The Medium (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy #1) (21 page)

Lucy shrugged. "Could've."

"Might Mr.
Blunt have known?"

She shrugged
again. "Don't know. Maybe."

"But
someone must have let him in to the building."

"He's a
thief. Don't matter 'ow many locks on the door, they won't stop Tommy Finch. He's
the best thief in London." It didn't sound like a boast, just a simple
statement of fact.

"Thank you,
Lucy," Celia said. "That was very helpful." We watched as the
maid bobbed a curtsy then left. "That wasn't helpful at all," my
sister said when she'd gone. "So now what do we do?"

I shrugged. "George
is going to speak to Leviticus Price. In the mean time, I have business of my
own to conduct with Jacob's family. I'm going to tell them he's dead."

My sister's head
snapped up. "Is that wise?"

I shrugged one
shoulder. "I'm going to do it anyway. They need to move forward and they
can't do that until they know he's truly gone."

She nodded. "I
understand. It's very kind of you to offer. Will you go in the morning? We have
a séance in the afternoon."

"I'm going
today."

Her teacup came
down on the saucer with such a loud
clank
I wouldn't be surprised if she
chipped it. "You'll do no such thing! You need to stay home and keep warm
and dry." She emphasized the last word with a pointed glare.

"Celia, I'm
going today and that's final. I may not get time tomorrow, depending on what
tonight brings." I shuddered at the thought of the shape-shifting demon
claiming another victim.

"See!"
She poked her finger at me. "You're shivering. You cannot go out so soon
after that soaking. It's unhealthy."

"I'll take
an umbrella."

"That is
not the point."

"No. You're
right." I stood and tossed my hair over my shoulder. It was almost dry. "I
am going and that's final."

She stood too. "You'll
do as I say, Emily. You are not going out again today."

"Celia,"
I said on a sigh, "you know I will so let's not argue about it. Red is
really not a becoming color on your face."

"Emily!"
She stomped her foot. My sister! Stomped her foot! I don't think she's ever
done anything so childish in her life. "I am trying to do what's best for you."

"But you're
not!" How could she not see that helping Jacob was what was best for me? "You're
being selfish and, and...interfering!"

"I am—."

"You are
not
my mother and I will
not
do as you say." I was so angry my voice
shook.

She thrust her
hands on her hips. "You're being unreasonable, Emily."

"You're the
one who's being unreasonable. I am as healthy as I've ever been and going out
this afternoon will not change that." I stormed towards the door and jerked
it open. "I'm going to my room and I don't wish to be disturbed."

I ran up the
stairs to my bedroom and locked the door then leaned back against it. I
breathed deeply to regain my composure but it didn't help. My veins pumped with
my rushing blood and my heart pounded. I couldn't remember the last time I'd
argued with Celia on such a scale. Our disagreements were usually petty affairs—who
was going to wear the crimson bonnet or whether the grocer's son would be
completely bald by the age of twenty-five (I said yes, she thought not). We
rarely needed to raise our voices.

I checked my
small pocket watch that I'd left on the dressing table after changing clothes. It
was half past one. Only half an hour until Jacob arrived. Fortunately I hadn't
told Celia about his pending visit. This way I could speak to him alone, in
peace, in my room.

Thirty minutes
suddenly seemed like a long time.

CHAPTER 10

"You look
upset," Jacob said when he finally winked into existence. "Is it my
fault?"

"No,"
I said from the chair beside the fireplace where I'd read the same page of my
book five times. I still had no idea what it was about. I'd sat there after
fixing my hair, a task which had taken considerable time as I hadn't requested
Lucy's help. I didn't want to place her in the awkward position of aiding me in
my escape. "Why would it be your fault?"

"It never
hurts to check." He sat on the foot of my bed and stretched out his long
legs, crossing his ankles. He looked so perfect, so handsome and real with his too-blue
eyes regarding me closely. His hair and clothes were dry and I wondered how
long it took for that to happen in the Waiting Area. Perhaps it was instant. "So
what's wrong?" he asked.

"I had a
disagreement with my sister." I waved my hand. "Nothing of
consequence."

His eyes
narrowed and I thought he'd detected my lie but he let it go with a nod. "So
you didn't catch a chill?"

I rolled my
eyes. "It would seem not."

"Good. Good."

"It was
fun, wasn't it?" I said. "Dancing in the rain."

He breathed
deeply and squeezed his eyes shut. "It was irresponsible. You should have
waited in the coffee house."

"You're
beginning to sound like Celia. It was simply a little rain—."

His eyes flew
open and I stilled at the flare of anger I saw in them. "There are many
spirits in the Waiting Area who are there because of
a little rain
."

I bristled and formed
a defense in my head but bit my tongue before I could let it free. Nothing I
could say would sound appropriate after his outburst because he was right. Sometimes
people died from a chill. Usually the old or very young or the weak, but not
always. So I blew out a calming breath and thanked him instead.

"What for?"
He looked surprised, as if my failure to argue with him had caught him off
guard. Almost as if he'd wanted me to disagree.

"Well,"
I began but stopped. I stood and set my book down on the writing desk then sat
beside him on the bed. He lowered his gaze to our hands, inches apart on the
bedcover.

And then
something happened. His fingers moved ever so slightly towards mine. My breath
caught in my chest and I watched, waiting for his fingers to move again, but
they did not. Nevertheless, they
had
moved. Jacob was still looking down
at them.

Silence
enveloped us but it didn't feel awkward or heavy. More...charged, thick with
unspoken words and a thousand jumbled emotions.

