Another withering look would have been excessive but I gave him one anyway.
He shot me a small smile in return which I found most disconcerting. But then the smile vanished and he was all seriousness again. "The amulet acts as a talisman," he said, "linking the wearer to the demon."
He dangled the amulet from its leather strap and dropped it into my palm. "We need to find the person who gave it to your sister. When does the peddler return?"
"Not until Thursday."
He rubbed his hand over his chin. "Damnation." He glanced at me and bowed his head. "Sorry for my language, it was inappropriate." Despite the bow, he didn't seem sorry at all. There wasn't a hint of regret on his face, just that smile again, as if he was amused at shocking me. Not that I was shocked. I'd heard worse at the markets.
"But you must understand," he went on, "that we need to locate this peddler as soon as possible."
"We need to?"
"You are the one who released the demon so it's only fair you bear some of the responsibility for returning it."
I bristled and bit the inside of my lip to stop myself telling him what had really happened. Celia had better appreciate my covering for her.
My sister took that moment to enter the drawing room and promptly sat on the sofa and poured herself a cup of tea. She seemed completely oblivious to the tension in the room, even though it was so dense I felt like I couldn't breathe.
"Is the ghost gone?" she asked me.
"No."
"Well Bella is. Packed her bags and almost ran out the door. I couldn't get a sensible word out of her." She lifted her teacup to her lips then lowered it without taking a sip. "I'd no idea she was such a flighty girl. The next one should have a sturdier constitution. Have you still got a copy of the last advertisement we used, Em? No need to write it all out again."
"Jacob suggested we try a school in Clerkenwell. The children learn the art of domestic service there."
Celia scoffed into her teacup. "Hardly an art, my dear, if Bella's efforts at cooking were anything to go by. Very well, I shall go in the morning." She nodded at the framed daguerreotype of her father now back on the mantelpiece. "I see you've put the portrait of Father down." Her voice rose a little, the way it always did when she spoke directly to a spirit. As if it was hard of hearing. Not that she spoke to them very often. She usually left that part of the séance to me. It's why I was the one who received the strange looks from the guests. That way Celia managed to avoid the worst of the Freak label. "Do you mind very much picking it up again so I can see where you are?" she asked him.