Evermore (4 page)

Jacob narrowed his eyes. "For once I agree
with her. Do not do anything yet except go through the books in
George's library. If you can't find something there, we'll have to
wait for the Administrators to guide me when they're ready."

I expected Jacob to disappear to conserve his
energy, but he remained, watching me intently. It was unnerving but
exhilarating at the same time. He was the most handsome man I knew,
his features strong and defined. There were no weak lines on his
face or in the set of his broad shoulders. He wore only the shirt
and trousers he'd died in, and I couldn't stop my gaze wandering to
the gap where his shirt opened at his chest. I wanted to kiss him
there, feel the smooth skin and tease a sigh from his lips.

He suddenly faded again and I opened my mouth
to call him, but he returned.

"Are you all right?" My heart pulsed in my
throat and I swear I could hear the clang my nerves made as they
jangled.

He nodded. "Emily, do you recall that I said
I would look for your father in New South Wales?"

I waved my hand in dismissal. "Never mind
that now. There are more important things to be done first."

"Your situation is important too, Em."

"Thank you." I gave him a grim smile. "But it
can wait. Besides, you may not be able to travel so far in this
state."

"When this is over, and if
I am able, I
will
find him for you."

"You won't need to go anywhere," said Cara
from the doorway. My ten-year-old aunt nodded a greeting at Jacob
as she came into the drawing room carrying a plate of almond
biscuits. She was a medium, like me, the ability to communicate
with spirits having been passed down to us from our distant African
ancestors. She looked pretty with her dark wavy hair tied up with
blue ribbons. She wore a matching blue dress that used to be mine,
but Celia had pulled it out of the attic and given it to Cara when
she came to live with us.

"What do you mean?" I asked her.

"He's here in London."

"My father? Your brother?"

"I seen him," Cara said, setting the plate on
the table.

I waited for Celia to correct her sentence,
but she didn't. My sister must have been shocked into stupidity by
Cara's announcement. One glance at her proved otherwise, however.
She sat primly on the edge of the sofa, her gaze upon her hands in
her lap. It was only on closer inspection that I noticed them
shaking.

"He came here while you were out," Cara said.
"Lucy let him in and I watched them talking. He didn't see me."

"Do you mean the man who didn't leave his
name or calling card?" I asked.

"He looked like us," she said, her serious
eyes fixed on me. "Only a little bit darker."

No wonder Lucy had been eyeing me
surreptitiously when she said a man had come calling. She must have
suspected he was my kin but had not wanted to broach the subject of
our similarity, or had not known how to do so politely.

"Did he say anything else?" I pressed Cara.
"Did he mention where he is staying?"

She shook her head. "He asked if Mrs.
Chambers and Miss Celia Chambers still lived here. Lucy told him
Mrs. Chambers was dead and you two were out. Then he left."

"What was his reaction to the news of our
mother's death?" I asked. "Did he seem upset?"

She shrugged one shoulder.

"I wonder why he came back from New South
Wales." It was all so surreal, so fantastical, that I couldn't
quite take it in. My father, Louis, was back and he'd come looking
for us. We thought he'd made a new life for himself in that far-off
land and didn't want past relationships to interfere with it.
That's what Louis' father, my grandfather, had told us. Since Mama
and Celia never heard from him again, we'd assumed old Mr. Moreau
spoke the truth.

"Tea," said Celia. The single, decisive word
punctured my thoughts. "Where's Lucy? We must have our tea."

I caught Jacob watching me, his finger slowly
stroking his lips. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"I think so. My grandfather will probably
know where he is." I rose, but Celia pulled me back down onto the
sofa with a hard jerk.

"You are not going anywhere," she snapped.
"And you are certainly not going to see that madman."

"But my father—"

"No! If Louis wishes to visit us, then let
him come." She smoothed down her skirts, so it was difficult to see
if her hands still shook. "We will not go chasing him around the
city. Understand?"

"Yes, Celia."

