by Archer, CJ
"Most are."
"It won't matter how much evidence you present him with, he'll find a way to discredit you."
I shrugged. "I'm used to skeptics. Is that your only concern?"
He shook his head again and sighed. "You won't find an ally in my mother either. I'm afraid she won't want to believe you."
It took me a few moments to understand what he was saying. "You mean she still hopes you'll be found somewhere, alive?"
He nodded. "I visited them shortly after my death. The Administrators warned me against it and I should have listened to them. They said it can be traumatic for a spirit to know how their loved ones reacted to their death. They were right." He leaned against the brick wall of the chop house and tipped his head back. "It was awful. Mother was adamant that I must be somewhere, lost or kidnapped with no way of getting home. Father either believed it too or simply went along with her because it was easier. They've spent a fortune since my death on investigators who claim they can find anything and anyone. None have even turned up my body let alone any answers to explain my fate."
His shoulders stooped and he sagged against the wall. He was clearly distressed about his parents, despite the matter-of-fact way he spoke.
It made me more determined to see them than ever. "That was some time ago," I said. "Perhaps they've changed since then. Perhaps your mother is ready to move on, if only she knew the truth."
"I doubt it." He pushed off from the wall and leveled his gaze with mine. "So you see that she'll be as skeptical as my father. She'll simply refuse to believe you."
"I can still try. You could feed me some information that only you and they could possibly know."
"They'll think I told someone at school or—"
"Jacob!" I balled my fist. I wanted to punch him in the shoulder to knock some sense into him. "I'm going to try regardless of what you say."
His jaw clenched, causing the muscle high in his cheek to throb. "Emily, listen to me." He caught my shoulders and lowered his head to look directly at me. If he was trying to mesmerize me, it was working—I couldn't look away, couldn't move. I wanted to fall into the deep blue depths of his eyes and wallow in there forever. "They'll be resentful of you trying to convince them I'm dead, and...and I don't want to subject you to that. Do you understand?"
"I understand." It came out breathy. Could it really be that he was worried about me? "I'm going anyway."
"Emily!" He let go, pushing me a little as he did so that I rocked back. He strode towards the street but stopped before he exited the alley. "You're so stubborn," he said.
"If your only concern is that I won't be believed then it's not enough to stop me going." I joined him and we walked along the street together, neither speaking. We were almost at Druids Way when the rain came.
Jacob took my free hand—the other still held the bunches of violets—and drew me into the sheltered doorway of a coffee shop. Everyone on the street either scattered to seek cover or continued on their way, heads down, umbrellas up. It provided a certain amount of anonymity for us. Except for the handful of patrons visible through the coffee shop's bay window, we were alone—and they couldn't hear me.
"Wait inside," he said. "I'll find you an umbrella."
"And do what?" I tried not to laugh to draw attention to myself. "Bring it back here? A floating umbrella might cause considerable panic."
He sighed and peered up at they endless gray sky. "It won't ease for some time, I think. How about I return to your house and write a note for your sister asking her to bring you an umbrella at this location." He peered inside the shop window. "There's a spare table near the fire for you to wait."
I smiled at him. "You're very kind." It felt nice to be fussed over by such a handsome, masculine gentleman. I wondered if he'd fussed over any girls like this when he was alive or if it was a trait he'd picked up after his death. For me.
He frowned. "I'm only thinking of your comfort."
The pressing, desperate desire to kiss him again swelled within me. "Come on, let's run home." With the hand that held the flowers, I clamped onto my hat to hold it in place, picked up my skirts with the other hand and ran into the rain.
Jacob joined me. I'd not thought that he could get wet, but he was as soaked as me within seconds. It made sense, I suppose. If he could move objects and touch things, why wouldn't he be able to touch the raindrops too?
His pace slowed and instead of running he began to skip and turn around, his arms outstretched. He tilted his face to the sky and closed his eyes and opened his mouth. I watched him, fascinated by his response to the rain pouring over him, not caring that I too was getting drenched.
Then he laughed. He opened his eyes again and caught me round the waist, spinning me around in his arms, catching me easily as I lost my balance. And all the while he laughed and laughed. It was magical and I laughed along with him, not caring that a passerby eyed me warily from beneath his umbrella.
"You're soaked," Jacob said, touching the curls at my temple.
"So are you." My gaze strayed to his chest. The wet shirt, almost transparent thanks to the rain, clung to the contours of his lean muscles. My mouth dried, my tongue felt thick and useless. I ached to touch his broad shoulders and the ripple of muscles across his stomach and chest. My fingers twitched at my side. I licked my lips...
"Even your eyelashes are wet," he said in a faraway voice.
I looked up. He was staring at me with that curious intensity that made my insides do odd flips. I smiled at him tentatively.
He smiled back then laughed again, his attention no longer on my face but in the direction we were heading. "I'm sorry," he said. "But we're thoroughly wet now. Do you still want to run?"
"Walking is fine," I said.
He was still smiling when we reached Druids Way. Occasionally he glanced up at the sky but never at me again.
"You like the rain?" I asked.
His smile widened. "I'd forgotten what it was like. It's good to feel it on my skin after all this time."
