Beyond the Grave

by C. J. Archer

  It took me a moment to realize what he was talking about. "Yes."

  He popped the lid off the canister and sprinkled the baking powder over it until I told him there was enough. He watched as I rubbed in the powder with the clean, damp cloth. With the task complete, he stood then held out his hand to me. I took it and rose. A small jolt passed between us and his fingers tightened.

  Then he extricated himself quickly and strode out of the parlor without another word or glance back. With a sigh, I picked up the cleaning materials and limped to the kitchen.

  * * *

  "She's dead," Lincoln informed us when he returned from the General Registry Office the following afternoon. "Estelle Pearson died five months ago at Queen Charlotte's Hospital For Lying-In."

  "In childbirth?" I asked, picking up another pea pod.

  "In an accident. The records don't mention how it happened. She worked there as a midwife."

  "Damn," Gus muttered. He'd been snoozing in the armchair in the corner but had jumped to his feet when Lincoln entered the kitchen and pretended to look busy rearranging things on the sideboard. Lincoln had hardly spared him a glance, but I doubt he was fooled. "Dead end, eh?" He snorted at his lame joke.

  I tossed the empty pea pod into the pail. "I could raise her spirit."

  Lincoln considered it for a moment then shook his head. "It's too dangerous."

  "How is it dangerous? I can control her spirit and will do so from the outset. As long as nobody alive sees, my secret will remain just that."

  "We know nothing about her." Lincoln accepted a cup of tea that Seth handed him. "She could be dangerous."

  "But if I control her—"

  "No."

  "But, sir—"

  "No, Charlie, and that's the end of it." He removed himself from the kitchen with his tea.

  "You're being unreasonable!" I called after him.

  He didn't answer; nor had I expected him to.

  "Careful, Charlie," Seth warned. "Push him too far and he's likely to snap back like a rubber band."

  Gus snorted and returned to the chair. "More like the kick from a canon."

  I sliced open another pea pod and spilled its innards onto the mountain of peas in the bowl. "He is being unreasonable. I have the means with which to help his investigation, and he's refusing it. I don't understand why. Have I not proven myself useful in the past?"

  "Have you not been kidnapped and nearly killed?"

  I threw an empty pod at Gus. It bounced off his forehead and landed in his lap. He lobbed it and whooped when it landed in the pail.

  Seth joined me at the table and pulled the bowl of peas between us. "He allowed you to go to The Alhambra."

  "Only because he thought it would be harmless, not to mention somewhat irrelevant to the investigation. He admitted he was simply trying to appease me."

  "I agree wiv Charlie," Cook said with a shrug. "Ain't no reason that I can see for her not to use the gift God gave her."

  I wasn't entirely sure my necromancy could be called a gift, let alone a God-given one. It seemed rather more devilish than divine and more of a curse than a skill. But it was what it was, and it was as much a part of me as my blue eyes and short stature.

  Neither Seth nor Gus spoke again, which was as good as saying that they agreed with Cook but didn't want to say so out loud. They were more afraid of Lincoln, perhaps because they'd seen him kill whereas Cook had only heard about the killings second-hand. Their silent approval was all I needed to make up my mind. I would raise the spirit of Estelle Pearson tonight.

  * * *

  Raising spirits that had passed over to the other side was something I'd done quite a few times, but it still sent a chill down my spine. Not all spirits were happy to be wrenched from their afterlife, and not all were friendly. While I could control a spirit, if necessary, it eased my conscience somewhat if they didn't need controlling.

  I lit as many candles as I could sneak into my small sitting room and positioned them on tables, mantelpiece, and even the floor. The flickering candlelight made the walls and furniture seem as if they were alive, dancing to a rhythm I couldn't hear. I sat in the comfortable armchair and drew in several deep breaths to steady my nerves.

  "Estelle Mary Pearson, please come to me here in this world. The spirit of Estelle Mary Pearson, do you hear me?"

  A breeze blew out the candles on the mantel and teased my hair. The ribbons of smoke merged with a pale wisp plunging from the ceiling. It streaked toward me. I ducked but wasn't fast enough. The spirit of Estelle Pearson went straight through me and came to a hovering stop near the door.

