Beyond the Grave (8 page)

I knew without doubt that Estelle Pearson's spirit was still on Earth, occupying her decaying body, yet somehow come to life.

And it was all my fault.

D
awn provided
enough light for me to find my way out of the cemetery. I limped through the gate and passed a groundsman with his broad-brimmed hat pulled low over his face. If I'd been in a stronger frame of mind I would have checked to see if it was the one with the purple birthmark. That rat had told Captain Jasper where to find me, resulting in my recent abduction. He ought to know what had come of his actions so that next time he would be more careful. But I was in no mood for a confrontation of any kind.

I limped home in the drizzling rain, careful not to put too much weight on my cut foot, even though it didn't feel sore anymore. A small mercy. At least my slow progress gave me more time to think of a way to inform Lincoln of what I'd done. I considered not telling him, but my absence from Lichfield as I searched for Estelle Pearson would be suspicious. Besides, he would need only to look at my face and know something was wrong.

By the time I reached Lichfield's back door, however, I was still no closer to finding the right words. I unlocked the door then relocked it and hung the key on the hook in the kitchen. Despite removing my boots, I left behind damp footprints on the floor and service stairs.

I stopped outside my rooms. The door was ajar. Had I closed it? Light flickered inside, yet I'd blown out all the candles before leaving. Hope flared in my breast.

I pushed open the door. "Miss Pearson, I'm so reliev—"

Lincoln crouched by the grate where a fire blazed. He stood and dusted off his hands as he took in my disheveled appearance. The flickering flames cast deep shadows beneath his eyes and cheeks, and emphasized the downturn of his mouth. He looked exhausted.

It took a long time before I found my voice. I didn't know how to begin, and he didn't make it easier on me by remaining silent. He clasped his hands behind his back, and looked every bit like a king about to pass judgment on his subject.

"You're shivering," he eventually said. "You need to get out of your wet things and warm up by the fire."

"You…you lit it for me."

"When I realized you weren't home, I thought you would get caught in the rain."

"You knew I'd left? How?"

His gaze shifted to the flames. "I…sensed your absence."

"I didn't know you were capable of doing so."

"Nor did I until this morning when I came home."

It was an interesting development of his paranormal capabilities and one that required more thought and discussion, but not now. "You have only just returned?"

He nodded in the direction of my adjoining bedroom. "Go and change, Charlie."

"Will you stay here? I need to talk to you."

He nodded, and I got the feeling he already knew what the discussion would be about, at least in part.

I quickly changed into my nightgown and threw a shawl over my shoulders. I returned to the sitting room and lay my cloak and dress over the backs of the chairs then angled the chair backs toward the fire. I left my unmentionables in the bedroom. Displaying them in front of Lincoln was an extra humiliation I didn't want to endure.

Avoiding looking at him, I knelt by the fireplace and removed the pins from my hair. I tousled the shoulder-length locks with my fingers and tipped my head toward the heat. It felt awkward with him standing there and me kneeling near his feet, the silence stretching and stretching. Why didn't he ask what I was doing out in the night? Was he waiting for me to confess?

"Thank you for starting the fire," I said. "Did you sense me returning? Is that why you lit it?"

"No." His tone had taken on an icy edge that didn't bode well. "I didn't know where you'd gone or when you'd be back. Since you took your cloak, I hoped you hadn't been forcibly taken from the house. Nor were Gus or Cook roused, which would also imply you left quietly. Voluntarily."

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. He'd been through my bedroom and noticed my cloak gone. "I'm sorry if you were worried. I thought I'd be back before you noticed me gone."

"Since it seems I am now able to tell when you are here or not, I would appreciate a note be left when you decide to disappear in the middle of the night. Is that clear?" The icy tone turned positively freezing.

"Yes." I stared into the fireplace, still not able to meet his gaze. "I am sorry."

"You raised the spirit of Estelle Pearson, despite my instructions not to."

I bit the inside of my cheek and nodded.

"And just now you thought it was her in here," he continued. "Why?"

