Jacob did not kiss me. He spun on his heel and strode to the door. "Let's go," he said. "We don't have much time." Then he disappeared. I stared at the spot where he'd been standing and touched my lips. They tingled from the anticipation, and the disappointment.

Was it so wrong of me to want him to kiss me?

The door opened from the other side and he poked his head through the gap. "It's clear," he said. "Follow me."

It would seem I had little choice. I blew out a steadying breath and walked behind him down the narrow wood-paneled hall, treading on my toes so as not to make a sound. The musty scent of dampness clung to the stale air and it was cooler than the parlor.

I hoped Jacob knew where he was going. While haunting Blunt the previous night, he must have spent some time looking over the school. I wanted to ask him if he had a destination in mind but I dared not speak. I had no idea where Mrs. White and George had gone but I didn't want to risk being overheard.

Jacob seemed content to do all the talking anyway and didn't appear to expect me to answer him. "The rooms along here are classrooms," he said, indicating the closed doors on either side of the corridor. One of the doors was ajar and I paused to listen.

Mrs. White's voice came to me clearly. "The girls are given a grounding in arithmetic to help them learn about portions for cooking, making cleaning pastes and the like," she said.

George responded but I didn't catch his words.

Jacob waited at the end of the corridor. "There are some unsupervised boys down here," he said.

I quickly followed him to a room that stank of shoe polish. Three boys aged about thirteen sat on stools at a long wooden table in the center of the room. Each of them had a fist thrust inside a boot, their other hand holding a blackened polishing cloth. Dozens more boots, some shiny but most covered in dirt, stood in rows on the table, and more again occupied a series of shelves on the opposite wall. It would take a small army to fill them all let alone clean them.

The boys glanced up when I entered. Two of them jumped to their feet, the other took his time to stand. He was the only one of the three who didn't bow a greeting.

"Who are you then?" he asked, his stringy blond hair falling over his forehead in jagged wisps.

One of the other boys hissed something at him but I couldn't hear what. The blonde boy merely shrugged in response.

"My name is Emily Chambers," I said. It was rather a relief not to see recognition on their faces. True anonymity at last.

"Find out what you can from them," Jacob said. "I'll keep watch." But he didn't disappear immediately. Instead he sized up the three boys. Although none of them were tall lads, they were all as tall as me and would undoubtedly continue to grow if their lanky limbs were any indication. The two boys who'd stood quickly didn't quite meet my gaze and shifted uncomfortably as if they couldn't keep still. The other boy, the blond one, not only met my gaze but held it.

"I'm 'Arry Cotton," he said, "and this is Johnny Fife and Peter Bowker." The one who'd hissed at him was Bowker. He and Fife smiled shyly at me and blushed hard. Harry Cotton seemed to think this was funny and sniggered.

"Call if you need me," Jacob said then disappeared.

"You the replacement?" Harry asked. Of the three boys, he looked to be the oldest, or perhaps it was simply because he had the beginnings of a leaner, harder jaw whereas the other two still had the soft, rounded faces of children. Fife had a set of dimples in either cheek.

"Replacement?" I asked.

"For Mr. Felchurch. 'E up and left yesterday. Got a job as a slave at some toff's 'ouse."

"'Arry," Bowker whispered loudly.

"Slave?" I asked.

"Footman," Fife said, blushing again and still not meeting my gaze.

"Slave," Harry Cotton said and sniffed. "As good as." He threw his cloth down on the boot he'd been polishing then spat on it. He followed up his show of defiance with a raised brow at me. Obviously he lumped me in with those same toffs.

"Ah. No, I'm not Mr. Felchurch's replacement." I stepped closer and lowered my voice. I particularly wanted to capture Harry's interest. I suspect if anyone was going to talk, it would be him. The other two were either too afraid or too good. "I'm the employer of Maree Finch," I said, bending the truth. "Do you remember her?"

"Yeah," said Harry, shrugging one shoulder. "So?"

"So...she's gone missing. I need to find her."

Bowker and Fife exchanged glances but there was nothing guilty in their expressions, just concern. Cotton continued to meet my gaze. He crossed his arms over his chest and thrust his hands up under his armpits. "Why do you need to find 'er?" he asked. "She nick something of yours?"

