The Medium (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy #1) (32 page)

"There's no
other way." I gave him a reassuring smile. I wasn't angry with him. Concerned,
yes because I could sense something was very wrong, but not angry.

He lifted a hand
to my face and brushed his knuckles down my cheek in a gesture that sent my
heart flipping in my chest and filled my eyes with tears once more. He gave me
the saddest smile I'd ever seen and whispered my name, as if speaking it aloud would
hurt.

It was amazing the
sound of my heart cracking didn't fill the night.

"Jacob,"
I murmured. There was so much to say but I didn't know where to start or how.

He touched a
finger to my lips. "Shhh, my sweet." His finger dipped down to my
chin and he kissed me, a fleeting, feathery kiss that was over too soon. But
despite the tenderness, tension continued to ripple through him. He was still fuming.

Was he furious at
himself for hesitating?

I hadn't a clue.
I blinked back the tears but one escaped anyway. He kissed it away, his mouth
so soft I wanted to sink into it. He licked his lips, tasting my tear.

"Jacob,"
I tried again.

"Don't,"
he said, voice shuddering. He stepped back, all business again. I tried to be
the same, to shut down my feelings, but it wasn't easy.

"I have
another idea," he said. "Let's wake up George and ask to borrow his
carriage. He won't want to miss the fun anyway."

I wasn't so sure
about that but I smiled an agreement. It was a surface smile. Inside me
everything ached.

Hand in hand we
ran the short distance to Wilton Crescent. "I'll go in and wake him,"
Jacob said when we reached number fifty-two.

"But how
will he know it's you and that you want him to come with us?"

"There should
be pen and ink somewhere in the house." He was gone before I could say
anything else.

Hardly five
minutes passed before a sleepy footman holding a candelabra opened the front
door, his green jacket unbuttoned, his hair unpowdered. "Mr. Culvert wishes
you to wait inside, Miss Chambers." He yawned and waved me through to the
drawing room with the candelabra.

I wasn't
surprised to see Jacob already there. We didn't speak as the footman lit the
candles on the mantelpiece then bowed out of the room, yawning.

"Culvert
snores," Jacob said when we were alone.

"What did
he say when you woke him?"

"Well, he
didn't scream."

"You
thought he might?"

"I thought
it likely." He gave me his devilishly crooked smile but there was no humor
in it. Sadness still invaded everything—his words, his face, even the way he
stood with his shoulders slightly stooped. He stared into the cold ashes of the
fireplace and said nothing further.

I sat and waited
in the awkward silence, trying to decide if I wanted to broach the subject of
his hesitation in Belgrave Square. George saved me when he appeared, tugging on
his crisp white cuffs. He was fully dressed right down to a black overcoat but
his hair was in desperate need of taming. It stuck out on one side and was
entirely flat on the other.

"My coach
and driver will be around shortly," he said, holding out his hands to me. I
clasped them and he squeezed gently. "Are you all right, Emily?"

Jacob frowned at
our linked hands. I let go. "Well enough," I said. "Sorry to
wake you, George, but we do so need your carriage."

"Of course.
Think nothing of it. Glad I can be of service. Is Beaufort still here?"

I nodded and
waved towards the fireplace where Jacob stood watching us beneath his lowered
lids, an unreadable expression on his icy face.

"I'll go on
ahead," he said, coming towards me. "I'll unlock the school's front door
for you." The ice seemed to melt before my eyes, the tension slip away
from his mouth, his brow. The pale candlelight barely illuminated the blue of
his eyes but I didn't need to see their color to recognize the worry in them as
they searched my face. He lifted a hand to my cloak's collar and straightened it.
His thumb brushed along the underside of my jaw. "Will you be all right?"

I nodded. I
couldn't speak. I just wanted to hold him, kiss him, but I was no longer
entirely sure if that's what he wanted. He might be behaving tenderly towards
me now, but what about later? I desperately wanted to ask him what he was
thinking, and why he'd hesitated back at his parents' house, but I couldn't,
not with George around.