I sucked in a breath and lowered my hands to my lap. I finally met his gaze and shivered. Not even the flames reflected in the black pits of his eyes. "I raised her spirit in here earlier tonight, but she insisted on entering her own body before she gave me answers." I twisted my fingers together. They hurt form the cold, but I didn't care. I welcomed the pain. I deserved it. "She was buried at Highgate, so we went to the cemetery. But once she occupied her body, she said something in a foreign language. Then she just walked away. I called her back, but she didn't return. I ordered her spirit to leave, but it had no effect. I couldn't control her, and she ran off. I don't understand, Lincoln. What went wrong? Did she know a spell to override my necromancy?"

He had been watching me the entire time, that fathomless gaze upon me as if he were trying to see into me. But now it faltered and he turned to the fire. "It seems so. You recognized none of the words?"

"She spoke them quietly, and I don't know any languages other than English. The accent was harsh, throaty."

"Did she say where she was going?"

"No, but she mentioned that she had something she needed to take care of."

He had no more questions for me and seemed lost in thought.

"Is she a witch, do you think?" I asked.

"Perhaps."

"She knew what a necromancer was, and she didn't need instructions on how to re-enter her body. Death and reanimation didn't sicken or frighten her. She seemed quite unperturbed by it all."

He didn't respond, which only made me want to talk more. I needed to talk, to get some things off my chest.

"I should have suspected then. I put her courage down to being a nurse, but looking back now, it's obvious that she understood the supernatural. But I
liked
her. That's the problem. I liked her and trusted her." Tears welled and I sniffed. It felt as if Estelle Pearson had betrayed me, even though the notion was ridiculous. She was dead, for one thing, and we'd only just met.

"You should know better than to trust anyone, by now." He strode to the door, reaching it in a few long strides.

I jumped up and ran to him, catching his arm before he could leave. "What are we going to do?" I choked out.

He removed my hand from his arm then let it go, as if it burned. "You are going to bed and leaving this to me."

"No! I have to do something."

"Do you?" he growled, his lips hardly moving.

I winced. Tears bubbled on my eyelids and I began to shake. I felt so cold, like the ice from his gaze had been injected into my veins. "I need to help fix this, Lincoln. I need to—"

"Stay. Here." He strode out of the room. I pressed my forehead against the doorframe and closed my eyes. It didn't stop my tears from spilling.

I
heard
Lincoln pass by my rooms again a few minutes later. I tried to sleep but couldn't. My mind wouldn't switch off and my nerves jumped at every creak of the house. I changed into my maid's uniform and headed downstairs. The others would think it odd if I launched into my housework without seeing them first, so I went to the kitchen. Cook and Gus looked up from where they both stood near the range, warming their hands.

"Mornin', Charlie," Cook said. "Eggs'll be ready soon."

"Where's your walkin' stick?" Gus asked.

Somewhere buried among leaves and mud at Highgate Cemetery. "I no longer need it. No eggs for me, thanks, Cook. I'm not hungry." I gave them both a flat smile, the best I could manage, and left again, but not before I saw them exchange glances. It seemed Lincoln had not informed them of what I'd done.

I dusted and swept the front porch, since it had stopped raining. The cool air felt damp and the clouds hung low on the horizon. It would rain again later today.

The rumble of wheels on gravel had me squinting along the drive to see who visited at such an early hour. It wasn't even mid-morning yet. It couldn't be Lincoln returning, as I hadn't heard a coach leave the stables. He'd either ridden or gone on foot. It must be a committee member, and they were not people I felt up to greeting.

I returned inside and hurried to the kitchen, where Seth was now yawning in the corner armchair. "Visitors are coming," I told them as I passed through. "You'll have to greet them."

"Where are you going?"

"For a walk." I left through the back door and crossed the courtyard. I hadn't collected hat, coat or gloves, and the crisp air nipped at my skin. I passed by the outbuildings, and would have headed for the walled garden or the orchard, but another coach driving toward the house caught my eye. I hid behind a tree trunk and peered round. The coach bore an escutcheon of a snake coiled around a sword—Lord Gillingham's crest.

Damn. What did he want? And whose coach had been the first to arrive? I couldn't quite see the front of the house from my recessed position.

Behind Gillingham came another coach, and another, and finally a rider on horseback, going so fast that he caught up with the final coach. Lincoln.

