Jacob stepped between us and I could practically see steam rising from his ears. "Emily, stop this line of questioning. Now." His fingers curled into fists at his sides. "Please." The plea, uttered so quietly I barely heard it, caught me off guard and I inhaled sharply.
It was the wrong thing to do. A clump of half-chewed biscuit lodged in my throat and a fit of coughs gripped me. Mr. Culvert handed me my teacup, stretching straight through Jacob to do so. I dared a glance at the ghost's face as I sipped. It was dark and threatening but there was something else there, something...vulnerable. I wanted to reach out to him but I dared not. Instead I held on tightly to the cup as I moved a little to the left along the sofa to see around him.
"Yes, oblivious," Mr. Culvert said, not looking at me now. He seemed lost in memories from his Etonian days. "And self-absorbed."
"Self-absorbed?" Jacob spun round. "I was not!"
"He had his circle of friends and anyone who fell outside that circle simply didn't get...seen." Culvert shrugged and I didn't get the feeling he was bitter, just observant. I suspect George Culvert was very good at observing people. There was something quiet and watchful about him. Whereas Jacob was all contained energy simmering beneath the surface, Culvert seemed gentle to the core. I could imagine him watching people from a corner of a room through his spectacles, determining their strengths and faults, seeing how they interacted with others. Jacob on the other hand, was a man of action.
And the action I suspected he was about to perform could end in someone getting hurt and himself being exposed.
"Tell him I am not self-absorbed," Jacob snapped.
I gulped and tried not to look at him. "That's a shame," I said quickly. "Because you're both nice people. I'm sure you would have got along."
"Not everyone would think that way," Culvert said.
"Oh but you seem very nice to me."
He blushed again and bowed his head. "I was referring to Beaufort. He was well liked by most at school," he said, "adored even. But certainly not everyone put him up on a pedestal. I'm sure some would have preferred to drag him off it."
"I wasn't on any bloody pedestal," Jacob said, drawing himself up to his full height.
I found that hard to believe. I'd spent much of the previous night picturing him on one, made of white marble and carved in the Roman style.
Jacob edged toward Culvert, looking like he wanted to make his presence known in the most dramatic way a ghost can. It was time to steer the conversation away from the subject of Jacob before Culvert found the rug pulled out from under him, quite literally.