The Medium (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy #1)

by Archer, CJ

  More beard-stroking from Blunt. "I can't recall. It was some weeks ago I think. Whether she heard or not..." He shrugged mountainous shoulders.

  "What's his name?"

  "Leviticus Price. He's a generous benefactor to the school and takes an active interest in our operations. He has some excellent suggestions for improvement, which I naturally try to instigate where possible. Perhaps your friend Culvert can ask him the questions you just asked me when next he sees him at a Society meeting. I'm sorry I can't help you further."

  "I bet he is," Jacob muttered.

  Mrs. White and George joined us then. Both looked concerned to see me but probably for different reasons.

  "Emily?" George came to my side and gently took my elbow. "You must have been looking for me." I think he said that for everyone's benefit, or perhaps to guide me into an answer. Little did he know I'd already successfully navigated my way through a series of lies.

  "Has your headache gone?" Mrs. White asked, her gentle eyes searching my face.

  "It's worse," I said, pressing my fingers to my temples. "I was looking for George to ask him to take me home but I encountered Mr. Blunt."

  George gently rubbed his thumb on my sleeve. The motion was soothing, his smile even more so. "I'll take you home now."

  Jacob folded his arms over his chest. "He does know the headache isn't real, doesn't he?"

  I allowed George to lead me down the corridor behind Mrs. White. Blunt didn't join us. Jacob, oddly, disappeared. I thought he'd walk with us but apparently he had better things to do. I tried not to let my disappointment show. I had wanted him to walk me home, not George.

  Outside, swollen gray clouds plunged the street into further shadowy darkness. Women pulled in washing strung up between buildings and one or two men carried umbrellas, although most didn't. It wasn't the sort of area where the people could afford them. I wished I'd brought mine with me or George had. As it was, we'd likely be drenched before we reached my house.

  "Stay close to me," George said. He still held my elbow but his touch had gone from soothing to hard, his thumb digging into my flesh. "And hold on tight to your reticule. We don't want to tempt any thieves."

  I did as he suggested and kept my wits about me as I told him all I'd learned from Blunt. He seemed surprised at the mention of Leviticus Price.

  "I don't know him well," he hedged, "but...are you sure it was him Blunt mentioned?"

  "Leviticus Price is not the sort of name to mishear. Why?"

  "It's just that he's—how can I put this?—not someone I thought would take an interest in a school for the poor." He shook his head. "Perhaps I'm doing him an injustice and there's another side to him than what I've seen at Society meetings."

  "Blunt did say Price is generous with his advice."

  "Well Price does like to give advice away in droves and he's not short of it either."

  A small boy scampered past me, very close, but George pulled me aside before we could collide.

  "Pickpocket," he mumbled.

  "We don't know that for sure."

  "It's a common ploy used by children of crime."

  "What ploy?"

  "Bump into their target and in the ensuing confusion, delve into their pockets. But you're safe, he didn't touch you."

  "Who didn’t touch you?" Jacob asked, popping up beside me and quickly falling into step with us.

  "Hello, Jacob," I said for George's benefit. "No one bumped me."

  "Then why's he holding you?"

  George wasn't holding me, just my elbow but I didn't think Jacob would appreciate the difference. He seemed annoyed at poor George for some reason.

  George was oblivious of course. "Good afternoon, Beaufort," he said, deepening his voice in that self-conscious way that some men do when speaking to other men. "Were you with Emily in there?"

  "He was," I said, extricating my elbow from his grip.

  His lips formed a pout. "Oh. Right." He cleared his throat. "Good show with Blunt in there, both of you. He didn't suspect a thing."

  We turned into a busier street that was no less grubby but far more crowded. There were more ragged children playing in the gutters, more washing hanging over our heads and more hawkers selling goods from carts or baskets. A man dressed in a tall hat and a jacket too large for his slight frame tried to interest George in a meat pudding from his cart but George waved him away without addressing him.

  "Where did you go?" I asked Jacob. "Did you stay to listen to Mrs. White and Blunt?"

