The Medium (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy #1) (17 page)

"Has Tommy
Finch been back to the school?"

"Certainly
not!"

"Right,"
George said. He cleared his throat. "I think you've told us everything we
need to know."

"Don't
leave yet," Jacob said. He stood beside George but watched me. "Suggest
that Culvert look at another girl to replace Finch."

I wasn't sure
what Jacob had in mind but I trusted his judgment. "Then let's move onto
the real reason we came here," I said to George with a smile. He gave me a
blank look. "A new maid."

He flinched. The
hiring of staff so far down the household order probably wasn't something he'd be
involved in. That would come under the housekeeper's jurisdiction, or his
mother's if the housekeeper wasn't a trusted servant herself. My suggestion
that he do it clearly shocked him. "Yes, of course. A new maid."

Bless him, he
was going along with the scenario with good grace. I was definitely warming to
George. Despite insisting outside that he do most of the talking, he'd not once
taken over the conversation. Of course that could have been because Mr. Blunt
wasn't there.

A flicker of
uncertainty crossed Mrs. White's comfortable features but then she smiled. I
suppose it must seem odd, not only that I'd accompanied George to find him a
new servant, but also that I was the one keen for him to hire again. Perhaps
she assumed he and I were engaged to be married and I was taking an active role
in running his household already.

My impish side wondered
what Jacob would think of that.

"Suggest he
look at some suitable girls with her right now," Jacob said. "Then
tell them you wish to remain here because you have a headache."

I did as he
said. I was afraid George would protest but his quick glance around the room
suggested he knew Jacob was nearby and that we had a plan. George was no fool
and he was turning into a wonderful ally.

"An
excellent idea," he said, standing. "Shall we, Mrs. White?"

She touched my
knee. "Will you be all right, dear? Can I get you some tea while you wait?"

"No, thank
you," I said. "I just need some peace and quiet."

"It's best
if she's not disturbed for a while," George said. He moved towards the
door and before they left, winked at me over his shoulder.

I winked back.

Jacob's face
turned dark. He crossed his arms over his chest. "He shouldn't be overly
familiar with you. People will think there's something between you."

I waited until
the door was closed then I stood and faced him. He turned that dark scowl on
me. "He winked at me, Jacob. It's not quite as familiar as coming into my
bedroom. For example."

His eyes turned
the deep gray of a stormy sky. He took a long time to answer and I had the most
disturbing feeling deep in my belly. Like a little flippity, somersaulting.

I
suspected—hoped—he was going to kiss me.

CHAPTER 8

Jacob did not
kiss me. He spun on his heel and strode to the door. "Let's go," he
said. "We don't have much time." Then he disappeared. I stared at the
spot where he'd been standing and touched my lips. They tingled from the
anticipation, and the disappointment.

Was it so wrong
of me to want him to kiss me?

The door opened from
the other side and he poked his head through the gap. "It's clear,"
he said. "Follow me."

It would seem I
had little choice. I blew out a steadying breath and walked behind him down the
narrow wood-paneled hall, treading on my toes so as not to make a sound. The musty
scent of dampness clung to the stale air and it was cooler than the parlor.

I hoped Jacob
knew where he was going. While haunting Blunt the previous night, he must have
spent some time looking over the school. I wanted to ask him if he had a
destination in mind but I dared not speak. I had no idea where Mrs. White and
George had gone but I didn't want to risk being overheard.

Jacob seemed
content to do all the talking anyway and didn't appear to expect me to answer
him. "The rooms along here are classrooms," he said, indicating the
closed doors on either side of the corridor. One of the doors was ajar and I
paused to listen.

Mrs. White's
voice came to me clearly. "The girls are given a grounding in arithmetic
to help them learn about portions for cooking, making cleaning pastes and the
like," she said.

George responded
but I didn't catch his words.

Jacob waited at
the end of the corridor. "There are some unsupervised boys down here,"
he said.

I quickly
followed him to a room that stank of shoe polish. Three boys aged about
thirteen sat on stools at a long wooden table in the center of the room. Each of
them had a fist thrust inside a boot, their other hand holding a blackened polishing
cloth. Dozens more boots, some shiny but most covered in dirt, stood in rows on
the table, and more again occupied a series of shelves on the opposite wall. It
would take a small army to fill them all let alone clean them.

The boys glanced
up when I entered. Two of them jumped to their feet, the other took his time to
stand. He was the only one of the three who didn't bow a greeting.

"Who are
you then?" he asked, his stringy blond hair falling over his forehead in
jagged wisps.

One of the other
boys hissed something at him but I couldn't hear what. The blonde boy merely
shrugged in response.

"My name is
Emily Chambers," I said. It was rather a relief not to see recognition on
their faces. True anonymity at last.

"Find out
what you can from them," Jacob said. "I'll keep watch." But he
didn't disappear immediately. Instead he sized up the three boys. Although none
of them were tall lads, they were all as tall as me and would undoubtedly
continue to grow if their lanky limbs were any indication. The two boys who'd
stood quickly didn't quite meet my gaze and shifted uncomfortably as if they
couldn't keep still. The other boy, the blond one, not only met my gaze but
held it.

"I'm 'Arry
Cotton," he said, "and this is Johnny Fife and Peter Bowker." The
one who'd hissed at him was Bowker. He and Fife smiled shyly at me and blushed
hard. Harry Cotton seemed to think this was funny and sniggered.

"Call if
you need me," Jacob said then disappeared.

"You the
replacement?" Harry asked. Of the three boys, he looked to be the oldest,
or perhaps it was simply because he had the beginnings of a leaner, harder jaw
whereas the other two still had the soft, rounded faces of children. Fife had a
set of dimples in either cheek.