Besides, I had a
feeling I wouldn't like the answer.

He disappeared
and I watched the space where he'd been for a long time until George's polite
cough drew my attention.

He held out his
arm. "Shall we wait outside?"

***

During the
carriage ride to Clerkenwell, I told George everything that had transpired that
night. From the light cast by the lamps mounted outside the windows I could just
see the grave set of his face and the frown settling above his spectacles.

"So now we
must speak to Blunt to find out once and for all how he is involved," I
said. "And to find out where Finch lives."

He reached under
the seat and removed a box. I recognized it as the one he'd brought with him the
last time we visited Blunt. The one with the pistol inside.

We arrived at
the school shortly after that. George took one of the carriage lamps and left
the other for the driver. Together we tried the front door. It was unlocked, as
Jacob had promised. I hesitated and glanced at George. He looked pale in the
gaslight, a trickle of sweat trailing down his temple despite the coolness of
the air. "I think it best if Jacob deals with Blunt first," I said. "If
his methods fail then you should use that." We both looked down at the
pistol. He tucked it beneath his cloak and nodded. A slight color returned to
his cheeks. Whatever he was, he was not a coward. Fear did not make someone
cowardly; allowing that fear to stop them taking appropriate action, did.

He followed me
into the school, down the corridor, towards a sliver of light peeping out from
underneath the door next to Blunt's office. Noises came from the other side—wood
splintering, glass shattering, objects landing with thuds. Blunt's voice over
them all, pleading.

"Stop! Please,
stop. Don't hurt me. Please."

Jacob had
started without us.

I ran to the
door but George overtook me. "Wait," I hissed. "Wait out here."
He looked like he wanted to disagree. "Just give me a moment," I said.
"I'll try to calm Jacob first. You wait here to—."

"But Emily—."

"I'll be
fine, George. Jacob will protect me and we need you as our surprise. If Blunt
doesn't confess then you can come in and use whatever means at your disposal. I
couldn't bear it if that pistol went off by accident."

I didn't wait
for his answer but entered the room and was surprised to see it wasn't another
office but a bedroom. Two candles flickering on the mantelpiece provided a
little light, illuminating a mess. Someone sat in the big bed, the covers
pulled over their head. Blunt. Jacob stood near the window, the broken leg of a
stool in his hand. The rest of the stool lay on the floor in pieces along with
torn sheets, clumps of wool from a pillow, shards of a mirror and various other
oddments.   

"Careful of
your step," Jacob said to me.

Slowly, the
bedcovers lowered to reveal the disheveled head of Blunt. "Thank God
you're here," he said. "Tell it to stop. I haven't gone to the girls dormitory,
I haven't! Not since that first haunting. Tell it, tell it!"

"The spirit
knows," I said. "But he's still not happy." I nodded at Jacob. He
nodded back. "He's here because of the deaths you caused, Mr. Blunt. You
and Tommy Finch."

"I, I..."
He swallowed so hard I could hear his throat working from across the room. "I
had nothing to do with that, I already told you."

"Don't lie
to me," I said with a sigh. "I'm tired. I want to go home. The sooner
you confess and give us Finch's address, the sooner Jacob will leave you be."

Blunt's gaze
shifted to the door as if he knew someone was out there even though no sounds
came from the corridor. "Why do you want me to confess? What good will it
do?"

"It'll bring
peace to the souls of the dead." It wasn't exactly a lie. I felt as if the
spirits of the demon's victims were listening, waiting.

Blunt's lips
pinched tightly together. "You won't hurt me."

"We are out
of patience, Mr. Blunt. If we need to hurt you to extract information then
we'll do it. Come now, give in," I said when he didn't answer. "Your little
scheme to rob the houses of your victims has been exposed."

"What? What
are you talking about?"

