The Medium (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy #1) (15 page)

"And you
didn't find that suspicious?" Celia asked.

"Course I
did but didn't you 'ear me? She gave me twenty shillings!"

"Did she
tell you her name?" I asked.

"Nope."

"And you'd
never seen her before?" Celia asked.

"Nope. Like
I said, she came up to me round that corner and gave me the money. Twenty
shillings!" She chuckled so hard it turned into a racking cough.

"Are you
all right?" I asked.

She nodded then
wiped her mouth on her sleeve. "Twenty shillings! Still can't believe it. Course
she could prob'ly 'ford it and more."

"Afford it?"
I echoed.

"But she
was as poor as dirt," Celia said, waving her hand at the woman as if to
say "like you".

The peddler
didn't seem to notice the slight. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"But her
clothes were a motley collection of rags," Celia persisted. "Nothing
matched and most of it had holes in one place or another. Even her boots were
odd and worn out."

The woman tapped
her nose again. "Aye, but she spoke like you two. A toff, she was, I'll
bet ya."

Celia tilted her
head to the side. "Nonsense. She dropped her aitches and savaged her
vowels. She most certainly was not a toff as you put it. Or like us."

"She most
cert'ly was!"

Before the
disagreement heated up, I thanked the peddler for her time and gave her the
coins. She relinquished the bracelet with a smile.

Celia shut the door
on her rasping chuckle. "She doesn't know what she's talking about. The
woman who sold me the amulet had the most atrocious East End accent."

"Perhaps it
was part of her disguise," I said. "Perhaps she wanted you to think
she was from the East End. Or at least didn't want you to know she was a lady."

Lucy entered the
hallway from the front drawing room, a rag and bowl of paste in hand for
polishing the fireplace. She kept close to the wall, as far away from me as
possible. Although she now spoke to me without her voice shaking, she was still
wary. Her eyes never left me when we were in the same room, as if she didn't
dare look elsewhere in case I summoned a ghost while she wasn't looking.

I held up the bracelet
to assess my purchase. It was very thin but the links had a pleasing shape to
them, despite the coating of filth. "Would you clean it up for me please,
Lucy?"

"Yes, Miss
Chambers." She stretched out her hand as far as she could reach but leaned
back slightly.

I handed her the
bracelet without getting too close. "You may keep it if you like."

She gasped. "Oh,
Miss Chambers!" Her fingers closed around the chain and she clasped it to
her breast. "Really?"

I nodded. "Think
of it as a welcoming gift."

Lucy thanked me,
twice, then trotted down the hallway to the basement stairs.

"Do you
intend to bribe her into not being afraid of you?" Celia asked when she
was out of earshot.

I sighed. "Do
you think it might work?"

"Yes, but
only after several more gifts." She squeezed my hand. "And we cannot
afford such extravagances. We can't really afford that bracelet but if it helps
us send the demon back then I don' begrudge its expense. So now what do we do
about the amulet woman?"

I sighed. "I
don't know."

"But you're
supposed to be a 'smart girl'," she teased, echoing the peddler.

"Stop it. I
don't know what to do. I could ask Jacob."

She let go of my
hand and her mouth tightened. "If you must."

"You don't
want him here do you?"

She made her way
into the front drawing room and beckoned me to follow. "I don't
mind
him," she said carefully. "I just worry about him coming and going so
freely. None of the other ghosts have ever done so before."

"He's
harmless, Sis, I guarantee it." If he'd wanted to harm me he would have
had ample opportunity before now. He could have done anything to me this
morning while I was asleep. Instead he just sat there, watching.

"I'm sure
he is." She sighed and perched on the edge of the sofa. "It's just
that...there's something unsettling about ghosts." She picked up her
embroidery and began stitching. "Now understand, this is entirely from the
point of view of someone who cannot see them, but...they have nothing to lose. Nothing
to fear. The Bible tells us that we are judged in the Afterlife by our actions
when we're alive. If that's true then what is to stop ghosts from doing wrong
now they are dead?"

In a way it was
what Jacob had said to me that morning. He and ghosts like him no longer had
any fear of losing their lives or their reputations, and they didn't feel
physical pain. So what was to stop them from doing everything they'd wanted to
do during their lifetime but hadn't for fear of punishment either in this world
or the next?

"A good
upbringing is what stops them," I said to her. "And a good heart. Most
of us don't need the threat of punishment hanging over us to do what we know to
be the right thing." But as I said it, I wasn't entirely convinced by own
argument. Could people change so much after their death? Could they forget or
dismiss the code of behavior they'd learned during their life?

She smiled at me
but it was weak and unconvincing.

I sat beside her
and picked up my own embroidery. I wasn't very fond of the activity, preferring
to read, but sometimes the repetitious task helped me to think. "Celia,
what do you know of Mama's family? She had a sister, didn't she?"

"Aunt
Catherine, yes." She pulled a face. "Horrible woman. Mama and she
didn't get on at all well. I met her once when I was about ten. She and Uncle
Freddie came for a visit. She used to rap my knuckles whenever she caught me
fidgeting and I could never eat, sit, speak or breathe in the right way. Horrible
woman," she said again. "As I recall they left after only two days. Papa
couldn't stand them and insisted they leave before they drove Mama to
distraction with their endless demands. Why?"

I lowered my
cloth. "She died last month. I spoke to her ghost this morning."

"You what?"

"I wanted
to ask about Mama and...my father."

"Oh, Em,
how could you!"

"I just
needed to know if she knew him, that's all. I had to try, Celia, since
you
won't tell me anything."

