by C. J. Archer
"So you believe I can really talk to spirits?" I said to Mr. Culvert.
"Yes of course. Why wouldn't I?"
"Many people do not."
"Many people don't know what I know about the supernatural." He indicated I should sit on the blood-red velvet sofa.
The footman re-entered carrying a tea tray stacked with tea things and a plate of butter biscuits, freshly baked going by their delicious smell. It was early for refreshments, early for making calls for that matter, but Mr. Culvert didn't seem to mind. Indeed, he seemed quite eager to chat. He sat in the chair opposite and leaned forward as the footman poured the tea.
I took my teacup and wondered where Mrs. Culvert was in the vast house. When the footman left I hazarded a glance at Jacob. He stood beside the mantelpiece, its height perfect for resting his elbow, and watched the proceedings with a closed expression. I thought he'd be impatient for me to ask questions but he said nothing, simply waited.
I decided to follow our original plan. "I heard about you through a mutual friend of ours," I said to Mr. Culvert. "Jacob Beaufort. I believe you went to Eton with him."
George Culvert's brows shot up into his snowy blond curls. "You knew him?"
I nodded and sipped my tea in an effort to disguise my lie. I had one of those faces that was easy to read so the better I hid it, the better I could lie. "His sudden death must have shocked everyone at the school."
"It must have, but I wouldn’t know." He too took a sip of his tea but watched me the entire time over the rim of his cup. "He died after we'd both left Eton. Jacob had gone on to Oxford I believe."
My ghost had failed to mention that fact. Jacob shifted his weight. "It was so long ago," I said lightly. "I find it hard to recall the dates."
Mr. Culvert lowered his cup and locked his gaze with mine. "And he wasn't my friend."
Oh dear. This was going to be more difficult than I imagined. "He, uh, mentioned you though. Frequently."
Jacob groaned. "Tell him we were in the same debating team once."
"You were on the debating team together," I said.
"No, that was my cousin, another Culvert," Mr. Culvert said.
"Oh."
Jacob shrugged. "I thought it was him." He frowned, shook his head. "I just can't seem to recall him. The uncle I spoke to in the Waiting Area was adamant his nephew George went to Eton in my year level. Why can't I remember him?"
"It must have been some other team then," I offered. "Cricket?"
"I didn't play sports unless I had to," Mr. Culvert said. "And Jacob and I were never on the same team. He was always in the firsts—cricket, rugby et cetera. I was...not. So you see, I'd be very surprised if he noticed me at all."
Jacob sighed. "He's right. It's a large school and our paths probably never crossed."
"He was like that," Mr. Culvert went on.
"Like what?" I finally had a chance to find out more about my ghost and unfortunately he had to be listening. Perhaps I should have stopped Mr. Culvert before he said something Jacob ought not to hear.
Or perhaps not. I might not get another opportunity to discover more. If Jacob didn't want to listen he could simply vanish and return later.
Jacob, however, did not disappear. He'd gone very rigid and that steely glare was back. "Emily, don't," he said.
He was right. It wasn't fair. I sighed. "Nevermind," I said.
"I don't mind," said Mr. Culvert cheerily. He passed me the plate of biscuits and I took one. "But surely you would know what he was like, being his friend."
"Emily," Jacob warned.
"Uh..." With my mouth full of biscuit I couldn't say anything else without spraying crumbs in my lap and over the floor. The thick Oriental rug was so lovely and I really didn't want to embarrass myself in front of my host...
"He was quite oblivious to those around him, wouldn't you say?" Mr. Culvert said, somewhat oblivious himself to my plight.
Jacob stepped between us and I could practically see steam rising from his ears. "Emily, stop this line of questioning. Now." His fingers curled into fists at his sides. "Please." The plea, uttered so quietly I barely heard it, caught me off guard and I inhaled sharply.
It was the wrong thing to do. A clump of half-chewed biscuit lodged in my throat and a fit of coughs gripped me. Mr. Culvert handed me my teacup, stretching straight through Jacob to do so. I dared a glance at the ghost's face as I sipped. It was dark and threatening but there was something else there, something...vulnerable. I wanted to reach out to him but I dared not. Instead I held on tightly to the cup as I moved a little to the left along the sofa to see around him.
"Yes, oblivious," Mr. Culvert said, not looking at me now. He seemed lost in memories from his Etonian days. "And self-absorbed."
"Self-absorbed?" Jacob spun round. "I was not!"
"He had his circle of friends and anyone who fell outside that circle simply didn't get...seen." Culvert shrugged and I didn't get the feeling he was bitter, just observant. I suspect George Culvert was very good at observing people. There was something quiet and watchful about him. Whereas Jacob was all contained energy simmering beneath the surface, Culvert seemed gentle to the core. I could imagine him watching people from a corner of a room through his spectacles, determining their strengths and faults, seeing how they interacted with others. Jacob on the other hand, was a man of action.
And the action I suspected he was about to perform could end in someone getting hurt and himself being exposed.
"Tell him I am not self-absorbed," Jacob snapped.
I gulped and tried not to look at him. "That's a shame," I said quickly. "Because you're both nice people. I'm sure you would have got along."
"Not everyone would think that way," Culvert said.
"Oh but you seem very nice to me."
He blushed again and bowed his head. "I was referring to Beaufort. He was well liked by most at school," he said, "adored even. But certainly not everyone put him up on a pedestal. I'm sure some would have preferred to drag him off it."
"I wasn't on any bloody pedestal," Jacob said, drawing himself up to his full height.
I found that hard to believe. I'd spent much of the previous night picturing him on one, made of white marble and carved in the Roman style.
Jacob edged toward Culvert, looking like he wanted to make his presence known in the most dramatic way a ghost can. It was time to steer the conversation away from the subject of Jacob before Culvert found the rug pulled out from under him, quite literally.
"Perhaps it wasn't Jacob who told me about your father's collection of books on demonology, perhaps it was someone else." I hoped I sounded convincing but I suspect I came across like a flighty female. "The fact of the matter is, I have an interest in demons and I'm hoping you'll be kind enough to allow me to make use of your library to further my studies."
Culvert pushed his spectacles up his nose. "You're interested in demons?"
"Yes. It's a natural extension from my other activities, don't you think?"
His mouth twisted in thought. "I suppose so. Is there any demon in particular you want to study?"
"Shape-shifting demons."
He paused. "Well that's a coincidence."
"Why?"
"A book on shape-shifting demons was stolen from my library just last week."
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Also by C.J. Archer
SERIES WITH 2 OR MORE BOOKS
Glass and Steele
The Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy
The 1st Freak House Trilogy
The 2nd Freak House Trilogy
The 3rd Freak House Trilogy
The Ministry of Curiosities Series
The Assassins Guild Series
Lord Hawkesbury's Players Series
The Witchblade Chronicles
SINGLE TITLES NOT IN A SERIES
Courting His Countess
Surrender
Redemption
The Mercenary's Price
About the Author
C.J. Archer has loved history and books for as long as she can remember and feels fortunate that she found a way to combine the two. She spent her early childhood in the dramatic beauty of outback Queensland, Australia, but now lives in suburban Melbourne with her husband, two children and a mischievous black & white cat named Coco.
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