"No," I lied. I was becoming very good at it with all the recent practice. "I'm simply concerned for her." That at least was the truth. I hated to think where Maree had gone. More than likely she'd joined her brother and was learning how to become a better thief. Of course there were worse occupations for a poor girl to learn on London’s streets but I didn't want to contemplate that scenario.

Harry snorted. "And I'm the king of bloody England."

"I am worried about her," I insisted. "I'm worried that she'll end up like that brother of hers. If she's caught she'll be sent to the workhouse or prison."

Fife shuddered and twisted his fingers together.

"Least Tommy Finch ain't got no master but hisself," Harry said.

"Now we both know that's not true." I was going out on a limb but it was a step I had to take, not only to win Harry's trust, but to get him talking. "I know Tommy Finch is guided by someone else, someone who wouldn't care if Tommy or Maree got caught." It wasn't unusual for gangs of boys to be ruled by an older man, equally poor and desperate but more experienced in avoiding the police. Those unscrupulous men certainly didn't care about the wellbeing of their charges—London was teeming with boys and girls eager to take their place.

Harry blinked and looked away. The defiance was still printed into his features but I sensed he was wavering.

"Do you know who?" I tried. I was met with silence, which was to be expected. "Then can you tell me where I might find Tommy?"

"What, so you can dob 'im in?"

I glanced at the door. This wasn't going at all well and I didn't have much time. "No, so I can coax his sister back to her job. She was good at it." Why couldn't he see the benefits of reliable, honest work for someone like Maree, someone with little education, no home, no parents and few other choices? Why couldn’t he see it for his own sake? "She was cared for there with a roof over her head, food on the table and clothes to keep her warm. What's going to happen to her now?" I hadn't realized I'd been moving closer to him as I spoke so that now I stood right in front of him, my face only inches from his. "Well? Is her brother going to take care of her?"

"Tommy'll see 'er right," Harry said thrusting out his chin. "'E's got integ, integra... 'E takes care of 'is own and I ain't gonna rat 'im out so you can make yerself feel good by thinking you're saving 'is sister. None of us will." This last he said to the other two, an unspoken threat threading through his tone.

Neither Bowker nor Fife disagreed with him. They shuffled their feet and kept their gazes firmly on the table.

I was trying to think what to say next to convince them to help me when Jacob appeared. For once I didn't gasp or squeal in alarm. I was growing used to his sudden appearances.

"You need to leave," he said, pacing. "Now."

I hurriedly thanked the boys and left. Out in the corridor, I could clearly hear Mrs. White's voice. It came from around the corner and she was coming our way.

"In here," Jacob said. He indicated a closed door. "It's a storage room."

I slipped inside, alone, then closed the door. I dared not feel around me in the darkness in case I knocked over a broom so I stood still and waited. The stink of old dampness was stronger than out in the corridor and the underlying scent of shoe polish, tallow and other smells teased my nostrils. I heard the voices of Mrs. White and George in conversation as they passed and wondered if they would enter the room I'd just vacated. Hopefully none of the boys would tell her I'd been there.

The door opened and Jacob drew me out by the hand. His cool fingers soothed my hot skin. "You have to get back to the front room before you're discovered."

"But I haven't learned anything useful yet," I whispered.

"Then we'll just have to think of another way." He glanced up the corridor. "But not now." He put a hand to my back and gently pushed me forward.

"What's the hurry?"

"There are no other classrooms after that one. Mrs. White and George will be returning to collect you soon."

I sighed. "Very well, I suppose—."

A door on my right suddenly opened and a man of giant proportions, with a beard and moustache of equally monstrous size, filled the doorway. He stopped when he saw me, and his two pale, yellow-green eyes narrowed.

"It's Blunt," Jacob said. He drew himself up to his full height and although he wasn't as tall as the schoolmaster, he looked just as impressive and rather more dangerous thanks to an expression that could have been hewn from rock.

"Who are you?" Blunt bellowed. "And what are you doing here?" It was difficult to tell if he was speaking in such a formidable tone simply to terrify me or if that was his normal volume. If it was indeed to scare me, it worked.

"Don't let him see your fear," Jacob said. He stood so close to me our arms brushed. The small contact bolstered my confidence. He was right. I had nothing to fear. I was not one of Blunt's pupils. "I won't let him hurt you."

