by C. J. Archer
“Only angry ghosts do that.” And there were many of those. Spirits could cross from the Waiting Area into the Otherworld whenever they wanted, but some chose to stay and haunt the place of their death because they had something they wanted to resolve first. That’s why I was frequently called to haunted homes—to rid it of an unhappy spirit who took their unhappiness out on their bereaved family. Or in some cases, the not so bereaved.
At least, that’s how it used to work. With the curse causing chaos, it seemed no ghosts could cross, nor could they stay here.
“Does Mrs. White have a ghost problem?” Lucy asked.
“She might be able to help me with a supernatural situation,” I said. “I won’t know until I’ve spoken to her. Do you know which house on Grosvenor Street?”
“Sorry, miss, my friend didn’t say.”
“That’s all right, I’ll find her. Now, let’s speak of happier things.”
“Like the ball?”
I smiled. “Like the ball.”
***
I awoke some time during the night with the peculiar sense of being watched. But I wasn’t afraid.
“Jacob,” I whispered into the darkness.
His shadowy figure emerged from the corner of my bedroom. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here,” he said. “It’s very bad manners.”
“I’m not sure social conventions still apply after death.”
“They should. I like to think they do in my case, although…around you…my thoughts are far from gentlemanly.”
My heart skidded to a halt. I knew what he meant and it filled me with warm pleasure from head to toe.
I sat up and put out my hand. Ghosts could see better than when they were alive. I was acutely aware that I wore nothing but my nightgown and my hair must look a fright. “Why are you here?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”
He took my hand. He was so very cold and I felt him shiver. “I simply wanted to see you, Em. Do I need another reason?”
“You don’t but…but lately you’ve been avoiding me.”
“You know why.” His voice was dark and thick, clogged with heavy emotion.
“Do I?”
“Theo is a good man,” he said. “I like him more and more. I’m not going to get in the way.”
It’s what I wanted too of course. So why did I feel so empty all of a sudden? “He is a good man, as you say.” He must have seen me kiss Theo, otherwise why bring it up at all? I wondered if he knew how much I’d enjoyed it, but how much I’d wished Jacob had been the one kissing me.
“You have a real chance of a happy life with him, Em. A full, long life.”
“Don’t,” I choked out.
“No, listen to me.” He caught my face in his hands but quickly let go and stepped away from the bed. “Don’t throw this opportunity away. You like him. You enjoy his company, I know you do.”
“That doesn’t mean I want to marry him.”
“Not yet perhaps, but one day.” His voice drifted off to a tired whisper. “I must go. Sleep well.”
He left and my bedroom seemed darker with the loss of him. I lay down and must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew Cara was at my bedside, shaking me. “Emily, come quickly! Louis is here.”
CHAPTER 5
“Louis!” I sat up with a start. “So early?”
“It’s late,” Cara said. “You overslept.”
I glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was ten o’clock. I sprang out of bed and threw off my nightgown.
“He arrived unannounced and won’t leave.” Cara’s eyes shone and I suspected she was quite thrilled by this piece of news. “Celia is very cross. She keeps asking him to leave, but he refuses and says she has to hear him out first. Come quick, Emily, or you’ll miss him.”
Celia would be furious, but I didn’t care. It was time I met my father. Time he was made aware of my existence. Celia would have to come to terms with it.
“Help me dress,” I said.
Miraculously, I was ready in five minutes, although my hair was not. There was no time to arrange it. “Come, Cara,” I said. “Hold my hand.”
Despite the reassurance her presence gave me, I had to pause at the top of the stairs to catch my breath and settle my nerves. Cara squeezed my hand. In my fluster, I’d forgotten that Louis probably didn’t know about her either, and she must be wondering what reaction he’d have when he found out. It would be an uncertain time for her too.
We held hands and entered the drawing room together. Celia sat on the sofa. A tall man stood near the fireplace, his back to us. He had short, black hair, and the skin on the back of his neck was browner than mine.
My father.
I gave an involuntary gasp and both Celia and Louis turned. My sister glared at me for a brief moment then her gaze faltered and she looked down at the clasped hands in her lap. Her knuckles were white. Louis simply stared. First at me, then at Cara, then back at me.
Celia sniffed but did not introduce us. It would seem she had thrown her manners out the door when he arrived.
Cara stepped forward and performed a small curtsey as Celia had taught her. “I am Miss Cara Moreau,” she said in a bold voice. “Your sister.”
“Sister!” His eyes widened. “I have a sister?”
“Half-sister.”
“Ah. François’ child.” He bowed and when he straightened, there was a small smile on his lips. “Good morning, Miss Moreau. Or perhaps I should call you Cara since we are brother and sister. You didn’t tell me you’d contacted my relations, Celia.”
The informal use of her first name drew another little gasp from me. Celia did not look up.
“And you must be another sister,” he said to me, bowing again. “I’m pleased to meet you. I wish my father had told me of your existence. I would have liked to know I had family.”
“I am not your sister.” My heart smashed against my ribs and my mouth suddenly went dry. I had imagined this moment many times, and in my imagination I had been confident, charming and certain of what I would say. Now I could barely find my voice. “My name is Emily Chambers. I’m your daughter.”
