Page 94 of Beyond the Grave
"You were gone an age!"
"No more than twenty minutes."
"Really? Is that all? Are you sure?"
His gaze narrowed further.
Seth finished his brandy then stood. "Right. I'm off to bed. Gus, you've got first watch on the tower room."
"Why me?"
"Because all you did was drive. I rode postilionandwent inside. It was exhausting. Good night." He strode out of the library despite Gus's grumble.
"Finish your brandy," Lincoln said to Gus. "You have work to do."
Gus drained his glass and set it on the table. "Right-o then. Good night, all."
"Fetch me when Buchanan wakes up."
"Yes, sir."
I toyed with my glass, suddenly feeling uncomfortable at being alone with Lincoln in the dimly lit library. It was silly. We'd been alone often before. Then again, those times usually ended badly, or awkwardly, or both.
"I'm going to bed," I said, gathering up Seth and Gus's empty glasses in one hand. "Thank you for allowing me to come along tonight. I know it went against your better judgment, but I hope I didn't disappoint you."
"Disappoint?" He sounded genuinely surprised. "I'm not disappointed. It's not your ability, or lack of it, that feeds my reluctance, Charlie. It's concern for your wellbeing."
"Oh."
He lowered his head to peer down into the glass. The dark curtain of his hair fell across his forehead and shielded his eyes. "And, occasionally, your impatience and rashness," he added quietly.
"Impatience? Rashness?" Why did he have to taint his praise by saying things like that? It would seem he wasn't going to break the cycle of our conversations ending badly just yet. "Are you referring to me coming inside to look for you?"
He held his hand up the way he did when he wanted to interrupt. But I had something to say and I was going to say it.
"For your information, McIlroy reported back that you were lying on the bed covered in blood. Perhaps I shouldn't have trusted the word of a childlike man, but I'm quite certain you would have reacted the same way if the situation was reversed and I had been inside instead of you. I think I acted appropriately and carefully at that point. Not only did I have Seth with me, but McIlroy too." I stamped my hand on my hip and arched my brows at him.
"Are you quite finished?"
I nodded.
"Good, because I want you to know that is precisely what I was about to tell you."
"Oh." I lowered my hand.
"If I'd heard you were lying in that bed, covered in blood, I would have attempted a rescue, and with considerably more force. So I have no right to be angry, just as I had no right to be mad at you for raising the spirit of Estelle Pearson."
"Oh," I repeated dully.
"And what's more…" He studied his glass again, then he drained the contents in a single gulp. "What's more…I liked that you were worried enough to attempt a rescue."
I sat heavily on the chair. I blinked at him, trying to determine what tone he'd used—hadhe used a particular tone?
"I am…unused to people worrying about me," he said to his glass. "It's…new and…feels odd."
"The general never worried about you? Or your tutors? The housekeeper?"
He shook his head. "Why would they?" Despite the angle of his head, I could just make out the grim set of his mouth, the firming of his jaw. "I believe gratitude is in order."