  "My goodness," she said, pressing a ghostly hand to her chest. Her wide eyes took in her surroundings then settled on me. "Is this…am I…?"

  "You are in Lichfield Towers, Hampstead Heath, and it's some five months after your death. You're here in spirit form, Mrs. Pearson."

  "It's Miss Pearson." She spoke as a matter of course, as if it were commonplace to correct people. Considering she appeared to be in her forties or fifties, it was a mistake easily made. I couldn't pinpoint her age more precisely than that. Although the misty appearance of a spirit formed the person's likeness upon death, it was rather like looking at a sketch. There were no colors, making the eyes in particular seem flat. The principle of eyes being windows to the soul didn't apply.

  "And you are?" Her tone was crisp but not unkind.

  "Charlotte Holloway. I'm a necromancer. That's someone who can raise the dead."

  "Clearly." She indicated herself, dressed in her nurse's uniform of white pinafore over a black dress. She wore a cap that hung half off her head, clinging to the wisps of hair by a single ghostly pin, and a long, heavy-looking chatelaine hung from her waist. "Why have you summoned me, Miss Holloway?"

  She seemed quite unfazed by the situation, thankfully. A panicked spirit could make my task more difficult. I supposed being a midwife in a lying-in hospital required an unflappable constitution.

  "Your name was written in a journal belonging to Lord Harcourt," I told her.

  Her eyes widened ever so slightly. "And?"

  "And the journal was found in the belongings of his son, who has now disappeared. We're trying to find him."

  "We?"

  "My friends and I."

  She glanced around the room then raised both her brows at me.

  "They are not here at present," I said.

  "Are they also necromancers?"

  "No."

  "Then I suppose their presence wasn't necessary. You seem quite unperturbed by what you've just done, Miss Holloway. Your calmness is unexpected in someone so young."

  I detected a hint of admiration in her voice, and I smiled. "Thank you, but I've raised spirits before."

  "Even so. You would make a good nurse, although I see that you have no need to make your own way in the world." She glanced around the room again. It may be only a small sitting room compared to Lincoln's, but it was intended for the mistress of Lichfield Towers, not a maid. Miss Pearson must have assumed I was somebody important.

  I felt compelled to inform her of the truth. "I may, if I ever find myself losing my position here as maid."

  She came forward and took a closer look at me. "Yes, I see the uniform now. You do seem like the sort of girl who has had to make her own way in the world for some time—sturdy of mind, confident in nature. Am I correct?"

  "Thank you. And yes, you are."

  "Now then, about the journal of Lord Harcourt and his missing son. I fail to see the connection between the two."

  "There may be no connection, but we must look at every possibility. What particularly caught our attention is that your name appeared in Lord Harcourt's journal, in severe writing, underlined more than once. It was as if your name was very important to him. Do you know why?"

  She blinked slowly. "I find it very difficult to converse with you like this, Miss Holloway."

  I frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "This spiritual form feels odd."
She looked down at herself. "Somewhat…insignificant."

  "Is that a problem?"

  "I am an unmarried woman who has had to find her own way in life as a nurse. More doctors than I care to recall have treated me as insignificant, and so did much of the wider community. Without a husband or a fortune, I was nobody, unworthy of praise or even acknowledgement. My opinions were ignored, sometimes ridiculed, and I was frequently told to stop using my brain. Intelligence is unbecoming in a female, and unnecessary in a midwife who must bow to a doctor's superior knowledge." Her voice slurred into a sneer at the end. "I could have saved more babies and mothers if I had been allowed, I'm sure of it, but some incompetent doctors preferred to use methods they were taught decades ago, rather than listen to me. So you see, Miss Holloway, I would prefer a solid form instead of this faint one, if only for the few moments in which I answer your questions."

  I rose from my chair so that I would be eye to eye with her. She was about my height, with a rather masculine face with strong bones and a heavy brow. Her gaze did not waver from mine and she did not back away.

