a question not a statement. Mr. Culvert was probably
unused to visits from unchaperoned girls.
I cleared my
throat then held out my hand for him to shake. He looked at it like he didn't
know what to do with it then took my fingers and gave them a gentle squeeze. "I'm
definitely here to see you if you are Mr. George Culvert."
His face lit up.
"Indeed I am." He squeezed again. His own hand was smooth, soft. It
made me think of the split skin and bruises on Jacob's knuckles and again I wondered
why a gentleman had hands more suited to a laborer or a pugilist.
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.
unused to visits from unchaperoned girls.
I cleared my
throat then held out my hand for him to shake. He looked at it like he didn't
know what to do with it then took my fingers and gave them a gentle squeeze. "I'm
definitely here to see you if you are Mr. George Culvert."
His face lit up.
"Indeed I am." He squeezed again. His own hand was smooth, soft. It
made me think of the split skin and bruises on Jacob's knuckles and again I wondered
why a gentleman had hands more suited to a laborer or a pugilist.
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.
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