by Dima Zales
Relief made me feel momentarily light-headed so I picked up my fork and began to eat again to give myself something to focus on.
"I didn't speak out of turn in the drawing room earlier," George went on. "Beaufort was good at everything. Sport, school, politics. Everyone loved him—students, teachers even the servants." He chuckled as he poked a potato with his fork. "And the girls too."
"Girls! Oh." Of course there would be girls. Jacob Beaufort was definitely the sort to attract females.
Had he ever looked at any of them the way he looked at me?
"Sorry," George said, "I forgot for a moment there was a lady present."
I pushed my plate away, my hunger gone for good. "So you know nothing about his death?"
More head shaking from George. "He simply vanished from his Oxford rooms one night apparently. His body was never found."
"Never found! Good lord, how awful." Perhaps that was why Jacob was so solid and could wander where he pleased. His earthly body had not found a final resting place where his family could honor and remember him properly. It made quite a bit of sense to me.
"Terrible," George agreed. "My mother may be a lot of things, but she is certainly a voracious collector of gossip. If she says Lady Preston is still grieving, then most likely she is. And for Lady Preston to show her emotions in public, she must be very distressed indeed."
Tears pricked the backs of my eyes. Losing a child must be the worst thing that could happen to a mother, but to not have found his body, to be left wondering if he was alive somewhere but unable to contact his family … it was too awful to contemplate.
I forced the tears away. There was no point in getting upset for Lady Preston because I alone knew Jacob was not going to be found safe and sound. He was most definitely dead.
"Tell me about his family," I said. "His father is a lord?"
George nodded. "Viscount. Beaufort is the family name, Preston the title. I don't know them well. As I said, Jacob and I went to Eton together but our families have never mixed socially even though they only live around the corner in Belgrave Square. My father was considered a bit of an eccentric, you see, much to Mother's disappointment. Despite her attempts to further our standing in Society, we were never really accepted, particularly by a family like Jacob's."
"Oh? Are they terribly upright?"
"Very. The family is old, has buckets of money and owns a great deal of land in Essex. They spend most of their time there except when Parliament is open in spring and summer and they come to London together. Lord Preston has a lot of political influence in the House of Lords but he's a Tory—very conservative. Could you imagine a man who doesn't want to give farmers the right to vote associating with a demonologist?"
He laughed and I laughed too. But I couldn't imagine it. I wondered what Lord Preston would think of his dead son communicating with a spirit medium.
"What's so funny?" asked Jacob, suddenly appearing beside me.
I put a hand to my rapidly pounding heart. "You scared me."
"My apologies. If there was another way to come and go without alarming you I'd employ it." He gave me that smile I'd become so used to, the crooked one that made his lips curve in just the right way. It would seem he was no longer upset by what Mrs. Culvert had said.
"Is he here?" George asked, glancing around the room.
"He is," I said.
"Oh. Good." He cleared his throat. "Hello, Beaufort, how are you?"
Jacob sighed and shook his head in disbelief at the polite but inappropriate question. "I see you told him about me. Was that wise?"
"He guessed." To George I said, "He's well thank you, and asks how are you?"
"Very well," George said. "Fit as a fiddle." He pushed his glasses up his nose and grinned at me. He was enjoying this. I suppose he'd never had a conversation with a ghost before. Although to be technically accurate, he wasn't having one now, I was.
"Since he knows about me, I want to ask him something," Jacob said.
"He wants to ask you something," I said to George. "He's standing right beside me."
George's gaze settled on my right.
Jacob, on my left side, sighed again and picked up a book. George's gaze shifted. "Ask him to introduce us to the maid he suspects of stealing the book."
The girl, known by her surname of Finch, said she was sixteen but she looked older. Dark circles underscored eyes that drooped at the corners as if they were too tired to open properly. Red blotches on her cheeks and chin marked her otherwise sallow skin and she seemed to have far more teeth than could fit in her small mouth.