She squeezed my arm then rose and left the
drawing room muttering about tea.

Jacob sighed. "You're going to visit your
grandfather, aren't you?"

I nodded. "Of course."

"Good," said Cara. "I'll come too. I don't
like being left out." She arched her eyebrows at me then at Jacob,
a childishly defiant gleam in her eyes.

I sighed. "How much did you hear?"

"Everything."

The defiance vanished and she knelt on the
floor in front of me. She clasped my hands. "You can trust me,
Emily. I want to help."

"And you will," I said to placate her.

"Indeed," Jacob muttered. "We may need all
the help we can get."

CHAPTER 3

I couldn't get away from the house without
Celia noticing until the following day. When she went shopping
early the next morning, Cara and I slipped out. My aunt insisted on
coming with me. I didn't see the harm in allowing her, and it was
nice to have company. We caught the omnibus to the Leather Lane
market where François Moreau kept a stall selling fruit and
vegetables. It was easy to spot the faded red awning over his cart
next to the lamp seller, despite the crowds.

I wasn't looking forward to seeing my
grandfather again. He had a tendency to laugh like a madman, which
I suppose he was. Getting straight answers out of him had proved
difficult so far.

"Have you seen him?" I asked Moreau after we
explained the reason for our visit.

"My boy?" he said with a
lilting French accent. "Bah! He's a fool, that one." He rearranged
the onions in their display box on his cart but not for any
discernible reason that I could see except to keep his hands busy.
The new pattern looked exactly like the old one.
"
Imbécile
."

"Papa, you do know that he's back, don't
you?" asked Cara.

"He went to New South Wales. Long, long way
away."

"Yes, but he returned," I said, trying very
hard to keep the note of impatience out of my voice. "Has he been
to see you?"

François didn't look up as he swapped onions
with onions, over and over again, his brown hands fast and nimble.
"He went to New South Wales. Better there for people like him.
People like us." His fingers suddenly stilled and he clenched an
onion in his fist. His head jerked up and his pitch-black gaze
drilled into me. "Go! Now! Leave Louis be. He is my only son."

"But Papa," Cara begged, "tell us where to
find him. He is my brother and Emily's father."

François shook the onion at her. "Go away!
You not my daughter no more. You be with them now. They trouble,"
he muttered. "Girls always bring trouble."

I clasped Cara's hand and drew her away from
my grandfather, her father. It was a mistake to come to the market.
We weren't going to get answers from him. We would simply have to
wait for Louis to come to us. He had once, hopefully he would
again.

"How did you live with him for as long as you
did?" I asked Cara as we wended our way through the stalls selling
everything from eels to hair combs, sherbet to Dutch dolls.

"We didn't talk much. He brought home food
and I kept out of his way. He wasn't like a real father. He didn't
even know about me until I was eight."

That she could speak so calmly about her
father's disregard amazed me. He had not asked her how she fared
with us, people who'd been complete strangers to her mere weeks
ago. Then again, Cara was quite detached. Her eyes lit up at all
the usual things, like new clothes or toys or a plate full of
cakes, but when it came to more serious emotions, she seemed
incapable of feeling anything.

I took her hand and was
surprised that it trembled. It seemed I was wrong. She
was
upset by the
encounter. It amazed me that it didn't show on her face.

I squeezed her fingers and she squeezed back
but neither of us spoke of François Moreau again.

We dodged the early morning shoppers and
loafers and made our way up Leather Lane. Street sellers shouted
over each other to catch our attention, but we ignored them. The
man with shrimps poking out of his hat-band crying, "Shrimps at a
penny a pint," smelled particularly foul. We gave him the widest
berth of all.

"I must get to George's," I said, hurrying
Cara through the maze. "I'll see you home safely first."

"I can go on my own."

"I know, but I would be a terrible niece if I
allowed my aunt to roam the streets unattended."

She giggled and I grinned. We both saw the
absurdity of an aunt being seven years younger than the niece.

