Evermore

by C. J. Archer

  “Thank you, but you don’t need to apologize. It’s not your fault.”

  “No, of course not.” He looked up at me and his blond hair flopped over his eyes. He seemed much older all of a sudden, and very serious. “I just don’t like seeing you in difficulty.”

  “It’s no difficulty. Celia will have some money saved. She always does.”

  “What do I always do?” she asked, coming back into the drawing room.

  “Have money saved.” I indicated the letter. “Another cancelation, I see.”

  She nodded, grim. “That’s the sixth I’ve received today.”

  “Sixth!” Good lord. So many. “You do have money set aside, don’t you, Celia?” If she didn’t, the letter could have just thrust us into what Theo politely labeled ‘difficulty.’ It was more like poverty. We could not hope to support ourselves without a steady income.

  “Not now, Emily, we have a guest.” She held out her hand to Theo and he rose and offered his arm. “Luncheon won’t be long.”

  It seemed discussions about our financial state would have to wait a little longer.

  When we finally all piled into the carriage again, it was late afternoon. The hazy ball that was the sun had not yet sunk below the buildings, but cast long shadows across the road. Traffic was light and Grosvenor Street not far, but far enough for us to form a plan on the way.

  When we arrived at number twelve, Celia and I went down to the servants’ entrance below street level. I asked for Mrs. White and as with our last visit, we were shown into the tiny drawing room. She arrived a few minutes later, a polite but strained smile on her face.

  “How can I help you, Miss Chambers?”

  “This is my sister, Miss Celia Chambers, ” I said.

  The two women gave each other polite nods, but Mrs. White didn’t offer a smile. “Is there something I can do for you both?”

  “Oh no, this is a social call,” I said. “We were in the area, you see, and when I told my sister about you, she asked to meet you.”

  “I’m very flattered, and I don’t mean to seem ungracious, but I’m very busy. Perhaps another time?”

  “Yes, of course,” I said.

  Celia rose. “What a shame. I was looking forward to a little chat. Emily has spoken so highly of you.”

  The whole exchange lasted not even a minute. Mrs. White saw us out, apologized again, then shut the door.

  “Is she always that rude?” Celia said.

  We headed back to the carriage, parked on the other side of Grosvenor Square. We had not wanted Mrs. White to see it. Even if she happened to look out of the top floor window, she could not possibly pick out George’s Clarence among the sea of black coaches. She was too far away for one thing, and the tall trees in the central square would block her view.

  “Do you think she’s aware we’re suspicious of her?” I asked.

  “She has no reason to be, does she?”

  “I don’t think so. Well, you had a long enough look at her. Was she the peddler?”

  Celia shrugged and walked a few paces along the path before answering. “I don’t know.”

  I stopped and forced her to halt alongside me. “What do you mean? How can you not know?”

  “Hush, Emily.” Celia gave a polite smile to an elegantly dressed gentleman walking past. He doffed his hat but did not meet her gaze. “Oh, why didn’t I take a better look at the peddler!”

  “You have no inkling one way or another?”

  “None. I could not see a likeness between Mrs. White and the peddler, but if she were disguised with a wig and ragged clothing…” She shook her head. “It’s no excuse. I feel utterly useless.”

  “Never mind. I doubt I would have taken much notice either.”

  She put her arm around my shoulders. “I used to recall the day when I would be the one reassuring you.” She tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear. “You’ve grown up so much lately. No wonder Louis is taken with you.”

  “Is he?” I hadn’t expected her to speak of Louis. She seemed to dislike him so. But now that she had, I wanted to grasp the conversation with both hands. I deliberately slowed my pace to allow us more time. “Celia, what does he think of me?”

  “I’m sure he cannot fail to see how clever and courageous you are.”

  “Really?” It warmed my heart to hear her say it. “I do like him. He seems very nice, and noble. He saved a man’s life. Imagine that!”