"Finch," George said, towering over the girl, "this lady wants to ask you some questions." He spoke to her with his hands clasped behind him and a deeper voice than he used when addressing me. I suppose he was fulfilling his role as master of the house by asserting his authority over her but, like most men, he didn't realize the best way to get answers was with kindness, not by frightening the poor girl.
"My name is Emily Chambers," I said to her. "And you are?"
"Finch," she said, eyes downcast.
George looked at me as if I had a memory like a sieve. Jacob, however, nodded his approval. He at least seemed to know what I was doing.
"Your first name?" I persisted.
"Maree, miss." Her hands, reddened and chapped, twisted and stretched her apron to the point where I thought she might tear it.
"Well then, Maree, Mr. Culvert tells me you started working here only a month ago."
"On the twenty-fifth, miss." Still she did not look at me.
"Ask her if she stole the book," Jacob said.
I refrained from rolling my eyes. Just. "Do you know the book Mr. Culvert claims was stolen from this library, Maree?" I asked instead.
Maree's gaze flicked up to mine then lowered again. "I don't know nothin' 'bout no books, miss. I can't read." Her hands twisted faster and faster and she shifted her weight from foot to foot as if she would bolt at any moment.
"Don't fret, Maree," I said, touching her shoulder. "No one's going to hurt you. You're not in trouble. I believe you."
She looked at me, her eyes not quite trusting. "You do?"
"I do." I smiled at her. "You must not have any need for books or the time to learn to read them."
"I don't, miss. Them words and stuff all looked funny to me. And the pictures in that book scared me, they did. I wanted nothin' to do wiv it."
George shook his head. "And yet—"
"Of course you didn’t," I said, cutting him off.
George cleared his throat and thrust out his chin. Jacob chuckled beside me. "He thinks your methods aren't getting results."
I had a feeling George wasn't the only one. I gave Jacob a pointed glare. If he had a better way of doing this, then he was welcome to feed me questions to ask the maid.
"So if you wanted nothing to do with the book," I said to her, "who did you give it to?"
Maree's gaze remained downcast. After a moment her shoulders slumped and began to shake. She was crying. Oh dear, I was going about this all wrong. I put my arm around her but she stepped away and I let my arm fall to my side.
George frowned at the girl. "Answer Miss Chambers, Finch. Who did you give the book to?"
"No one." She wiped away her tears with her apron but still they came. And still she kept looking at the rug. If she'd only meet my gaze I might believe her.
"She's lying," Jacob said.
"I know," I said on a sigh.
"Answer me, Finch," George said. I was struck by the change in him. When it had been just the two of us, he'd been gentle and kind, but now there was a commanding note in his tone that would make an army general proud. I wouldn't want to be in Finch's shoes. "Have you fallen in with a bad lot, is that it?" George asked. "I was told by the school's administrators that your brother was thrown out for thievery. Is he behind this?"
"No! It's nothin' to do wiv 'im, sir! Please, sir."
"Was it one of your friends from that school? Hav
e they put you up to this?"
"Sir, please, sir, can I go? It weren't my fault! I don't know nothin' 'bout no book! Please, sir."
I caught George's gaze and nodded. He dismissed the maid and she ran from the room. Her footsteps and sobs finally grew distant and I sat down, defeated.
"Good try," Jacob said, perching on the desk near me. He gave me a sad smile. "Are you all right?"
I blew out a breath. "That was awful." I rubbed my temples where a headache threatened.
"But you see what I mean when I say she was lying," George said.
I nodded. "I know she was lying, but I wonder if we could have handled that interview better. It's likely she stole the book for someone else."
"Perhaps she had no choice in the matter," Jacob said.
"You think someone threatened her and if she refused to take the book then … " I couldn't finish the sentence. It was too horrible to contemplate the things that could befall a poor girl like Maree if she fell into the clutches of an unscrupulous player.
"I suppose," George said. He pursed his lips together in thought then shrugged one shoulder. "But she's not likely to tell us anything now."