"Is it cold?"
"No. I don't feel heat or cold. But it does feel wet. And fantastic!" he shouted. He spun around again, finishing the twirl with a flourish by kicking a puddle.
I giggled all the way to my house. We climbed the steps to the front door and huddled beneath the porch. Not that staying dry mattered anymore. I opened my reticule but didn't search for my key. Jacob would leave as soon as I was inside and I wanted this moment to last just a little longer.
"Will your sister be mad at you for being out in this weather?" he asked.
"Probably. But she's my sister, not my mother and she can scold me all she likes, I don't care."
He smiled but it was wistful, perhaps even sad. "She cares about your health, Emily. As I should have done. Go inside and warm yourself by the fire before you catch your—." His lips clamped together as if he were stopping the next word from falling out: death.
I blinked up at him. "Jacob? Are you all right?"
He shook his head. "Your eyelashes," he murmured.
"What about them?"
"They look even longer when they're wet." He backed up to the steps. "Go inside, Emily." He turned to leave.
"Jacob. Wait. I still plan on visiting your parents this afternoon. Come back at two and we can go together. Or I can meet you there if you prefer." I preferred to walk with him. I wanted to spend as much time with him as I could, even if we spent it in awkward silence—a distinct possibility considering he was not meeting my gaze again.
"Don't you have a séance to conduct?"
"Not today."
He stood with one foot on the highest step, the other one step down, dripping wet. He was utterly, thoroughly, breathtakingly handsome.
"I won't come with you," he said. "If that's all right."
"Of course." My heart sank at the notion of going to visit his parents without him but I wouldn't beg him to join me. It would be a very difficult situation for him and it was unfair of me to press him.
"It won't be enough?" I ventured.
"Probably not."
He disappeared and I stood there a moment, hoping he would reappear but not really expecting him to. Then with a sigh, I retrieved my key from my reticule and opened the door.
***
Jacob had been right. Celia was mad at me. Not even the violets softened her. After she scolded me for being "wet through to the bone" she made me change into dry clothes then sat me down in front of the fireplace while she heaped more coal onto it. Lucy brought in a bowl of steaming soup and I sipped while my bones thawed and my hair dried.
To distract Celia, I asked her about her visit to the Wiggams' house. "Is Mr. Wiggam still there or has he left his wife in peace?"
"He's still there," she said, dusting off her hands. "And still haunting her."
"In what way?"
"He throws objects around the room sometimes, particularly when she has guests, and hides things so she can't find them. Important things like money or her corsets."
"Corsets! That is cruel." But rather ingenious. I couldn't imagine a large woman like Mrs. Wiggam wanting to go out without wearing a corset.
"And he likes to keep her awake at night by knocking on the wall or thumping the floor."
"Oh dear. I probably should try and talk to him again."
"I think that would be a good idea, Em." She lifted a strand of my hair and sighed. I couldn't blame her for her disappointment. It would take some time to remove all the tangles and fix it into a half-decent style. "What were you thinking walking around in the rain like that?"
"I had to get home somehow."
She dropped my hair. "You could have hired a carriage."
"We were only around the corner."
"We?"
"Jacob and I. He escorted me home."
She grunted. "A ghost is not a suitable escort."
I sipped soup off my spoon and said nothing.
"So how was your visit with Mr. Culvert?" she asked.
"Good. We went to the Domestic Service school in Clerkenwell."
"Oh? Lucy said Mr. Blunt came here while we were both out this morning. Did you see him?"
"I did. He wants you to schedule a séance. He's being haunted." It was perhaps best not to tell her that Jacob was the culprit. Somehow I didn't think she'd see the funny side to it. My sister prided herself on her morals and taking money for a séance where the ghost was a friend of mine probably bordered on unethical in her book.
"I'll pay him a call tomorrow, or this afternoon if the weather clears," she said.
"Keep your eyes and ears open for any suspicious characters." At her raised eyebrows, I explained what had happened at the school and everything Jacob had learned afterwards from the boys. She sat on the sofa and listened without interrupting me.
"Oh dear," she muttered when I finished. "Do you think Mr. Blunt knew about the Finch boy's visits?"
"It's hard to say."
Lucy entered with a cup of tea for Celia. "Wait a moment please, Lucy," Celia said, taking the cup and saucer.
Lucy's gaze flicked between Celia and me before finally settling on my sister. "Yes, Miss Chambers? Is everything all right? I've not done wrong, 'ave I?" Her forehead creased and she looked like she might burst into tears. "I've been trying so 'ard to do everything right, I 'ave. I'm so sorry if I ain't done it the way you like but there's so much to remember and—."
"Calm yourself, Lucy." Celia smiled serenely. "You've done a superb job so far. We're lucky to have found you, aren't we, Emily?"
"Oh, yes! Very lucky." I smiled too. Lucy seemed to relax a little.
"We want to ask you a question about the North London School for Domestic Service."
Lucy brightened. "Really? That's all? Oh I can answer anything you want to know then."
"I went there today," I said. "I met Mrs. White and Mr. Blunt."
"She's such a kind lady is Mrs. White, ain't she. So nice to us girls, she was." The omission of Blunt from her praise wasn't lost on me.
