The Medium (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy #1)

by Archer, CJ

  Lord Preston turned to go. I wasn't prepared to give up so easily but I had to back away from the constables. "Didn't you see its face change? You must have."

  "I saw no such thing," Lord Preston said, his voice dripping with disdain. "It was much too dark to make out anything clearly. You are a liar, Miss Chambers, and a thief and perhaps worse. If I were you I'd leave before the police arrest you. I think we can safely assume a judge would have you committed to a mad asylum whether you were found guilty of these crimes or not, don't you?"

  I should have stopped. I should have chalked Lord Preston up as a disbeliever and left it at that. But I couldn't. I was angry now too and there was nowhere for that anger to go except out. One of the constables grabbed my arm but I barely noticed. Jacob still held my other hand, strong and reassuring. "Finch is not my accomplice! He tried to kill me. He's been controlling the demon all along."

  As had someone else. The person who'd left during the fight. My anger reduced to a simmer as quickly as it had boiled over. I jerked myself free of the constable's grip. "I'm going," I assured him then turned to Jacob. "We have to go to the school. I think Blunt was here."

  The constable looked at me as if he thought I really should be in an insane asylum. I ignored him. I didn't have time to worry about what he thought of me.

  "In a moment," Jacob said. He let go of my hand and picked up Finch's knife. He stepped up behind his father then tapped him on the shoulder with the blade. Lord Preston turned around, gasped then glared at me as if I'd somehow caused the knife to be there even though I wasn't close enough. For one heart-pounding moment I thought Jacob would stab him, but he simply drew the point down his father's cheek. Lord Preston yelped and jerked away. He snarled at me—me!—and smoothed down his moustache with his thumb and finger.

  Jacob sidled up close to his father and blew in his ear. Lord Preston glanced around. "Next time you call her names I won't hold back," Jacob whispered barely loud enough for me to hear. Despite the quietness of his voice, the malice in it was unmistakable. I swallowed.

  For the first time since we'd met, I believed what Jacob had been telling me all along. He was dangerous.

  CHAPTER 14

  The policemen took me as far as the corner of Belgrave Square and warned me not to return to Lord Preston's house or they'd arrest me. I thanked them and followed Jacob into the night.

  "We need to go now, before Blunt escapes," he said.

  Perhaps he already had.

  But it would take time to get to the school, time we couldn't afford to waste. "You go ahead," I said, pulling my cloak tighter at my throat. It brought back the memory of when Finch had clasped it, right before he'd stolen the amulet. Without it, we had no way of sending the demon back to the Otherworld. "Stop Blunt leaving if necessary. I'll catch up."

  Jacob shook his head. He'd calmed down considerably since the confrontation with his father. He could look at me now at least, although his gaze didn't quite meet mine. "You're not walking alone at night."

  "There's no other way." I gave him a reassuring smile. I wasn't angry with him. Concerned, yes because I could sense something was very wrong, but not angry.

  He lifted a hand to my face and brushed his knuckles down my cheek in a gesture that sent my heart flipping in my chest and filled my eyes with tears once more. He gave me the saddest smile I'd ever seen and whispered my name, as if speaking it aloud would hurt.

  It was amazing the sound of my heart cracking didn't fill the night.

  "Jacob," I murmured. There was so much to say but I didn't know where to start or how.

  He touched a finger to my lips. "Shhh, my sweet." His finger dipped down to my chin and he kissed me, a fleeting, feathery kiss that was over too soon. But despite the tenderness, tension continued to ripple through him. He was still fuming.

  Was he furious at himself for hesitating?

  I hadn't a clue. I blinked back the tears but one escaped anyway. He kissed it away, his mouth so soft I wanted to sink into it. He licked his lips, tasting my tear.

  "Jacob," I tried again.

  "Don't," he said, voice shuddering. He stepped back, all business again. I tried to be the same, to shut down my feelings, but it wasn't easy.

  "I have another idea," he said. "Let's wake up George and ask to borrow his carriage. He won't want to miss the fun anyway."

  I wasn't so sure about that but I smiled an agreement. It was a surface smile. Inside me everything ached.

  Hand in hand we ran the short distance to Wilton Crescent. "I'll go in and wake him," Jacob said when we reached number fifty-two.

