Page 70 of Beyond the Grave
Marguerite tucked her feet underneath the sofa and wrung her hands together. She did not meet her husband's gaze, even though he didn't stop looking at her.
"Do you remember the seer's name?" Lincoln asked.
"Leah, Lill, something foreign. Do you think that's where he went?"
"It's possible."
"I don't know if this supernatural business is real or not, nor do I want to know. If I can't see it or touch it, then I want no part of it."
"How fortunate that your father gave me the responsibility of being on the committee then," Julia said with a smile that didn't disguise the sting in her tone.
"You'll get no argument from me, but you might from Andrew. He seemed put out that he wasn't even informed." Harcourt slapped his hands down on the arms of his chair and pushed himself to his feet. "Christ, I need a drink."
Lincoln and I rose as Harcourt poured himself a glass of brandy at the sideboard, but Julia didn't let us leave immediately. Or rather, she didn't let Lincoln leave. She hung onto his arm. "We are all grateful that you're looking into Andrew's disappearance, Lincoln. You've done a marvelous job so far."
"Marvelous," Marguerite echoed as she tugged on the bell pull. "Do continue to keep us informed. We're most anxious to have Andrew return to the family bosom. Aren't we, Donald?"
"Of course," Harcourt muttered, lifting the glass to his lips. "I just wish it required less turning over of old stones."
"The stones have only been turned over in private," Julia assured him. "Mr. Fitzroy is a gentleman and won't reveal anything told to him in confidence."
"And her?" Harcourt pointed his glass at me. I felt like he was poking me in the shoulder in the hopes of picking a fight.
"Miss Holloway can be trusted to keep silent," Lincoln said.
Harcourt's top lip curled. "We all know what gossips the servants can be."
Millard, who'd entered at that moment, stiffened, which was quite a feat since he was already rigid. Julia finally relinquished her grasp on Lincoln's arm and Millard showed us to the front door.
Outside, Seth lounged on the driver's seat while Gus leaned back against coach, one foot resting on the step behind him. He came to attention when we joined him, and opened the door.
"You're supposed to give her your hand, you Philistine," Seth said, from the edge of the driver's seat.
Gus rolled his eyes and I smiled back. "I can manage," I assured him.
He held out his hand anyway. "What's a Philistine?" he whispered as I stepped past him.
"I don't know," I whispered back. "Handsome cove?"
He grinned a somewhat sinister grin thanks to his broken teeth, but the humor dancing in his eyes softened it considerably.
"I'm sorry I wasn't much help in there," I said to Lincoln as the coach rolled away. "I was probably more of a hindrance."
"They'll grow used to you."
I pulled a face. "I hope not, only because I wish never to see the Harcourts again once Buchanan is found. Except the dowager, of course. I can't avoid her."
"I'll shield you from the committee members as much as possible."
"Thank you, but I don't wish to be shielded. If I am to work with you—"
"Forme."
"If I am, then I must be prepared to face them, from time to time, across cups of tea."
"They will come to accept you. I'll see to it."
I didn't know how. Centuries of tradition and prejudice couldn't be wiped out with a few choice words, even if those words were spoken by someone who was not easily trifled with.