"Probably not. George, you mentioned a school to Maree just now. Are you referring to the North London School for Domestic Service?"
He nodded. "Many of our junior staff come from there. Why?"
"No particular reason. My sister is going there to find a maid today, that's all."
"It has a good reputation and we've never had a problem with any of the servants from there. Until now," he added with a grunt of disgust.
Jacob narrowed his eyes at George. "Emily, what's say you and I continue the interview without our friend here?"
My thoughts exactly. "I think it's time we leave," I said to George. "I have another séance to conduct this afternoon with my sister." It was the truth. Celia and I did have an appointment to keep, but not for another hour if my pocket watch was anything to go by.
George rang for his footman who showed me out. Jacob disappeared then reappeared when I reached the street corner.
"I'll watch the main door while you go down to the basement," he said. There was a lightness about his step that hadn't been there before, and although he wasn't smiling, I suspected he was controlling it.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"George Culvert deserves us going behind his back to speak to his servants."
"That's not fair, Jacob. I quite like him. Most of the time." Although a gentleman couldn't be expected to treat his servants the way he treated his guests, it had come as something of a shock to see him turn from meek to master when the interrogation began. I'd not have expected it from him. Jacob on the other hand seemed like exactly the sort to order people about, no matter their station.
Jacob regarded me with a raised eyebrow. "You can't possibly like him. He's strange. Who chooses to study demonology for pity's sake?"
"Who chooses to see ghosts?"
Two finely dressed women I hadn't seen approaching quickened their steps as they passed by and lowered their parasols to avoid making eye contact. They must have heard me speaking to Jacob, or rather, to myself. At least they were too scared to give me odd looks.
I checked that no one else was within earshot then muttered, "Let's go. And don’t say anything to me unless it's vitally important to my conversation with Maree. You're very off-putting at times."
"I am?" He grinned. Dazzled by his beautiful smile, my irritation disappeared and I grinned back.
We walked side by side to the Culvert house once more. Jacob took the steps up to the main door then vanished. I suppose he'd reappeared on the other side where he could keep a closer watch. I descended the other stairs that led down to the basement entrance used by the servants, not the Culverts themselves. I knocked on the door and a maid answered.
"Hello, I went to the North London School for Domestic Service with Maree Finch. Is she here? I need to speak to her."
It was a bold lie and the maid, a middle-aged matronly woman in white cap and apron, looked suspicious. "You friends wiv her?" she asked. I nodded. "Didn’t fink the likes o’ her had friends."
"Yes, well, can I see her? I’ll be brief," I added when she began to shake her head. "It’s about…the passing of a favorite teacher."
The maid heaved a sigh and asked me, grudgingly, to wait while she fetched her.
Jacob came in behind me as Maree emerged from one of the rooms off the narrow hallway, her hands buried in her apron again. She took one look at me and burst into tears.
"Leave me be! I dunno nothin'!" she cried. She backed away as I stepped forward.
"It's all right, Maree. I'm not going to hurt you. Please, just tell the truth and everything will be all right. Tell me who made you steal the book."
She shook her head. "No. No." Tears streamed down her face and her nose oozed a thick green sludge. "Leave me be. Go away!"
"Maree—."
"I said go away!" She ran at me, teeth bared, cap falling to once side. A knife in her grasp.
She hadn't been ringing her hands in her apron, she'd been polishing the blade.
I gasped and put my arms up to cover my face.
"Emily!" Jacob's shout sounded strange in my ears, not like him at all. High, strained.
Scared.
5
Maree's knife was inches from my face. I screamed, or maybe she did, and then I was shoved aside by one of Jacob's big hands. I hit the wall and slid to the floor, landing with a thud on my rear. My hat slid down over my eyes. Jacob removed it and drew me into his arms. He supported my head with one hand and my back with the other and held me against his solid chest. It felt good, safe and … perfect. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, telling myself I wasn't unnerved by the lack of a pulse or warmth in his body.