  “Yes. Imagine.” We strolled a little more in silence until she suddenly stopped. We were almost at the fence on the other side of the square. The coach was within sight. George stood nearby, watching us, but Theo was a little apart, chatting to two ladies with their backs to us. “Emily…this pains me to say it, but…please be careful with Louis. He’s not proven that he can be a good father.”

  “I don’t think I need a father at seventeen. Indeed, I’ve never had one until now. I’ll be happy just to see him on occasion and be friends.”

  “You won’t be able to see him. He’s going back to Victoria soon.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.” I walked off, my heart in my throat. My own reaction to Louis’ pending departure surprised me.

  Celia took my arm again. I sensed she had more to say but was holding back for some reason.

  “Well?” George asked, standing aside so the footman could open the door. Theo joined us, the ladies having walked off. “Was Mrs. White the peddler?”

  Celia lowered her head. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’ve disappointed everyone.”

  We piled into the carriage and took our seats, the men opposite my sister and me.

  “I say we confront her,” George said. “Tell her we know she’s Frederick’s mother and we know what she’s doing to Beaufort and the Waiting Area.”

  “We can’t,” I said.

  “I agree with Emily,” Theo said. “Mrs. White cannot be the one delivering the curses. To die and then return to life requires a period of recovery. She couldn’t work as a governess at the same time. Her employer would know.”

  “She may be helping whoever it is then,” George said. “Or at the very least, she may know who it is.”

  “Still, I don’t want to confront her,” I said. “It’s too soon. We don’t know enough. Let’s watch her for now. As soon as she leaves the house, we’ll follow her.”

  “You will do no such thing, Emily,” Celia said.

  “But I must!”

  “No, you must not. It’s late and you could be here for some time. All night, possibly. I don’t think even I need to remind you of the proper rules of conduct. Even a half-wit should understand you would break every last one if you remained here with these two gentlemen in the dark.”

  “Then what do you propose this half-wit do?”

  Theo cleared his throat. “Might I offer a suggestion? Culvert and I will stay and watch.”

  “Excellent idea!” George said. “Hyde, you remain behind while I take the ladies home. I’ll stop by my house for a change of horses and driver. We won’t need footmen.” His eyes lit up and he looked like a child about to experience his first Christmas. “Cook should have something set aside that we can eat cold for dinner. Chicken pie, perhaps. How does that sound, Hyde?”

  “Delicious,” Theo said. “And something sweet for afterwards?”

  “Of course. I’ll bring fresh shirts for the morning and blankets for tonight too.”

  “I don’t suppose you could put in a flask of whiskey.”

  “One flask won’t get us far, I’ll make it two large ones.”

  “It isn’t a house party,” I said, laughing. It was impossible not to get caught up in their excitement. “You’re not supposed to have fun.”

  George grinned. “I’m rather looking forward to it. I’ll tell Mother I’ve gone to my club, and I’ll have word sent to your aunt too, Hyde.”

  “What about your studies, Mr. Hyde?” Celia asked. “Don’t you have classes in the morning?”

  “This is far more important,
” Theo said. “Culvert can’t do it alone. Let me worry about my studies, Miss Chambers.”

  It was settled. Celia, George, and I drove off, while Theo remained in Grosvenor Square, looking across Grosvenor Street to number twelve.

  It was going to be a long night for them, and perhaps a long one for me too, lying awake and wondering how they fared. I was prepared for it. I was not prepared, however, to be greeted by a faint ghost, a cross father, and a guilty looking little girl upon my return.

  CHAPTER 8

  “I’m sorry,” Cara blurted out as George’s coach drove off. “It’s all my fault.”

  “What’s all your fault?” Celia asked.

  Louis scowled at my sister. She scowled back. “Cara thinks she can see ghosts,” he said.

  “I can!” She clamped a hand over her mouth and her wide eyes begged for forgiveness, but I wasn’t sure whose forgiveness she wanted.

  “It’s my fault,” Jacob said, rubbing a hand through his hair, messing it up. He seemed to be pausing for breath, but that was impossible. He didn’t need to breathe. “I startled her…he was here.” He chucked Cara under the chin. “Don’t worry.”

