Page 25 of Beyond the Grave
Lincoln considered it for a moment then shook his head. "It's too dangerous."
"How is it dangerous? I can control her spirit and will do so from the outset. As long as nobody alive sees, my secret will remain just that."
"We know nothing about her." Lincoln accepted a cup of tea that Seth handed him. "She could be dangerous."
"But if I control her—"
"No."
"But, sir—"
"No, Charlie, and that's the end of it." He removed himself from the kitchen with his tea.
"You're being unreasonable!" I called after him.
He didn't answer; nor had I expected him to.
"Careful, Charlie," Seth warned. "Push him too far and he's likely to snap back like a rubber band."
Gus snorted and returned to the chair. "More like the kick from a canon."
I sliced open another pea pod and spilled its innards onto the mountain of peas in the bowl. "Heisbeing unreasonable. I have the means with which to help his investigation, and he's refusing it. I don't understand why. Have I not proven myself useful in the past?"
"Have you not been kidnapped and nearly killed?"
I threw an empty pod at Gus. It bounced off his forehead and landed in his lap. He lobbed it and whooped when it landed in the pail.
Seth joined me at the table and pulled the bowl of peas between us. "He allowed you to go to The Alhambra."
"Only because he thought it would be harmless, not to mention somewhat irrelevant to the investigation. He admitted he was simply trying to appease me."
"I agree wiv Charlie," Cook said with a shrug. "Ain't no reason that I can see for her not to use the gift God gave her."
I wasn't entirely sure my necromancy could be called a gift, let alone a God-given one. It seemed rather more devilish than divine and more of a curse than a skill. But it was what it was, and it was as much a part of me as my blue eyes and short stature.
Neither Seth nor Gus spoke again, which was as good as saying that they agreed with Cook but didn't want to say so out loud. They were more afraid of Lincoln, perhaps because they'd seen him kill whereas Cook had only heard about the killings second-hand. Their silent approval was all I needed to make up my mind. I would raise the spirit of Estelle Pearson tonight.
Raisingspirits that had passed over to the other side was something I'd done quite a few times, but it still sent a chill down my spine. Not all spirits were happy to be wrenched from their afterlife, and not all were friendly. While I could control a spirit, if necessary, it eased my conscience somewhat if they didn't need controlling.
I lit as many candles as I could sneak into my small sitting room and positioned them on tables, mantelpiece, and even the floor. The flickering candlelight made the walls and furniture seem as if they were alive, dancing to a rhythm I couldn't hear. I sat in the comfortable armchair and drew in several deep breaths to steady my nerves.
"Estelle Mary Pearson, please come to me here in this world. The spirit of Estelle Mary Pearson, do you hear me?"
A breeze blew out the candles on the mantel and teased my hair. The ribbons of smoke merged with a pale wisp plunging from the ceiling. It streaked toward me. I ducked but wasn't fast enough. The spirit of Estelle Pearson went straight through me and came to a hovering stop near the door.
"My goodness," she said, pressing a ghostly hand to her chest. Her wide eyes took in her surroundings then settled on me. "Is this…am I…?"
"You are in Lichfield Towers, Hampstead Heath, and it's some five months after your death. You're here in spirit form, Mrs. Pearson."
"It'sMissPearson." She spoke as a matter of course, as if it were commonplace to correct people. Considering she appeared to be in her forties or fifties, it was a mistake easily made. I couldn't pinpoint her age more precisely than that. Although the misty appearance of a spirit formed the person's likeness upon death, it was rather like looking at a sketch. There were no colors, making the eyes in particular seem flat. The principle of eyes being windows to the soul didn't apply.
"And you are?" Her tone was crisp but not unkind.
"Charlotte Holloway. I'm a necromancer. That's someone who can raise the dead."
"Clearly." She indicated herself, dressed in her nurse's uniform of white pinafore over a black dress. She wore a cap that hung half off her head, clinging to the wisps of hair by a single ghostly pin, and a long, heavy-looking chatelaine hung from her waist. "Why have you summoned me, Miss Holloway?"
She seemed quite unfazed by the situation, thankfully. A panicked spirit could make my task more difficult. I supposed being a midwife in a lying-in hospital required an unflappable constitution.