I was completely unhurt, of course, apart from a sore shoulder where I'd hit the wall, but Jacob cradled me as if I were an injured kitten.
"Emily? Did she cut you?" He brushed my hair off my forehead. All that violent thrusting about had dislodged not only my hat but my hair from its pins. "Emily, answer me!" His lips were so close I would have been able to feel his breath on my cheek if he could breathe.
Or I could have kissed him.
I wanted to kiss him. Wanted to feel the softness of his lips even though I knew they would be cool, tasteless, and it was a most improper thing for a young lady to do. I didn't care. Blood pounded in my veins, rushed into my head, and I could think of nothing but him. It was madness.
I was mad.
He massaged the back of my neck and the cool strength of his fingers shocked me out of my daze. I looked into his eyes but his gaze darted over my face, assessing, and he didn't notice my scrutiny.
"Emily?" My whispered name seemed to hover on his lips for an eternity.
I remembered I hadn't yet answered him. "I'm well," I whispered.
His Adam's apple bobbed furiously and a muscle high in his cheek throbbed. He nodded once, a small movement that I would have missed if I hadn't been watching him so closely. "Good," he said thickly. "Good, good." His eyes suddenly shuttered. Where before they'd been wide and urgent, now they were distant, cold. "Good," he said again, stronger this time.
He let me go, quite unceremoniously, so that I almost fell to the floor a second time. "Jacob, what's wrong?"
The maid who'd let me in the door suddenly appeared. She put her hands to her cheeks and gasped. "Oh lordy, lordy, lordy. Is you all right, miss?" She helped me to my feet. "It was that girl's fault, weren't it? I knew she was trouble, I did. Told Mrs. Crouch the 'ousekeeper to watch out for her. Gone has she?"
"Uh, yes. Thank you." I watched Jacob climb the stairs up to the street outside. "Please don't tell your master about this," I said to the maid. "Just tell him Maree decided to leave his employment."
"What's all the fuss about down there?" came a woman's voice from the back of the service area. "Who's making all that noise?"
"Mrs. Crouch,"
the maid said to me.
I hurriedly thanked her again, picked up my hat, and left before the housekeeper arrived. Outside, Jacob was waiting at the top of the stairs.
"Are you all right?" I asked him quietly so as not to alarm anyone within earshot.
He stared off into the distance. "I think that's my line." When I didn't answer him, he turned to me. "Well? Are you all right?"
"Is that a genuine question?" I started walking, wanting to put distance between myself and the Culvert house. "It's difficult to tell considering the way you dropped me in there."
We rounded the corner and a policeman in uniform stepped out of the recessed doorway of a coffee house and into my path, startling me. "Everything all right, miss?" He looked over my head, saw no one, and raised his eyebrows. "Who you speaking to then, eh?"
"Is there a law against talking to myself, constable?" I didn't want to deal with him. I was still mad at Jacob although it struck me how selfish my own feelings were on the matter. He'd rescued me and I should be grateful. I was grateful.
The policeman's eyebrows rose further, almost disappearing into his tall helmet. "Er, not that I know of. Good afternoon, miss."
I walked off, Jacob at my side. "I'll take that as meaning you're perfectly well," he said, picking up our conversation.
"A little shaken," I said quietly in case anyone else was lurking in doorways. "But otherwise unscathed. Thanks to you. I owe you my life, Jacob."
His pause weighed heavily between us. I tried to look at him out of the corner of my eye but only saw his profile, staring ahead. "Don't," he finally said.
"Don't what?"
"Don't talk about it. Anyone would have done the same thing."
That may be so, but why did he sound so upset? Not angry, just … I sighed. I couldn't even pinpoint the emotions simmering off him let alone determine their reason. Nor did I think I'd get an answer out of him. His face was closed up tight.
So I started a new thread of conversation, a safer one. "Did you see where Maree went?"
