Page 66 of Beyond the Grave
"Lincoln didn't mean it like that, Marguerite." Julia gave Lincoln a withering glare.
He ignored them both. "It seems that Buchanan did go to Emberly that day, after all." I eyed him carefully, but if I'd not known he was stretching the truth to test her, I wouldn't have guessed. "He was seen in the grounds."
"He was not!" She flattened her hands over her lap, stretching her fingers. "He couldn't have been, since he wasn't there."
"Mr. Edgecombe saw him from his window."
"John! B-but you cannot believe everything he tells you. H-he's…not quite right in the head. Ever since the accident…" She put out a hand to her mother-in-law.
After a long moment, Julia took it. "He was in a riding accident, a year or so ago," she said. "He changed after that. He drinks heavily, for one thing. Are you sure he wasn't mistaken?"
"He must be," Marguerite blurted. She shot another longing glance at the door.
"It's difficult to say," Lincoln said.
"Did the servants see him?" Julia asked.
"No, but they were lying."
"How do you know?"
Lincoln's gaze slid to her. She pressed her lips together.
Marguerite looked as if she would burst into tears at any moment. She continued to glance at the door, but I began to wonder if it was because it was her only escape route and not because she hoped her husband would walk in and rescue her.
"Mr. Edgecombe told me that Mr. Buchanan fought with a man in the family graveyard on the rise," I said. "Near the mausoleum."
Marguerite's face drained of color. Her hands shook. Julia frowned. "Is it necessary to bring up old wounds?"
"We believe the baby is integral to this investigation," Lincoln told her.
She scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. How can that be?"
"Marguerite, may we speak with you alone?"
Julia's back straightened. "Are you throwing me out of my own drawing room?"
Lincoln's glare at Marguerite didn't waver. I wanted to warn him to scale back his sternness, for the sake of her nerves, but I couldn't catch his attention.
"Perhaps you could fetch tea for Lady Harcourt," I said to Julia. "She might need it."
Julia went rigid. "I do notfetchanything, Charlie. That is what Millard is for."
"My apologies," I mumbled as my face heated. "I just thought she might like some privacy."
"Oh, for goodness' sake, she might as well stay now." Marguerite dabbed at her eyes with her pinky finger. "Everyone else seems to know, even the maid. Hector was full-term," she told Julia. "He lived only a day then died in my arms."
Julia patted her hand. "Oh, my dear. I am sorry. But it happened over five years ago."
"Can I not still mourn him?" Marguerite spat. "It may not be the done thing in your circles, Julia, but he was myson." Despite her dabbing, a tear escaped. Lincoln handed her his handkerchief.
"That isn't what I meant," Julia said quietly. "Of course you still mourn him." She appealed to Lincoln.
"Marguerite, I'm sorry to have to ask you this," he said. "It's a delicate matter regarding the baby's father."
Julia retracted her hand as if it had been slapped away. She stared at Marguerite, who'd gone very still. Even her tears had stopped.
"Is it Andrew Buchanan?"