"Are you going to look through Mr. Culvert's
books to find out why Mr. Beaufort is fading in and out?" she asked
when her giggles subsided.

"Yes." It was nice not to be the only one
able to see and hear spirits anymore, even though it meant I
couldn't have secret conversations with Jacob when she was near.
Cara's very existence made me feel less of a freak.

As luck would have it, an omnibus was letting
off passengers and continuing in our direction. It had seats inside
where it was warmer than riding on top, and I informed the
conductor we wished to travel as far as Chelsea.

"Can I help you and Mr. Culvert?" Cara asked
as we took our seats.

"Not yet," I said. "But I'll be sure to let
you know if there's something you can do."

"Good. I don't like being
left out. I
am
ten, you know, not a baby."

***

I made sure Cara arrived home safely, then I
set off again before Celia could stop me. No doubt Cara would tell
her where we'd been and I would get a lecture about my disobedience
later. So be it.

George was just stepping out of his carriage
when I strolled up to his Wilton Crescent house. "Emily!" he said,
beaming. "What a lovely surprise." Then he suddenly frowned. "Or is
it? You look a little anxious."

"I am." I decided not to tell him about my
father's return. That could wait until after I'd spoken to Louis
and learned of his plans. Besides, there were more troubling
matters to address. "Something's happened in the Waiting Area. If
I'd known you were going to be out and about early I would have
come straight after breakfast. I thought you might sleep late." The
Belgravia set often didn't rise until late in the morning, or so
I'd been told. I regretted losing valuable time that could have
been better spent researching and not chasing my elusive
father.

"You can visit in the middle of the night if
it's important." He opened the front door and a footman sailed
across the tiles to meet us. "Library?" George said to me as the
footman took our coats and hats.

"Most definitely."

"Greggs, have tea sent up to the library and
lunch in an hour. Is Mother at home?"

"Mrs. Culvert is preparing to go out, sir,"
Greggs said in his deadpan voice.

"Preparing, eh? That could take hours."
George hooked his arm through mine. "There's no need to tell her
that I have a guest in the library. Unless she asks of course, then
I suppose you must answer truthfully."

"Very good, sir."

"You could order him to lie to her," I
whispered as we walked arm in arm into the library adjoining the
entrance hall. "He is your servant after all, not your
mother's."

"Mother has Greggs wrapped around her little
finger. Besides, she would sniff out the presence of a visitor,
particularly one connected to Lady Preston, regardless of what I
tell her. Mother's senses function all too well when hunting prey
that could help her in certain circles. You, my dear, are a tasty
morsel indeed."

I stopped at the massive central table with
its leather inlay and squat, solid legs, and set my reticule on the
surface. "I'm not connected to Lady Preston at all. We are merely
acquaintances."

"But you are friends with Adelaide, aren't
you? I mean, Miss Beaufort." From the way he leaned forward, I
sensed he was interested in the answer for his own sake, not his
mother's.

"We are friends of sorts, although I'm not
sure how close we are considering she is the daughter of an earl
and I am the illegitimate daughter of a—" I realized I didn't know
what my father did for a living. Perhaps he was a grocer like his
father. "A nobody."

He winced. "Friendship knows no boundaries,
Emily. Nor does love."

"You are sounding positively egalitarian,
George." I scanned one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that
occupied three entire walls of the cavernous room. George's library
was very impressive, with many of the books being old and rare. His
library was a reader's dream, as long as that reader had an
interest in the paranormal. "What's happened to make you so
fair-minded? When we first met, you thought my friendship with
Adelaide quite shocking."

"You happened, as a matter of fact."

"Me?" I paused, my hand on a book spine, and
looked at him over my shoulder.

"Yes, you. Your friendship has enriched me
beyond anything these dusty books ever taught me." He swept his
arms wide to indicate the library with its thousands upon thousands
of volumes.

"Why George, you're being very sweet all of a
sudden." I narrowed my eyes. "Do you want something from me?" His
cheeks reddened and I laughed. "I knew it!"