He staggered. His jaw dropped open as if it were on a loose hinge. “My…daughter?” He looked me up and down, his mouth still open, his brow deeply furrowed. “Emily.” Slowly, slowly, his brow cleared, but his eyes clouded. “I have a daughter. A child,” he murmured. Then he shook his head and smiled sheepishly. “Hardly a child. You must be seventeen?”
I nodded. I didn’t trust my voice, not yet. My heart still beat furiously, but now that the first awkward moment was over, my nerves calmed a little. He hadn’t walked out and hadn’t denied that he was my father. And he’d smiled.
“My sister has been a great comfort to me since our mother died,” Celia said. She took my hand and drew me down so hard onto the sofa, I thought my shoulder would wrench out of its socket. “I would have been all alone without her companionship.”
His gaze settled on Celia and her grip tightened on my hand. There was something between them. Something unsettling. I had the very distinct feeling she didn’t like him.
“Your mother?” He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. I thought he was going to ask us not to mention the woman he’d apparently loved enough to beget a child on, but he did not. He grunted as if he’d come to a decision, then said, “May I ask why you never told me about Emily?”
Celia stiffened. “If we’d known where to send letters, we would have. But you did not write to us when you arrived in New South Wales as promised.”
Louis didn’t deny it and my heart constricted. So it was true. Part of me had hoped there’d been a mistake, but it seemed Louis hadn’t wanted to remain in touch once he arrived in the colony of New South Wales, despite the assurances he’d given Mama before he left.
“You didn’t mention her yesterday,” Louis said. “Or my sister. Does she live here? The old man is crazy. I don’t want her near him.”
“It’s a little late to worry ab
out your family,” Celia snapped.
I squeezed her hand, but she snatched it away and smoothed down her skirts.
“I live here now,” Cara said. “They’ve been very good to me. I’m learning how to be a proper lady.”
Louis smiled, but it wasn’t gentle. There was something of a harsh sneer to it. “Celia would be good at that. She knows all about being a proper lady.”
My sister stood abruptly. “I think you should leave.”
“No!” I stood too, ready to run across the room and block Louis’ exit if necessary. “Wait. I have so many questions.” But where to start? I needed to say something before Celia marched him out. “Why didn’t you write?”
Louis lifted his chin and his jaw went rigid. “I meant to. But circumstances…I got into some difficulty in New South Wales…” He regarded Celia from behind half-lowered lids. “I don’t wish to discuss it. Some things are best left forgotten.”
Celia made a miffed sound through her nose. “We agree on that, at least.” She strode to the door. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Moreau, we have a very busy day ahead of us.”
“But I haven’t finished with him yet,” I said. “Mr. Moreau…Louis…”
“Father?” He laughed nervously.
“Father.” A lump lodged in my throat. I’d never called anyone that. It was so hard to believe that I’d finally met him. And he was handsome and had kind eyes, like I’d imagined. They were brown and large like mine. I could see why Mama had fallen in love with him. Seventeen years ago he must have been very young indeed, but I suspect he’d been mature for his age. Someone with a father like François would have to grow up fast to take care of himself.
“Ask me anything,” he said.
“No,” Celia snapped. “Emily, have you forgotten what it is you need to do today?”
“No, but—”
“Perhaps another time, Emily,” my father said gently. “When we’ve all had a chance to calm down and think about things.” He looked to Celia who tilted her chin at him. “I’m not leaving London just yet.”
“You said you were sailing within a few days!” Celia blurted out. “Well. Another broken promise.”
He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. “At least I haven’t lied.”
“You’ve refused to answer questions about your last seventeen years and refused to tell us why you did not write. An omission is as good as a lie.”
“As I told you yesterday,” Louis said through a clenched jaw, “the timing of my departure depends on one matter in particular and in which way it’s resolved. I had hoped for a quick resolution, I admit, but I’ve discovered that it’s not going to be quick at all. Now that I have learned about Emily, I will not be leaving in a hurry. My business is in my partner’s hands and I trust him completely.”
“You must be good friends,” I said, more to ease the tension than anything else.
“We are.” His voice softened. “I saved his life and he’s been the best of friends to me ever since.”
“You saved a man’s life? How very noble of you.”
He dismissed my gushing comment with a shake of his head. “Until next time, daughter.” He bowed at me then at Cara then fronted up to Celia. My sister didn’t meet his gaze. “I will return soon. It would be nice if we could be polite to each other, Celia, but I understand if you cannot. It’s clear you can’t bear the sight of me.”
She stormed off but stopped at the doorway when she realized he wasn’t following. “The front door is this way, Mr. Moreau.”
He was leaving and I hadn’t asked him all the things I’d wanted to. Why had he come back after all this time? Why hadn’t he contacted Mama when he was settled in New South Wales? Why had he left in the first place? I knew he’d applied for the government assistance scheme to move to that far-off land and been accepted, but why apply at all? Was he that unhappy here in England?
“It’s because of Mama, isn’t it?” I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “That’s why you left.”
“Pardon?” Celia said, straining toward us without moving her feet. “What did you say, Emily?”
Louis stared at me.