  “But he thinks I’m mad,” she whispered, even though Louis would have heard.

  “I think we should go inside,” Celia said, leading the way.

  Louis watched her stiff back, his frown deepening. “Don’t tell me you allow her to believe this nonsense. Celia, I’m surprised at you.”

  I heard Celia suck air between her teeth, but she kept walking and said nothing. It must have been hard for her not to confront him then and there. I had to bite my tongue to stop myself telling him Cara could indeed see spirits, as could I. But some things ought not be revealed on front doorsteps.

  Nobody spoke until we were settled in the drawing room. Lucy had collected our hats and coats and hung them up then trotted off to the kitchen to make tea.

  “Mr. Moreau,” Celia began, “I think—”

  “It’s Louis to you, Celia. After everything we’ve been through, don’t you think you can cease the formality?”

  “Formality and manners are all we have left, Mr. Moreau.”

  “Very well, Celia, if that’s how you want to be. I see I cannot change your mind.”

  “No, you cannot. Now, what I’m about to tell you, may shock you.”

  “I doubt anything can shock me after learning I have a seventeen year-old daughter.” He winked at me and I smiled back, despite my reservations.

  Jacob came up beside me and sat on the arm of the sofa. Ordinarily he liked to stand, but he seemed to need the rest. I desperately wanted to ask him if many spirits had been lost from the Waiting Area, and if he was all right to carry on being in this realm, but I did not. One crisis at a time.

  “Cara can see spirits,” Celia said, rather more bluntly than necessary. If she’d let me speak first, I would have gently steered the conversation in that direction in a way that would not have stunned Louis into silence.

  His jaw worked and a muscle high up in his cheek twitched. He took a long time to answer, and when he did, he spoke as if every word were carefully chosen. “I don’t think it’s wise to take this path, Celia.”

  “What path?”

  “The path of…” His gaze darted to Cara, who sat like a little statue, pretending not to hear her elders talking about her. “Of pretending she’s normal. I’ve seen madness. My father is…touched by it. You’ve met him.” His tone was neutral, but a hint of sadness underpinned it.

  Celia scoffed. “You’re comparing that crazy old Frenchman with these two?”

  Louis’ gaze caught mine and I was shocked by what I saw there. Genuine, raw sorrow. “Emily too?”

  He was not going to be easy to convince. “Celia, wait.” I held up my hand. “Let me do this. Louis, we haven’t been entirely honest with you because, well, we were afraid of your reaction.”

  “Don’t be,” he said. “You can tell me anything, Emily, even if it’s…something unfortunate.”

  “And the same goes for you. You can tell us anything.”

  “Ah. I see.” He folded his arms over his chest. “You wish to bargain with me?” His low chuckle surprised me, coming so soon after the sadness.

  “We’ll offer explanations, but only if you promise to do the same after we’ve finished.”

  “I admire your methods, Emily. I shouldn’t, but I do.”

  “As do I,” Jacob said. He clutched my shoulder, but I suspect it was more to steady himself than for affectionate reasons.

  “Jacob?” I whispered. “Are you all right?”

  “Don’t worry.” His smile was weak but heartfelt.

  “Who are you speaking to?” Louis asked.

  Celia huffed out an exasperated breath. “You heard her, Mr. Moreau. We give you no answers until you promise.”

  He gave a single nod. “Very well. I promise. But you first. So tell me. When did this madness—”

  “It’s not madness,” Celia said. “Emily and Cara can see spirits. Thanks to you, I might add.”

  “What are you talking about? Or are you mad too?”

  Her glare could have cut glass. “Only at you.”

  “Stop it,” I said. “You two are worse than children.”

  Louis apologized and looked ashamed. My sister did not. “Now, will someone please explain what is going on?” he asked.

  “Allow me,” Jacob said. He picked up a figurine of an Oriental lady from a nearby table. His movements were slow, as if his limbs were heavy.

  Louis leapt out of his chair. “Bloody hell!”

  “I really don’t think that sort of language is necessary,” Celia scolded.

