The Medium (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy #1) (23 page)

"Mother and
Father are both suffering," she said, "but in different ways. Father
never speaks of Jacob anymore. Not a single word. He can't bear to hear his
name spoken either except when it's to engage the services of an investigator. But
Mother talks of nothing else except Jacob. So you see Father can't stand to be
home now and Mother needs him more than ever. It's awful. Truly awful." I
thought she'd cry but she drew in a shaky breath that seemed to rally her. "If
you speak to Jacob's ghost then you must know what happened to him, where his
body is. If we could find his body..." Her face contorted as the gruesome
nature of what she was saying hit her.

"I'm sorry,
Adelaide," I said, "but Jacob doesn't know who killed him or why and
he doesn't know where his body is. It's very odd." I wouldn't tell her
that the mystery was possibly the reason why he couldn't cross over to the
Otherworld. I don't think she was ready to hear it. Besides, I wasn't entirely
sure if it was true. "All he's told me is someone tried to kill him."

"Murder?"
She gripped my arm so hard I could feel her fingernails through the layers of
clothing. "No. No, no, not Jacob." A single tear tracked down her
cheek but she swiped it away angrily. "Who would do that to him? He was so
well liked. Adored even."

Yes, he would
be. Jacob was a very easy person to adore. "Was there anyone in particular
who might have turned that adoration into something more sinister if the
sentiment wasn't returned? A spurned lover?"

I waited, not
wanting to hear the answer but needing to know it nevertheless. The thought of Jacob
with another girl was too horrible to contemplate. But then, so was his murder.

"I don't
think there was a girl," she said. Then she shook her head. "What I
mean is, not one girl in particular."

My insides
twisted. There'd been more than one? "Perhaps that was the problem,"
I said weakly.

"Jealousy?"
She thought about that. "It's possible. He was the sort of person to
inspire it."

He certainly
was. I bit the inside of my cheek and tasted blood. I would not be,
could
not be, jealous over a ghost. It simply wasn't possible, or right.

"But if so
then I can't help you," she went on. "I never met any of the girls in
his circle and he never spoke to me about them. I think he was rather careful
not to so we wouldn't take it as a sign of serious interest. Mother jumped to
the wrong conclusion on the one occasion Jacob did mention a girl. He was only
seventeen at the time and the girl was the sister of a friend and held no real
interest for him. He learned his lesson after that." She grinned at the
memory but it soon turned wistful.

"If he
never spoke to you about girls, how do you know they were jealous?"

"I wasn't talking
about females."

"Then... Oh!"
I stared at her so hard my eyes hurt.

She laughed
again. "No, not in that way. At least, not for Jacob. I'm talking about
boys who were friends. You know what boys are like."

"Not
really. I don’t have brothers."

"Well,
sometimes they worship other boys. Bigger or older boys, clever ones, athletic
ones, charmers." She shrugged. "Jacob was all of those so it's
understandable some saw him as a hero. They wanted to be his friend, get his
attention." She sighed. "And I'm afraid my brother didn't always
notice them in return."

George had said
the same thing. "Why was that?"

She shrugged. "I
truly don't know. He was always kind to people, never cruel the way some boys
can be to others, especially to smaller or weaker ones. But..." She sighed
again. "But he just didn't
notice
them. I suppose that makes him
sound selfish, doesn't it, and that's not really a fitting description either."

I really hoped Jacob
wasn't listening to this conversation from the Waiting Area. It wouldn't be
fair on either him or his sister. "Self-absorbed?" I offered. "Not
interested in other people?" It sounded nothing like the Jacob I knew but
I asked anyway. He might have been different when he was alive.

"Oh, he was
interested in people. He had a good group of friends who did everything
together. He was certainly interested in
them
. But everyone else..."
She looked at me and there was sadness in her eyes, and resignation. "You're
right. We can call it what we want but he was self-absorbed. Jacob had a power
over people. He could charm them into doing anything if he chose to, but he
never realized he possessed that power."

I understood
completely. I was drawn to Jacob as if he'd put me under a spell, and I could
easily imagine other people being drawn to him too. But to then not have Jacob
notice me in return... It certainly would be upsetting. I was lucky to be the
only person alive who could speak to him or see him now that he was dead, but
if I couldn't, if I was just like everyone else, would I be overlooked too?

"He should
have realized the effect he had on people," Adelaide went on. "He
should have noticed them and not disregarded them simply because they held no
interest for him. It was arrogant." Her voice grew quieter, more distant,
and she began to cry again.

"No,
Adelaide, this is not the way you should remember him. If it was a flaw, it was
a small one. We all have them. Mine is vanity." I tugged on a lock of my
hair that had come loose from its pins to emphasize my point. "And a
willingness to speak my mind, as you saw in there."

She laughed and
wiped her eyes. "And one of mine is timidity. I'll allow my brother his
one flaw then." She suddenly stopped laughing and blinked at me. "Dear
lord, I just thought of something."

"What is
it?"

Concern carved
out fine lines around her mouth. "It might not be significant. Indeed, it
could mean nothing at all."

"Or it
could mean something."

She nodded
slowly. "A young man came here once, about a month before Jacob died. He
said he was a friend of Jacob's from Oxford and wanted to see him. The butler,
Forbes, said Jacob wasn't home and the boy got terribly agitated. I could hear
his voice all the way from the library so I came to see what the commotion was
about. The boy claimed he wanted to see Jacob and that he didn't believe he was
out. He said Jacob cannot possibly always be out whenever he called, and then
he accused us of lying to him."

"Lying? Why
would he think that?"

