Evermore (13 page)

"Not now, Emily, we have a guest." She held
out her hand to Theo and he rose and offered his arm. "Luncheon
won't be long."

It seemed discussions about our financial
state would have to wait a little longer.

When we finally all piled into the carriage
again, it was late afternoon. The hazy ball that was the sun had
not yet sunk below the buildings, but cast long shadows across the
road. Traffic was light and Grosvenor Street not far, but far
enough for us to form a plan on the way.

When we arrived at number twelve, Celia and I
went down to the servants' entrance below street level. I asked for
Mrs. White and as with our last visit, we were shown into the tiny
drawing room. She arrived a few minutes later, a polite but
strained smile on her face.

"How can I help you, Miss Chambers?"

"This is my sister, Miss Celia Chambers, " I
said.

The two women gave each other polite nods,
but Mrs. White didn't offer a smile. "Is there something I can do
for you both?"

"Oh no, this is a social call," I said. "We
were in the area, you see, and when I told my sister about you, she
asked to meet you."

"I'm very flattered, and I don't mean to seem
ungracious, but I'm very busy. Perhaps another time?"

"Yes, of course," I said.

Celia rose. "What a shame. I was looking
forward to a little chat. Emily has spoken so highly of you."

The whole exchange lasted not even a minute.
Mrs. White saw us out, apologized again, then shut the door.

"Is she always that rude?" Celia said.

We headed back to the carriage, parked on the
other side of Grosvenor Square. We had not wanted Mrs. White to see
it. Even if she happened to look out of the top floor window, she
could not possibly pick out George's Clarence among the sea of
black coaches. She was too far away for one thing, and the tall
trees in the central square would block her view.

"Do you think she's aware we're suspicious of
her?" I asked.

"She has no reason to be, does she?"

"I don't think so. Well, you had a long
enough look at her. Was she the peddler?"

Celia shrugged and walked a few paces along
the path before answering. "I don't know."

I stopped and forced her to halt alongside
me. "What do you mean? How can you not know?"

"Hush, Emily." Celia gave a polite smile to
an elegantly dressed gentleman walking past. He doffed his hat but
did not meet her gaze. "Oh, why didn't I take a better look at the
peddler!"

"You have no inkling one way or another?"

"None. I could not see a likeness between
Mrs. White and the peddler, but if she were disguised with a wig
and ragged clothing..." She shook her head. "It's no excuse. I feel
utterly useless."

"Never mind. I doubt I would have taken much
notice either."

She put her arm around my shoulders. "I used
to recall the day when I would be the one reassuring you." She
tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear. "You've grown up so
much lately. No wonder Louis is taken with you."

"Is he?" I hadn't expected her to speak of
Louis. She seemed to dislike him so. But now that she had, I wanted
to grasp the conversation with both hands. I deliberately slowed my
pace to allow us more time. "Celia, what does he think of me?"

"I'm sure he cannot fail to see how clever
and courageous you are."

"Really?" It warmed my heart to hear her say
it. "I do like him. He seems very nice, and noble. He saved a man's
life. Imagine that!"

"Yes. Imagine." We strolled a little more in
silence until she suddenly stopped. We were almost at the fence on
the other side of the square. The coach was within sight. George
stood nearby, watching us, but Theo was a little apart, chatting to
two ladies with their backs to us. "Emily...this pains me to say
it, but...please be careful with Louis. He's not proven that he can
be a good father."

"I don't think I need a father at seventeen.
Indeed, I've never had one until now. I'll be happy just to see him
on occasion and be friends."

"You won't be able to see him. He's going
back to Victoria soon."

"I haven't forgotten." I walked off, my heart
in my throat. My own reaction to Louis' pending departure surprised
me.

Celia took my arm again. I sensed she had
more to say but was holding back for some reason.

"Well?" George asked, standing aside so the
footman could open the door. Theo joined us, the ladies having
walked off. "Was Mrs. White the peddler?"

Celia lowered her head. "I don't know. I'm
sorry. I've disappointed everyone."

We piled into the carriage and took our
seats, the men opposite my sister and me.