"We know
everything, Mr. Blunt, and so do the police." It was a lie but a necessary
one. Jacob nodded his approval. "I wouldn't be surprised if Finch lets you
take all the blame either"

Why didn't Blunt
already know about our encounter with Tommy? He may not have stayed to witness
the end of events at Lord Preston's house but surely he saw enough to not be
entirely surprised. He certainly seemed shocked by the information. His mouth slackened.
He hesitated.

It was too much
for Jacob. "This has gone on long enough." He picked up a knife from
among the litter scattered on the bare floor.

Blunt scampered
back against the bed's headboard. He tried to bat the blade away but Jacob was
fast and dodged every move.

"Call George
in," Jacob said to me. "I want him to witness Blunt's death so that
it's known you're not to blame."

"Jacob, no!"
I shouted.

He ignored me
and stabbed the knife into Blunt's nightshirt, right over the heart.

Blunt screamed
as the blade tore through the gray linen and pierced his skin. Blood stained his
nightshirt and the sight of it only made him scream harder. He tried to
scramble away but Jacob knelt on Blunt's feet and shoved him back up against
the headboard. "All right!" Blunt shouted. "I did it. Now get it
away from me!" His breathing came in ragged gasps, fluttering the wisps of
his moustache. "Call your ghost off!"

Jacob kept the
knife at Blunt's chest. George rushed in, pistol poised, but I held up a hand
to stay him. His eyes widened at the sight of the blood.

"What did
you do?" I asked Blunt. "Did you order those people killed?"

"No!" Blunt
shook his head very fast, sending his beard into a frenzy. "I helped Finch
summon the demon, that's all. I told Maree to steal the book from your friend Culvert
there, then I gave it to Tommy Finch. He's the one directing the demon. Not me,
him! I swear, it's the truth."

"But you
knew about the murders and burglaries."

Blunt hesitated
and Jacob shifted his weight onto the knife. Blunt ground his teeth together
and nodded.

"I think
his role was more than he's admitting to," Jacob said.

"You helped
Finch decide who to attack next, didn't you?" I asked Blunt.
"You
chose the victims. They all worked in grand houses where
you
had recently
placed a servant." As soon as I said it, I knew it must be true. It made
sense. Blunt knew which upper servant to attack because he'd questioned the
lower servant he'd placed in the household. They'd been his spies—perhaps
reluctant ones—informing him of the potential victim's movements.

Again Blunt
hesitated and again Jacob pressed on the knife. The bloodstain on Blunt's
nightshirt bloomed.

"Yes!"
Blunt said, squeezing his eyes shut. "Satisfied?"

Jacob eased back
just as Mrs. White entered the room carrying a candle. She clutched a shawl
over her nightgown and looked, well, white. "Oh my," she muttered. "Oh
my, oh my, Mr. Blunt..." Her gaze fixed on the knife that Jacob still held
and she promptly keeled over in a dead faint. I managed to catch her and lower
her gently to the floor. The candle fared worse but extinguished itself on
impact.

Jacob dropped
the knife. George steadied his pistol and aimed it at Blunt's head. "Now
what?"

"Now we
find out where Finch is keeping the demon," Jacob said without taking his
eyes off Blunt.

"Where can
we find Tommy Finch?" I asked.

Blunt swallowed.
George cocked the gun. The
click
sounded terribly loud. "There'll
be records here somewhere," George said. "Records with Maree's last
known address. I suspect we'll find her brother there or if we can't, we'll
find someone who can tell us for the price of a few coins."

Well done,
George! I raised an eyebrow at Blunt. He swallowed again then groaned. He fell
back against the pillows, deflated. "Very well. You can find him in the
eastern shadows of St. Mary's in Dwindling Lane." He started to laugh, a
thin, high-pitched laugh that sent a shiver down my spine. "You'll need
more than one of those in Dwindling Lane, Miss Chambers," he said, nodding
at George's pistol. "And more than your pet ghost too."

Jacob picked up
a broken chair leg and Blunt threw his hands over his head. He slunk down into
the covers. "Call him off!" he shouted.