"Replacement?"
I asked.

"For Mr.
Felchurch. 'E up and left yesterday. Got a job as a slave at some toff's 'ouse."

"'Arry,"
Bowker whispered loudly.

"Slave?"
I asked.

"Footman,"
Fife said, blushing again and still not meeting my gaze.

"Slave,"
Harry Cotton said and sniffed. "As good as." He threw his cloth down
on the boot he'd been polishing then spat on it. He followed up his show of
defiance with a raised brow at me. Obviously he lumped me in with those same
toffs.

"Ah. No,
I'm not Mr. Felchurch's replacement." I stepped closer and lowered my
voice. I particularly wanted to capture Harry's interest. I suspect if anyone
was going to talk, it would be him. The other two were either too afraid or too
good. "I'm the employer of Maree Finch," I said, bending the truth. "Do
you remember her?"

"Yeah,"
said Harry, shrugging one shoulder. "So?"

"So...she's
gone missing. I need to find her."

Bowker and Fife
exchanged glances but there was nothing guilty in their expressions, just concern.
Cotton continued to meet my gaze. He crossed his arms over his chest and thrust
his hands up under his armpits. "Why do you need to find 'er?" he
asked. "She nick something of yours?"

"No,"
I lied. I was becoming very good at it with all the recent practice. "I'm
simply concerned for her." That at least was the truth. I hated to think
where Maree had gone. More than likely she'd joined her brother and was
learning how to become a better thief. Of course there were worse occupations
for a poor girl to learn on London’s streets but I didn't want to contemplate
that scenario.

Harry snorted. "And
I'm the king of bloody England."

"I am
worried about her," I insisted. "I'm worried that she'll end up like
that brother of hers. If she's caught she'll be sent to the workhouse or
prison."

Fife shuddered
and twisted his fingers together.

"Least Tommy
Finch ain't got no master but hisself," Harry said.

"Now we
both know that's not true." I was going out on a limb but it was a step I
had to take, not only to win Harry's trust, but to get him talking. "I
know
Tommy Finch is guided by someone else, someone who wouldn't care if Tommy or
Maree got caught." It wasn't unusual for gangs of boys to be ruled by an
older man, equally poor and desperate but more experienced in avoiding the
police. Those unscrupulous men certainly didn't care about the wellbeing of their
charges—London was teeming with boys and girls eager to take their place.

Harry blinked
and looked away. The defiance was still printed into his features but I sensed
he was wavering.

"Do you
know who?" I tried. I was met with silence, which was to be expected. "Then
can you tell me where I might find Tommy?"

"What, so
you can dob 'im in?"

I glanced at the
door. This wasn't going at all well and I didn't have much time. "No, so I
can coax his sister back to her job. She was good at it." Why couldn't he
see the benefits of reliable, honest work for someone like Maree, someone with
little education, no home, no parents and few other choices? Why couldn’t he
see it for his own sake? "She was cared for there with a roof over her
head, food on the table and clothes to keep her warm. What's going to happen to
her now?" I hadn't realized I'd been moving closer to him as I spoke so
that now I stood right in front of him, my face only inches from his. "Well?
Is her brother going to take care of her?"

"Tommy'll
see 'er right," Harry said thrusting out his chin. "'E's got integ,
integra... 'E takes care of 'is own and I ain't gonna rat 'im out so you can
make yerself feel good by thinking you're saving 'is sister. None of us will."
This last he said to the other two, an unspoken threat threading through his
tone.

Neither Bowker
nor Fife disagreed with him. They shuffled their feet and kept their gazes
firmly on the table.

I was trying to
think what to say next to convince them to help me when Jacob appeared. For
once I didn't gasp or squeal in alarm. I was growing used to his sudden
appearances.

"You need
to leave," he said, pacing. "Now."

I hurriedly thanked
the boys and left. Out in the corridor, I could clearly hear Mrs. White's
voice. It came from around the corner and she was coming our way.

"In here,"
Jacob said. He indicated a closed door. "It's a storage room."

I slipped
inside, alone, then closed the door. I dared not feel around me in the darkness
in case I knocked over a broom so I stood still and waited. The stink of old
dampness was stronger than out in the corridor and the underlying scent of shoe
polish, tallow and other smells teased my nostrils. I heard the voices of Mrs.
White and George in conversation as they passed and wondered if they would enter
the room I'd just vacated. Hopefully none of the boys would tell her I'd been
there.

The door opened
and Jacob drew me out by the hand. His cool fingers soothed my hot skin. "You
have to get back to the front room before you're discovered."

"But I
haven't learned anything useful yet," I whispered.

"Then we'll
just have to think of another way." He glanced up the corridor. "But
not now." He put a hand to my back and gently pushed me forward.

"What's the
hurry?"

"There are
no other classrooms after that one. Mrs. White and George will be returning to collect
you soon."

I sighed. "Very
well, I suppose—."

A door on my
right suddenly opened and a man of giant proportions, with a beard and
moustache of equally monstrous size, filled the doorway. He stopped when he saw
me, and his two pale, yellow-green eyes narrowed.

"It's
Blunt," Jacob said. He drew himself up to his full height and although he
wasn't as tall as the schoolmaster, he looked just as impressive and rather
more dangerous thanks to an expression that could have been hewn from rock.

"Who are
you?" Blunt bellowed. "And what are you doing here?" It was
difficult to tell if he was speaking in such a formidable tone simply to
terrify me or if that was his normal volume. If it was indeed to scare me, it
worked.

"Don't let
him see your fear," Jacob said. He stood so close to me our arms brushed. The
small contact bolstered my confidence. He was right. I had nothing to fear. I
was not one of Blunt's pupils. "I won't let him hurt you."