"I say we confront her," George said. "Tell
her we know she's Frederick's mother and we know what she's doing
to Beaufort and the Waiting Area."

"We can't," I said.

"I agree with Emily," Theo said. "Mrs. White
cannot be the one delivering the curses. To die and then return to
life requires a period of recovery. She couldn't work as a
governess at the same time. Her employer would know."

"She may be helping whoever it is then,"
George said. "Or at the very least, she may know who it is."

"Still, I don't want to confront her," I
said. "It's too soon. We don't know enough. Let's watch her for
now. As soon as she leaves the house, we'll follow her."

"
You
will do no such thing, Emily,"
Celia said.

"But I must!"

"No, you must not. It's late and you could be
here for some time. All night, possibly. I don't think even I need
to remind you of the proper rules of conduct. Even a half-wit
should understand you would break every last one if you remained
here with these two gentlemen in the dark."

"Then what do you propose this half-wit
do?"

Theo cleared his throat. "Might I offer a
suggestion? Culvert and I will stay and watch."

"Excellent idea!" George said. "Hyde, you
remain behind while I take the ladies home. I'll stop by my house
for a change of horses and driver. We won't need footmen." His eyes
lit up and he looked like a child about to experience his first
Christmas. "Cook should have something set aside that we can eat
cold for dinner. Chicken pie, perhaps. How does that sound,
Hyde?"

"Delicious," Theo said. "And something sweet
for afterwards?"

"Of course. I'll bring fresh shirts for the
morning and blankets for tonight too."

"I don't suppose you could put in a flask of
whiskey."

"One flask won't get us far, I'll make it two
large ones."

"It isn't a house party," I said, laughing.
It was impossible not to get caught up in their excitement. "You're
not supposed to have fun."

George grinned. "I'm rather looking forward
to it. I'll tell Mother I've gone to my club, and I'll have word
sent to your aunt too, Hyde."

"What about your studies, Mr. Hyde?" Celia
asked. "Don't you have classes in the morning?"

"This is far more important," Theo said.
"Culvert can't do it alone. Let me worry about my studies, Miss
Chambers."

It was settled. Celia, George, and I drove
off, while Theo remained in Grosvenor Square, looking across
Grosvenor Street to number twelve.

It was going to be a long night for them, and
perhaps a long one for me too, lying awake and wondering how they
fared. I was prepared for it. I was not prepared, however, to be
greeted by a faint ghost, a cross father, and a guilty looking
little girl upon my return.

CHAPTER 8

"I'm sorry," Cara blurted out as George's
coach drove off. "It's all my fault."

"What's all your fault?" Celia asked.

Louis scowled at my sister. She scowled back.
"Cara thinks she can see ghosts," he said.

"I can!" She clamped a hand over her mouth
and her wide eyes begged for forgiveness, but I wasn't sure whose
forgiveness she wanted.

"It's my fault," Jacob said, rubbing a hand
through his hair, messing it up. He seemed to be pausing for
breath, but that was impossible. He didn't need to breathe. "I
startled her...he was here." He chucked Cara under the chin. "Don't
worry."

"But he thinks I'm mad," she whispered, even
though Louis would have heard.

"I think we should go inside," Celia said,
leading the way.

Louis watched her stiff back, his frown
deepening. "Don't tell me you allow her to believe this nonsense.
Celia, I'm surprised at you."

I heard Celia suck air between her teeth, but
she kept walking and said nothing. It must have been hard for her
not to confront him then and there. I had to bite my tongue to stop
myself telling him Cara could indeed see spirits, as could I. But
some things ought not be revealed on front doorsteps.

Nobody spoke until we were settled in the
drawing room. Lucy had collected our hats and coats and hung them
up then trotted off to the kitchen to make tea.

"Mr. Moreau," Celia began, "I think—"

"It's Louis to you, Celia. After everything
we've been through, don't you think you can cease the
formality?"

"Formality and manners are
all we have left,
Mr
. Moreau."

"Very well,
Celia
, if that's how you
want to be. I see I cannot change your mind."