  "I did but they returned to their respective offices without speaking to one another." Considering this disappointment he looked rather pleased about something. "So I paid those three boys a visit. They were quite talkative."

  I repeated the conversation so far for George's sake. "Go on," I said to Jacob when I'd finished. "What did the boys say?"

  "They were arguing among themselves about whether you were searching for Maree because you were genuinely concerned for her welfare as you claimed, or to have her arrested."

  "Arrested! For stealing a book? Goodness, who would do something like that to the poor girl?"

  George's step faltered and he almost tripped over his own feet. He pushed his glasses up his nose and gave me a quick, unconvincing smile. "Who would indeed?"

  Jacob grunted. "Anyway, opinion was divided with only one of them on your side, the one called Fife. He wanted to know why the boy named Harry didn't tell you about Tommy Finch's last visit to the school only three nights ago."

  "Three nights!" I stopped. George halted alongside me and waited patiently while I spoke to Jacob.

  "Yes," Jacob said. "After Maree stole the book."

  I told George what Jacob had said. "Did he say who Tommy saw on his visit?" I asked. "Another pupil? A teacher?" Or Mrs. White or Blunt themselves?

  "No but I got the feeling Finch returned to the school regularly and these three boys all knew it."

  "I wonder what he wants now that his sister no longer attends," George said.

  We were contemplating that when a girl of no more than ten or eleven carrying a basket full of violets came from seemingly nowhere. She was dressed in clothes that looked to be older than her if their dirty, patched-up state was any indication. Her head and hands were bare and she shivered as a breeze whipped around us. "Please, sir," she said to George, "buy my flowers, sir. Buy some lovely violets for the pretty lady." She pulled out a bunch of the purple flowers and tried to shove them into George's hand.

  "Go away," he said, batting them aside. "We're not interested." He clicked his tongue and put his hand at my back to steer me around the girl.

  She sniffed and wiped her nose on the shoulder of her dress but her long brown hair got in the way and she wiped it on the stringy strands instead. She didn't seem to notice as she blocked our path and thrust the flowers at me. "Please buy a poor girl's flowers, sweet lady." She sniffed again and her big brown eyes blinked up at me. "Buy some pretty violets for your dressing table, miss."

  "She's not interested, child," George snapped. "Be off!" He tried to move around her, taking me with him, but I stopped him.

  "I'll buy a bunch," I said, opening my reticule. "How much?"

  "Emily, you shouldn't encourage her," George said. "If you buy things you don't need from these children their parents will only see it as a sign and send them out more. It's an endless circle."

  "I ain't got no parents," the girl said, turning her owlish eyes on George.

  He frowned down at her, his face not softening in the slightest. "Nevertheless—."

  "I'll buy another bunch for my sister," I said. "How much did you say they were?"

  The girl's face lit up, her eyes growing so wide they took up half her face. "A ha'penny each, kind lady." She gave me the two bunches and I gave her the money. It wasn't much and we weren't so poor that we couldn't afford the price. Nevertheless Celia probably wouldn't approve of the unnecessary expense. Hopefully she wouldn't notice my purse was a little lighter than when I'd set ou
t.

  The flower girl bobbed me a curtsy, turned her nose up at George and went on her way.

  "I'd have bought them for you," Jacob said, walking beside me. "If I had any money."

  The thought of a ghost handing money over to the girl was so ludicrous I laughed out loud. But Jacob apparently didn't get the joke. His face hardened then he blinked and looked away. Was he embarrassed? Had I offended him?

  Oh dear. I was about to apologize when George, who I thought had been sulking, spoke. "Sorry you were forced into that," he said. "I would have got rid of her if you'd only allowed me."

  "George," I said, putting as much sternness into his name as I could, "if I want to get rid of someone I will do it on my own. She was just a child and her flowers weren't expensive. I wanted to buy them."

  He sighed. "You're too kind for your own good, Emily. I suppose that's part of your charm."

  "Charm?" I almost burst out laughing again but I'd already offended one man so instead I said, "Thank you."

  He smiled at me. "I'll walk you home."

