Possession (20 page)

"Yes,
please, and chocolate for Miss Moreau and tea for me. Is Celia home?"

She nodded at
the drawing room door. "In there, miss." She bustled off.

I took Cara in
and introduced her to Celia. My sister shook her hand enthusiastically. "I'm
so glad you came to us," she said. "We've been wanting to meet you
ever since we learned of your existence."

Cara twisted her
hands in her coat and shuffled her feet. Her gaze wandered around the room and
settled on the fireplace. Jacob dragged one of the chairs closer and Cara sat. She
spread her fingers toward the warmth as Jacob piled on more coal.

"We
are
glad you came to us," I said, sitting on the sofa. "We've been
worried about you."

She frowned. "Why
would you worry about me? I'm nobody."

Jacob and I
exchanged glances. "You're not nobody to me," I said. "You're my
aunt. The only one I have as far as I know."

That elicited a
smile from her. "Papa told me about you after you chased me. He said
you're my brother's daughter. I didn't even know I had a brother 'til
then." Her smile widened. "So I'm your aunty."

"It is
rather absurd, isn't it?" I said, laughing.

She giggled and
suddenly seemed every bit the ten year-old girl. In the events of the past few
days, it was easy to forget she was still a child.

"Your
father never told you about Louis?" Celia asked. She sat beside me on the
sofa, her hands clasped primly in her lap. If she weren't leaning forward
slightly I would have thought she was simply making polite conversation and not
particularly interested in the answer.

"No,"
Cara said. She looked down at the fire, now throwing its warmth generously into
the room. "He doesn't say much about anything. Not what makes sense
anyway."

Celia leaned
back and sighed. Lucy came in with a tray laden with cups, teapot, chocolate
pot, and gingerbread. She set the tea things out on the table beside Celia. The
plate of gingerbreads, chocolate pot, and one cup she placed within Cara's
reach. She stood back and watched but Cara didn't move.

"Go on,
miss," Lucy urged. "It tastes good. Look, I'll pour." She poured
steaming liquid chocolate into the cup.

Cara glanced at
me. I nodded. Her small fingers closed around the cup and she held it for a
moment, soaking up the warmth. She sipped. Her tongue dashed across her upper
lip, lapping up any chocolate that clung to it. Then she drained the cup.

Lucy filled it again
and left, taking the tray with her.

Celia poured tea
for herself and me while Cara nibbled the corner of a piece of gingerbread. I
watched, fascinated, as pleasure spread across her face and lit up her eyes. Seeing
how such a simple thing brought her so much joy, I felt ashamed. Celia and I
may not have much money, but we weren't destitute. If wandering through
London's slums hadn't reminded me how lucky I was, then seeing Cara devour the
gingerbread with such relish did.

Celia seemed to
agree. She watched Cara over the rim of her cup, a curiously wistful expression
on her face.

Jacob, on the
other hand, paced around the room. Cara's gaze followed him.

"Jacob,
please sit," I said. "You're making us nervous."

He stopped. "My
apologies. I'm frustrated, that's all. I should be looking for Mortlock, but I
don't know where to start."

"The
spirit?" Cara asked, lowering her cup.

He nodded.

She bit her lip.
"I brung him here. It's all my fault."

Beside me, Celia
made a small sound, but I wasn't sure if it was due to the mention of Mortlock
and Cara's involvement, or because of Cara's mangling of the English language.

Jacob crouched
at Cara's knee so that she looked down at him and not up. "No," he
said. "No, it's not your fault. That man ordered you to do it, didn't
he?"

Tears welled in
her eyes. Jacob lowered his head and shook it.

"Did he
threaten you?" I asked Cara softly.

She sniffed. "He
told me he'd hurt Papa if I didn't do what he said." She looked at me, her
eyes like lakes. It was a miracle the tears didn't spill. "I got no one
else, see. Just Papa. Before my Mam died, she took me to him. Told me he was my
Papa and that when her time came I was to go to him. She only lived another
week."

"You didn't
know François Moreau before that?" Celia asked.

Cara shook her
head. "He lets me sleep in the room next to his, but it's got no bed, just
a mattress on the floor and it's itchy." She looked around her, at the
fireplace, the furniture, up at the ceiling. "It's not like this."

Her story
chilled me. My own relation living in such poverty and with a man she hardly
knew. I felt ashamed of myself and my good fortune to have Celia. What might
have become of me if my mother had told me to go live with François Moreau, my
grandfather, after she died?

"He's not
bad," Cara added. "He's crazy, but he makes enough money for us to eat.
He lets me do what I want and never hits me. If that man hurt him...I don't
know where I'd live."

"What did
he look like?" Jacob asked. He was still crouched before her.

She shrugged. "Don't
know. I never saw a face. He kept the hood low over his eyes and the collar up.
And he whispered." She whispered too. "Never said nothing out loud. 'Spose
he was trying to hide his voice."

"Is there
anything else about him that you found distinctive?" I asked. "Has he
said anything that might give us a clue as to who he is or where he lives?"

She shrugged
again. "He's a toff. Speaks nice, like you. Not from the East End."

"What about
Mortlock?" Jacob asked. "Do you know of any connection between
them?"

She shook her
head. "He wanted only Mortlock. Made me summon him and put him into that
lady's body." She nodded at the window which looked out to Druids Way and
the spot where Mortlock first possessed Adelaide. "Told me the spirit had
to go in her, no one else. I don't know why."

Jacob slowly
stood. Cara watched him, her cup still clasped between her hands. She pressed
the rim to her lips but didn't sip.

"Who is
she?" she whispered. "That lady in the pretty dress?"

"My
sister," Jacob said. "The other woman was my mother."

