Page 92 of Beyond the Grave
"Thank you," I said. "We are sorry about all this, but it can't be helped." I hadn't finished talking when Lincoln took my arm and steered me out of the dormitory.
Seth picked up the lantern that he'd left in the corridor, and Lincoln locked the door. McIlroy was already at the top of the staircase with Buchanan by the time we caught up to him.
We raced down the stairs to the front door, then across the wide lawn to the fence. Gus spotted us and swore under his breath when he saw McIlroy. "Another dead man?"
Lincoln climbed the fence first, but did not descend on the other side. He balanced on the cross bar, his feet placed in the narrow spaces between. "Seth, the other side."
Seth handed me the lantern and climbed over. He dropped to the pavement and waited.
Lincoln directed McIlroy to pass Buchanan up to him as gently as possible. While McIlroy wasn't a large man, he was strong in his dead form and managed it easily. Buchanan suffered only one bump to his dangling foot and his nightshirt rode up as Lincoln handed him down to Seth, revealing masculine parts no innocent girl should see. I wasn't shocked.
"Link your fingers for me, please, Mr. McIlroy," I said. He did and lifted me up so that it was easy for Lincoln to assist me over the top. "Thank you, but I managed earlier," I told him.
"I'm sure you did, but allow me this…moment."
I blinked at him in surprise. He sounded far more amused than the situation warranted, but it was too dark to see his expression to know for sure. I dropped silently to the pavement as Seth bundled Buchanan onto one of the bench seats in the coach.
"Mr. McIlroy, this is where we must part," I said through the fence bars. "Thank you for your assistance. I'm going to send you back now."
"What about my body?"
"They'll find it here in the morning and dispatch it for burial as planned."
"Won't they think it odd that I'm not in the basement?"
"Most likely."
He grinned. "That'll scare the stuffing out of them. Go ahead then, Miss Holloway." He settled his feet a little apart and thrust out his chin. "I'm ready."
"Return to your afterlife, Gerald Mason McIlroy. You are released."
A white smoky haze filtered out of the body and formed the man's shape as the body itself crumpled. The spirit looked at it, looked at me, and grinned again. He gave a childish wave then disappeared.
Lincoln and I were about to step into the cabin when a bell clanged in the distance. A square of light emerged at the hospital entrance then another, both bobbing and swinging. Whoever held the lanterns moved fast in our direction.
Lincoln leaped onto the driver's seat. "Charlie, get in! And hold on."
I had hardly closed the door when the coach lurched forward. I braced myself with one hand on the seat and the other on the wall, but had to let go to stop Buchanan from rolling off. He groaned but did not wake.
We traveled at a ferocious speed, taking corners with reckless abandon. I had a devil of a time keeping myself from sliding around, let alone Buchanan. At the first corner, I held him back with a foot against his chest, but his legs slid off the seat. At the next corner, a sharp left, I smashed into the wall and needed both my feet and arms to steady myself. Buchanan fell of the seat altogether and landed in a heap on the floor. He snored loudly.
After that, I gave up trying to keep him in place. There was nowhere for my feet on the floor, so I stretched out along the seat, bracing myself against each side of the cabin. I winced as we turned another corner and Buchanan's head smacked into the door. He would have a headache in the morning. I found I wasn't altogether displeased about that.
We reached Lichfield in half the time it took to get to Bedlam. I was contemplating where to place my feet when the door opened, and Lincoln stood there. He looked like a wild bear with his wind-blown hair sticking out at all angles.
"I hope your journey was comfortable," he said with a gleam in his eyes so bright that even the wan moonlight picked it out.
"Thank you, yes. Although I'm not sure my traveling companion would agree." We both looked to the crumpled form of Buchanan, his body twisted into the narrow space on the cabin floor.
Lincoln lowered the step and held out his hand to me. "Seth, bring Buchanan."
Seth appeared behind him, his face as pale as the moon and his hair also disheveled. I suspected he didn't enjoy riding postilion when Lincoln drove like that. Gus opened the coach lamp shutters with a shaking hand.
"Should of done that before we took off," he muttered. "Remind me next time you decide to drive at night, sir. It might help my innards stay put if I can see, instead of leaping up and down."
"Or it might make you toss your dinner if you seehowfast we're going," Seth said.
He carried Buchanan through the back door while Gus drove the horses at a more sedate pace to the coach house. Their necks gleamed with sweat and their nostrils flared with each snorting breath.
