A Grave Inheritance

by Kari Edgren

  “There’s another way—” A knock sounded on the door, cutting off my next words and bringing Henry to his feet.

  The young footman who had taken to flirting with my maid came into the room. He held a basket, the top covered with a cloth. “Pardon me, Miss Kilbrid, this just arrived for you.”

  “Who is it from?” I asked.

  “I’ve no idea, miss. Someone left it on the porch and ran away before I could answer the door.” He handed me the basket.

  I looked at it, dumbfounded.

  Thank you,” Henry said. “That will be all.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The footman bowed and left the room.

  “Well, are you going to look inside?” Henry asked. “Or are you attempting to decipher the contents through the cloth?” He kept his voice even, but I could still hear the deep-seated anger beneath his words.

  I pulled the cloth aside and stared into the basket, relief flooding through me. A bundle of dried herbs and a flint were nestled on top of a white linen sheath. There was also a note. Breaking the wax seal, I read the words written in elegant black letters.

  All Hallows by the Tower

  Brigid Buadach

  I handed the note to Henry. “Do you know where this is?”

  “It’s a church just off Tower Hill,” he said, looking up from the parchment. “What’s in the basket?”

  I brought the herb bundle to my nose and took a deep breath, pulling in the familiar scent of cowslip, angelica, and goat’s rue. “Everything I need to cross over.”

  “Who sent it?” he asked. “I thought you didn’t know of any other descendants in London.”

  Julian, I thought, wonderful, devoted Julian.

  “I’ve not the slightest idea. Someone must have recognized my surname and prepared the basket.” The fibs glided effortlessly from my tongue.

  “How do you know it isn’t a trick?”

  Because it’s from Julian.

  “The note says Brigid Buadach and only a true leath’dhia would know what was needed to cross over.” As evidence, I held up the herbs with one hand, while using the other to pull the flint and sheath from the basket. Something fell from the linen folds, clinking loudly before landing with a heavy thud on the carpet.

  Henry bent over and picked up two iron keys tied together by a leather band. From what I could tell, one of the keys was larger than the other. He turned them around in his hand several times, then tucked them into his pocket. “What time shall we go?” he asked, either convinced by the keys or just resigned to my stubbornness.

  “Midnight,” I said. “It’s safer to go when people are abed.”

  The front door opened, followed by footsteps across the stone entryway. I tucked everything back into the basket just as Nora came into the room. Her face was flushed and she hurriedly glanced around.

  “Is my mother awake?”

  “I don’t think so, but I’ve not been upstairs to check yet.”

  Nora shot us a relieved looked. “Oh, she wouldn’t be sulking in her chamber if she suspected we had snuck out tonight. She would be downstairs in plain sight, girded for battle.”

  “Where’s James?” Henry asked. “Did he take a chair home?”

  “He’s out front in the carriage. I told him to wait for you there just in case my mother was in a rage.” Nora raised a hand to stifle a yawn. “I best get out of this gown before she wakes up. It would be bad luck, indeed, to be found out at the very end. Good night, you two. I for one will have very pleasant dreams tonight.” She left the room, taking the only semblance of good mood along with her.

  Henry grabbed his greatcoat from a nearby chair. “I will return at twelve sharp.”

  “Don’t go,” I said. “We’ve still so much to talk about.”

  He ignored me and left the drawing room without so much as a backward glance.

  Blast and curses! I hadn’t even told him the most important part yet, that the boy’s attacker was the same girl who grabbed my arm at the docks. The mantel clock began to chime the tenth hour. Henry would be back soon, hopefully cooled off and ready to discuss how best to track down the miserable wretch. Not that I wanted to seek her out, but it was imperative we discover her true identity. Only then would we know the reason behind my burn and the boy’s sudden sickness. And, heaven forbid, if there was any connection with Mr. Chubais as Henry suspected.