All of a sudden
I wanted to touch him. I wanted to feel his skin against mine, explore the bruises
of his knuckles, the smoothness of his fingernails. I inched my fingers closer
and his moved too, towards mine, as if we were two magnets drawn to each other.
Finally we touched, just our pinkies, but it felt like a spark jolted through
me on contact.

"Emily,"
he whispered. My name had never sounded so good, like the hush of a gentle
breeze across a grassy meadow. "Tell me what you'd been about to say."
His voice was buttery soft.

"What?"

"Why are
you thanking me?"

"Oh. For
caring about my health of course."

His fingers
recoiled and curled into a fist as if I'd slapped them away. I felt the abrupt
loss of his touch so keenly it hurt. "Don't," he said, desolate.

"Don't
what?"

He stood and
dragged a hand through his hair and took one step towards the fireplace,
backtracked, then changed his mind again and stalked across the room. He picked
up the coal scuttle and poured more coal onto the dwindling fire. "Let's
discuss what you're going to say to convince my parents I'm dead." He set
down the scuttle and, still crouching, watched the fire blaze to life. The
dancing flames brightened his face and eyes but did nothing to brighten the
dark mood that seemed to have descended upon him.

"Yes, er,
very well." I tried to concentrate on the task at hand but it wasn't easy.
My mind was still scrambled from when we'd touched and his rapid change of mood.

We spent the
next little while going through some events from his childhood that only he and
his parents could have known. I'd hoped to use our time together to learn more
about him but he recounted the memories with little emotion and no invitation
to discuss them in detail. He simply imparted the facts and ended the conversation
abruptly.

"Whatever
my parents say, don't take it to heart," he said on finishing. He stood by
the fireplace, one elbow on the mantelpiece, having not sat down the entire
time. I'd remained seated on the bed.

"What could
they say that would have an affect on me?"

He studied the
fire. "Just promise me you won't."

It seemed like
an odd thing to warn me about but I shrugged instead of pressing him. "I promise."

"Good."
He nodded and suddenly looked over at me. His gaze caught and held mine. "Take
an umbrella with you this time." And then he was gone.

I sighed and
stood. I picked up my heavy woolen shawl from the bottom drawer of the wardrobe
and slung it around my shoulders. Hopefully the extra thick one would appease
both my sister and my spirit. Not that I planned on telling Celia I was
leaving.

Fortunately I
didn't have to. I slipped downstairs, tiptoed past the drawing room, plucked an
umbrella from the stand near the door and left without her noticing.

***

The drawing room
of the Belgrave Square house belonging to Lord and Lady Preston was larger than
one entire floor of my home. The value of the paintings, vases, sculptures and
other artworks—all with a touch of gold—was probably higher than the whole
contents of my house too. It was difficult to appear sophisticated and worldly
in the presence of such wealth and exquisite taste, particularly as I was
ensconced in an enormous armchair that seemed bent on swallowing me whole. I
felt like a small child again.

Lady Preston sat
with regal elegance on the sofa beside her daughter, her exact replica only
younger. Both had hair the color of honey, coifed in an intricate style atop
their heads, and both had eyes of the same vibrant blue as Jacob. Whereas his
face was all masculine angles, theirs—while no less perfect—were softer and
rounder as if the sculptor had lovingly polished instead of chipped. Against
the gold tones of the room, they looked like royalty.

As if their fair
beauty wasn't intimidating enough, their shrewd gazes studied every inch of me.
Although I was wearing the green gown with the tight cuirass bodice again, it
looked almost drab against their silks. Whereas Lady Preston's expression
remained bland and unreadable, her daughter Adelaide's was more open and
friendly. She even attempted a smile. I smiled back but it faded when Lady
Preston's lips flattened in disapproval.

"You say
you knew my son, Miss Chambers?" she prompted.

I had introduced
myself to the butler who'd let me in only after I told him I needed to see Lord
and Lady Preston about Jacob. Since the viscount was taking lunch at his club,
the servant had shown me into the drawing room where I'd waited for Lady
Preston to join me. She'd arrived within a minute, her daughter on her heels.

"Actually,
that's not quite correct," I said. "You see..." I shifted in my
seat but that only made me sink further into the massive armchair. All the
bravado I'd felt when talking to Jacob about this meeting had vanished. Part of
me wished I was curled up on the threadbare sofa at home reading a book in
front of the fire. "You see, I
know
Jacob."

Lady Preston's
face finally formed an expression. Shock. She clasped her long fingers in her
lap and lifted her chin, revealing her slender white throat. She swallowed. "Know?"
she whispered. The cool, bland woman changed before my eyes. Small, thin lines striped
across her forehead and everything about her seemed to slacken, loosen, as if
she'd had enough of holding herself together.

"Dear lord,"
Adelaide said on a gasp. She was about my age but seemed older. Perhaps it was
because she was so tall and willowy or perhaps because she looked sophisticated
perched as she was on the sofa, her soft pink skirts spread daintily around her.
"You mean he's alive?"

"No, no,
you misunderstand," I said quickly. Oh dear, I'd gone about this all
wrong.

The two
beautiful faces crumbled. "Then what...?" Adelaide pressed. Her
mother straightened again and her expression tightened once more. She sat like
an automaton waiting to be wound up, serene but lifeless.

"I'm a spirit
medium," I said to Adelaide. I couldn't look at her mother. Something
about her unnerved me. She was so still, so empty...it was unnatural. "Jacob's
ghost visits me regularly."

Adelaide's jaw
dropped. "Ghost," she whispered. She bit her lower lip and blinked rapidly.

There was an
awful moment when no one spoke. Then, "Get out," Lady Preston
snapped.

"Pardon?"
I spluttered.

"Get out of
my house." The venom in her voice was matched by the hatred in her eyes. At
that moment, I think she genuinely despised me.