The Medium (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy #1) (7 page)

Jacob chose that
moment to appear beside me and I jumped in surprise. "Tell him you knew me
before my death," he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied
Mr. Culvert, "and that I told you about his interest in demonology. Pretend
you also have an interest too and decided it was time you met. That should
suffice."

But before I
could say anything, Mr. Culvert said, "Do you have a supernatural matter
to discuss with me?"

I choked on air
and tried to cover it with a cough.

"Are you
all right, Miss Chambers?" he said, frowning. "Tea is on its way but
if there's anything else I can get you?" He took my hand again and patted
it.

Jacob scowled at
him.

I managed to stop
coughing long enough to say, "Thank you, I'm fine."

Jacob, still
scowling, approached our host and waved a hand in front of his face. Mr.
Culvert didn't blink. "He definitely can't see me," Jacob said. "It
must have been a guess—an uncannily good one."

"You're
right," I said. "I do have a supernatural question. That's very
intuitive of you, Mr. Culvert."

"Not
really." He smiled sheepishly and dipped his head. "I happen to be
aware of your work as a medium. I've wanted to meet you for some time." A
faint blush crept across his cheeks. It was rather charming. Until I caught Jacob
watching me out of the corner of my eye. No, he wasn't watching, he was
glaring
and his eyes had turned the color of a stormy sea. I tried not to look at him. I
needed all my wits about me if I was to lie to George Culvert convincingly.

"So you
believe I can really talk to spirits?" I said to Mr. Culvert.

"Yes of
course. Why wouldn't I?"

"Many
people do not."

"Many
people don't know what I know about the supernatural." He indicated I
should sit on the blood-red velvet sofa.

The footman
re-entered carrying a tea tray stacked with tea things and a plate of butter
biscuits, freshly baked going by their delicious smell. It was early for refreshments,
early for making calls for that matter, but Mr. Culvert didn't seem to mind. Indeed,
he seemed quite eager to chat. He sat in the chair opposite and leaned forward
as the footman poured the tea.

I took my teacup
and wondered where Mrs. Culvert was in the vast house. When the footman left I
hazarded a glance at Jacob. He stood beside the mantelpiece, its height perfect
for resting his elbow, and watched the proceedings with a closed expression. I
thought he'd be impatient for me to ask questions but he said nothing, simply
waited.

I decided to follow
our original plan. "I heard about you through a mutual friend of ours,"
I said to Mr. Culvert. "Jacob Beaufort. I believe you went to Eton with
him."

George Culvert's
brows shot up into his snowy blond curls. "You knew him?"

I nodded and
sipped my tea in an effort to disguise my lie. I had one of those faces that
was easy to read so the better I hid it, the better I could lie. "His
sudden death must have shocked everyone at the school."

"It must
have, but I wouldn’t know." He too took a sip of his tea but watched me
the entire time over the rim of his cup. "He died after we'd both left
Eton. Jacob had gone on to Oxford I believe."

My ghost had
failed to mention that fact. Jacob shifted his weight. "It was so long
ago," I said lightly. "I find it hard to recall the dates."

Mr. Culvert
lowered his cup and locked his gaze with mine. "And he wasn't my friend."

Oh dear. This
was going to be more difficult than I imagined. "He, uh, mentioned you
though. Frequently."

Jacob groaned. "Tell
him we were in the same debating team once."

"You were
on the debating team together," I said.

"No, that
was my cousin, another Culvert," Mr. Culvert said.

"Oh."

Jacob shrugged. "I
thought it was him." He frowned, shook his head. "I just can't seem
to recall him. The uncle I spoke to in the Waiting Area was adamant his nephew
George went to Eton in my year level. Why can't I remember him?"

"It must
have been some other team then," I offered. "Cricket?"

"I didn't
play sports unless I had to," Mr. Culvert said. "And Jacob and I were
never on the same team. He was always in the firsts—cricket, rugby
et cetera
.
I was...not. So you see, I'd be very surprised if he noticed me at all."

Jacob sighed. "He's
right. It's a large school and our paths probably never crossed."

"He was like
that," Mr. Culvert went on.

"Like what?"
I finally had a chance to find out more about my ghost and unfortunately he had
to be listening. Perhaps I should have stopped Mr. Culvert before he said
something Jacob ought not to hear.

Or perhaps not. I
might not get another opportunity to discover more. If Jacob didn't want to
listen he could simply vanish and return later.

Jacob, however, did
not disappear. He'd gone very rigid and that steely glare was back. "Emily,
don't," he said.

He was right. It
wasn't fair. I sighed. "Nevermind," I said.

"I don't
mind," said Mr. Culvert cheerily. He passed me the plate of biscuits and I
took one. "But surely you would know what he was like, being his friend."

"Emily,"
Jacob warned.

"Uh..."
With my mouth full of biscuit I couldn't say anything else without spraying
crumbs in my lap and over the floor. The thick Oriental rug was so lovely and I
really didn't want to embarrass myself in front of my host...

"He was quite
oblivious to those around him, wouldn't you say?" Mr. Culvert said,
somewhat oblivious himself to my plight.

Jacob stepped
between us and I could practically see steam rising from his ears. "Emily,
stop this line of questioning. Now." His fingers curled into fists at his
sides. "Please." The plea, uttered so quietly I barely heard it,
caught me off guard and I inhaled sharply.

It was the wrong
thing to do. A clump of half-chewed biscuit lodged in my throat and a fit of coughs
gripped me. Mr. Culvert handed me my teacup, stretching straight through Jacob
to do so. I dared a glance at the ghost's face as I sipped. It was dark and
threatening but there was something else there, something...vulnerable. I wanted
to reach out to him but I dared not. Instead I held on tightly to the cup as I moved
a little to the left along the sofa to see around him.