  My head pounded like the dickens. Pushing up from the sofa, I went to the kitchen in search of some willow bark to brew. Both Fannie and Sophie were still awake and promised to bring a tea tray upstairs as soon as it was ready. Returned to my room, I placed the basket on my bed and began pacing, my feet barely keeping pace with my mind. Back and forth, I crossed and re-crossed the room, trying to sort out everything that had happened tonight.

  Henry was angry. Nothing to be done there other than give him time to calm down and to realize that I had no choice about healing the boy, or any other person for that matter. Certainly, he would feel better once I returned from the Otherworld, my power replenished. If any resentment still lingered, I knew just the way to win a full reprieve.

  I glanced at the basket and smiled. Julian was a godsend. Tomorrow I would write a note thanking him for his diligence in locating the passageway. I would also request another visit. As a leath’dhia, he needed to know what happened to the boy tonight. Try as I might, I could find no rational explanation for the sudden sickness. Which left the irrational—or the supernatural.The facts were fairly straightforward. The boy had been strong enough to be out walking unassisted, his breath unlabored and his face free of pustules when he first stopped in front of Cate’s townhouse. Then the girl appeared and a mere touch had brought him to the ground. Seconds later, he was overtaken by the pox, teetering on death’s edge.

  I absentmindedly brushed a hand across my burned arm. A few seconds passed before my brain registered the complete lack of pain that usually accompanied even the slightest touch. The skin also felt smoother, without a trace of blisters. I glanced down in search of the red mark. Squinting, I moved closer to the fireplace and turned my arm from side-to-side. The skin was unblemished, returned to how it was before the wretch had grabbed me. I stared in shocked disbelief. It was impossible.

  A knock on the door made me jump. Fannie came into the room with the promised tray. “Here ye go, miss, a strong pot of willow bark tea. Would ye like it by the fire?”

  “Yes, please,” I said, still distracted by the discovery. It couldn’t have been my doing. From Brigid’s first descendants, my kind had lacked the power to heal ourselves. In that regard, we were very much human, meant to live and die just like everyone else.

  She placed the tray on the side table near the hearth, then filled the sole porcelain cup with the steamy brown liquid. “Is there anything else ye be needing tonight?”

  “No, thank you, the tea is all.” I reached for the cup without affording any attention to the motion. My fingers fumbled against the side, sloshing hot liquid over the rim. Startled, I pulled my hand back and blew on the scalded skin.

  Fannie hurried back to the table and started mopping up the mess. “Ye look a shade past frothed milk, miss, if ye don’t mind me saying. Have ye grown light-headed again? I’d best fetch Lady Dinley. She’d like to know if yer to have another fainting spell.”

  “There’s no need to disturb her ladyship.” My mind whirled for a plausible excuse to explain my nervous behavior. “I just had a fright when you knocked on the door. Different house, different sounds is all.”

  She gave me a kind look. “Ye’ve nothing to worry about in this part of London, miss. Lady Dinley’s residence is far too new for any spirits to be walking about yet. Her late husband built it for a wedding present, though he weren’t given much time to enjoy it, dying as he did in a carriage accident so soon after they married.” She gave a small, uncomf
ortable laugh. “Now other parts of London aren’t so fortunate and I’d wager half a crown there’s all sorts of unnatural things to be found. Take Tyburn Gallows. There’s a place I’d not be walking around in the dead of night. Nor anywhere near the Tower. From what folks say, it’s the most haunted place in all England.”

  At first, I’d hardly been listening, but mention of the Tower got my attention. “Do you mean the White Tower?” Once a royal residence, the White Tower now served primarily as a prison for notable persons, and it was where James had hoped I would reside while in London.

  “Aye, miss, it’s one and the same.”

  “And Tower Hill? Is that nearby?”

  “Right next to it. Nigh a hundred men have lost their heads on the butcher’s block there. Not a pleasant way to go if ye ask me. It’s no surprise there’s so many stories of restless spirits about.”