  "No," Jacob growled, "I will."

  "You both can," I said and I think George understood Jacob had offered too if his "Oh" was anything to go by.

  "No," Jacob said. "I want to speak to you alone."

  "But he can't hear you."

  "It doesn't matter. You're—." He stopped talking and walking and heaved a heavy sigh. I stopped too and George had no choice but to wait. "I just want to be alone with you," Jacob said. "To talk," he added. "It's easier without him hovering at your elbow hoping you'll trip over so he can catch you."

  I was about to tell him he'd summed up the situation between George and I incorrectly but I didn't want George to hear me. I wasn't so certain Jacob had got it wrong anyway.

  "Do you mind if Jacob accompanies me from here?" I asked George. "We're out of the worst streets and I have some private matters to discuss with him."

  George's lips twitched and pursed and twitched some more before he finally gave in with a deep sigh. "Very well. If you must." He looked up and down the street, which was wider and filled with fewer shadowy corners and characters than the streets we'd just left behind, although it wasn't any cleaner. London's soot covered these sturdier buildings just as thickly as it did elsewhere. George's gaze finally settled back on mine. "Be careful. And hurry home before it rains. All right, Beaufort?"

  Jacob grunted. "This farewell has gone on long enough." He strode off, no doubt expecting me to follow.

  "We'll be in touch soon," I assured George. Jacob stopped and waited for me, arms crossed in a picture of impatience. "In the mean time, perhaps if you could speak to Leviticus Price."

  He nodded and doffed his hat. "Of course, Emily. Good day, Beaufort." He watched me go and I was relieved to turn the corner with Jacob and be out of George's sight. I wasn't sure why but having him watch me like that, with such interest, made me feel awkward. On the other hand, having Jacob watch me like that made me feel special but only in a good way.

  Unfortunately he wasn't looking at me at all. He was staring straight ahead. Several people walked through him but he didn't seem to care.

  "What did you want to ask me?" I whispered trying not to move my mouth and draw attention to myself. It wasn't easy.

  "Nothing," he said. "I just wanted to get rid of Culvert. I don't like him."

  "Why not?"

  His entire answer consisted of a shrug. "What private matters did you want to talk to me about?"

  We had to cross the road and I waited for a break in the traffic. Jacob wandered out into the middle of the busy street and a carriage pulled by two horses rolled right through him. No, not through him. He could touch them because they were objects, just like he could touch the picture frame or the mantelpiece. He must be vanishing just as they reach him then reappearing after they'd passed.

  It took me longer to safely navigate the traffic and horse dung but I managed it without incident and joined him on the other side in front of a row of shops.

  "Well?" he prompted.

  "Last night you did something for me," I said. "So now I want to do something for you in return."

  He frowned. "Last night? You mean meeting your aunt's ghost? I don't think you should thank me for that. She was a witch. I'm sorry I mentioned her at all."

  "No, not for that." I spoke quietly but not just because I didn't want to be overheard. The tears in my throat kept me from speaking any louder. "I wanted to thank you for...for telling her you think I'm pretty. It was very...noble of you."

  Before my heart could hammer another beat, he'd pulled me into a dead-end alley. It was empty except for a few crates pushed up against the brick wall of the neighboring chop house and some rotting vegetables piled in a corner. "It had nothing to do with nobility, Emily," he whispered. He bent his head so that we were nose to nose, barely a breath separating us. His eyes burned into mine, their smoldering heat seeping through me, warming me from the inside out.

  "Then what was it if not to show me you're still a gentleman?" I had the heavy feeling that his answer would bring us closer to something important, something so big that I knew we could never go back. Never undo it.

  Nor would it be something I wanted to undo.

  CHAPTER 9

  Jacob didn't say anything. He simply touched my cheek with his fingertips. It was the lightest, gentlest of touches as if he was afraid anything more would shatter me.

  I was afraid of that too—of the emotions swelling inside me, filling me to overflowing, my body almost unable to contain them.

