by Archer, CJ
"I understand. Oh Miss Chambers I'm so pleased you came." Tears filled her eyes but didn't spill. I felt the responding sting behind my own eyes. "Jacob and I were so close, you see, and this wondering...hoping..." She shook her head and pressed her fingers to her nose.
"It's been hard, hasn't it?" My words were almost drowned out by the rain drumming on the umbrella. It came down in heavy sheets, soaking our skirts and forming muddy little streams between the cobblestones. I let go of her hand and pulled my shawl closer then realized Adelaide had come out with nothing for warmth. I stretched one side of it around her shoulders, enclosing us both, and she gave me a grateful smile.
"Mother and Father are both suffering," she said, "but in different ways. Father never speaks of Jacob anymore. Not a single word. He can't bear to hear his name spoken either except when it's to engage the services of an investigator. But Mother talks of nothing else except Jacob. So you see Father can't stand to be home now and Mother needs him more than ever. It's awful. Truly awful." I thought she'd cry but she drew in a shaky breath that seemed to rally her. "If you speak to Jacob's ghost then you must know what happened to him, where his body is. If we could find his body..." Her face contorted as the gruesome nature of what she was saying hit her.
"I'm sorry, Adelaide," I said, "but Jacob doesn't know who killed him or why and he doesn't know where his body is. It's very odd." I wouldn't tell her that the mystery was possibly the reason why he couldn't cross over to the Otherworld. I don't think she was ready to hear it. Besides, I wasn't entirely sure if it was true. "All he's told me is someone tried to kill him."
"Murder?" She gripped my arm so hard I could feel her fingernails through the layers of clothing. "No. No, no, not Jacob." A single tear tracked down her cheek but she swiped it away angrily. "Who would do that to him? He was so well liked. Adored even."
Yes, he would be. Jacob was a very easy person to adore. "Was there anyone in particular who might have turned that adoration into something more sinister if the sentiment wasn't returned? A spurned lover?"
I waited, not wanting to hear the answer but needing to know it nevertheless. The thought of Jacob with another girl was too horrible to contemplate. But then, so was his murder.
"I don't think there was a girl," she said. Then she shook her head. "What I mean is, not one girl in particular."
My insides twisted. There'd been more than one? "Perhaps that was the problem," I said weakly.
"Jealousy?" She thought about that. "It's possible. He was the sort of person to inspire it."
He certainly was. I bit the inside of my cheek and tasted blood. I would not be, could not be, jealous over a ghost. It simply wasn't possible, or right.
"But if so then I can't help you," she went on. "I never met any of the girls in his circle and he never spoke to me about them. I think he was rather careful not to so we wouldn't take it as a sign of serious interest. Mother jumped to the wrong conclusion on the one occasion Jacob did mention a girl. He was only seventeen at the time and the girl was the sister of a friend and held no real interest for him. He learned his lesson after that." She grinned at the memory but it soon turned wistful.
"If he never spoke to you about girls, how do you know they were jealous?"
"I wasn't talking about females."
"Then... Oh!" I stared at her so hard my eyes hurt.
She laughed again. "No, not in that way. At least, not for Jacob. I'm talking about boys who were friends. You know what boys are like."
"Not really. I don’t have brothers."
"Well, sometimes they worship other boys. Bigger or older boys, clever ones, athletic ones, charmers." She shrugged. "Jacob was all of those so it's understandable some saw him as a hero. They wanted to be his friend, get his attention." She sighed. "And I'm afraid my brother didn't always notice them in return."
George had said the same thing. "Why was that?"
She shrugged. "I truly don't know. He was always kind to people, never cruel the way some boys can be to others, especially to smaller or weaker ones. But..." She sighed again. "But he just didn't notice them. I suppose that makes him sound selfish, doesn't it, and that's not really a fitting description either."
I really hoped Jacob wasn't listening to this conversation from the Waiting Area. It wouldn't be fair on either him or his sister. "Self-absorbed?" I offered. "Not interested in other people?" It sounded nothing like the Jacob I knew but I asked anyway. He might have been different when he was alive.
