Page 44 of Beyond the Grave
I remained in the dining room to listen in, as planned. I wasn't sure how Lincoln would approach such a delicate matter with his guests—a matter that was absolutely inappropriate for the dinner table—however, my curiosity was answered when he simply stated: "There has been a development in the search for your brother, Harcourt."
Lady Harcourt swallowed her mouthful of soup too fast and coughed delicately into her hand. "Have you found him?"
"Not yet."
Her face fell. "Oh."
"Don't fret, my dear." Her husband lifted his hand as if he would reach across the table to take hers, but the distance was too great and he let it drop to the white damask table cloth. "What's the nature of this development, Fitzroy?"
"It is a matter of some delicacy." With only the briefest pause to allow his guests time to digest that news, yet not allow them to avoid discussion, Lincoln added, "Do you recall me asking you about the woman known as Estelle Pearson?"
Lady Harcourt paled. She set her spoon down, her soup unfinished. I drew a little closer in case she fainted again. It would be messy if she ended up face-down in her soup.
"What about her?" Lord Harcourt snapped.
"We learned that she worked as a midwife at the Queen Charlotte Hospital for Lying-In." His use of "we" warmed my heart. He was no longer thinking of himself as the sole person within the ministry, something that he used to do even with Seth and Gus as his only employees. He was now talking as if we were a team. "We were able to ascertain that she delivered you of a baby boy, Marguerite, five years ago."
A kittenish mewl came from Lady Harcourt's throat. She pressed her fingers to her lips and appealed to her husband.
"Don't fret, my dear," he said again, more gently. "I will deal with this." He turned to Lincoln, and his face darkened. He looked as if he would leap out of his chair and attempt to thrash his host. "What is the meaning of this?"
Lincoln remained calm, seemingly unperturbed that he'd offended his guests. "Only that we wish to find Buchanan, and Miss Pearson's name was of possible interest to him. We want to know why."
"Miss Pearson and her visit to Emberly Park have nothing to do with my brother! Do you understand me? This is outrageous."
"Donald, please." Lady Harcourt whimpered into her napkin, instantly silencing her husband. He sat back in his chair and regarded his wife with sad, troubled eyes. "If answering Lincoln's questions will help him locate Andrew, then we must answer them."
"But my dear," he said with what appeared to be considerable effort. "It clearly upsets you."
"I'm stronger than I look."
I admired her fortitude. I filled up her wine glass and offered her a sympathetic smile. She wasn't looking at me, however, and didn't notice.
To Lincoln, she said, "What precisely did Miss Pearson tell you?"
"Estelle Pearson is dead." She gasped, but he spoke over the top of it. "It was a close relative who informed us of her association with you."
"But she promised not to tell a soul!" Lady Harcourt wailed. "Howcouldshe?"
Lord Harcourt finally got up and went to his wife. I took the opportunity to nudge Lincoln in the shoulder and urge him with a nod. It was important to strike before they decided to leave. Lady Harcourt might be keen to help, but if her husband got his way, they would walk out before the main course arrived.
"Your secret is safe," he assured her. "We know your baby was full-term, Marguerite, and that he only lived another day after his birth."
Lord Harcourt took his wife's limp hand in his own and patted it. "That's enough, Fitzroy," he growled. "No more questions. Can you not see my wife is distressed?"
But Lady Harcourt no longer looked distressed. She fixed her watery yet defiant gaze on Lincoln and said, "Hector. That's the name we gave him."
I opened my mouth to tell her it was a lovely name, but shut it again. She didn't want sympathy from me. Any kind of acknowledgement from a servant would only embarrass her, so I kept quiet and pretended I wasn't listening. I hoped Lincoln would say something kind to her, but he didn't.
"I believe Lord Harcourt, your father, somehow learned the baby was full-term, not premature. He went to Estelle Pearson to find out the truth and she confirmed it."
"Howcouldshe," Marguerite said again, the words tearing from lips twisted with bitterness. "I trusted her. She came highly recommended."
"Did he confront you?" Lincoln asked them.
"That's none of your bloody business," Lord Harcourt ground out.
"If you want your brother found, it is."
