Page 45 of Beyond the Grave
"Yes, he confronted us," Marguerite blurted. She winced as her husband's hand tightened on her shoulder. "We told him Hector was full-term but sickly, and he hadn't lived long. That was the end of that. He never mentioned it again." She accepted her husband's handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. "Do you think that will be of use in finding Andrew?"
"Everything is of use."
Lord Harcourt grunted. "It's more likely his disappearance has something to do with this damned supernatural order Father belonged to."
I froze.
"What order?" Lincoln said, none too smoothly. From Lord Harcourt's smug face, I thought it too late to pretend innocence anyway.
"Don't play the fool, Fitzroy. I know you're very far from it. Father mentioned it to me, years ago, when I was still at university. He didn't tell me much, but I was led to believe I would inherit some important position upon his death. Clearly that didn't happen, and I forgot about it until my stepmother told me there were books about the occult found in Andrew's rooms."
"She mentioned that," Lincoln said flatly.
"She did. It prompted my memory so I asked her about it. She told me what the order—ministry—does and thatsheinherited Father's position." The baron shook his head and muttered, "Old fool."
"I don't understand." Marguerite had gone pale again, her lips as bloodless as any corpse. "What is this ministry? Is it dangerous?"
Lord Harcourt gathered her hand in both of his and bent to her level. "Don't fret, my dear," he said gently. "It's nothing for you to worry about. Andrew will turn up. He always does. You know what he's like."
She bit her lip and nodded down at the cold bowl of soup. "Yes, of course. You're right, Donald. You always are."
His wife's faith seemed to inflate him a little. He angled his chin at Lincoln. "If I were looking for a reason behind Andrew's disappearance, then I would change direction and leave my wife out of it. I don't care a whit for this ministry of yours, nor do I care that I was overlooked for a position in favor of my stepmother. However, it is the sort of thing that would annoy Andrew. God knows, he has enough reasons to resent our father, and this just adds to the pile."
I wondered if he was referring to Andrew having his sweetheart stolen by his father, or whether he merely meant having his inheritance—Harcourt House in Mayfair—bequeathed to Julia instead.
"Now, if you'll excuse us, my wife has a headache. She's in no fit state to continue with dinner." He pulled out Marguerite's chair as she rose then escorted her to the door, where he paused and raised his eyebrows at me.
It took me a moment to remember that it was my duty to fetch their cloaks. I passed Seth near the door, carrying a tray of oysters and shrimp. "Take that back to the kitchen," I whispered. "Inform the Harcourts' coachman to bring the carriage around."
He shot a glance over my head then departed without a word.
"Your footman looks familiar," Lord Harcourt said, as I handed him his cloak.
"He's not my footman," Lincoln said. "He's my assistant. Lichfield Towers is short-staffed, and he sometimes performs other duties."
I helped Lady Harcourt on with her cloak and bobbed a curtsy. She turned away and thanked Lincoln, apologizing for her delicate health. Her husband too, thanked Lincoln, and he accepted it. It was an odd dance of etiquette. After the tension in the dining room, I expected them to storm out without a word, but they were acting as if none of that had happened. Toffs were strange indeed.
The coach wheels crunched on the gravel, and I opened the door, bobbing another curtsy as they left. Lincoln walked them out and Seth, who'd traveled around on the coach from the stables, held the cabin door open and assisted Lady Harcourt up the step.
"Well that was the height of rudeness," Seth said, shutting the door after they'd gone. "Was it the soup?"
"Fitzroy's questions."
Seth's mouth formed an O.
"I can't blame them for walking out," I said. "I would have too, if confronted with such impertinence. Perhaps you should have waited until dessert."
The corners of Lincoln's eyes crinkled, almost as if he were smiling. "One course in their company was enough."
"It wasn't even an entire course! Nobody finished their soup."
He strode in the direction of the dining room. "As I said, that was enough."
"You really ought to master the art of small talk."
"And responding without actually listening," Seth added, following us. "It saves one from boredom. Just nod at key moments or utter general sentiments that could be applied to any topic. It's a trick I learned back when I had to endure dull parties peopled with dull debutantes searching for a husband."
"There will be even more food left now," I said, collecting the soup bowls. "Such a shame when Cook went to all that effort. And the dining room has never looked more magnificent." I'd spent more than an hour getting it just right, setting out the best silver and china, following Seth's instructions on which forks, spoons and knives went where. Folding the napkins had taken an age in itself, although I'd given up trying to make a swan and simply formed them into a peak. The lack of color in the autumn garden meant the center of the table wasn't as pretty as I'd have liked, but the pineapples Gus had brought back from the costermonger gave it an exotic flavor.