“My mother didn’t love you enough, did she? You must have seen how much she loved Papa—I mean, the man she married. He may have died, but she still loved him deeply. That’s why you left. Because you knew she’d never love you enough. You had to get away in order to forget her.”
He glanced at Celia. She looked startled at the attention at first, then her face hardened. “I don’t know how much your mother loved me,” he said softly. “She was very…closed on the matter of her heart.”
“What are you saying?” Celia said, striding up to us. “Mr. Moreau, I’ve asked you to leave.”
“Will you not call me Louis?”
“It wouldn’t be proper.”
He gave a grudging laugh. “Always fixated on propriety, aren’t you?”
“Not always,” Celia said levelly.
His nostrils flared. He said nothing for what seemed an eternity. My sister looked away first and he finally turned to me. “Emily, I would dearly like to get to know you better while I’m here. You too, Cara. I’ve never had a sister or daughter before.”
“You don’t have a family in New South Wales?” I asked.
“I live in Victoria now, a colony to the south of New South Wales. And no, I don’t have a family anywhere. Except here, that is.”
I waited for more. Indeed, we all three waited, but he didn’t tell us why he’d spent seventeen years alone when he could have wed or fathered more children. Or come home to England. Louis bowed again and without another word, strode out of the drawing room. Neither Cara, Celia nor I followed him out, and I heard Lucy chatting to him in the hall before the front door opened and shut.
Celia was the first to speak. “Well.” She sat down and picked up her embroidery basket. “At least that’s done. Now we can all get on with our lives.” She hummed a tune as she worked her needle, but her shaking hand gave away her true state of mind. She was as disturbed by Louis’ visit as I was.
***
I wanted to tell Jacob about my father, but didn’t want to summon him. Visiting our realm took energy and he needed to conserve it. His weakness worried me terribly.
Cara and I shared our thoughts out of Celia’s hearing. She seemed just as excited to have a brother as I was to have a father. I also spoke to George about Louis when I went to his house.
“I’m very pleased for you,” he said as we waited in the hall for his carriage to be brought around from the stables. “Very pleased. So you’re not an orphan after all.”
“I suppose I’m not.”
The carriage arrived and George gave his driver instructions to drive to the house of Lord and Lady Preston. We wanted Mr. Seymour’s address from Lady Preston. We knew he had moved, but perhaps the new residents could give us a clue as to where he’d gone, or of how to find the elusive Mrs. Seymour. Lady Preston had already spoken to them, but it was worth trying again.
“I would not hold out much hope if I were you,” Lady Preston said to us as we stood in her private parlor. Weak morning light struggled through the large windows, casting an insipid glow over the spindly Georgian furniture. She rifled through her desk drawer and produced a folded piece of paper. “Here it is.”
I took it because George was too preoccupied to notice. He was looking over his shoulder at the door, probably hoping Adelaide would enter. I hoped Lord Preston would not.
“What will you do if you cannot find the Seymours?” Lady Preston asked.
“I have another line of enquiry to follow,” I said.
She gave a firm nod. “Good. I hope you are able to find something, Miss Chambers.” She rested a delicate hand on my arm but there was strength in her grip. “If there is anything I can do, anything at all, please ask. If you require assistance or money, I will give it to you.” Her intense blue stare, so like Jacob’s compelled me to nod. “Do not be afraid of
my husband. You are welcome here, despite his blustering. He is…” She swallowed. “He is still very affected by Jacob’s death. It’s not an excuse for his abominable behavior toward you, but…” Tears welled in her eyes and she looked away.
I laid my hand over hers. “I understand. I hope one day he will realize we’re trying to help his son, but you need to prepare for the fact he never will. The existence of spirits is not something everyone can accept. I suspect Lord Preston is one of those.”
“It doesn’t matter what he believes, it only matters that Jacob is allowed to finish the journey he’s already begun. I want him to crossover and find peace.”
I did not tell her about the curse on the Waiting Area and how it was affecting all the spirits, including Jacob. There was nothing she could do and she didn’t need the extra worry.
“Oh, Emily,” said Adelaide, breezing into the parlor. “What a pleasant surprise. And Mr. Culvert too.” She smiled at me, but she positively beamed at George. He blushed a fierce red.
“The pleasure is all ours, Miss Beaufort,” George said. “I mean mine. The pleasure is mine. Unless it’s Emily’s too, but I can’t speak for her.”
Adelaide held out her hand and George took it and bestowed a kiss on the back. His face remained the color of radishes, but he didn’t attempt to hide it.
“Did you receive my last letter, Miss Beaufort?” he asked. “I copied out those pages you asked for.”
Adelaide bit her lower lip and glanced at her mother. “Yes, thank you. It was an interesting treatise.”
“You’ve been writing to each other?” Lady Preston’s smile stretched thin. “Adelaide, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I…uh…I’ve recently discovered I have an interest in the supernatural. I didn’t think you’d approve of my visiting Mr. Culvert to look at his library, so I wrote to him instead with my questions. He has been very good in responding with perfectly copied tracts from his books as well as his own thoughts. We’ve had some lively debates.”
“You’re right, I would not have approved. Nor would your father. Not in light of…recent plans.”