Page 21 of Grave Expectations
"It was a recent claim," Lady Harcourt added, "and not made in one of the respectable academic periodicals. She was soundly ridiculed of course, and there was even discussion of having her committed to Bedlam."
"But we believe her," Marchbank said.
My chest constricted. My heart stilled. A woman in communication with dead historical figures could only be one thing.
"She must be a necromancer." Lady Harcourt turned hard, glittering eyes onto me as she accepted a cup from Seth.
I arched my brow at her in what I hoped was defiance, when all I felt was cold through to my bones. A necromancer…dead. And someone had tried to kill me too.
Chapter 4
"Stupid woman," Gillingham muttered. "Joan Brumley could have caused panic on a grand scale with her claims."
"Not to mention drawing attention to herself," Eastbrooke said. "There are enough madmen in this country who would believe her and try to use her necromancy for their own ends, as they tried to do with Charlotte."
"It's just as well she died then." Gillingham sipped his tea, oblivious to my shocked gasp and Lady Harcourt's quiet chiding.
Lincoln shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Aside from them both dying in the same manner, and both being magical, did you discover any other links?"
"What more do you need?" Eastbrooke asked. "They both have the potential to use their magic for harm."
"But did they?"
"That isn't the point."
"I think it is."
"The point is," Eastbrooke ground out, "that if they fell into the wrong hands, they would have been very dangerous tools."
Like me, he could have said. The look he gave me from beneath his bushy eyebrows implied he was thinking it.
"What were they like?" I asked suddenly.
"Pardon?" Lady Harcourt said.
"It seems to me that neither of them were doing anything harmful. Giving working limbs to those who have none is charitable, and historical research is benign enough. Drinkwater and Brumley don't sound like people who want to use their magic for ill. No one can force them."
"We don't know that for certain," she said. "Everyone has a price."
"Not everyone," Lincoln said.
She bristled. "And if money fails, then blackmail or a threat to a loved one will work. Even a saint can turn bad if the right sort of pressure is applied to the right place."
She sounded ruthless. Knowing her background as a dancer, I almost understood why, except that she continued to want to climb higher up the social ladder and grow richer, despite being rich and powerful now. She'd even admitted as much when she claimed she couldn't marry Lincoln. Even though she knew he was the son of a prince, she also knew that could never be publicly acknowledged. Lincoln was a step down from her previous husband, and she wouldn't have that.
"We've seen what can happen," Gillingham said with a nod at me. "The girl was kidnapped for just such a reason."
"I helped neither Frankenstein nor Jasper," I snapped. "Nor would I, under any circumstances."
"Do you think so?" Lady Harcourt's flinty gaze slipped to Lincoln. "What if they'd captured someone you love?"
I swallowed. There was no winning against that argument. Everyone in that room knew I would do anything to save Lincoln, even if it meant jeopardizing others.
His hand rested on my shoulder, but it wasn't very reassuring. "Leave Charlie out of this."
"We can't," Eastbrooke said. "It's as simple as that. Which brings me to my next suggestion."
"No." Lincoln growled the word with all the force of a blunt hammer.