I do so like having my own ghost for protection. I wasn't sure what Jacob would use as a weapon—he couldn't use his fists on someone who couldn't see him—but I didn't care. His presence alone was enough for me.

I lifted my head and met Blunt's gaze. Jacob shot a small smile my way. "That's it," he said.

"I was looking for Mrs. White and my friend George Culvert," I said to Blunt. "I believe they came this way. I've got a headache you see, so I waited in the drawing room while they looked for a suitable new maid." I pressed my fingers to my temples and feigned discomfort. Blunt's expression didn't change so I couldn't be sure if he believed my little act or not. "Unfortunately I don't feel any better so I was looking for George to ask him to take me home."

Blunt's moustache twitched and two wet lips appeared through all that hair. I think he was smiling at me. Or not. It was hard to tell. "Who were you talking to just now?" He looked over my head down the corridor. "There's no one here."

He'd heard me!

"Tell him your name," Jacob said, "and let him make his own conclusions." He chuckled darkly.

"Forgive me, I haven't introduced myself," I said sweetly. "My name is Emily Chambers and I—."

"Chambers!" Blunt's eyes widened. "The spirit medium?" His gaze quickly flicked past me again, side to side, over his shoulder then back to me once more before going through the routine again.

Perhaps my reputation wasn't such a bad thing after all. I tried to keep my satisfied smile to myself. "The very one," I said.

He shuffled closer then bent almost double to speak to me at my level. He reeked of cigar smoke. "A ghost haunted me last night. You weren't, ahem, talking to it just now by any chance?"

I dropped my voice to match his. "I can't discuss that with you. Professional reasons, you understand."

Jacob tipped his head back and laughed. It was very difficult not to laugh along with him.

"Ah." Blunt nodded and straightened. "Yes, of course, you and your sister have to make a living. No one knows about the necessity of a good business ethic more than me." He puffed out his barrel-sized chest, which pushed out his waistcoat and tightened the pocket watch chain. I kept one eye on it in case it snapped and I had to quickly get out of the way of any flying links. "I called on you both this morning but you were out," he said. "Perhaps you could have your sister contact me to schedule an appointment. I am in great need of your services."

"Of course."

"Tell her it's urgent."

"She's always prompt."

"Good, good. Now to that headache of yours. Can I have someone bring you a draft?"

"No thank you, I'll be fine once I get some rest."

"Tell him you're here because Maree Finch left Culvert's employment after stealing a book and you need another servant," Jacob said. "Mention what the book was about too. I want to see his reaction."

I did and watched Blunt's face. All that facial hair made it nearly impossible to gauge his thoughts but his eyes gave away his sharp interest.

"I see," he said, thoughtful. "Demonology you say. An unusual topic."

"Mr. Culvert and I suspect Maree stole the book for someone else," I said. "Her brother perhaps."

The ragged ends of his beard twitched as his lips pursed. "You ask a lot of questions for a girl."

I wasn't sure if that was a slight on my age or my sex or both. Either way, it rankled. "Professional curiosity," I said.

His eyes widened. "You think Tommy Finch has something to do with the haunting here?"

I put my finger to my lips. "Lower your voice please, Mr. Blunt. We wouldn't want to alert the spirit to our suspicions."

"You're very good at this," Jacob said. "Have you considered performing on the stage?"

It really was difficult to ignore him when he was in such a good mood. Actually, it was difficult to ignore him at any time. He was simply so...obvious. "I need to consider all possibilities," I said to Blunt, "particularly where a book on demonology is concerned."

"Yes, of course." The schoolmaster clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. He appeared to be thinking hard, deciding whether to say something or not. Finally he spoke. "So you think the stolen book has something to do with the haunting?"

"Perhaps. It is a remarkable coincidence. The book goes missing then Maree goes missing and a disgruntled spirit pays you a visit."

"You are wicked for letting him think there's a link," Jacob said with a grin. "I like it."

"So tell me about Tommy Finch," I said. "Has he returned to the school since his departure?"

"Absolutely not." Blunt's beard shook with the vigor of his denial. "We don't allow pupils who've left us to return. Not ones like Tommy Finch. He's no good. A bad seed. I hope his sister hasn't joined him in his illicit pursuits. She was a good girl, reliable and quiet. I like the quiet ones."

