Evermore (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy #3)(34)

He watched her from beneath his thick, black lashes for so long, I began to feel uncomfortable. Cara wriggled in her seat, her cup of chocolate held close to her chest as if she were protecting it.

"You called me Louis," he finally said.

"A slip of the tongue." Celia sipped.

"Cara and I can both communicate with spirits," I said. I felt like I was intruding on something private, but I couldn't put my finger on what. Celia and Louis weren't even looking at each other. "It's a family trait," I added. "Inherited from you and your father."

Louis whipped round to face me. "If that were the case, then I should be able to see spirits too. Or Papa."

"Only the women can, but the men are the ones who pass it along to their daughters. You don't have aunts on your father's side, do you?"

"No. My father is an only child." He frowned. "I think you need to tell me everything, Emily."

I did. I started with what I'd learned in George's books about our ancestry. By the time I'd finished, I'd told him all about Jacob's death, the shape-shifting demon, Mortlock's possession, and the curse on the Waiting Area. I did not tell him how my life had been in danger on numerous occasions. Not even Celia was aware of everything I'd been up to in the past few weeks.

He sat there, unblinking, saying nothing, and we three did not push him. We sat and sipped and waited. At first I was unsure if he'd believe me, but after several minutes I could see he did. He would not look so worried if he did not.

Celia cracked first. "Well?" she asked, shrilly. "Do you still think your own sister and daughter are mad?"

"Celia, that's not fair," I said.

But Louis did not look offended. "If it weren't for you, Celia, I might. I'm sorry, Emily, Cara, but I know neither of you as well as I know Celia. As she said, she's not prone to fanciful thoughts. If she says you can see ghosts, then I must believe that you can."

Celia put her cup to her lips even though I knew she'd finished her tea some time ago. Her eyelids were lowered, so I could not see her eyes, but I distinctly heard her sniff.

"Thank you," I said. My relief surprised me. I hadn't thought I cared so much for his good opinion.

"Tell me what I can do to help," he said. "This villain...the one cursing the Otherworld...he must be stopped."

"Emily will stop him," Cara said.

"My friends, George and Theo, are watching the house of a suspect tonight, "I said. "I'll see them in the morning and find out if she went anywhere. There's little else to do. But thank you."

"Friends...is that all these gentlemen are to you?"

Celia clicked her tongue. "Honestly, Mr. Moreau, it's a little late to be coming across as fatherly now."

"Celia," I hissed. "Stop it."

Louis merely shrugged. He looked at his teacup, which he'd set down on the tray. He hadn't touched it. Perhaps he didn't drink tea. There was so much about my father I was yet to learn. "I suppose it's my turn now." When none of us spoke, he continued. "I went to New South Wales on a government scheme. I didn't want to be assistant to my father forever, and there aren't many opportunities for a man like me in England."

I could well imagine. My skin was light compared to my father's. Whereas I was sometimes called exotic, he would have been labeled much worse. We didn't press him for details and he gave none.

"I wanted to prove I was worthy of your mother," he said to me. "She was...very proper, you see. I thought...I thought that if I couldn't be a gentleman here in London, then I could be a wealthy man in another country. My plan was to earn enough money in New South Wales then write to you both and have you join me," he said to Celia.

"We...she...never wanted you to leave," Celia said. "How can you expect us to uproot our lives to follow to the other side of the world?"

"When you love someone, anything is possible. But only if you truly want to be with them."

Celia turned away to stare at the fireplace.

"What happened?" I asked. "Why didn't you write?"

"Making my fortune proved more difficult than I imagined. Work paid little. I could never save enough. I was ashamed of my failure, so I didn't write. I didn't want anyone to know that I'd amounted to precisely nothing. Especially her."

"You should have," I said. "She would not have thought you a failure. Not if she loved you."

"Whether she did or not...it doesn't matter now. As the years passed, I came to regret my decision of not writing. Regret it deeply." He cast a glance at Celia, but she didn't move, didn't look at him. She sat stiff and proud, staring into the fireplace. "But I was young at the time, and I thought I'd be a disappointment."

"Nonsense," I said. "Anyway, as it turned out, you're quite successful. You said your shop is doing very well."

"It is. Now. But I've only had it two years."

"And before that you worked in low-paying jobs?"

"At the beginning, for a year. It was around that time that I'd decided I had to write to your mother regardless of my poor state. I missed her. Missed her keenly," he said softly. "I had never told her how much, and after so long without her, I knew I needed to tell her how I felt and let her make up her own mind."