When they too passed out of my line of sight, I ran toward a shrub, closer to the front of the house, then from there dodged to another, keeping low so that no one could see me. I recognized all four coaches as belonging to each of the committee members. They stood as one, arranged in a wall near the front steps, with Lincoln before them. Gus held the bridle of Lincoln's horse, while Seth stood in the open doorway. None of the visitors or Lincoln seemed inclined to enter.

"…bloody stupid," I head Gillingham say. He smacked the end of his walking stick against his booted foot to emphasize his point.

I strained to hear the snatches of conversation. I had a dreadful feeling that I knew what it was about.

"Where is the witch now?" Lord Marchbank asked, confirming my suspicion.

"I don't know," Lincoln said. "But I'll find her, and Charlie will send her back."

"How?" Gillingham sneered. "She couldn't control her then, why would she be able to control her now?"

I couldn't hear Lincoln's response, because General Eastbrooke spoke over the top of him. "I knew something like this would happen. We should have sent her away months ago."

"We couldn't have known," Lady Harcourt said. "The chances of someone being a witch are small, and the chances that the one spirit we need is a witch are even smaller."

"Need?" Gillingham echoed. "Julia, there was no
need
to raise that witch's spirit yet. The stupid girl took it upon herself to do something highly dangerous—"

"She didn't take it upon herself," Lincoln cut in. "I ordered her to raise the spirit of Estelle Pearson."

I gasped. Lincoln was taking the blame? It was one thing to defend my actions but quite another to let them think it was all his idea.

"Why are you all here?" he went on in the ensuing, stunned silence. "I have work to do. Go inside and have tea, if you wish. I won't be joining you." He took the horse's reins and led it around to the stables.

I watched him go, too stunned to move or think straight.

Gillingham's shouted words roused me. "This just proves that she is a weapon that can be used with the intent of doing good, only to have it backfire."

Lincoln didn't stop. The other three committee members piled into their coaches, leaving Gillingham alone, still shouting at the now empty space where Lincoln had been.

"She's dangerous! She shouldn't be allowed to roam free, even under your guidance!"

"Enough, Gilly," Lord Marchbank said through his lowered window. "Today is not the day."

"Agreed," said the general, also poking his head out the window. "We've confirmed what we needed to know, for now. Returning the spirit must be his priority. We'll tackle the matter of the girl another time, when he's not so busy. I'm only sorry we all made this journey for nothing." He ordered his coachman to drive on, and the carriage rolled away, following Lady Harcourt's.

Marchbank left next, and finally Gillingham climbed into his coach and thumped on the cabin ceiling with his walking stick.

I watched them leave with a heavy heart. I should have owned up to my actions. I should have told them I'd operated without Lincoln's consent; indeed, I had gone against his express order. It wasn't fair for him to take the blame when he didn't deserve it.

Why had I been so cowardly and stayed hidden?

I would fix this, as I would fix the problem of Estelle Pearson. Somehow.

But how? I needed to think, but I didn't want to return to the house. I walked away from it, toward the orchard, and climbed an apple tree. The fruit had all been picked, and only a few valiant rust-colored leaves clung to twigs. I went as high as I could go, lodging my good foot between the V of two joining branches and resting my injured foot lightly. The bark was damp, and I didn't want to get my only dry maid's uniform dirty, so I didn't sit or lean like I wanted to, but just stood, like a sailor clinging to a mast, searching the horizon.

I saw Lincoln approaching well before he reached me, but I didn't descend from my perch until he stopped at my tree.

"You can come down now," he said. "They're gone."

"I'm not up here to avoid the committee."

"Then why are you up there?"

"I…" I wasn't sure, to be honest. I'd just known that I needed to get away and be alone. Sometimes living in a vast house with only four other people seemed more crowded than a small basement hovel with a dozen boys all crammed in together. "I needed some fresh air."

"In a tree?"

I jumped from the lowest branch to the ground, landing so lightly on my feet that my injured foot didn't hurt at all. I used to climb a lot when I pretended to be a boy, but rarely trees. Mostly over fences or low walls and through windows.