Page 57 of Grave Expectations
"Good, good." He stood and held out his hand to me. I almost took it as a matter of course. "Where will I find my bodies?"
"Bodies?"
"My work. You brought everything here to continue my experiments? Have you made much progress? I expect to see quite a few developments in three months, particularly with your necromancy."
"Stop!" I held up my hand. "Sit down."
He sat. "Charlotte? My work…?"
If I wanted answers, I needed to tread cautiously. "I'll show you the workshop soon. But first, I have to ask you something."
His gaze roamed over my face, settling on my eyes. Mine were blue, like his, although his only remaining one was colorless in spirit form. The scrutiny unnerved me, but I forced myself to remain still. After a moment, he sighed. "Very well. What do you want to know? Is it something to do with your mother?"
There were so many things I wanted totellhim about her—that she was beautiful and kind, that he'd hurt her badly and destroyed her trust in men—but nothing I wanted toaskhim. I didn't want to hear him confirm that he'd used her because she was, well, useful to him.
"Did you court an historian named Joan Brumley?"
The question sent his undamaged eyebrow shooting up his forehead. "Yes. And?"
"Why?"
He lifted a shoulder. "She could speak to spirits. I had plans to test her skills with reanimation, but I died before I had the chance."
I nodded, as much for Seth and Gus's benefit than to acknowledge Frankenstein. He'd answered as we suspected he would. God, how I hated him.
I clasped my fingers together in my lap and set my jaw. "Did you know a scientist named Reginald Drinkwater?"
He frowned. "The name rings a few bells. Is he the fellow attempting to get artificial limbs to move of their own accord?" He snorted. "He wanted to share results with me, but I only replied to one of his letters. He's a crackpot."
"He was magical."
His eye widened. "A necromancer?"
"No, but he may have been useful to you. You should have discussed your work with him. He's dead too now."
"Shame." He stood and jerked his head toward the door. "Come. Show me the workshop."
"I'm not finished with my questions," I snapped. "Do you know of a Captain Jasper?"
"No." He began to pace the room, sometimes walking, sometimes flowing in mist form. Despite his agitation, he couldn't leave until I allowed him to go.
But I wasn't ready. There had to be a more solid connection. Three of them were involved in reanimating bodies or body parts, and the fourth was a necromancer, an invaluable tool for the projects of both Jasper and Frankenstein. There had to be something connectingallfour. Two had been magical, two had not. Out of the two who weren't, one had known about magic and the other hadn't until he met me. Jasper's commission from an anonymous benefactor had been for his medical serum.
Wait…commission.
Drinkwater had also mentioned being commissioned, although he'd gone on to say it had fallen through before his death.
"Did anyone approach you about sponsoring your work?" I asked.
He stopped darting around and settled on the sofa once more. "A man wrote to me anonymously," he said, sounding distracted, frustrated. "He was interested in my work and wanted to learn more. I wrote back and told him I would give him a tour of my workshop. But he didn't want a tour, he wanted to know everything through correspondence. I gave him some details, but not enough that he could steal my ideas. He then asked specifically if I was using magic to reanimate the bodies. I told him yes, but I wasn't magical myself." He held up his hands. "I never mentioned you, Charlotte, or necromancy."
"What can you tell me about him?"
"Nothing. I never met him. The correspondence ceased after I mentioned magic."
"Where did you send the letters?"
"An address near Whitehall. I can't remember the details."
