Page 3 of Grave Expectations
He went on to recommend some eateries to Lincoln in French, giving me an opportunity to admire theBoulevard des Capucinesin the late afternoon. Despite the shadows, it was a pretty thoroughfare with its slender trees, now bare of leaves, and grand buildings with bright awnings. People walked quickly past, wrapped in furs against the cold wind, and coaches, omnibuses and carts jostled one another in their hurry to reach their destinations before dark.
Before Lincoln and I left London, my traveling guide told me that Paris was the city for love and lovers. A city "bursting with vibrancy," he'd said. "A delicious confection that teases, is never coy, and is always fresh." Considering my traveling guide had been Seth, I probably should have known his perception of the city would be influenced by his roguish escapades with the ladies of Paris.
While the city wasn't quite as he'd described, it wasn't like Lincoln's version either. When I'd asked him for his impressions of the city, as we waited for the boat to depart at Dover, he'd told me it was "much like London" and left it that. He'd not been overly talkative, and it wasn't until we settled on the boat and his jaw turned green that I remembered why. Seasickness kept him in his cabin the entire crossing, and it wasn't until we were an hour into the train journey from Calais to Paris that his color returned. He refused to discuss his wellbeing with me, despite my numerous questions. It would seem the topic of his weakness, as he thought of it, was off-limits.
I took his offered arm and we entered the hotel together. My mother's letter felt like a lead weight in my reticule, and I could hardly wait to reach my room to open it.
"Sit with me," I urged Lincoln at the door to the small sitting room that adjoined my bedroom. "I might need your support as I read it."
He followed me inside and stoked the coals in the grate as I sat at the table by the window for the light. I opened the envelope with shaking fingers and peered inside.
"It's a necklace." I tipped out the silver chain and pendant onto my palm. The pendant consisted of two circular rings, one inside the other, which could swivel independently. A spherical orange-brown stone was inset into the smaller ring. It could also swivel on its axis, like a globe. "It's quite pretty."
Lincoln held out his hand and I laid it on his palm. "It's amber." He turned it over, rubbed his thumb around the sphere, and held it up to the light. "No inclusions. It would be worth a small sum." He handed it back to me. "Is there a letter?"
I checked inside the envelope and my heart leapt into my throat. I removed the piece of paper and my heart dove a little. "Will you read it? It's in French."
He sat and took the paper. The letter wasn't long, but he took some time reading it first before he translated.
"'To my dearest daughter.
It is my greatest regret that we will never meet again, but I hope this letter will in some way give you comfort as you grow into a woman. Matron assures me you will be given to a good family, and I pray that you are greatly loved, as I love you.
I cannot write much as my body is too weak. I will die very soon, but I go to my afterlife in peace knowing you are in good health and with good people at the orphanage. Do not be sad. Death is nothing to be sad about or to fear, as you may know.
My daughter, I write this letter to you to tell you what I can about who you are and where you come from. My family name is Mercier, from Normandy. They will not welcome you and will only blacken my name. Forget them.
I will not tell you your father's name. He is a dangerous man, and does not love you, or me. I made a mistake to trust him and give him my heart. He only wanted me for my power over death.'"
"I suppose she means necromancy," I said lamely. I felt somewhat numb listening to her words, written so long ago. It must have felt quite strange for her too, writing to a baby.Herbaby. I swallowed past the lump in my throat. "Please go on."
"'I will keep his name from you to protect you, Daughter. If he learns of your existence, he will pursue you relentlessly and use you in his experiments as he tried to use me. If you have not yet discovered your power over death, then I don't want to frighten you, but I must warn you. Like me, you are a witch who can raise the dead. When a spirit leaves its lifeless body, you can see it and speak to it, and even tell it to re-enter its body. Do not fear this power, but do not tell others. Most will not understand. They will fear you and perhaps harm you.
The necklace I am giving to you will protect you from your father and others who wish to harm you. Wear it always and when you are in danger, hold the orb and summon the imp with three words: 'I release you.'"
"Imp?" I echoed.
"That is the closest English word," Lincoln said.
"Do you think it's an actual, living…thing?"
"It's unclear. She could simply mean a childlike spirit."
"I don't see how a spirit could help me if I am in danger, but I quite like the idea of being protected." I slipped the necklace over my head and tucked it beneath my bodice. "Does it say how she came across it?"
"No." He continued to read:
"'The imp will protect the wearer from evil. I have not used it, and I caution you to only summon the imp if necessary. As with all witchcraft, be careful.
And now, dear Daughter, I grow too weak to continue. If you need to know more, call my spirit. It will be my greatest joy to meet you again. I will be at your side in a moment, but be assured, you are always in my heart. Always.
Your loving mother,
Ellen Marie Mercier.'"
He folded the letter and handed it back to me without a word.
I tucked it into my reticule and blinked away hot tears. It was a long time before I found my voice again, and he didn't try to rush me. "That was quite an experience," I murmured.