Cara nodded and
blinked up at him. "Is she...is she all right?"

He nodded and
gave her a reassuring smile. "She doesn't remember much of it."

"Good. I didn't
know what would happen. I've never done that before. Never got a spirit inside
someone." She glanced at me and I shook my head. I hadn't done it either. "There's
no one else like us, is there? No one who can see what we see." She nodded
at Jacob.

"As far as
I know, we're the only ones. It's an old family trick apparently. It makes us
special." It was something Mama used to say whenever I lamented my talent.
Celia had taken up the mantra after our mother's death. I didn't believe it
then and I still didn't.

"I don't
like being special," Cara said, peering into her cup. "Not when
people make me call the horrible spirits like Mr. Mortlock." She shivered
and her knuckles whitened around the cup. "I don't like him. I wish he
stayed dead."

I got up and
crouched in front of her the way Jacob had. "He's still dead," I
said. "All we have to do is send him back. Jacob will find him."

She glanced at Jacob.
"You said you don't know where he is."

"We lost
him in Shoreditch," he said.

I thanked God
that Celia couldn't hear him. If she knew I'd been in Shoreditch with only a
ghost to protect me, she'd have quite a few words to say about it and I wasn't
in the mood for a lecture.

I rose and stood
beside Jacob. He moved closer at first, then, as if he realized what he'd
unconsciously done, he stepped back. Now that I was home, safe, he seemed eager
to distance himself from me again.

"Did Mr.
Beaufort just say something?" Celia asked.

I apologized to
her. It must be frustrating to be the only one in the room who couldn't hear
the entire conversation. I told her what had happened, excluding the parts
about the gun, the location, and the threats. The recount ended up being very
brief. "They just disappeared."

"They can't
just disappear," she said.

"Yes, they
can," Cara said. "And I know how."

CHAPTER 12

"How?"
Celia, Jacob, and I asked as one.

Cara's shoulders
squared and her eyes brightened. She seemed to be enjoying the attention,
growing more confident. "Was there a hole in the ground?" she asked.

Jacob took a
step toward her. "What kind of hole?"

"A hole in
the street. Was there one near where you saw Mr. Mortlock?"

Jacob and I
exchanged glances. He shrugged. "We don't know what sort of a hole you mean."

She rolled her
eyes as if we were the most stupid people in England. "There are holes
that go into the ground. I know some boys what went in one once and said it
stinks down there. They said there's tunnels under the whole of London where
monsters live. I told them there's no such thing as monsters," she said
with all the superiority of an adult admonishing a foolish child. "I'd be
able to see 'em, wouldn't I, since I can see ghosts, and I've never met a
monster."

"Do you
mean manholes?" Celia asked.

"The
sewers!" Jacob said.

The London sewer
system was not a subject in which I was well versed. All I did know was that
the sewers existed beneath the city and took London's refuse away. Our air
would smell a great deal worse without them. I also knew there were manholes
covered with heavy lids that could be used by the flushers—the sewer workers—to
access the network of tunnels.

"That's why
he smelled," I said. "The hooded person when he found us. Remember, Jacob?
He stank."

"I can't
smell," he said.

"Lucky you.
He reeked."

"There must
be a manhole near that lane," he said. "I'll take a look."

"They're
probably long gone," I said. "They could be anywhere by now."

"I have to
start somewhere." He disappeared.

"He's
gone," I said for Celia's sake.

"I hope he finds
them," she said. "Before something awful happens to Lady Preston or
Adelaide."

Cara carefully
put her cup down on the table and stood. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. Her
earlier confidence had vanished and she seemed to fold in on herself as if she were
trying to keep warm. "So awful sorry." She looked down at her feet
and pulled the edges of her coat together.

"It's all
right." I put my arm around her shoulders. "You mustn't blame
yourself. That man took advantage of you.
He's
the one who should be
sorry."

She nodded, but
I could see she wasn't convinced. "I've got to go now."

"Wait,"
Celia said. Cara looked up. "Why did you come here, now, to Emily? You ran
away yesterday, but today you sought her out. Why?"

Cara glanced
over her shoulder as if she would run off again, but then she sniffed and
tilted her chin at my sister. "When Papa told me I had more family, not
just him, I wanted to come see for myself. See what you were like." She
shrugged. "I knew you could see ghosts too, but I didn't know you was family
until Papa said. Papa's good to me, he takes care of me." She shrugged
again. "But he's crazy. He talks a lot of gibberish. He laughs like he
told a joke, but it's not funny." Her eyes lifted to mine. "I wanted
to see if you were nice. If you could tell me why I can see ghosts and how I
can get that person to stay away from me, that one with the hood over his eyes.
I don't like getting bad ghosts for him."

Poor girl. I'd
always considered myself to be alone, a sort of lost soul who didn't belong in
Celia's polite, genteel world but didn't belong elsewhere either. I was wrong. I
was lucky to have Celia, to have a safe home. Cara was far worse off than I.

She peeled away
from me. At the door she gave us an awkward curtsy. "Thank you for the
chocolate and gingerbread. They were very nice." She turned to go.

"Wait!"
Celia and I said together. "Stay," Celia added.

I was surprised that
my usually cautious sister had the same thought as me. It would seem she
believed Cara's story and believed the girl would not run away with our few valuables
in the middle of the night.

Cara looked past
her to me. She sucked in her bottom lip. Her huge eyes didn't blink.

I nodded
encouragement. "We want you to stay with us. As you said, we're family and
I'd feel happier knowing you were here, safe and warm." And not living with
that mad old man in semi-squalid conditions.

"Emily's
right," Celia said. "So will you stay? You'll have your own room with
a proper bed. I'm sure my sister will give up her dolls for you to play with if
you like."