"I don't
know. But he said he knew Jacob was upstairs, deliberately avoiding him. I
tried to assure him he was not, but he would have none of it. He grew terribly
upset and his language was truly awful. I grew worried so I called two footmen
and they coerced him into leaving. The situation stayed with me for a long time
though."

"Who was
he, do you know? Did he leave a name?"

"Only a
first name, Frederick. I questioned Forbes later and he said the boy had
claimed to be a friend of Jacob's from Oxford but I can assure you my brother
never mentioned anyone called Frederick and we knew all his friends by sight
anyway."

"What did
he look like?"

"He was
rather plain, not particularly one thing or the other. He had short, light
brown hair, was about as tall as me and slightly built. That's really all I can
recall. There was nothing very distinguishing about him, I'm afraid."

"So
was
Jacob always out when this Frederick boy called?"

She nodded.

"Is that
odd?"

"Not
really. Jacob was rarely home in those last few weeks before his death. He came
to London from Oxford for the holidays but went out a great deal. I think he
was enjoying the sort of freedom that comes to most eighteen year-old boys. He
was old enough to go to clubs, taverns, races, that sort of thing. Beforehand
he'd always been in Father's shadow but at eighteen he could do as he pleased."

"Did you
tell Jacob about Frederick's visit?"

"Yes. He
said he had no idea who he was and to make sure Forbes had at least one footman
on hand whenever he answered the door. He was very annoyed and quite concerned.
Do you think Jacob was lying to me and that he really knew him?"

"I don't
know. I can ask him when I see him."

She smiled at
that. "Yes, of course you can. Do you think you could say hello to him for
me?"

I couldn't help
a bubble of laughter escaping. "I will. I could arrange a meeting between
you if you like." Jacob might agree to it if he knew his sister wouldn't
be upset by it.

"Could you?
How wonderful." But her face fell. "It might not be possible though. Mother
is so careful with me ever since Jacob died. Or disappeared, as she thinks. She
refuses to let me go anywhere on my own. It's so stifling."

"It must
be." I was allowed to go wherever I pleased—well, almost. I couldn't
imagine what it must be like for Adelaide always having her mother accompany
her. I gave her arm a sympathetic pat then told her my address. "If you
think you can get away, send me a message and we'll come and meet you wherever
you suggest."

"Thank you,
Emily." She leaned down suddenly and kissed my cheek. "I do think we
shall be friends."

I smiled. Of
course we wouldn't be, but I didn't say so. Our paths were unlikely to cross
again unless it was so she could speak to Jacob's ghost. There was nothing
about our lives that would cause them to intersect.

"Let me
walk you to your door," I said, peering out at the rain still streaming down.

"No, I
don't want Father to see you. I'll be all right. It's just a bit of water."

I laughed. It
was almost the same words I'd spoken earlier to Celia. I squeezed her arm
again, and fought off the melancholy that closed around me. I really would have
enjoyed being Adelaide's friend. "One more thing," I said, turning my
attention back to Jacob and his demise. "If you could press upon your
parents the need to find Jacob's body."

"To learn
the cause of his death?"

"Yes,"
I said, but it wasn't the whole reason. I hoped locating his body would mean Jacob
could finally cross over to the Otherworld.

The thought opened
up a hollow pit in my stomach. Jacob crossing over would mean he'd be out of my
life.

Forever.

CHAPTER 11

For the second
time that day, Celia had me change out of my soggy clothes and dry myself in
front of a roaring fire. This time she insisted I remain in my room, dressed in
my nightgown and a shawl, a hot cup of tea in my hands as I sat up in bed.

"I am not
an invalid," I said as she placed another pillow behind my back.

"You could
be if you don't warm up."

"I am warm.
And dry. I took an umbrella with me."

"And yet
you still managed to get wet."

"Only my
bottom half. My hair is dry."

She frowned at
my hair, splayed over my shoulders like a black, wavy waterfall. "A small
miracle."

I sighed. "Celia,
the deed is done, there is no need to remain cross with me."

"There is
every reason to remain cross! If I do not then you'll not understand the
seriousness of your actions."

"My actions?
I got a little wet, that's all! Good Lord, Sis, you'd think I'd committed a
crime the way you're treating me."

"You are a
stubborn, obstinate girl."

"Stubborn
and obstinate mean the same thing. Perhaps you'd like to say out-spoken instead,"
I said, recalling my earlier conversation with Adelaide. "Oh, and a little
vain too." I sipped my tea and watched her over the rim of the cup.

Her face grew
redder and redder until I was afraid it might explode. "This is no
laughing matter, Emily."

"I'm not
laughing."

"You could
have been killed."

I snorted. "That
is overly dramatic even for you, Celia."

Her lips locked
together and tiny white lines ringed her mouth. I'd never seen her so angry. I
wouldn't have been surprised to see steam billowing from her nose and ears. "This
is all that ghost's fault!"

I choked on my
tea. "Jacob?" I spluttered. "Why?"

"His
influence over you is obvious."

"His
influence?" I shook my head. "No, I truly don’t understand you."

"He
can walk about and not care if he gets wet.
You
cannot."
Her gaze wandered around the room and she leaned closer to me. "He should
not be encouraging you to go out in the rain," she added, voice low.

"He is not
encouraging me to do anything! I happen to have thoughts of my own, Celia. I am
not a puppet with Jacob holding the strings." Of all people, my sister
should know I was not easily influenced by anyone. Which was why I was not
going to concede the point she was making, even if she was right and I could
have caught a chill. There was a different point at stake—she could not order
me about. I was seventeen! Other seventeen year-old girls were married, or
caring for elderly parents or going to the market on their own. I usually
enjoyed the same level of freedom, so why was she getting so upset now?