"Yesterday you said Tommy Finch visited his sister when she was still a pupil at the school. You said no one told Mrs. White about it, but I wondered if it's possible another adult there knew of his presence."
Lucy shrugged. "Could've."
"Might Mr. Blunt have known?"
She shrugged again. "Don't know. Maybe."
"But someone must have let him in to the building."
"He's a thief. Don't matter 'ow many locks on the door, they won't stop Tommy Finch. He's the best thief in London." It didn't sound like a boast, just a simple statement of fact.
"Thank you, Lucy," Celia said. "That was very helpful." We watched as the maid bobbed a curtsy then left. "That wasn't helpful at all," my sister said when she'd gone. "So now what do we do?"
I shrugged. "George is going to speak to Leviticus Price. In the mean time, I have business of my own to conduct with Jacob's family. I'm going to tell them he's dead."
My sister's head snapped up. "Is that wise?"
I shrugged one shoulder. "I'm going to do it anyway. They need to move forward and they can't do that until they know he's truly gone."
She nodded. "I understand. It's very kind of you to offer. Will you go in the morning? We have a séance in the afternoon."
"I'm going today."
Her teacup came down on the saucer with such a loud clank I wouldn't be surprised if she chipped it. "You'll do no such thing! You need to stay home and keep warm and dry." She emphasized the last word with a pointed glare.
"Celia, I'm going today and that's final. I may not get time tomorrow, depending on what tonight brings." I shuddered at the thought of the shape-shifting demon claiming another victim.
"See!" She poked her finger at me. "You're shivering. You cannot go out so soon after that soaking. It's unhealthy."
"I'll take an umbrella."
"That is not the point."
"No. You're right." I stood and tossed my hair over my shoulder. It was almost dry. "I am going and that's final."
She stood too. "You'll do as I say, Emily. You are not going out again today."
"Celia," I said on a sigh, "you know I will so let's not argue about it. Red is really not a becoming color on your face."
"Emily!" She stomped her foot. My sister! Stomped her foot! I don't think she's ever done anything so childish in her life. "I am trying to do what's best for you."
"But you're not!" How could she not see that helping Jacob was what was best for me? "You're being selfish and, and...interfering!"
"I am—."
"You are not my mother and I will not do as you say." I was so angry my voice shook.
She thrust her hands on her hips. "You're being unreasonable, Emily."
"You're the one who's being unreasonable. I am as healthy as I've ever been and going out this afternoon will not change that." I stormed towards the door and jerked it open. "I'm going to my room and I don't wish to be disturbed."
I ran up the stairs to my bedroom and locked the door then leaned back against it. I breathed deeply to regain my composure but it didn't help. My veins pumped with my rushing blood and my heart pounded. I couldn't remember the last time I'd argued with Celia on such a scale. Our disagreements were usually petty affairs—who was going to wear the crimson bonnet or whether the grocer's son would be completely bald by the age of twenty-five (I said yes, she thought not). We rarely needed to raise our voices.
I checked my small pocket watch that I'd left on the dressing table after changing clothes. It was half past one. Only half an hour until Jacob arrived. Fortunately I hadn't told Celia about his pending visit. This way I could speak to him alone, in peace, in my room.
Thirty minutes suddenly seemed like a long time.
CHAPTER 10
"You look upset," Jacob said when he finally winked into existence. "Is it
my fault?"
"No," I said from the chair beside the fireplace where I'd read the same page of my book five times. I still had no idea what it was about. I'd sat there after fixing my hair, a task which had taken considerable time as I hadn't requested Lucy's help. I didn't want to place her in the awkward position of aiding me in my escape. "Why would it be your fault?"
"It never hurts to check." He sat on the foot of my bed and stretched out his long legs, crossing his ankles. He looked so perfect, so handsome and real with his too-blue eyes regarding me closely. His hair and clothes were dry and I wondered how long it took for that to happen in the Waiting Area. Perhaps it was instant. "So what's wrong?" he asked.
"I had a disagreement with my sister." I waved my hand. "Nothing of consequence."
His eyes narrowed and I thought he'd detected my lie but he let it go with a nod. "So you didn't catch a chill?"
I rolled my eyes. "It would seem not."
"Good. Good."
"It was fun, wasn't it?" I said. "Dancing in the rain."
He breathed deeply and squeezed his eyes shut. "It was irresponsible. You should have waited in the coffee house."
"You're beginning to sound like Celia. It was simply a little rain—."
His eyes flew open and I stilled at the flare of anger I saw in them. "There are many spirits in the Waiting Area who are there because of a little rain."
I bristled and formed a defense in my head but bit my tongue before I could let it free. Nothing I could say would sound appropriate after his outburst because he was right. Sometimes people died from a chill. Usually the old or very young or the weak, but not always. So I blew out a calming breath and thanked him instead.
"What for?" He looked surprised, as if my failure to argue with him had caught him off guard. Almost as if he'd wanted me to disagree.
"Well," I began but stopped. I stood and set my book down on the writing desk then sat beside him on the bed. He lowered his gaze to our hands, inches apart on the bedcover.