  "But how will he know it's you and that you want him to come with us?"

  "There should be pen and ink somewhere in the house." He was gone before I could say anything else.

  Hardly five minutes passed before a sleepy footman holding a candelabra opened the front door, his green jacket unbuttoned, his hair unpowdered. "Mr. Culvert wishes you to wait inside, Miss Chambers." He yawned and waved me through to the drawing room with the candelabra.

  I wasn't surprised to see Jacob already there. We didn't speak as the footman lit the candles on the mantelpiece then bowed out of the room, yawning.

  "Culvert snores," Jacob said when we were alone.

  "What did he say when you woke him?"

  "Well, he didn't scream."

  "You thought he might?"

  "I thought it likely." He gave me his devilishly crooked smile but there was no humor in it. Sadness still invaded everything—his words, his face, even the way he stood with his shoulders slightly stooped. He stared into the cold ashes of the fireplace and said nothing further.

  I sat and waited in the awkward silence, trying to decide if I wanted to broach the subject of his hesitation in Belgrave Square. George saved me when he appeared, tugging on his crisp white cuffs. He was fully dressed right down to a black overcoat but his hair was in desperate need of taming. It stuck out on one side and was entirely flat on the other.

  "My coach and driver will be around shortly," he said, holding out his hands to me. I clasped them and he squeezed gently. "Are you all right, Emily?"

  Jacob frowned at our linked hands. I let go. "Well enough," I said. "Sorry to wake you, George, but we do so need your carriage."

  "Of course. Think nothing of it. Glad I can be of service. Is Beaufort still here?"

  I nodded and waved towards the fireplace where Jacob stood watching us beneath his lowered lids, an unreadable expression on his icy face.

  "I'll go on ahead," he said, coming towards me. "I'll unlock the school's front door for you." The ice seemed to melt before my eyes, the tension slip away from his mouth, his brow. The pale candlelight barely illuminated the blue of his eyes but I didn't need to see their color to recognize the worry in them as they searched my face. He lifted a hand to my cloak's collar and straightened it. His thumb brushed along the underside of my jaw. "Will you be all right?"

  I nodded. I couldn't speak. I just wanted to hold him, kiss him, but I was no longer entirely sure if that's what he wanted. He might be behaving tenderly towards me now, but what about later? I desperately wanted to ask him what he was thinking, and why he'd hesitated back at his parents' house, but I couldn't, not with George around.

  Besides, I had a feeling I wouldn't like the answer.

  He disappeared and I watched the space where he'd been for a long time until George's polite cough drew my attention.

  He held out his arm. "Shall we wait outside?"

  ***

  During the carriage ride to Clerkenwell, I told George everything that had transpired that night. From the light cast by the lamps mounted outside the windows I could just see the grave set of his face and the frown settling above his spectacles.

  "So now we must speak to Blunt to find out once and for all how he is involved," I said. "And to find out where Finch lives."

  He reached under the seat and removed a box. I recognized it as the one he'd brought with him the last time we visited Blu
nt. The one with the pistol inside.

  We arrived at the school shortly after that. George took one of the carriage lamps and left the other for the driver. Together we tried the front door. It was unlocked, as Jacob had promised. I hesitated and glanced at George. He looked pale in the gaslight, a trickle of sweat trailing down his temple despite the coolness of the air. "I think it best if Jacob deals with Blunt first," I said. "If his methods fail then you should use that." We both looked down at the pistol. He tucked it beneath his cloak and nodded. A slight color returned to his cheeks. Whatever he was, he was not a coward. Fear did not make someone cowardly; allowing that fear to stop them taking appropriate action, did.

  He followed me into the school, down the corridor, towards a sliver of light peeping out from underneath the door next to Blunt's office. Noises came from the other side—wood splintering, glass shattering, objects landing with thuds. Blunt's voice over them all, pleading.

  "Stop! Please, stop. Don't hurt me. Please."

  Jacob had started without us.

  I ran to the door but George overtook me. "Wait," I hissed. "Wait out here." He looked like he wanted to disagree. "Just give me a moment," I said. "I'll try to calm Jacob first. You wait here to—."

  "But Emily—."