"Oh, he was interested in people. He had a good group of friends who did everything together. He was certainly interested in them. But everyone else..." She looked at me and there was sadness in her eyes, and resignation. "You're right. We can call it what we want but he was self-absorbed. Jacob had a power over people. He could charm them into doing anything if he chose to, but he never realized he possessed that power."
I understood completely. I was drawn to Jacob as if he'd put me under a spell, and I could easily imagine other people being drawn to him too. But to then not have Jacob notice me in return... It certainly would be upsetting. I was lucky to be the only person alive who could speak to him or see him now that he was dead, but if I couldn't, if I was just like everyone else, would I be overlooked too?
"He should have realized the effect he had on people," Adelaide went on. "He should have noticed them and not disregarded them simply because they held no interest for him. It was arrogant." Her voice grew quieter, more distant, and she began to cry again.
"No, Adelaide, this is not the way you should remember him. If it was a flaw, it was a small one. We all have them. Mine is vanity." I tugged on a lock of my hair that had come loose from its pins to emphasize my point. "And a willingness to speak my mind, as you saw in there."
She laughed and wiped her eyes. "And one of mine is timidity. I'll allow my brother his one flaw then." She suddenly stopped laughing and blinked at me. "Dear lord, I just thought of something."
"What is it?"
Concern carved out fine lines around her mouth. "It might not be significant. Indeed, it could mean nothing at all."
"Or it could mean something."
She nodded slowly. "A young man came here once, about a month before Jacob died. He said he was a friend of Jacob's from Oxford and wanted to see him. The butler, Forbes, said Jacob wasn't home and the boy got terribly agitated. I could hear his voice all the way from the library so I came to see what the commotion was about. The boy claimed he wanted to see Jacob and that he didn't believe he was out. He said Jacob cannot possibly always be out whenever he called, and then he accused us of lying to him."
"Lying? Why would he think that?"
"I don't know. But he said he knew Jacob was upstairs, deliberately avoiding him. I tried to assure him he was not, but he would have none of it. He grew terribly upset and his language was truly awful. I grew worried so I called two footmen and they coerced him into leaving. The situation stayed with me for a long time though."
"Who was he, do you know? Did he leave a name?"
"Only a first name, Frederick. I questioned Forbes later and he said the boy had claimed to be a friend of Jacob's from Oxford but I can assure you my brother never mentioned anyone called Frederick and we knew all his friends by sight anyway."
"What did he look like?"
"He was rather plain, not particularly one thing or the other. He had short, light brown hair, was about as tall as me and slightly built. That's really all I can recall. There was nothing very distinguishing about him, I'm afraid."
"So was Jacob always out when this Frederick boy called?"
She nodded.
"Is that odd?"
"Not really. Jacob was rarely home in those last few weeks before his death. He came to London from Oxford for the holidays but went out a great deal. I think he was enjoying the sort of freedom that comes to most eighteen year-old boys. He was old enough to go to clubs, taverns, races, that sort of thing. Beforehand he'd always been in Father's shadow but a
t eighteen he could do as he pleased."
"Did you tell Jacob about Frederick's visit?"
"Yes. He said he had no idea who he was and to make sure Forbes had at least one footman on hand whenever he answered the door. He was very annoyed and quite concerned. Do you think Jacob was lying to me and that he really knew him?"
"I don't know. I can ask him when I see him."
She smiled at that. "Yes, of course you can. Do you think you could say hello to him for me?"
I couldn't help a bubble of laughter escaping. "I will. I could arrange a meeting between you if you like." Jacob might agree to it if he knew his sister wouldn't be upset by it.
"Could you? How wonderful." But her face fell. "It might not be possible though. Mother is so careful with me ever since Jacob died. Or disappeared, as she thinks. She refuses to let me go anywhere on my own. It's so stifling."
