Although I accepted I may never know, a part of me still burned to learn the truth. I'd even tried to summon Mama's ghost once after her death to ask, but she'd not appeared.
"Mr. Beaufort," I said, shaking off the melancholy that usually descended upon me when thinking of my father.
"Call me Jacob," he said. "I think we can dispense with formalities considering the circumstances, not to mention my attire."
"Of course." I tried to smile politely but I fear it looked as awkward as I felt. His attire was not something to be dismissed casually. It was what he happened to be wearing when he died. Mr. Wiggam must have died wearing his formal dinner suit but it seemed Mr. Beaufort-Jacob-had been somewhat more casually dressed. It's the reason why I'll never sleep naked.
"What's he saying?" Celia asked, linking her hands on her lap.
"That we're to call him Jacob," I said.
"I see. Jacob, do you think you could hold something so I know where you are? The daguerreotype of our father will do."
I rolled my eyes. There she goes again-our father indeed.
"That's better," she said when Jacob obliged by picking up the wooden frame. "Now, please sit." He sat in the armchair which matched the sofa, right down to the faded upholstery. "Who do you wish us to contact?" "Contact?" Jacob said.
"She means which of your loved ones do you want to communicate with," I said. "We can establish a meeting and you can tell them anything you wish, or ask a question. It'll give you peace," I said when he looked at me askance. "And help you cross over. Into the Otherworld." Good lord, he must be a fresh one. But he didn't look in the least frightened or wary as most newly deceased do.
"For a small fee," Celia added. "To be paid by your loved one of course."
"You have the wrong idea," he said, putting up his free hand. It was broad and long-fingered with scrapes and bruises on the knuckles, which struck me as odd. They looked fresh. He must have got them just before he died. So what was a handsome man with an aristocratic accent doing brawling with his bare knuckles? "I'm not here to contact anyone."
Bella entered at that moment carrying a tray of tea things. I had to lean to one side to see past her rather prominent rear as she bent over to set the tray on the table. I forked my brows at Jacob to prompt him-asking him outright might seem a little odd to Bella, particularly if Celia, the only other person in the room as far as the maid was concerned, failed to answer.