  "I'll be fine, George. Jacob will protect me and we need you as our surprise. If Blunt doesn't confess then you can come in and use whatever means at your disposal. I couldn't bear it if that pistol went off by accident."

  I didn't wait for his answer but entered the room and was surprised to see it wasn't another office but a bedroom. Two candles flickering on the mantelpiece provided a little light, illuminating a mess. Someone sat in the big bed, the covers pulled over their head. Blunt. Jacob stood near the window, the broken leg of a stool in his hand. The rest of the stool lay on the floor in pieces along with torn sheets, clumps of wool from a pillow, shards of a mirror and various other oddments.

  "Careful of your step," Jacob said to me.

  Slowly, the bedcovers lowered to reveal the disheveled head of Blunt. "Thank God you're here," he said. "Tell it to stop. I haven't gone to the girls dormitory, I haven't! Not since that first haunting. Tell it, tell it!"

  "The spirit knows," I said. "But he's still not happy." I nodded at Jacob. He nodded back. "He's here because of the deaths you caused, Mr. Blunt. You and Tommy Finch."

  "I, I..." He swallowed so hard I could hear his throat working from across the room. "I had nothing to do with that, I already told you."

  "Don't lie to me," I said with a sigh. "I'm tired. I want to go home. The sooner you confess and give us Finch's address, the sooner Jacob will leave you be."

  Blunt's gaze shifted to the door as if he knew someone was out there even though no sounds came from the corridor. "Why do you want me to confess? What good will it do?"

  "It'll bring peace to the souls of the dead." It wasn't exactly a lie. I felt as if the spirits of the demon's victims were listening, waiting.

  Blunt's lips pinched tightly together. "You won't hurt me."

  "We are out of patience, Mr. Blunt. If we need to hurt you to extract information then we'll do it. Come now, give in," I said when he didn't answer. "Your little scheme to rob the houses of your victims has been exposed."

  "What? What are you talking about?"

  "We know everything, Mr. Blunt, and so do the police." It was a lie but a necessary one. Jacob nodded his approval. "I wouldn't be surprised if Finch lets you take all the blame either"

  Why didn't Blunt already know about our encounter with Tommy? He may not have stayed to witness the end of events at Lord Preston's house but surely he saw enough to not be entirely surprised. He certainly seemed shocked by the information. His mouth slackened. He hesitated.

  It was too much for Jacob. "This has gone on long enough." He picked up a knife from among the litter scattered on the bare floor.

  Blunt scampered back against the bed's headboard. He tried to bat the blade away but Jacob was fast and dodged every move.

  "Call George in," Jacob said to me. "I want him to witness Blunt's death so that it's known you're not to blame."

  "Jacob, no!" I shouted.

  He ignored me and stabbed the knife into Blunt's nightshirt, right over the heart.

  Blunt screamed as the blade tore through the gray linen and pierced his skin. Blood stained his nightshirt and the sight of it only made him scream harder. He tried to scramble away but Jacob knelt on Blunt's feet and shoved him back up against the headboard. "All right!" Blunt shouted. "I did it. Now get it away from me!" His breathing came in ragged gasps, fluttering the wisps of his moustache. "Call your ghost off!"

  Jacob kept the knife at Blunt's chest. George rushed in, pistol poised, but I held up a hand to stay him. His eyes widened at the sight of the blood.

  "What did you do?" I asked Blunt. "Did you order those people killed?"

  "No!" Blunt shook his head very fast, sending his beard into a frenzy. "I helped Finch summon the demon, that's all. I told Maree to steal the book from your friend Culvert there, then I gave it to Tommy Finch. He's the one directing the demon. Not me, him! I swear, it's the truth."

  "But you knew about the murders and burglaries."

  Blunt hesitated and Jacob shifted his weight onto the knife. Blunt ground his teeth together and nodded.

  "I think his role was more than he's admitting to," Jacob said.

  "You helped Finch decide who to attack next, didn't you?" I asked Blunt. "You chose the victims. They all worked in grand houses where you had recently placed a servant." As soon as I said it, I knew it must be true. It made sense. Blunt knew which upper servant to attack because he'd questioned the lower servant he'd placed in the household. They'd been his spies—perhaps reluctant ones—informing him of the potential victim's movements.