She resumed her
embroidery but stabbed her finger on the first stitch. "Ow!" She
sucked off the blood. "Now see what you've done. I'm all flustered."

I took her hand
and inspected the wound. It had already stopped bleeding. "If it makes you
feel any better I didn't learn anything from Aunt Catherine, except to confirm what
you just told me about her. Horrible doesn't even begin to describe her."

Celia turned her
hand over in mine and clasped my fingers. "I can only imagine what she
thought of you," she said quietly. Her eyes shone with sympathy and
understanding.

I was grateful
that no tears came at the memory of my aunt's cruel words. I didn't want to
upset Celia over something she couldn't control.
She
could not summon
Aunt Catherine's ghost and chastise her. "She can't hurt me," I said.
Not with Jacob around to counter everything she said with his beautiful words. "She's
only a ghost."

Celia smiled. "I
should be sorry that she's dead, but I'm not."

I had nothing to
say to that so I resumed my needlepoint and we both worked in silence. After a
while Celia announced she would pay Mrs. Wiggam a visit to see if her husband
had departed yet. "Will you come?" she asked.

"Only if
you need me. I think I'll go to George Culvert's house again. I have more
questions about the demon that need answering."

It was only
partly true. I did want to see George again, but not to look at his books.

***

I headed out
after luncheon, dressed in a plain blue-gray dress with a matching jacket for
warmth. Celia had wanted me to wear something prettier with more ruches and
flounces and preferably in a brighter color, but I didn't want to stand out any
more than I already did. Not where I was going. I also wanted some protection
against the cold. The early spring day was overcast and the breeze sharp but
once out of windy Druids Way, I could at least feel my cheeks again. Unfortunately
I could also feel the smuts from the city's countless chimneys settling on my
skin. That was one good thing about my street, the wind kept the air cleaner
than most.

I expected Jacob
to appear to ask where I was going but I made it all the way to George's house
on my own. It would seem he didn't spend all of his time in the Waiting Area
watching me and waiting to join me. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved by
that or not.

The footman
showed me into the Culvert's drawing room where George met me a few minutes
later. He rushed in, all friendly smiles, his hands outstretched. "What a
delightful surprise," he said, taking my hands in his. "Absolutely delightful.
I was hoping you would return, Emily."

"Oh?"

He indicated I
should sit then followed suit, occupying the chair opposite. "Yes, I, er,
wanted to, um, see you again to...find out if you'd made any progress with capturing
the demon."

His explanation,
with all those hesitations, didn't ring entirely true. Did he want to say
something else? I couldn’t think what. "It killed someone last night,"
I said. I saw no point in keeping the information from him.

His face drained
of color. "Wh...what?"

"It
attacked a drunk servant on his night off." I repeated everything Jacob
had told me about the two victims and the subsequent burglary, which amounted
to very little.

Although the
color returned to George's face as I spoke, his forehead crinkled into a more
thorough frown. "How terrible," he murmured. "Utterly
despicable. We must do something."

"That's why
I'm here. I need your help."

He nodded and
shifted forward on the chair. "Of course. I understand. You need a man to
accompany you into these areas to investigate further." The way he said
'man', so earnestly, had me smiling. I couldn't imagine George fending off any
villains unless they were perhaps children. He might be tall but he was
slightly built and his hands didn't look like they'd done much more than turn
pages his entire life.

"Not quite
what I was thinking." I had promised Jacob that I wouldn't go into Whitechapel
after all. "I wanted to speak to your maid, Finch, again."

"Oh." He
pushed his glasses up his nose. "That won't be possible. She left
yesterday after we spoke to her. Just ran right out the door Mrs. Crouch said."

I had suspected Finch
wouldn't return but I didn't want him to know that I knew what had happened,
let alone that I was responsible for her leaving. It would seem the other
servants hadn't told him either, thankfully.

"I see,"
I said. "Then it seems I will ask you to accompany me after all, but not
to the areas where the victims were found. I'd like to find Maree Finch. Perhaps
we could try the school she attended. My own maid said she knew Maree and that
the brother, a thief, had returned on a few occasions to speak to her. The last
time was right before she came to work for you. We might learn something more
about them both from the school."

He beamed. "Excellent
idea, Emily. I'll get my coat."

A few minutes
later we were skirting Green Park. George had wanted to take his carriage but I
didn't think it was a good idea. The wealthier we appeared, the less likely the
children would be prepared to speak to us.

"Does Beaufort
know you're going to the school with me?" George asked as we entered the
poorer part of Clerkenwell nearly an hour later. It was darker in the slum area
and not only because the clouds had thickened, extinguishing what little sunshine
had managed to seep through the smog. The tall tenements lining both sides of
the narrow streets like tired soldiers cast permanent shadows onto the slippery
cobbles below. Their walls were almost black with many years worth of the city's
grime having settled on the bricks.

"No,"
I said, dodging a fast-moving child of about nine years.

"Ah."

"Ah?"

"How long
will it be before he joins us, do you think?"

Another child
raced past followed by a shouting adult. "Thief! Thief!" The man stopped
near us and gulped in several deep breaths. "That little rat stole my
pocket watch," he spluttered between gasps. "Did you see which way he
went?"

George pointed
in the direction the boy had run off in. The man thanked him and resumed his
pursuit. No one joined in the chase. "I'd help him," George said,
looking after the man, "but the thief will be long gone."

Even if the
child was only one street away the man probably wouldn't have enough breath in
him to catch up going by the way he puffed heavily. "How much further is the
school?" I asked, walking on. I sidled closer to George and clutched my
reticule tighter.