Page 20 of Grave Expectations
"Stop it, both of you," Lady Harcourt hissed. "Of course he should be allowed to get away, from time to time. As long as it's not in the middle of an investigation, or for long, what's the harm in it?"
"What's the harm?" Gillingham echoed in a high-pitched voice. "Julia, in light of what's happened in his absence—"
"What happened?" Lincoln snapped.
"Two supernaturals are dead."
"Murdered," Lord Marchbank added.
I gasped. "How?"
"You don't ask the questions," Gillingham sneered.
"Both shot." Marchbank was the least talkative of the lot, but when he did speak, his words had far more impact than anyone else's. "It appears the killer was the same man."
"Or woman," Lady H added. Why did she look at me when she said it?
"How do you know they were supernaturals?" Lincoln asked.
"They had files in our archives."
"You've memorized the names on file?" Disbelief edged the blandness.
She stiffened. "I looked through them during the investigation into my stepson's disappearance in the hope a name from my late husband's journal would match one on file. I remembered Reginald Drinkwater, since it's an unusual name. When his death was reported in the papers, I checked the address and it turned out to be the same one in our files. The second victim, Joan Brumley, died in the exact same way as Drinkwater, and it was the newspapers that linked the two deaths as having been committed by the same killer. If it weren't for that, we would never have realized she was a supernatural too."
"What was Drinkwater's magical ability?" Lincoln asked.
"It's listed as levitation, but we now believe it was something more."
"According to the police and the papers, Drinkwater was a scientist," Eastbrooke said, folding his hands over his considerable girth. "He was involved in the area of mechanics. Specifically, mechanical limbs for people who've lost them through accident or birth defect."
Another scientist in the medical field. My stomach rolled.
"His devices were very good, apparently," Lady Harcourt said. "They worked well, but only while Drinkwater was in the room. Based on that information, we think he was using his magic to make the mechanical limbs work like real ones, seemingly of their own volition."
"The man was a charlatan," Gillingham said. "The limbs never could have operated without him present. They needed his magic."
"Indeed." Eastbrooke nodded. "Very devious practice, if you ask me."
"He hadn't sold any," Marchbank pointed out.
"I'm sure he would have, if he hadn't died first."
"Perhaps that was why he was killed," I said. "Perhaps one of the trial patients found out that the limb didn't really work and was so angry that he killed Drinkwater."
"Your opinion was not sought, Charlotte," Eastbrooke intoned. "If Lincoln insists that you're an assistant now, and not a maid, then make yourself useful and fetch the tea or take notes instead of espousing on things you know nothing about."
Lincoln's cool fingers skimmed the hot skin at the back of my neck. "You'll refrain from speaking to Charlie in such a manner in this house."
Eastbrooke spluttered a protest, but the rest was cut off by Gus and Seth's arrival with trays.
"The second victim, Joan Brumley, was an historian whose opinions were often controversial," Marchbank went on, setting his teacup aside.
"Why?" Lincoln asked.
"She claimed to have spoken with the spirits of historical figures in person."
"Bloody hell," Gus muttered, earning a glare from all four committee members. He went back to serving tea then sank into the shadows near the door.