  “My, uh, my…sorry. I’m…” He sat back down, slowly, without taking his gaze off the figurine. “What trickery is this?”

  “It’s not trickery,” I said. “It’s Jacob Beaufort, son of Lord and Lady Preston. Or rather, his spirit.”

  “He’s dead,” Cara said. “Only me and Emily can see him.”

  “Emily and I,” Celia corrected.

  “But…” Louis said. “But…I don’t understand.”

  Lucy entered carrying a tray and tea things. She paused when she saw the figurine. “Mr. Beaufort is here?” She set the tray on the table near Celia. “I always feel that I should be offering him tea since he is our guest.”

  Jacob lowered the figurine onto the table. “Emily…I must go.” He pressed his hands to his temples. “But I need to speak to you.” He dropped to his knees in front of me. Exhaustion raked at his features, dragging them down, aging him. He pressed his forehead against my knees and sighed deeply. “Emily, I may not…return.”

  “No!”

  “What is it?” Louis asked, half out of the chair again. “What’s wrong?”

  “He’s saying goodbye,” Cara said softly. “Mr. Beaufort is sick.”

  “Isn’t he already dead?”

  “Jacob,” I whispered, shutting them out. “Jacob, we’ll stop whoever it is. Trust me. We’ve made progress, thanks to you. George and Theo are watching Mrs. White and we’re sure she’ll lead us to the culprit.”

  He lifted his head to peer up at me. “I know…must go…can’t stay.”

  “Will someone please tell me what is happening?” Louis said.

  I touched Jacob’s semi-transparent cheek and he leaned into my palm. Then he was gone.

  I fought back tears. It’s not goodbye, it’s not goodbye. If I kept chanting that in my head, perhaps I might believe it.

  “Actually, Emily, I agree with Mr. Moreau,” Celia said. “You must keep me informed. What is Mr. Beaufort saying?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “He’s gone.”

  “You believe this is all real, don’t you?” Louis said. I thought he was talking to me, but he was looking at Celia.

  “She can see spirits,” Lucy said, puffing out her considerable chest. She handed Louis a teacup and saucer. “She talks to them all the time. Miss Cara too. But there’s no need to be afraid. Most
are harmless. I used to be afraid, but not anymore.”

  “Thank you, Lucy,” Celia said. “You may go.”

  Lucy bobbed a curtsey and left.

  My sister picked up her cup. “If you spend long enough with Emily or Cara, you will discover that it’s not an illusion.”

  “But it must be!”

  Celia sighed. “Have you ever known me to be prone to flights of fancy? If you say yes, then you don’t know me at all, Louis.”

  He watched her from beneath his thick, black lashes for so long, I began to feel uncomfortable. Cara wriggled in her seat, her cup of chocolate held close to her chest as if she were protecting it.

  “You called me Louis,” he finally said.

  “A slip of the tongue.” Celia sipped.

  “Cara and I can both communicate with spirits,” I said. I felt like I was intruding on something private, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. Celia and Louis weren’t even looking at each other. “It’s a family trait,” I added. “Inherited from you and your father.”

  Louis whipped round to face me. “If that were the case, then I should be able to see spirits too. Or Papa.”

  “Only the women can, but the men are the ones who pass it along to their daughters. You don’t have aunts on your father’s side, do you?”

  “No. My father is an only child.” He frowned. “I think you need to tell me everything, Emily.”

  I did. I started with what I’d learned in George’s books about our ancestry. By the time I’d finished, I’d told him all about Jacob’s death, the shape-shifting demon, Mortlock’s possession, and the curse on the Waiting Area. I did not tell him how my life had been in danger on numerous occasions. Not even Celia was aware of everything I’d been up to in the past few weeks.

  He sat there, unblinking, saying nothing, and we three did not push him. We sat and sipped and waited. At first I was unsure if he’d believe me, but after several minutes I could see he did. He would not look so worried if he did not.

  Celia cracked first. “Well?” she asked, shrilly. “Do you still think your own sister and daughter are mad?”

  “Celia, that’s not fair,” I said.