Jacob bared his teeth in a snarl, all hint of humanity gone.

"Let's hope she's safe somewhere," I said quickly, keeping one eye on Jacob. I didn't think he would hurt Blunt but I couldn't be certain about anything where Jacob was concerned. He was proving to be unpredictable.

"This demonology book," Blunt went on. He stroked his beard and paused for several beats. Eventually he sighed and shook his head. "I'd better tell you. It might be important."

"Yes?" I prompted when he hesitated again. He had my full attention, and Jacob's too. My ghost had finally stopped glaring daggers at the schoolmaster.

"A gentleman from the school's board mentioned demons to me quite recently."

"How does one casually slip demonology into a conversation?" Jacob said.

"In what context?" I asked Blunt.

Blunt waved a hand, dismissive. "We were simply discussing our private interests, away from work you understand, and he said he belongs to the Society for Supernatural Activity and has a particular interest in demons." The organization's name sounded familiar. "Indeed, he mentioned your friend Culvert as also being a member with the same interest."

Of course! George belonged to the same society. So this board member probably knew about George's extensive library on the subject. The coincidence was too close for my liking. "When were you talking to him?" I asked. "Could Maree have possibly overheard the conversation?" Or was there some other tie-in with her brother? Or were neither of them involved at all?

More beard-stroking from Blunt. "I can't recall. It was some weeks ago I think. Whether she heard or not..." He shrugged mountainous shoulders.

"What's his name?"

"Leviticus Price. He's a generous benefactor to the school and takes an active interest in our operations. He has some excellent suggestions for improvement, which I naturally try to instigate where possible. Perhaps your friend Culvert can ask him the questions you just asked me when next he sees him at a Society meeting. I'm sorry I can't help you further."

"I bet he is," Jacob muttered.

Mrs. White and George joined us then. Both looked concerned to see me but probably for different reasons.

"Emily?" George came to my side and gently took my elbow. "You must have been looking for me." I think he said that for everyone's benefit, or perhaps to guide me into an answer. Little did he know I'd already successfully navigated my way through a series of lies.

"Has your headache gone?" Mrs. White asked, her gentle eyes searching my face.

"It's worse," I said, pressing my fingers to my temples. "I was looking for George to ask him to take me home but I encountered Mr. Blunt."

George gently rubbed his thumb on my sleeve. The motion was soothing, his smile even more so. "I'll take you home now."

Jacob folded his arms over his chest. "He does know the headache isn't real, doesn't he?"

I allowed George to lead me down the corridor behind Mrs. White. Blunt didn't join us. Jacob, oddly, disappeared. I thought he'd walk with us but apparently he had better things to do. I tried not to let my disappointment show. I had wanted him to walk me home, not George.

Outside, swollen gray clouds plunged the street into further shadowy darkness. Women pulled in washing strung up between buildings and one or two men carried umbrellas, although most didn't. It wasn't the sort of area where the people could afford them. I wished I'd brought mine with me or George had. As it was, we'd likely be drenched before we reached my house.

"Stay close to me," George said. He still held my elbow but his touch had gone from soothing to hard, his thumb digging into my flesh. "And hold on tight to your reticule. We don't want to tempt any thieves."

I did as he suggested and kept my wits about me as I told him all I'd learned from Blunt. He seemed surprised at the mention of Leviticus Price.

"I don't know him well," he hedged, "but...are you sure it was him Blunt mentioned?"

"Leviticus Price is not the sort of name to mishear. Why?"

"It's just that he's—how can I put this?—not someone I thought would take an interest in a school for the poor." He shook his head. "Perhaps I'm doing him an injustice and there's another side to him than what I've seen at Society meetings."

"Blunt did say Price is generous with his advice."

"Well Price does like to give advice away in droves and he's not short of it either."

A small boy scampered past me, very close, but George pulled me aside before we could collide.

"Pickpocket," he mumbled.

"We don't know that for sure."

"It's a common ploy used by children of crime."

"What ploy?"

"Bump into their target and in the ensuing confusion, delve into their pockets. But you're safe, he didn't touch you."

"Who didn’t touch you?" Jacob asked, popping up beside me and quickly falling into step with us.

"Hello, Jacob," I said for George's benefit. "No one bumped me."