  I nodded, my thoughts shifting from my arm to specters. Leprechauns and Fairies I knew to be imaginary beings. Ghosts were an entirely different matter altogether. In truth, I had no idea whether they existed or not, nor did I want to find out tonight. Yet here I was, about to walk into the one place they would most likely be found, and at the witching hour no less.

  “I’ve never seen one myself, miss,” Fannie said,” but no wise person goes looking for trouble, as my mum used to say.”

  To be fair, I never looked for trouble. It just seemed to find me.

  She refilled my teacup. “There ye go, miss. If ye need anymore, her ladyship keeps a good store in the pantry. Just ring the bell and someone will be up directly.”

  “This should do,” I said, my gaze fixed on the fire.

  “Goodnight, miss. Sleep well.” The door clicked shut and she was gone from the room.

  My gaze remained unbroken, almost trance like, as spectral shapes began to take form within the fire, the orange flames twisting into gruesome images of beheaded men. Dazed, I squeezed my eyelids shut to break the spell. I had enough to worry about without the addition of Fannie’s ghost stories. Opening my eyes again, I took a seat in the armchair and sipped my tea, determined not to become distracted from the real problems at hand.

  * * *

  At twelve sharp, I slipped the door bolt and stepped onto the front porch. Henry was already there, leaning back against the brick façade, waiting for me. The only light came from a dim oil lamp at his feet. He had traded his fine theater clothes for woolen breeches and brown boots that came above the knee. A dark woolen great coat rested on his shoulders.

  “Are you ready?” he asked, picking up the lamp.

  “Yes, I’ve the basket here.”

  He said nothing more, just offered his arm. At the bottom of the stairs, he turned to the right and continued walking.

  My boots scuffed against the cobbled walkway. “Where is the carriage?” I asked, hoping he didn’t plan to walk all the way to the Tower.

  “Not too much farther. I thought it wise to err on the side of discretion, considering the nature of our outing tonight.” Though he spoke quietly, I heard the tension in his voice. Peering up, I saw the hard set of his jaw and wondered if two hours hadn’t been sufficient to calm his temper.

  After another twenty yards of silence, the bulky shadow of a carriage came into view. Two men waited nearby, neither one moving to open the door when we approached. They were not the powdered footmen I had expected, but common ruffians, dressed in coarse clothing and each wearing a sword and pistol in plain sight. The carriage was also different, plain brown without any signs of adornment.

  The men nodded at Henry, then climbed onto the driver’s box once we were inside. Henry secured the door and sat on the opposite bench facing me.

  “Who are they?” I asked, a little breathless from the walk.

  “Hired men, less likely to talk than servants and more handy in a fight.”

  “Are you expecting trouble?”

  “Not exactly, but I would prefer not to be caught unaware around the Tower so late at night.”

  I assumed he meant being caught unaware by the living, not the dead. The two men in the driver’s box were wearing swords and pistols, useless weapons against anyone lacking a corporeal form. Since speaking with Fannie I had done everything possible to chase the thought of ghosts from my mind. I wasn’t about to bring it up now when we had so many other important things to discuss.

  “I’ve heard the Tower is one of the most haunted places in England,” I blurted. “That more than a hundred men have lost their heads on the adjoining hill.”

  The lamp burned low next to Henry, its weak light barely reaching the lines of his face. He stared at me for a long second, his mouth set in a straight line. “I am more concerned with thieves and cutthroats,” he said coolly. “Any unnatural power can go straight to the devil for all I care.”

  My back stiffened under his choice of words. “I assume you’re referring to ghosts as unnatural,” I said, matching his tone, “and not my own power.”

  He gave a mirthless laugh. “After that little stunt you pulled this evening, I mean your power above all.”

  I inhaled a sharp breath, surprised by his resentment. “You know I didn’t have any choice with the boy.”

  “Please don’t, Selah. I’ve already enough on my mind for one night.”