  Again Blunt hesitated and again Jacob pressed on the knife. The bloodstain on Blunt's nightshirt bloomed.

  "Yes!" Blunt said, squeezing his eyes shut. "Satisfied?"

  Jacob eased back just as Mrs. White entered the room carrying a candle. She clutched a shawl over her nightgown and looked, well, white. "Oh my," she muttered. "Oh my, oh my, Mr. Blunt..." Her gaze fixed on the knife that Jacob still held and she promptly keeled over in a dead faint. I managed to catch her and lower her gently to the floor. The candle fared worse but extinguished itself on impact.

  Jacob dropped the knife. George steadied his pistol and aimed it at Blunt's head. "Now what?"

  "Now we find out where Finch is keeping the demon," Jacob said without taking his eyes off Blunt.

  "Where can we find Tommy Finch?" I asked.

  Blunt swallowed. George cocked the gun. The click sounded terribly loud. "There'll be records here somewhere," George said. "Records with Maree's last known address. I suspect we'll find her brother there or if we can't, we'll find someone who can tell us for the price of a few coins."

  Well done, George! I raised an eyebrow at Blunt. He swallowed again then groaned. He fell back against the pillows, deflated. "Very well. You can find him in the eastern shadows of St. Mary's in Dwindling Lane." He started to laugh, a thin, high-pitched laugh that sent a shiver down my spine. "You'll need more than one of those in Dwindling Lane, Miss Chambers," he said, nodding at George's pistol. "And more than your pet ghost too."

  Jacob picked up a broken chair leg and Blunt threw his hands over his head. He slunk down into the covers. "Call him off!" he shouted.

  Jacob waved the piece of wood at Blunt's head. "Tell him he'd better leave London before sunrise or I'll haunt him until he does."

  I repeated the order to Blunt adding, "And don't think you can intimidate or harm any of your charges again. I have contact with every ghost up there and they don't like people like you. They'll find you wherever you are, I can promise you that."

  Blunt nodded quickly.

  "Well done," Jacob said.

  George pulled me aside. "Aren't we going to call the police?" he whispered. "We can't just leave him here, unpunished."


  "No," I whispered back. "It's likely I'll be arrested, not him. Besides, I think the warning is punishment enough for his involvement, don't you? I doubt he'll try anything like this again."

  George, his gaze on Blunt cowering on the bed, nodded.

  Mrs. White moaned at our feet. Her eyelids fluttered and opened. George and I helped her into the kitchen where we explained everything. All of it. She needed a cup of tea before she could make a coherent sentence but she appeared to understand what we were saying, and, more importantly, accept it.

  Jacob hadn't joined us. I had no idea if he was still at the school, in the Waiting Area or if he'd gone to find Finch. I prayed he hadn't. I didn't want to think about what could happen if the demon attacked him again. He might have held it off in Belgrave Square but could he do so again? The thought of the demon removing his soul...it made my bones cold and my heart sore.

  When I finished telling Mrs. White all I could, I asked her the question I needed to ask. "Did you have anything to do with this business?"

  She lowered her cup. It tilted too far and tea spilled over the side. She didn't seem to notice. She was too busy looking offended. "No, I did not. Miss Chambers, I've been here for five years now, longer than Blunt, longer than most of the children. I came here after my husband died and I've not regretted a day since. I have no children of my own, no family that need me. This school has been my life, my sanctuary those five years." Her eyes filled with unshed tears and she carefully put the cup down in the saucer. "I'm never idle here and I've always been valued, by the children as well as the other staff. I'd never risk what I've found at this school, not for anything."

  I breathed a sigh. "I'm very glad to hear it, Mrs. White. I'm sorry but I had to ask." The woman who'd sold Celia the amulet remained a mystery. Perhaps I would never learn her identity.

  George cleared his throat and jerked his head toward the door. I didn't need to be told twice. With Mrs. White settled and promising to call the police if Mr. Blunt hadn't gone by the morning, George and I left.

  Outside, he hopped up beside the driver. "Get in," he said to me. "I'm going to ride up here, keep watch." A glint of steel shone in the wan light. The pistol. It was our protection from whatever we might come up against in Whitechapel, both human and demonic.