"No, you cannot. Now, what I'm about to tell
you, may shock you."

"I doubt anything can shock me after learning
I have a seventeen year-old daughter." He winked at me and I smiled
back, despite my reservations.

Jacob came up beside me and sat on the arm of
the sofa. Ordinarily he liked to stand, but he seemed to need the
rest. I desperately wanted to ask him if many spirits had been lost
from the Waiting Area, and if he was all right to carry on being in
this realm, but I did not. One crisis at a time.

"Cara can see spirits," Celia said, rather
more bluntly than necessary. If she'd let me speak first, I would
have gently steered the conversation in that direction in a way
that would not have stunned Louis into silence.

His jaw worked and a muscle high up in his
cheek twitched. He took a long time to answer, and when he did, he
spoke as if every word were carefully chosen. "I don't think it's
wise to take this path, Celia."

"What path?"

"The path of..." His gaze darted to Cara, who
sat like a little statue, pretending not to hear her elders talking
about her. "Of pretending she's normal. I've seen madness. My
father is...touched by it. You've met him." His tone was neutral,
but a hint of sadness underpinned it.

Celia scoffed. "You're comparing that crazy
old Frenchman with these two?"

Louis' gaze caught mine and I was shocked by
what I saw there. Genuine, raw sorrow. "Emily too?"

He was not going to be easy to convince.
"Celia, wait." I held up my hand. "Let me do this. Louis, we
haven't been entirely honest with you because, well, we were afraid
of your reaction."

"Don't be," he said. "You can tell me
anything, Emily, even if it's...something unfortunate."

"And the same goes for you. You can tell us
anything."

"Ah. I see." He folded his arms over his
chest. "You wish to bargain with me?" His low chuckle surprised me,
coming so soon after the sadness.

"We'll offer explanations, but only if you
promise to do the same after we've finished."

"I admire your methods, Emily. I shouldn't,
but I do."

"As do I," Jacob said. He clutched my
shoulder, but I suspect it was more to steady himself than for
affectionate reasons.

"Jacob?" I whispered. "Are you all
right?"

"Don't worry." His smile was weak but
heartfelt.

"Who are you speaking to?" Louis asked.

Celia huffed out an exasperated breath. "You
heard her, Mr. Moreau. We give you no answers until you
promise."

He gave a single nod. "Very well. I promise.
But you first. So tell me. When did this madness—"

"It's not madness," Celia said. "Emily and
Cara can see spirits. Thanks to you, I might add."

"What are you talking about? Or are you mad
too?"

Her glare could have cut glass. "Only at
you."

"Stop it," I said. "You two are worse than
children."

Louis apologized and looked
ashamed. My sister did not. "
Now
, will someone please explain
what is going on?" he asked.

"Allow me," Jacob said. He picked up a
figurine of an Oriental lady from a nearby table. His movements
were slow, as if his limbs were heavy.

Louis leapt out of his chair. "Bloody
hell!"

"I really don't think that sort of language
is necessary," Celia scolded.

"My, uh, my...sorry. I'm..." He sat back
down, slowly, without taking his gaze off the figurine. "What
trickery is this?"

"It's not trickery," I said. "It's Jacob
Beaufort, son of Lord and Lady Preston. Or rather, his spirit."

"He's dead," Cara said. "Only me and Emily
can see him."

"Emily and I," Celia corrected.

"But..." Louis said. "But...I don't
understand."

Lucy entered carrying a tray and tea things.
She paused when she saw the figurine. "Mr. Beaufort is here?" She
set the tray on the table near Celia. "I always feel that I should
be offering him tea since he is our guest."

Jacob lowered the figurine onto the table.
"Emily...I must go." He pressed his hands to his temples. "But I
need to speak to you." He dropped to his knees in front of me.
Exhaustion raked at his features, dragging them down, aging him. He
pressed his forehead against my knees and sighed deeply. "Emily, I
may not...return."

"No!"

"What is it?" Louis asked, half out of the
chair again. "What's wrong?"

"He's saying goodbye," Cara said softly. "Mr.
Beaufort is sick."