The Medium

What she hadn't asked me was if there'd been another victim and burglary overnight. Of course I didn't know because Jacob had not appeared that morning.

My heart dove violently into my stomach as I realized he may not appear at all, ever again.

***

George was home, as was his mother unfortunately. When Mrs. Culvert saw us together in the drawing room, she turned her nose up at me and said, "You again," as if I was the plague. "George, a word."

"Yes, Mother." But he didn't move.

"In private."

With a loud sigh, he joined his mother outside the drawing room. A few moments later, I heard him say, "This is my house and I can entertain any sort of guest I want. Emily is an outstanding girl and-."

His mother's voice cut him off but I couldn't quite make out what she said. The click-clack of her footsteps retreating on the tiles was a welcome sound to my ears.

"Sorry," George said with a sympathetic smile when he returned. "Mothers."

I smiled too even though I didn't necessarily understand his meaning. My mother had never dictated who I could be friends with, but then I'd had so few friends growing up she'd probably have encouraged me to speak to the poor little girl who sold matches on the street corner.

"Now, where were we?" he said, sitting down opposite me once more. "Ah yes, Leviticus Price. I sent him a message requesting to see him."

"A message? Requesting to see him? George, you are being much too polite."

He looked slightly taken aback at that. "Emily, there is no such thing as too polite."

I refrained from retorting that he might as well live in a prison with all the society rules he and the people of his station had to live by. I suddenly felt an immeasurable amount of freedom, as I had done after speaking to Adelaide Beaufort the day before. My life, while complicated, was at least my own. "Come on, let's pay him a visit now."

I stood. After a moment, George stood too. "I'm not sure this is a good idea," he said slowly. "Price isn't the sort of man who likes insolence, particularly in youngsters."

"You're nineteen!" The urge to click my tongue, roll my eyes and generally make him see how immature he was behaving was very strong.

"You're right. Let's go." He tugged on his coat lapels and stretched his neck. "Greggs!" he called as he strode to the drawing room door. "Send word to the stables for the carriage."

***

Leviticus Price rented a few rooms in a brick terrace house in one of the newer suburbs on London's outskirts where street upon street was lined with identical brick terrace houses. The only distinguishing feature between them seemed to be the color of the door, but even there the palette was limited to blue, white and green.