"Then why's he holding you?"

George wasn't holding me, just my elbow but I didn't think Jacob would appreciate the difference. He seemed annoyed at poor George for some reason.

George was oblivious of course. "Good afternoon, Beaufort," he said, deepening his voice in that self-conscious way that some men do when speaking to other men. "Were you with Emily in there?"

"He was," I said, extricating my elbow from his grip.

His lips formed a pout. "Oh. Right." He cleared his throat. "Good show with Blunt in there, both of you. He didn't suspect a thing."

We turned into a busier street that was no less grubby but far more crowded. There were more ragged children playing in the gutters, more washing hanging over our heads and more hawkers selling goods from carts or baskets. A man dressed in a tall hat and a jacket too large for his slight frame tried to interest George in a meat pudding from his cart but George waved him away without addressing him.

"Where did you go?" I asked Jacob. "Did you stay to listen to Mrs. White and Blunt?"

"I did but they returned to their respective offices without speaking to one another." Considering this disappointment he looked rather pleased about something. "So I paid those three boys a visit. They were quite talkative."

I repeated the conversation so far for George's sake. "Go on," I said to Jacob when I'd finished. "What did the boys say?"

"They were arguing among themselves about whether you were searching for Maree because you were genuinely concerned for her welfare as you claimed, or to have her arrested."

"Arrested! For stealing a book? Goodness, who would do something like that to the poor girl?"

George's step faltered and he almost tripped over his own feet. He pushed his glasses up his nose and gave me a quick, unconvincing smile. "Who would indeed?"

Jacob grunted. "Anyway, opinion was divided with only one of them on your side, the one called Fife. He wanted to know why the boy named Harry didn't tell you about Tommy Finch's last visit to the school only three nights ago."

"Three nights!" I stopped. George halted alongside me and waited patiently while I spoke to Jacob.

"Yes," Jacob said. "After Maree stole the book."

I told George what Jacob had said. "Did he say who Tommy saw on his visit?" I asked. "Another pupil? A teacher?" Or Mrs. White or Blunt themselves?

"No but I got the feeling Finch returned to the school regularly and these three boys all knew it."

"I wonder what he wants now that his sister no longer attends," George said.

We were contemplating that when a girl of no more than ten or eleven carrying a basket full of violets came from seemingly nowhere. She was dressed in clothes that looked to be older than her if their dirty, patched-up state was any indication. Her head and hands were bare and she shivered as a breeze whipped around us. "Please, sir," she said to George, "buy my flowers, sir. Buy some lovely violets for the pretty lady." She pulled out a bunch of the purple flowers and tried to shove them into George's hand.

"Go away," he said, batting them aside. "We're not interested." He clicked his tongue and put his hand at my back to steer me around the girl.

She sniffed and wiped her nose on the shoulder of her dress but her long brown hair got in the way and she wiped it on the stringy strands instead. She didn't seem to notice as she blocked our path and thrust the flowers at me. "Please buy a poor girl's flowers, sweet lady." She sniffed again and her big brown eyes blinked up at me. "Buy some pretty violets for your dressing table, miss."

"She's not interested, child," George snapped. "Be off!" He tried to move around her, taking me with him, but I stopped him.

"I'll buy a bunch," I said, opening my reticule. "How much?"

"Emily, you shouldn't encourage her," George said. "If you buy things you don't need from these children their parents will only see it as a sign and send them out more. It's an endless circle."

"I ain't got no parents," the girl said, turning her owlish eyes on George.

He frowned down at her, his face not softening in the slightest. "Nevertheless—."

"I'll buy another bunch for my sister," I said. "How much did you say they were?"

The girl's face lit up, her eyes growing so wide they took up half her face. "A ha'penny each, kind lady." She gave me the two bunches and I gave her the money. It wasn't much and we weren't so poor that we couldn't afford the price. Nevertheless Celia probably wouldn't approve of the unnecessary expense. Hopefully she wouldn't notice my purse was a little lighter than when I'd set out.

The flower girl bobbed me a curtsy, turned her nose up at George and went on her way.

"I'd have bought them for you," Jacob said, walking beside me. "If I had any money."