"It must be." I was allowed to go wherever I pleased—well, almost. I couldn't imagine what it must be like for Adelaide always having her mother accompany her. I gave her arm a sympathetic pat then told her my address. "If you think you can get away, send me a message and we'll come and meet you wherever you suggest."
"Thank you, Emily." She leaned down suddenly and kissed my cheek. "I do think we shall be friends."
I smiled. Of course we wouldn't be, but I didn't say so. Our paths were unlikely to cross again unless it was so she could speak to Jacob's ghost. There was nothing about our lives that would cause them to intersect.
"Let me walk you to your door," I said, peering out at the rain still streaming down.
"No, I don't want Father to see you. I'll be all right. It's just a bit of water."
I laughed. It was almost the same words I'd spoken earlier to Celia. I squeezed her arm again, and fought off the melancholy that closed around me. I really would have enjoyed being Adelaide's friend. "One more thing," I said, turning my attention back to Jacob and his demise. "If you could press upon your parents the need to find Jacob's body."
"To learn the cause of his death?"
"Yes," I said, but it wasn't the whole reason. I hoped locating his body would mean Jacob could finally cross over to the Otherworld.
The thought opened up a hollow pit in my stomach. Jacob crossing over would mean he'd be out of my life.
Forever.
CHAPTER 11
For the second time that day, Celia had me change out of my soggy clothes and dry myself in front of a roaring fire. This time she insisted I remain in my room, dressed in my nightgown and a shawl, a hot cup of tea in my hands as I sat up in bed.
"I am not an invalid," I said as she placed another pillow behind my back.
"You could be if you don't warm up."
"I am warm. And dry. I took an umbrella with me."
"And yet you still managed to get wet."
"Only my bottom half. My hair is dry."
She frowned at my hair, splayed over my shoulders like a black, wavy waterfall. "A small miracle."
I sighed. "Celia, the deed is done, there is no need to remain cross with me."
"There is every reason to remain cross! If I do not then you'll not understand the seriousness of your actions."
"My actions? I got a little wet, that's all! Good Lord, Sis, you'd think I'd committed a crime the way you're treating me."
"You are a stubborn, obstinate girl."
"Stubborn and obstinate mean the same thing. Perhaps you'd like to say out-spoken instead," I said, recalling my earlier conversation with Adelaide. "Oh, and a little vain too." I sipped my tea and watched her over the rim of the cup.
Her face grew redder and redder until I was afraid it might explode. "This is no laughing matter, Emily."
"I'm not laughing."
"You could have been killed."
I snorted. "That is overly dramatic even for you, Celia."
Her lips locked together and tiny white lines ringed her mouth. I'd never seen her so angry. I wouldn't have been surprised to see steam billowing from her nose and ears. "This is all that ghost's fault!"
I choked on my tea. "Jacob?" I spluttered. "Why?"
"His influence over you is obvious."
"His influence?" I shook my head. "No, I truly don’t understand you."
"He can walk about and not care if he gets wet. You cannot." Her gaze wandered around the room and she leaned closer to me. "He should not be encouraging you to go out in the rain," she added, voice low.
"He is not encouraging me to do anything! I happen to have thoughts of my own, Celia. I am not a puppet with Jacob holding the strings." Of all people, my sister should know I was not easily influenced by anyone. Which was why I was not going to concede the point she was making, even if she was right and I could have caught a chill. There was a different point at stake—she could not order me about. I was seventeen! Other seventeen year-old girls were married, or caring for elderly parents or going to the market on their own. I usually enjoyed the same level of freedom, so why was she getting so upset now?
"Well." Celia strode to the door but didn’t open it. She turned back to me and the anger was gone, however the coolness remained. "That is not how it seems. Before he came you and I did everything together, went everywhere together."
Was that the real problem? My sister thought I'd abandoned her? "I didn't think you minded," I said. "Indeed, you seemed quite happy for me to go with Jacob to George Culvert's. I thought you were happy I was meeting new people."