  "My conduct around you has nothing to with nobility, Emily. Nothing to do with once having been a gentleman." Then, as if he liked saying my name, he repeated it in a murmur. "Emily." His lips came closer, closer, his eyes never leaving mine.

  My nerve endings sizzled at the intensity in his gaze, the feel of his cool fingers on my skin and the sheer masculine presence of him towering over me. "Then what is it about?" I managed to whisper past the lump lodged in my throat.

  His thumb traced the line of my jaw, across my chin and down my neck. I thought perhaps he hadn't heard me over the pounding of my heart but then he said, "I don't know." He watched, absorbed, as a trail of goosebumps formed in the wake of his fingers. "I've never felt so drawn to someone before. Not like this. But I can assure you there's nothing honorable about what I feel."

  "Then what...?"

  "It's primal. Basic." His mouth curved into a crooked, devilish smile that had me gasping for air. "Savage."

  As if the word had flipped a switch inside him, he reeled back and dropped his hands to his sides. His eyes shuttered closed and he breathed deep and hard as if trying to regain his composure.

  Savage. The word hung above us like a guillotine, ready to fall at any moment.

  "I'm sorry." He opened his eyes and stared at the hand that had touched me, a look of utter horror distorting his handsome features. "I don't know what's happening to me," he whispered.

  I didn't know what to say to that so I clasped both bunches of violets in one hand and gently took his hand with my other. I placed the palm against my lips and kissed it.

  Slowly, like unpeeling layers, his face relaxed and returned to the perfect proportions I admired. "Talk to me," I said. "Tell me what's wrong."

  He shook his head.

  "Jacob, if you are to be my spirit guide for the next little while then I need to know what's troubling you. I might be able to help."

  "You can't help." He pulled his hand away. "You're the problem."

  My heart missed a beat. He hadn't said I was part of the problem but I was the problem. "Do I...scare you in some way?" I tried to wade through all the possibilities of what he might mean but I could only come up with one. "My unnatural ability to see ghosts can be disconcerting—."

  "No. It's not that." He laughed ruefully. "You don't scare me in the least. It's—." He shook his head and started again. "It feels like I'm losing my humanity. Every day I'm with you, every hour, every minu
te, gets harder and harder to—." He pressed his lips together and closed his eyes.

  I waited but he didn't continue. I didn't know whether I should prompt him or if that would only anger him, or upset him. I reached out and caressed his cheek instead. The hard, chiseled line of it gave his face a regal quality, commanding and majestic. Fascinating. The skin was soft, cool, and I sighed, enthralled.

  With a matching sigh he opened his eyes. And stepped away. "You shouldn't do that," he said but there was no anger in his voice, or alarm. "We must go."

  "But I haven't told you what I wanted to say," I said. He waited, feet apart as if steadying himself on a rocking ship. "I wanted to do something for you in exchange for the service you rendered me."

  "I told you, getting your aunt to come was a mistake. You owe me nothing."

  The best response to that was to ignore it and move on. "I want to speak to your parents."

  "No."

  "I want to reassure them—."

  "No, Emily." He paced from one side of the narrow alley to the other, hands on hips, head bowed. "I don't think it's a good idea."

  "Why?"

  "Because it's not."

  "Why not?"

  "Emily, just leave it be. I don't want to discuss this with you."

  He stalked off. I remained in the shadows and waited for him to realize I wasn't following. When he did, he came back, his temper seething if the tightness of his face was anything to go by.

  "Don't make me hoist you over my shoulder," he said. He wasn't laughing. Not even close.

  "I'm going to see your parents this afternoon," I said. "Unless you can give me a good reason not to."

  He scrubbed a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck, kneading it as if it ached. "Very well. You've forced my hand. My concern is that they won't believe you." He said it defiantly and I waited for the "so there" but it never came.

  "Few people ever believe me at first," I said.

  He shook his head and I waited for further explanation. I had the feeling there was more to it than he was letting on. "My father dabbles in the sciences—biology and psychology mostly. It's a hobby of his. He belongs to various scientific societies and regularly writes papers debunking the supernatural. He thinks all mediums are frauds, and that's putting it kindly."