The thought of a ghost handing money over to the girl was so ludicrous I laughed out loud. But Jacob apparently didn't get the joke. His face hardened then he blinked and looked away. Was he embarrassed? Had I offended him?

Oh dear. I was about to apologize when George, who I thought had been sulking, spoke. "Sorry you were forced into that," he said. "I would have got rid of her if you'd only allowed me."

"George," I said, putting as much sternness into his name as I could, "if I want to get rid of someone I will do it on my own. She was just a child and her flowers weren't expensive. I wanted to buy them."

He sighed. "You're too kind for your own good, Emily. I suppose that's part of your charm."

"Charm?" I almost burst out laughing again but I'd already offended one man so instead I said, "Thank you."

He smiled at me. "I'll walk you home."

"No," Jacob growled, "I will."

"You both can," I said and I think George understood Jacob had offered too if his "Oh" was anything to go by.

"No," Jacob said. "I want to speak to you alone."

"But he can't hear you."

"It doesn't matter. You're—." He stopped talking and walking and heaved a heavy sigh. I stopped too and George had no choice but to wait. "I just want to be alone with you," Jacob said. "To talk," he added. "It's easier without him hovering at your elbow hoping you'll trip over so he can catch you."

I was about to tell him he'd summed up the situation between George and I incorrectly but I didn't want George to hear me. I wasn't so certain Jacob had got it wrong anyway.

"Do you mind if Jacob accompanies me from here?" I asked George. "We're out of the worst streets and I have some private matters to discuss with him."

George's lips twitched and pursed and twitched some more before he finally gave in with a deep sigh. "Very well. If you must." He looked up and down the street, which was wider and filled with fewer shadowy corners and characters than the streets we'd just left behind, although it wasn't any cleaner. London's soot covered these sturdier buildings just as thickly as it did elsewhere. George's gaze finally settled back on mine. "Be careful. And hurry home before it rains. All right, Beaufort?"

Jacob grunted. "This farewell has gone on long enough." He strode off, no doubt expecting me to follow.

"We'll be in touch soon," I assured George. Jacob stopped and waited for me, arms crossed in a picture of impatience. "In the mean time, perhaps if you could speak to Leviticus Price."

He nodded and doffed his hat. "Of course, Emily. Good day, Beaufort." He watched me go and I was relieved to turn the corner with Jacob and be out of George's sight. I wasn't sure why but having him watch me like that, with such interest, made me feel awkward. On the other hand, having Jacob watch me like that made me feel special but only in a good way.

Unfortunately he wasn't looking at me at all. He was staring straight ahead. Several people walked through him but he didn't seem to care.

"What did you want to ask me?" I whispered trying not to move my mouth and draw attention to myself. It wasn't easy.

"Nothing," he said. "I just wanted to get rid of Culvert. I don't like him."

"Why not?"

His entire answer consisted of a shrug. "What private matters did you want to talk to me about?"

We had to cross the road and I waited for a break in the traffic. Jacob wandered out into the middle of the busy street and a carriage pulled by two horses rolled right through him. No, not through him. He could touch them because they were objects, just like he could touch the picture frame or the mantelpiece. He must be vanishing just as they reach him then reappearing after they'd passed.

It took me longer to safely navigate the traffic and horse dung but I managed it without incident and joined him on the other side in front of a row of shops.

"Well?" he prompted.

"Last night you did something for me," I said. "So now I want to do something for you in return."

He frowned. "Last night? You mean meeting your aunt's ghost? I don't think you should thank me for that. She was a witch. I'm sorry I mentioned her at all."

"No, not for that." I spoke quietly but not just because I didn't want to be overheard. The tears in my throat kept me from speaking any louder. "I wanted to thank you for...for telling her you think I'm pretty. It was very...noble of you."

Before my heart could hammer another beat, he'd pulled me into a dead-end alley. It was empty except for a few crates pushed up against the brick wall of the neighboring chop house and some rotting vegetables piled in a corner. "It had nothing to do with nobility, Emily," he whispered. He bent his head so that we were nose to nose, barely a breath separating us. His eyes burned into mine, their smoldering heat seeping through me, warming me from the inside out.

"Then what was it if not to show me you're still a gentleman?" I had the heavy feeling that his answer would bring us closer to something important, something so big that I knew we could never go back. Never undo it.

Nor would it be something I wanted to undo.