could wait until after I’d spoken to Louis and learned of his plans. Besides, there were more troubling matters to address. “Something’s happened in the Waiting Area. If I’d known you were going to be out and about early I would have come straight after breakfast. I thought you might sleep late.” The Belgravia set often didn’t rise until late in the morning, or so I’d been told. I regretted losing valuable time that could have been better spent researching and not chasing my elusive father.
“You can visit in the middle of the night if it’s important.” He opened the front door and a footman sailed across the tiles to meet us. “Library?” George said to me as the footman took our coats and hats.
“Most definitely.”
“Greggs, have tea sent up to the library and lunch in an hour. Is Mother at home?”
“Mrs. Culvert is preparing to go out, sir,” Greggs said in his deadpan voice.
“Preparing, eh? That could take hours.” George hooked his arm through mine. “There’s no need to tell her that I have a guest in the library. Unless she asks of course, then I suppose you must answer truthfully.”
“Very good, sir.”
“You could order him to lie to her,” I whispered as we walked arm in arm into the library adjoining the entrance hall. “He is your servant after all, not your mother’s.”
“Mother has Greggs wrapped around her little finger. Besides, she would sniff out the presence of a visitor, particularly one connected to Lady Preston, regardless of what I tell her. Mother’s senses function all too well when hunting prey that could help her in certain circles. You, my dear, are a tasty morsel indeed.”
I stopped at the massive central table with its leather inlay and squat, solid legs, and set my reticule on the surface. “I’m not connected to Lady Preston at all. We are merely acquaintances.”
“But you are friends with Adelaide, aren’t you? I mean, Miss Beaufort.” From the way he leaned forward, I sensed he was interested in the answer for his own sake, not his mother’s.
“We are friends of sorts, although I’m not sure how close we are considering she is the daughter of an earl and I am the illegitimate daughter of a—” I realized I didn’t know what my father did for a living. Perhaps he was a grocer like his father. “A nobody.”
He winced. “Friendship knows no boundaries, Emily. Nor does love.”
“You are sounding positively egalitarian, George.” I scanned one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that occupied three entire walls of the cavernous room. George’s library was very impressive, with many of the books being old and rare. His library was a reader’s dream, as long as that reader had an interest in the paranormal. “What’s happened to make you so fair-minded? When we first met, you thought my friendship with Adelaide quite shocking.”
“You happened, as a matter of fact.”
“Me?” I paused, my hand on a book spine, and looked at him over my shoulder.
“Yes, you. Your friendship has enriched me beyond anything these dusty books ever taught me.” He swept his arms wide to indicate the library with its thousands upon thousands of volumes.
“Why George, you’re being very sweet all of a sudden.” I narrowed my eyes. “Do you want something from me?” His cheeks reddened and I laughed. “I knew it!”
“No, no. Oh very well, yes.” He gave me a crooked smile and pushed his glasses up his nose. “I simply want to ask you some questions about Miss Beaufort. What sort of dances she likes best, her hobbies, that sort of thing.”
Meaning he wanted to charm her at the ball. Dear George got sweeter and sweeter with every moment. “What I could teach you about women in general, and Adelaide in particular, would take the rest of the day, and that’s only because you know so little. I’m sorry, George, we don’t have the luxury today.”
He sighed. “Of course. You did say it was important. Something’s happened in the Waiting Area?”
I told him about the fading spirits and everything Jacob had said. “He’s going to find out what he can from the Administrators, but it’s chaotic up there apparently.”