Page 73 of Beyond the Grave
The wagon wasn't a simple farmer's cart that had been covered over. It was a home with a table, a small faded blue sofa and two chests bearing the same pattern as the outside of the wagon. A large crimson curtain hid the far end from prying eyes, and a thin gray-green carpet deadened our footsteps. Throws and tasseled cushions in jewel colors covered the sofa and chairs, and several charms hung from the ceiling so that Lincoln had to duck. Both of the Harcourt ladies would have a fit at the mish-mash of colors, although Marguerite might like that the interior had a cluttered, close feel to it.
Lela indicated we should find somewhere to sit. The man who'd followed us remained near the door, his arms crossed and his feet a little apart. Her bodyguard, I suspected.
Lincoln spoke again in the foreign language and Lela glanced at me.
"I try," she responded in a heavy accent, and I realized he'd asked if she could speak English for my benefit.
I smiled. "Thank you."
She did not smile back but instead turned her focus toward Lincoln. She studied him closely and even reached over and fingered his hair. The web of wrinkles bracketing her sunken mouth drew together. She nodded slowly and said something in her own tongue.
"Half Romany," Lincoln answered.
Lela glanced at me. "Her know?"
"Miss Holloway knows."
She nodded again, this time in what I guessed to be approval, but whether that was because she approved of him not keeping his heritage a secret, or because she approved of him being half gypsy, I couldn't tell.
"Your friend?" Lela asked. "His name?"
"Andrew Buchanan." Lincoln described him, right down to his snobbery and dissoluteness.
Lela shook her head. "He not come to me." She arched thin, patchy brows at the man standing by the door, but he shook his head too.
Lincoln thanked her and stood, knocking one of the multi-faceted pendants hanging above his head. "Charlie," he said when I didn't move.
"Miss Lela," I said, "are you a real seer?"
"Some say yes, some say no." She shrugged.
"What doyousay?"
She broke into a grin that revealed more gum than teeth. "I say I know things you do not."
"Like what?"
"Charlie," Lincoln warned.
"Like he is son of great man."
Lincoln went very still, but he did not show surprise, only apprehension.
"How great?" I asked.
Lela shrugged. "I cannot see through shadows. So many shadows. But you…" She suddenly grabbed my hand, causing Lincoln to step forward, a move that in turn made the bodyguard shift closer. "You have no shadow. You clear, bright." She let me go and traced my outline from my head to my waist without touching me directly. "You chase bad shadows away."
Lincoln grabbed my elbow and hauled me to my feet. A glare at the bodyguard caused him to step aside.
"Er, thank you, Lela," I tossed back as Lincoln directed me down the wagon steps ahead of him, not altogether gently.
She said something in her own tongue that had Lincoln's hold tightening on my elbow as he marched me through the camp. Lela's chuckle followed us on the breeze.
"What did she say?" I asked, repeating her words as best as I could.
His hard gaze didn't waver from the coach, up ahead, where Seth and Gus were surrounded by gypsy men. "Nothing."
"It wasn't nothing. She thought it was amusing, but you did not."
