Page 51 of Beyond the Grave
I breathed deeply again and watched a little bird take a bath in a shallow puddle by the side of the road. "One day I'm going to go to the seaside."
I thought he hadn't heard me, but then he suddenly spoke in a rush. "I'll take you."
I glanced at him over the driver's head, but he quickly looked away.
He nodded up ahead. "There's Emberly."
I followed his gaze to the large building situated on the rise, its soft gray stone wings stretching out like a dancer's slender arms. Beyond the iron gate, the driveway circled the lawn. No smoke rose from the dozens of chimney pots, and the curtains were drawn across the arched windows. No footman greeted us either. The house seemed empty.
Lincoln jumped down from the cart before it stopped completely and came to assist me, as if I were a lady. I needed to remember to act my part and not to fall into habits picked up from living with boys' gangs. While my accent had returned to the middle class one of my childhood, over the last two months, other habits weren't so easy to adopt, like walking with a small, neat step and keeping my hair tidy.
The cart driver drove away just as the front door to the house opened. A silver-haired man dressed in a tailcoat emerged. The thrust of his chin and clear, direct gaze gave him an air of authority, but it was undermined somewhat by the ruddiness of his cheeks and his heavy breathing. He must have run to the door.
"Good afternoon, sir," he intoned in the plummiest of toff accents. "May I offer you assistance?"
"I'm Lincoln Fitzroy, a friend of the dowager Lady Harcourt's, and this is my assistant, Miss Holloway. You are?"
"The butler, Yardley. I'm afraid Lord and Lady Harcourt are in London."
"We know. I dined with them last night. We're not here to see them, we're here to speak to you."
"Me?"
"And the other servants. We're looking for Andrew Buchanan."
"He's not here, sir." The poor man looked terribly confused, and Lincoln wasn't explaining himself at all well.
"Have you seen him recently?" he asked.
"Not for a year or more. He rarely comes to Emberly."
"Are you sure? It would have been a week ago."
"Quite sure, sir," Yardly said.
"May I question the other servants?"
The butler's jowls shook with indignation. "I'm afraid not, sir. Not without his lordship's permission."
"He's not here." The steeliness in Lincoln's voice was a sure sign that his frustration was rising. "Don't you have authority in his absence?"
"Y-yes, but—"
"I'm trying to locate his lordship's brother. Are you attempting to stop me?"
"No!"
I looped my arm through Lincoln's. "It'll only take a few moments, Mr. Yardly," I said quickly. "And then we'll be on our way. We do hate to trouble you at such a time, but this is very important and his lordship is most anxious to have his brother return to the family bosom. We simply want to ask the staff some questions. One of them may have seen him."
"I doubt it," he said, but he suggested we follow him anyway.
He ushered us into a spectacular drawing room, furnished with spindly chairs and sofas upholstered in pale blue, with paintings of country scenes on the walls. The white marble mantelpiece was the largest I'd seen, but it would have to be to warm such a vast space. There were ornaments everywhere, mostly vases of differing size and design. Lady Harcourt must collect them. Filling some with flowers would have given the room a little more interest, however. As it was, it felt like a museum rather than a home.
The butler opened the curtains and bright country sunshine flooded the room, burnishing the gilt frames. It helped give the room some life, but I still felt uncomfortable in it, like I didn't belong.
"We shut the place up when his lordship and ladyship are away," Yardly said. "Mr. Edgecombe doesn't mind."
"Mr. Edgecombe?" I echoed.
