Page 2 of Beyond the Grave
"I wasn't referring to Dr. MacDonnell," Seth muttered.
"Then who be a turd?" Cook's face was blotchy and his bald head shiny from the heat given off by the range. His bandaged hand held a spoon near his nose. A thick dollop of creamy liquid slipped off and plopped back into the pot on the stove top.
"Fitzroy," Seth said.
Three sets of sympathetic eyes turned my way. I pretended not to notice as I directed Seth to deposit my sewing basket beside the chair in the corner, but my face flamed nevertheless. So much for discretion. I'd tried to keep my feelings for Lincoln a secret from them, but clearly I'd failed. I suspected they even knew about the kiss.
I half expected Lincoln to walk into the kitchen at that moment. His ability to know when people were talking about him was more than uncanny, it was a supernatural talent, most likely inherited from his mother. But he did not come. Not this time. I was being thoroughly and unequivocally avoided.
"Can I do something?" I asked, surveying the arrangement of cups, saucers and small plates and cake forks. "Pass me that other tray."
Gus refused. "Go sit down, Charlie. We don't need help."
"An extra pair of hands can't hurt." I leaned the crutches against the table and reached for the tray only to snatch my hand back when Gus slapped it.
"Sit. Down."
Before I could voice my indignation, Seth scooped me up and flung me over his shoulder. "Seth!" I cried. "Put me down! I am not a sack of pumpkins."
"Oi! Put her down! She ain't one o' your hussies." Gus sounded quite horrified, bless him.
Seth merely chuckled. "If she behaves like an obstinate woman, she gets treated like one."
"It's no wonder you're unmarried with that caveman attitude," I said, wriggling to make it difficult for him to hold me.
But he was much too strong for my pathetic attempts and didn't even grunt when I kicked him. "That, dear Charlie, is not why I'm unmarried."
"Don't be so sure." I thumped him in the back where I hoped his kidneys were.
He arched his back and swore loudly. "That bloody hurt!"
"Good."
"Put her down." Lincoln! I couldn't see him from my position facing Seth's lower back, but his sharp order sliced through me nevertheless. I could feel Seth's shoulder tense too as he swung round to the door, almost knocking my head against the sideboard.
"Sir! I was just, er, assisting Charlie to a seat." He deposited me on the chair and sidled sheepishly back to the table, avoiding Lincoln's glare.
A glare that he turned on me. It was the first time he'd looked at me directly since the kiss, and there was nothing in his eyes that I'd hoped to see there. No joy or humor, no longing or desire. Just a blackness so dark that it swallowed all the light.
"It was a little bit of harmless fun," I said.
Poor Seth's gulp was audible from where I sat. He shook his head slightly, warning me not to stoke Lincoln's temper.
"Have fun on your days off." He thrust his chin toward my foot. "I came to see how you were."
I was about to give him the standard polite answer when I decided to tell the truth. "Miserable. Thank you for asking."
My honesty seemed to confound him. The silence felt as if it stretched forever before he tucked his hands behind his back. Then he simply gave a nod and turned away. "Seth, the door. They're here."
With a sigh, I picked up my sewing. Seth filed past Lincoln just as the front door knocker announced the first visitor. Lincoln cast me a brief, indecipherable look before he followed.
I spent the next hour watching Seth and Gus come and go to serve our master and his guests. Mostly Gus, as Seth remained in the library for much of the meeting's duration. Unlike Gus, Seth was considered a gentleman, albeit one whose circumstances had been considerably reduced. His presence among the esteemed members of the Ministry of Curiosities committee was tolerated. Gus's was not. Nor mine, for that matter. Not only was I a gutter snipe turned housemaid, I was also a necromancer. The latter meant I couldn't be trusted with their secrets. Little did they know that Seth would tell me everything anyway. Once, I'd thought Lincoln would keep me informed, but I was no longer certain of that.
"Well?" I asked Gus upon his return with the empty tray. "What are they saying?"
"Nothin' in partic'lar. Lady H is tellin' 'em how Buchanan can barely wipe his own arse, let alone take care of himself if he got mixed up in somethin' supernatural."
Cook snorted a laugh. "I'd like to hear her say 'arse.'"
