Evermore (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy #3)(22)

"But what of her parents? I didn't think Lord Preston would like my writing to his daughter, but I had hoped Lady Preston wouldn't mind. I didn't know Miss Beaufort was set to wed Bertie." He pulled a face. "Nothing against the fellow, but he's not an ideal match for her. Not a winter goes by that he doesn't take to his bed for weeks. To think of such a vibrant, lovely creature as Miss Beaufort being shackled to a weak character." He shook his head sadly. "It's more than a shame. It's..." He shrugged, as if there were no words to explain how terrible such a future would be.

"I'm surprised her mother wishes her to marry him at all, if that's the case."

"Lord Preston is the head of that household, in every sense of the word. I suspect he has given them no say in the matter and his wife must accept the marriage as much as their daughter."

"He does seem like the sort to disregard everyone's opinions except his own."

"Poor Miss Beaufort." He sighed. "She didn't deserve such treatment when she only spoke the truth."

"True. His nose is rather ugly."

That coaxed a laugh from him.

***

We traveled to Camden Town and the address Lady Preston had given me. It was a modest house, rather like my own, in a middle-class suburb and the occupants were polite but unhelpful. They didn't know where the Seymours had moved to. They had not dealt with them so could not even give me a description or a first name. It was as we suspected, but it was frustrating nevertheless.

"Now what?" George asked when we were back inside the carriage.

"Now we visit Mrs. White."

"You've found her?"

"My maid said she's governess to a family on Grosvenor Street."

"You think she'll be able to help us find Blunt?"

"We can only try."

"We don’t even know if Blunt had anything to do with Mortlock's possession, or this latest curse. We can only link him to the shape-shifting demon. Are we drawing too long a bow, Emily?"

I shrugged. "I don't know, but I have no other ideas."

"Nor me. Very well, let's try her. Which house on Grosvenor Street?"

"I don't know."

"Jacob could find out. He could look into each one and report back when he's found her."

"I don't want to summon him. I'm afraid he's too weak in his current state and being here may weaken him further."

"Who are you calling weak?"

"Jacob!" I clasped his hand without thinking. He felt cool and damp, like a mist, yet still solid. He did not look solid, however. He flickered alarmingly. "He's here," I said rather stupidly. Of course George must know.

"I'll search the houses for her," Jacob said.

"No, you shouldn't."

"Are you sure you're up to this?" George asked, ignoring my frown.

"Tell Culvert not to worry about me. You too, Em. I want to help where I can. I need to help. Time is running out, as you can see."

I tried to hold back the tears suddenly pooling. Crying would achieve nothing. "Very well. Let's go and find Mrs. White."





CHAPTER 6





George and I waited in the coach as Jacob searched the houses of Grosvenor Street. Mayfair was an exclusive area, although not quite as fashionable as it used to be at the beginning of the century. Where most of the younger generation had moved to new homes in Belgravia, the older, more aristocratic set had remained in their imperial mansions where they could reign supreme over leafy Grosvenor Square and surrounds.

It did not take Jacob long before he reappeared beside me in the carriage. He shimmered for a few moments before finally staying put. He looked worn out.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

He pressed his thumb and finger into his eyes and nodded. "I found her."

I repeated this for George's benefit. "Which house?" he asked.

"Number twelve," Jacob said. "She's in the schoolroom with two girls of about Cara's age."

I repeated this to George. "Let's go." I climbed out of the coach before George, which he didn't like. It went against his gentlemanly nature—he couldn't hold my hand and help me down the steps if he was behind me.

"I'll search Mrs. White's room," Jacob said when we reached the door of number twelve.

"Do it discreetly," I said.

"Have you never known me not to be discreet?"

"Frequently."

He gave a feeble chuckle and blinked off.

"I'm worried about him," I said to George as we waited for our knock to be answered. "He is not very strong. Not like he used to be."

George tucked my arm into his. "We'll resolve this soon. Don't worry. I have an inkling that we're right and Blunt is involved somehow. I'm certain Mrs. White will know where to find him."

I didn’t have nearly as much confidence, but I set my doubts aside when the butler opened the door. We asked to see the governess, and after his initial blink of surprise, he took us down to the service area in the basement and showed us to a parlor little bigger than a cupboard. Being a governess, Mrs. White was not treated like a family member, but nor was she as low as the servants. Considering George's status, I'd suggested we inquire at the front door, but it seemed not even gentlemen were allowed to speak to the governess in the formal drawing room. It was the basement for us.