Evermore (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy #3)(9)

CHAPTER 3





I couldn't get away from the house without Celia noticing until the following day. When she went shopping early the next morning, Cara and I slipped out. My aunt insisted on coming with me. I didn't see the harm in allowing her, and it was nice to have company. We caught the omnibus to the Leather Lane market where Fran?ois Moreau kept a stall selling fruit and vegetables. It was easy to spot the faded red awning over his cart next to the lamp seller, despite the crowds.

I wasn't looking forward to seeing my grandfather again. He had a tendency to laugh like a madman, which I suppose he was. Getting straight answers out of him had proved difficult so far.

"Have you seen him?" I asked Moreau after we explained the reason for our visit.

"My boy?" he said with a lilting French accent. "Bah! He's a fool, that one." He rearranged the onions in their display box on his cart but not for any discernible reason that I could see except to keep his hands busy. The new pattern looked exactly like the old one. "Imbécile."

"Papa, you do know that he's back, don't you?" asked Cara.

"He went to New South Wales. Long, long way away."

"Yes, but he returned," I said, trying very hard to keep the note of impatience out of my voice. "Has he been to see you?"

Fran?ois didn't look up as he swapped onions with onions, over and over again, his brown hands fast and nimble. "He went to New South Wales. Better there for people like him. People like us." His fingers suddenly stilled and he clenched an onion in his fist. His head jerked up and his pitch-black gaze drilled into me. "Go! Now! Leave Louis be. He is my only son."

"But Papa," Cara begged, "tell us where to find him. He is my brother and Emily's father."

Fran?ois shook the onion at her. "Go away! You not my daughter no more. You be with them now. They trouble," he muttered. "Girls always bring trouble."

I clasped Cara's hand and drew her away from my grandfather, her father. It was a mistake to come to the market. We weren't going to get answers from him. We would simply have to wait for Louis to come to us. He had once, hopefully he would again.

"How did you live with him for as long as you did?" I asked Cara as we wended our way through the stalls selling everything from eels to hair combs, sherbet to Dutch dolls.

"We didn't talk much. He brought home food and I kept out of his way. He wasn't like a real father. He didn't even know about me until I was eight."

That she could speak so calmly about her father's disregard amazed me. He had not asked her how she fared with us, people who'd been complete strangers to her mere weeks ago. Then again, Cara was quite detached. Her eyes lit up at all the usual things, like new clothes or toys or a plate full of cakes, but when it came to more serious emotions, she seemed incapable of feeling anything.

I took her hand and was surprised that it trembled. It seemed I was wrong. She was upset by the encounter. It amazed me that it didn't show on her face.

I squeezed her fingers and she squeezed back but neither of us spoke of Fran?ois Moreau again.

We dodged the early morning shoppers and loafers and made our way up Leather Lane. Street sellers shouted over each other to catch our attention, but we ignored them. The man with shrimps poking out of his hat-band crying, "Shrimps at a penny a pint," smelled particularly foul. We gave him the widest berth of all.

"I must get to George's," I said, hurrying Cara through the maze. "I'll see you home safely first."

"I can go on my own."

"I know, but I would be a terrible niece if I allowed my aunt to roam the streets unattended."

She giggled and I grinned. We both saw the absurdity of an aunt being seven years younger than the niece.

"Are you going to look through Mr. Culvert's books to find out why Mr. Beaufort is fading in and out?" she asked when her giggles subsided.

"Yes." It was nice not to be the only one able to see and hear spirits anymore, even though it meant I couldn't have secret conversations with Jacob when she was near. Cara's very existence made me feel less of a freak.

As luck would have it, an omnibus was letting off passengers and continuing in our direction. It had seats inside where it was warmer than riding on top, and I informed the conductor we wished to travel as far as Chelsea.

"Can I help you and Mr. Culvert?" Cara asked as we took our seats.

"Not yet," I said. "But I'll be sure to let you know if there's something you can do."

"Good. I don't like being left out. I am ten, you know, not a baby."

***

I made sure Cara arrived home safely, then I set off again before Celia could stop me. No doubt Cara would tell her where we'd been and I would get a lecture about my disobedience later. So be it.

George was just stepping out of his carriage when I strolled up to his Wilton Crescent house. "Emily!" he said, beaming. "What a lovely surprise." Then he suddenly frowned. "Or is it? You look a little anxious."

"I am." I decided not to tell him about my father's return. That could wait until after I'd spoken to Louis and learned of his plans. Besides, there were more troubling matters to address. "Something's happened in the Waiting Area. If I'd known you were going to be out and about early I would have come straight after breakfast. I thought you might sleep late." The Belgravia set often didn't rise until late in the morning, or so I'd been told. I regretted losing valuable time that could have been better spent researching and not chasing my elusive father.