  "Are you saying you wish to occupy a body? You do understand that you cannot occupy a living one?" Only a medium could summon a spirit into a living body, so that the spirit overrode the person's conscious. It was known as possession. As a necromancer, I could only direct a spirit into a dead body.

  "I don't wish to occupy just any body, Miss Holloway. I wish to occupy mine."

  I let out a breath. "Oh."

  "The thought of being inside a stranger…" She shuddered. "You say this is Hampstead? Then my body will not be far. I made arrangements before my death to be buried at Highgate Cemetery. Do stop staring at me, Miss Holloway, and let's make haste to Highgate."

  "I, er, will you answer my questions when you are in your body?"

  "Yes."

  "All of them?"

  "Yes." She lifted her chin. "I give you my word to answer to the best of my ability. I do know Lord Harcourt, and there is a tale to tell. Whether it helps you locate your missing man, I cannot say. But my tale remains with me until I am inside my own body again."

  Still, I hesitated. "You understand that it will only be for a brief time."

  "A brief time is better than no time. I do so wish to feel the cool night air on my skin again, the breeze in my hair."

  "You died five months ago. Your body will have decayed somewhat in that time."

  "Are you squeamish, Miss Holloway?"

  "No."

  "Neither am I. A nurse cannot afford to be. I have seen far more gruesome things than a decaying body in my lifetime, I can assure you. Come along. Let's do it now."

  I should be able to sneak out of the house undetected. Lincoln had taken Seth with him to search the remaining gambling dens on his list, so I wouldn't need to worry about him overhearing me leave. Gus and Cook slept in the top floor's servants' bedrooms, too far away to hear the back door open and close. Very well. I would do it, if that's what it took to get Estelle Pearson to talk.

  She turned and I had to cover my mouth to smother my squeak of horror. Bile burned my throat at the sight of the back of Miss Pearson's head. The skull had been smashed in. Matted hair and blood formed a dark, sticky mass just above her neck. The top half of her pinafore was also covered with blood. I wondered what sort of accident had inflicted the fatal injury.

  "Come along, Miss Holloway." She patted her cap and repositioned it so that it covered some of the wound, but not all.

  "Let me fetch my cloak."

  * * *

  It wasn't a cold night, thanks to the bank of clouds that blanketed the city, trapping in the warmth of the sunny autumn day. The same clouds blocked out almost all light from the moon and stars, and it was left entirely up to my lamp to guide us. I followed the ghostly apparition through the cemetery, my walking stick making a solid whump on the damp, dense layer of fallen leaves as I rushed to keep pace. Every now and again Estelle Pearson would stop up ahead and say, "Come along, Miss Holloway," in her no-nonsense yet encouraging tone. I could imagine her speaking in such a way to her patients in their birthing beds.

  We stepped around graves and over tree roots, not following any path that I could see. Overhead, bare branches creaked in the breeze and groaned their disapproval at my disregard of Lincoln's order. I had not had any doubts before, but now, in the depths of the vast cemetery in the middle of the blackest of dark nights, I was assaulted with them.

  "Are you quite sure this is the way?" I called out to Miss Pearson's ghost. "Perhaps we should turn back."

  "Not at all. Look, we have arrived." The mist swirled around the headstone marking Estelle Mary Pearson's grave, then coalesced into her likeness. "Here I am." Her voice had become soft and filled with wonder as she studied the headstone. It was tucked away in a part of the cemetery I'd not visited, where the headstones were more modest and positioned close to one another.

  "Do you require a moment to contemplate, Miss Pearson?"

  "Certainly not. You're not changing your mind, are you?"

  "I… I think I'd prefer it if we don't raise your body after all. The sooner I can send you back to your afterlife, the better."

  "Fiddlesticks. We have all night."

  "Even so—"

  "In for a penny, in for a pound."

  Before I could protest further, the spirit sank through the earth covering her grave, and disappeared from sight entirely. I frowned. She appeared to know what to do. Other spirits I'd raised had not.

