Page 46 of Beyond the Grave
"You're right, the room shouldn't go to waste," Lincoln said. "We'll dine in here all together."
All of us, including Cook, sat at the long mahogany table and feasted on the oyster and shrimp appetizers, followed by a sorbet to clean our palettes. I'd never heard of sorbet before coming to live at Lichfield, but the lemon flavored dish had quickly become a favorite. With palettes suitably refreshed, we helped ourselves to the roasted sirloin and chicken, with sides of lobster salad and vegetables. I wished I'd saved room for dessert when Cook and Gus brought in the apple pie, sweet cakes, frozen creams and cheeses.
"There'd better be some left for me tomorrow," I said, watching Gus shove an entire cake into his mouth.
"There is enough food left over in that kitchen to feed half of London," Seth told me. "You won't miss out."
"So, what'll we do next?" Gus asked. "About Buchanan, I mean. Don't know as we're any closer to findin' him than before."
Lincoln had told Gus and Cook of our confrontation with the Harcourts as we ate, but he had gone quiet since then. Perhaps he was contemplating exactly the same thing as Gus.
"I think Harcourt is correct," Seth said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "His brother's disappearance is most likely due to his sudden interest in the supernatural, not the baby. We don't even know if he learned anything about Estelle Pearson and her visit to Emberly Park. It's not like he could summon her spirit and ask her."
Gus stretched his legs out under the table and leaned back, his hands clasped over his stomach. "I agree. He prob'ly read about the ministry in his father's journal, then found all them other books and charms. That got him more interested and he dabbled with forces he don't understand then disappeared." He belched. "Gawd, me stomach hurts."
Seth pulled a face. "You're a pig."
"You ate just as much as me."
"But you don't see me making disgusting noises at the dinner table."
"Disappeared how?" I asked before they could come to blows. "And where?"
"If we knew that, we wouldn't be sittin' hear stuffin' our faces."
"Mr. Fitzroy?" I prompted. "What are you thinking?"
"That if I were Buchanan, and had found some references in my father's journal that piqued my curiosity, I would try to find out more from someone with a better knowledge of him than me."
"His wife," I suggested.
"Or brother," Seth said.
"Neither mentioned speaking to him about the ministry."
Lincoln shook his head. "I meant he would sneak into their rooms and search while they weren't there, or intercept mail, question servants, that sort of thing."
"Or he could have just asked them directly," I said.
His left eyebrow kicked up. "We don't know if Buchanan would behave more like you or me, or a combination of both."
"How do we find out?"
"I'll question them in the morning."
"If they will speak with you now. You're unlikely to be on their list of favorite people."
The dowager Lady Harcourtsaved Lincoln the trouble of visiting her when she called at Lichfield the following morning. Dressed in full black again, her hair pulled back severely beneath her small hat, and her face pinched, she reminded me of a raven about to swoop on an unsuspecting mouse.
But Lincoln was no mouse. He met her at the door and invited her into the parlor, where I'd just finished cleaning out the fireplace. She greeted me with a curt nod, but no smile, and waited for me to leave. I did, but I hovered on the other side of the door, out of sight. Lincoln wouldn't mind if I eavesdropped, surely. Not after allowing it the previous night. Anyway, if he wanted privacy, he ought to walk with her in the garden.
"What got into you last night?" she asked, her voice pitched somewhere between incredulous and curious. "Donald and Marguerite told me you posed some very impertinent questions, and now they think you vulgar. You must call upon them and apologize immediately."
"I was merely trying to ascertain the whereabouts of Buchanan."
"Andrew's disappearance has nothing to do with Donald or Marguerite!"
"How do you know?"