"I was. I am." She shivered and rubbed a hand down her arm. "But I did not expect you to jeopardize your health in the process. It's not like you to be so cavalier about..." She looked down at the door handle and her hand resting upon it.
"Catching a chill?" I offered when she said nothing more.
"About death." She glanced at me and a stab of sympathy pierced my heart. My sister blinked away tears but the fear in her eyes remained. "That is the influence I'm talking about."
I climbed out of bed and went to her. "Celia, I am not dying."
"Continue to walk around in the rain on a cool day and you might."
I hugged her. She was as stiff as a plank of wood. "Oh Celia, don't fret. It won't happen again, I promise."
She relaxed a little in my arms then kissed the top of my head. "Good." She opened the door. "Nevertheless, you will dine up here tonight then go to bed early. I'll see you in the morning."
I sighed and watched her go then returned to bed. I read a book until the light faded and Lucy brought up my dinner and lit the lamps. She stoked the fire and added more coal until I asked her to stop. The room was warm enough. She bobbed a curtsy and left.
A moment later, Jacob appeared. "It's not an awkward time, is it?" he asked.
"If it is then it would be too late for you to leave and allow me to retain my modesty."
He chuckled but did not apologize for popping in uninvited. I went to put my tray aside but he stopped me and sat on the bed. "Eat." When I hesitated he picked up the fork and stabbed a slice of beef. He put it to my lips and my stomach growled. I was starving. He gave me a crooked smile as I opened my mouth and bit off the meat. "That's better." He fed me another piece and another. At first he found it amusing but then he grew more serious with each bite.
He watched my mouth as I chewed and my throat as I swallowed as if he'd never seen someone eating before. If it had been anyone else staring at me with such curious intensity I would have felt self-conscious, but not with Jacob. He had a way of making me feel special, not strange.
He reached out to my throat but pulled back without touching me. "May I?" he asked. I nodded. His fingertips lightly grazed down my throat and, as I swallowed, he gently pressed his palm against my skin. Tingles raced across my body as he caressed my throat with his thumb, his hooded eyes riveted to the spot.
"So beautiful," he whispered.
His words startled me. He'd said I was beautiful to Aunt Catherine but part of me assumed that was in defiance and he hadn't really meant it. But here he was using th
at word to describe me again, and this time he wasn't trying to convince anyone.
I swallowed once more because a lump seemed to have formed in my throat. The movement made him smile, but he pulled away nevertheless. "I'm sorry. That must have been disconcerting."
"Not at all."
"I like to watch you eat."
I'm sure there was a witty response to that if only I thought about it, but my mind wasn't working properly. It seemed to be filled with a fuzziness that made thinking slow. "I like it when you watch me," I said in a voice that sounded breathy and nothing like my own.
"You shouldn't," he said then added, "You shouldn't like me at all." He stood and removed himself to my dressing table stool where he stretched out his long legs, crossed his ankles and crossed his arms over his chest. He regarded me as if I'd been a threat and he was safer because he was further away from me.
I was too confused by his behavior to think clearly. "I'll like who I want to like," I said lamely. "Now stop sounding like my sister and, and..." I waved my hand. There really was nothing in my head worth saying.
He raised an eyebrow. "Your sister?" He grunted. "I see she thinks as I do. That would explain why you're in bed so early."
What in the world was he talking about? "Stop speaking in riddles. You and she are not alike at all, in thoughts or otherwise. You would not have confined me to my room after I got a little wet."
That brow forked again. "Wouldn't I? And what do you mean, 'got a little wet'? I told you to take an umbrella with you."
"I did. But it had to cover both myself and your sister at one point so—."
"Adelaide!" In a lightning quick move, he was at my side again. He must have done his vanishing and reappearing trick in order to be that fast. "You spoke to her? Alone?"
"Yes. She followed me out to the street after I left your parents' house."
"How is she?"
"In good health but concerned for them."
He sat down on the bed and took my hand in his although he seemed unaware he'd done so. "And how were they?"