  I lifted the lamp higher. Beyond the whispers of the leaves came the faint sound of thumping. Miss Pearson's corpse, trying to get out of her coffin. Perhaps she wasn't strong enough to do it. The only other body I'd seen emerge from its own grave was Gordon Thackery's, but he was a man. Even though Estelle Pearson would possess superior strength as a reanimated corpse, would it be enough to free herself?

  She must have broken through, however, because the earth in the center of the grave bulged. I swallowed and stepped back, preparing myself for the sight of the decaying corpse.

  Dirty, skeletal fingers thrust through the soil like spikes. Then came an entire hand, followed by an arm clad in the black sleeve of the nurse's uniform she'd been buried in. Another arm pushed through, dislodging a mound of soil. Estelle Pearson hauled herself out of the ground then stood with her feet a little apart for balance.

  "Are…are you all right?" I asked her.

  She nodded, an awkward, jerky movement that had her frowning then trying again. She stepped toward me, only to stumble a little. On impulse, I dropped my walking stick and grasped her arm. The bones moved in a way that no living person's arm should.

  "It will take a few moments for you to become accustomed to working a dead body," I assured her.

  "I know that." Her voice sounded as rough as sand.

  "How can you possibly know? Have you done this before?"

  "No." She touched her throat, as if self-conscious about her voice. She began to walk off but I still held her so she stopped again and stared down at my hand.

  I tightened my hold. "Then how?"

  She wrenched free. "Because I know everything there is to know about death, Miss Holloway, and life too, for that matter."

  I stumbled backward. "How?" I whispered.

  She murmured something under her breath. I couldn't catch the words, but the sounds were guttural, un-English. Dread as heavy as a brick settled into the pit of my stomach.

  "Miss Pearson, what are you saying? What are those words?"

  She finished murmuring and her entire body jolted as if something had slammed into her. Her chest expanded then fell and expanded again. She breathed.

  My God. She was alive. I held my lantern higher to get a proper look. She gave me a sympathetic smile that reached her eyes—eyes that should have been empty and soulless.

  "Do not be afraid, Miss Holloway, I'm not going to harm you, but I am going to leave you now."

  "Y—you can't!"

  She walked off, her gai
t jerky but gaining in steadiness with every step. "I can."

  I hurried after her and grabbed her arm again. "But I control you!"

  "I have a matter of some importance to see to, now that I am here." Her boney fingers picked off mine until she was free once more. "Do not try to detain me again, Miss Holloway. I do not wish to hurt you." She could have snapped my fingers, but she didn't. She moved away from me with determination and a step that was now entirely steady.

  "I release you!" I shouted. "Go! Return to your afterlife!"

  She continued to walk on into the night then broke into an awkward run. I hobbled after her but tripped over a tree root. My lantern went out and I was shrouded in darkness.

  "I release the spirit of Estelle Mary Pearson! Return!"

  "That will not work," she called back to me from somewhere up ahead, where her dark shape disappeared among the trees and tombstones.

  I tried again, but this time there was no response. Perhaps I'd succeeded in sending the spirit back after all. I stumbled through the cemetery in the direction she'd gone, but found no body. I crawled on hands and knees, praying I would touch flesh and clothing instead of stone and leaves. I searched for hours, through the rain and increasing cold. I became thoroughly lost in the dark but kept crawling over the ground and graves like a pathetic creature, even after all hope was lost.

  By the time the glow on the horizon signaled the start of a damp, miserable new day, my clothes were wet through and my petticoats plastered to my skin. My skirt, stockings and gloves were filthy and torn, and my walking stick missing. I sat with my back to a tomb of a weeping angel and burst into tears.

  I knew without doubt that Estelle Pearson's spirit was still on Earth, occupying her decaying body, yet somehow come to life.

  And it was all my fault.

  Chapter 6

  Dawn provided enough light for me to find my way out of the cemetery. I limped through the gate and passed a groundsman with his broad-brimmed hat pulled low over his face. If I'd been in a stronger frame of mind I would have checked to see if it was the one with the purple birthmark. That rat had told Captain Jasper where to find me, resulting in my recent abduction. He ought to know what had come of his actions so that next time he would be more careful. But I was in no mood for a confrontation of any kind.