Page 30 of Beyond the Grave
"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 Ilikedher. 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.
IheardLincoln 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 noneedto 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.