"Yes,
oblivious," Mr. Culvert said, not looking at me now. He seemed lost in
memories from his Etonian days. "And self-absorbed."

"Self-absorbed?"
Jacob spun round. "I was not!"

"He had his
circle of friends and anyone who fell outside that circle simply didn't
get...seen." Culvert shrugged and I didn't get the feeling he was bitter,
just observant. I suspect George Culvert was very good at observing people. There
was something quiet and watchful about him. Whereas Jacob was all contained
energy simmering beneath the surface, Culvert seemed gentle to the core. I
could imagine him watching people from a corner of a room through his
spectacles, determining their strengths and faults, seeing how they interacted
with others. Jacob on the other hand, was a man of action.

And the action I
suspected he was about to perform could end in someone getting hurt and himself
being exposed.

"Tell him I
am not self-absorbed," Jacob snapped.

I gulped and
tried not to look at him. "That's a shame," I said quickly. "Because
you're both nice people. I'm sure you would have got along."

"Not
everyone would think that way," Culvert said.

"Oh but you
seem very nice to me."

He blushed again
and bowed his head. "I was referring to Beaufort. He was well liked by most
at school," he said, "adored even. But certainly not everyone put him
up on a pedestal. I'm sure some would have preferred to drag him off it."

"I wasn't
on any bloody pedestal," Jacob said, drawing himself up to his full height.

I found that
hard to believe. I'd spent much of the previous night picturing him on one,
made of white marble and carved in the Roman style.

Jacob edged
toward Culvert, looking like he wanted to make his presence known in the most
dramatic way a ghost can. It was time to steer the conversation away from the
subject of Jacob before Culvert found the rug pulled out from under him, quite
literally.

"Perhaps it
wasn't Jacob who told me about your father's collection of books on demonology,
perhaps it was someone else." I hoped I sounded convincing but I suspect I
came across like a flighty female. "The fact of the matter is, I have an
interest in demons and I'm hoping you'll be kind enough to allow me to make use
of your library to further my studies."

Culvert pushed
his spectacles up his nose.
"You're
interested in demons?"

"Yes. It's
a natural extension from my other activities, don't you think?"

His mouth
twisted in thought. "I suppose so. Is there any demon in particular you
want to study?"

"Shape-shifting
demons."

He paused. "Well
that's a coincidence."

"Why?"

"A book on shape-shifting
demons was stolen from my library just last week."

CHAPTER 4

Jacob and I
exchanged glances. The coincidence was too close for my liking. One week a book
on demonology is stolen and the next a shape-shifting demon just happens to be
summoned from the Otherworld? Unlikely.

"Stolen!"
I said to Mr. Culvert. "By whom?"

George Culvert drummed
his fingers on his knee, sighed, drummed some more then finally answered me. "I'm
sad to say that it must have been one of the servants. I can see no other
explanation. No one enters during the day without Greggs the footman letting
them in and the house is locked up at night. It must have been someone who
lives here and since Mother and I do not need to steal it..." He sank back
into the chair, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed. He looked like a
deflated balloon. I knew what it was like to have a trusted servant steal from you.
Bella's predecessor had taken the payment from one of our séances before we'd
had a chance to put it away. Celia and I had been devastated when we saw the
money fall out of her apron pocket.

"Perhaps it
wasn’t a servant. The book could have been missing for some time," I said.
"Months even. If it's an obscure one and your library is large, you
wouldn't have noticed it. You probably had any number of people come into the
house in that time."

"Good
point," Jacob said with admiration.

Mr. Culvert
shook his head. "The missing book is large with a beautiful red leather
spine. It made quite a hole in my shelves and I noticed it missing immediately.
I questioned the servants of course, but none owned up to the theft. However
I'm quite certain it was one particular maid. She has been with us for only a
month, and as the newest member in the house, I'm afraid suspicion naturally
fell on her. Besides, the girl was very nervous when I questioned her."

"She's
still with you?" I asked.

He nodded. "I
couldn't dismiss her without evidence and I never found the book despite having
the housekeeper search the room the girl shares with two other maids."

"We'll
speak to her later," Jacob said.

I'd been
thinking the same thing but wasn't sure if involving George Culvert any more
than he already was would be a good idea. On the other hand, the more we spoke
to him, the more I liked him and thought he could be trusted with all the
information we knew. He might even prove helpful.

And I had a
feeling he wouldn't think I was mad for talking to a ghost.

Before I could
think further on the matter, he stood and offered me his hand. "Would you
like to come with me to the library, Miss Chambers? We might as well get
started on your research topic."

I took his hand
and heard a grunt from Jacob. I casually raised my brows in his direction,
challenging him to tell me what bothered him so much about the courteous action,
but he merely grunted again and turned away. We both followed Culvert down to
an enormous room on the ground floor filled to bursting with books. The library
took up two entire levels and every spare space of wall was covered in shelves crammed
with books of all shapes and sizes. Each wall had a ladder to reach the higher
volumes, and two big arched windows framed with heavy crimson drapes allowed
light into even the furthest corners. For night, cast iron gas lamps topped
with crouching angels were bolted to the vertical sides of the shelves and were
also positioned on pedestals beside most of the chairs. The mahogany furniture looked
heavy with solid, stumpy legs ending in clawed feet, so unlike the spindly pieces
in the drawing room. There were two leather-inlaid desks, one small and one
large, and deep reading chairs upholstered in red leather that looked soft
enough to curl up in. A small fire burned low in the enormous hearth to keep
the chill away and the thick rug covering most of the floor gave the room a
warm, welcoming feel. It was my idea of heaven.