I turned into Wilton Crescent and strolled along the elegant curved street until I reached number fifty-two. It looked like the other grand houses in the crescent-shaped terrace with its cream stucco façade and colonnaded porch. The main difference I could see was the brass knocker on the door. It was shaped like a large paw.
A footman answered my knock and showed me into a spacious drawing room on the first floor crammed with furniture and knick-knacks. Aside from the usual piano, sofa and chairs, there were tables. Many, many small tables-a console table, a sofa table, at least three occasional tables and a sideboard. Scattered on top of them all were framed daguerreotypes, figurines, vases, busts, decorative jars, boxes and other little objects that seemed to have no use whatsoever except to occupy a surface.
I was admiring an elaborate display of shells arranged into the shape of a flower bouquet when a tall young man entered, smiling in greeting. He was handsome but not in the masculine, classical sense like Jacob but more angelic, prettier although not feminine. Definitely not. Blond hair sprang off his head in soft curls and his pale skin stretched taut over high, sharp cheeks. He wore small, round spectacles through which gray eyes danced. He looked younger than Jacob and if I hadn't known they went to school together and were about the same age, I'd have thought him my own age or younger.
"Miss Chambers?" He glanced around the room, perhaps looking for a chaperone. Eventually his gaze settled back on me, or rather my hips, before sweeping up to my face. His cheeks colored slightly. "The footman said you wished to see me and not my mother?" It was a question not a statement. Mr. Culvert was probably unused to visits from unchaperoned girls.
I cleared my throat then held out my hand for him to shake. He looked at it like he didn't know what to do with it then took my fingers and gave them a gentle squeeze. "I'm definitely here to see you if you are Mr. George Culvert."
His face lit up. "Indeed I am." He squeezed again. His own hand was smooth, soft. It made me think of the split skin and bruises on Jacob's knuckles and again I wondered why a gentleman had hands more suited to a laborer or a pugilist.
Jacob chose that moment to appear beside me and I jumped in surprise. "Tell him you knew me before my death," he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied Mr. Culvert, "and that I told you about his interest in demonology. Pretend you also have an interest too and decided it was time you met. That should suffice."