  I opened my mouth to reply, then snapped it shut again. A heavy silence settled between us. His words had struck pain like no others could, all because I refused to stand by and let a boy die. That act had rendered me unnatural, more abhorrent than even a ghost. Tears stung my eyes. I pushed them back, refusing to let Henry see how much he had hurt me.

  When the carriage came to a stop, Henry opened the door and stepped out into the cold air. He turned and offered his hand, which I ignored until my boot heel caught on the step and he grabbed my elbow to keep me from falling. Mumbling a reluctant “thank you,” I looked up at the dark outline of the stone church. In the shadow of night, the massive black bulk reminded me of a crouching giant, the spire an outstretched arm reaching toward heaven.

  One of the hired men remained on the driver’s box while the other came down next to Henry.

  “Stay here,” Henry told him. “We shan’t be long. Get me at once if there is any sign of trouble.”

  The man grumbled his assent and leaned back against the carriage to wait.

  Henry held up the lamp, illuminating the pathway that led up to the church. Gravestones filled the yard. “Let’s get this done with,” he said, taking my arm as we started forward.

  Perturbed by his behavior, I almost offered to go myself, but changed my mind once I glanced again at the church. Back in Hopewell, I never feared going into the forest in the middle of night. All Hallows was different, cold and foreboding, surrounded by graves and who knew what else. Though I would never admit it out loud, I was truly thankful for Henry’s company.

  We passed through the yard, arriving at the door where Henry held the lamp near the lock. The larger key scraped against iron as he forced the bolt aside. Using his shoulder, he pushed the door open and we stepped inside, into darkness that verged on pitch-black.

  “The nave is this way.” He held up the lantern and moved straight ahead through a stone archway.

  Though unable to see beyond a few feet, I could feel the vastness of the space, the ceiling that soared overhead and the towering walls that stood off in the distance. We continued forward, our footsteps echoing an undeniable announcement of our presence.

  At the far end, Henry stopped at the main altar and placed the lantern on the smooth wooden surface. “Here you go. Be quick if you can.”

  I shook my head. “This isn’t it.”

  “How do you know? You’ve never been here before.”

  “Because it’s made of wood,” I said, making no effort to conceal my annoyance, “and not conducive to burning
herbs.”

  He brushed a hand over the polished surface. “This is the only altar I know about in All Hallows. Maybe there’s a stone slab or metal dish somewhere to protect the surface.”

  I looked down at the beautifully carved wood. It was definitely old, but not near old enough to be the first altar established outside of Ireland. “It’s too new,” I countered. “There has to be another altar somewhere else.”

  Henry sighed. “Let’s check the undercroft. I’ve heard some of the vaults were built on Roman ruins.”

  I smiled, momentarily forgetting my anger. “That’s got to be where it is.”

  He picked up the lantern and we moved toward the outer wall. “If I remember right, the stairs are over here.”

  After a minute, I was staring through another archway, down a stone stairway into the deepest black I had ever seen. I hesitated, my imagination rife with what could be waiting below.

  Henry obviously felt no such qualms. “This way,” he said, descending the first few stairs ahead of me.

  When the light began to fade, swallowed up into the darkness, I spurred my feet forward and hurried after him, the basket bumping clumsily against my side. We came out together into what looked to be a small chapel with a stone altar directly to our left. The rest of the room was also made of stone, from the floor beneath to the low arched ceiling overhead. The air was damp, noticeably colder from the nave and smelled of mold and bitter herbs.

  I inhaled a deep breath. “We’re getting closer.”

  We moved toward the altar where I ran a hand over the unblemished stone. Henry watched me as I glanced around the small chapel, my eyes coming to rest on a narrow passageway. I moved a few steps closer, the smell of bitter herbs growing stronger.

  “Where does this lead?” I asked.

  “Probably another chapel,” he said, coming alongside me, “or perhaps a crypt.”