Beyond the Grave

by C. J. Archer

  "Nobody has asked me what I wish," Buchanan said. "Where is my justice? I will not sweep this under the carpet." He stepped forward onto a creaking floorboard.

  Edgecombe pointed the pistol at him.

  "Don't shoot!" Julia shouted.

  "Andrew!" Marguerite flung herself at Buchanan, her body between him and her brother. "Don't do this, John. It's madness."

  "Perhaps I ought to be the one in Bedlam then." Edgecombe's harsh cackle had me thinking that he was right. The suddenly serious, cruel twist of his mouth only reinforced my opinion. "Move, Marguerite. Give me a clear shot at the prick. He deserves to have his life ended the way he ended mine."

  "You're not dead, John!"

  "Might as well be."

  "If you kill him," Lincoln went on, in that unruffled tone of his, "you will be arrested for his murder."

  "Be quiet," Edgecombe hissed. "Marguerite, move!"

  Marguerite broke into hysterics against Buchanan's shoulder. He winced and patted her back as if he couldn't stand to have his borrowed clothes spoiled by her tears.

  Harcourt looked away as his wife fell to pieces over her lover. Only Julia remained unmoved, and the spirit of Cleves too, as he stood near Lincoln, his presence forgotten by all except me. If only there was a dead body nearby that I could force him to enter, so he could overpower Edgecombe for us.

  But there wasn't. We had to use Earthly means.

  "Put the gun down," Lincoln said. "I won't allow you to get out of here alive if you shoot anyone."

  "Faster, man!" Edgecombe's darting eyes assessed the numbers and the exits. He must have seen that it was hopeless; he had four bullets and there were more than four against him, taking the footman and Millard into account.

  "Give up, Edgecombe," Lincoln said from the doorway. "You won't get away with this. Your family will never forgive you if you shoot someone. Such a crime cannot be overlooked by them or by the law. If you surrender now, there is still a chance of being free. You can live out your life peacefully, somewhere in the countryside. Somewhere quiet and far away from the city, Bedlam, and madness. You will be free."

  His voice droned on, an unrelenting rhythm of calm that must have felt like a blunt instrument to Edgecombe's mad mind for he clutched his head. He thrust his fingers through his hair as if he would penetrate his skull and dig out his brain. Perhaps he was the maddest of the lot.

  "I will never be free!" He pressed the gun to his temple and fired before anyone knew what was happening.

  I jumped and covered my mouth but not before a cry escaped. Marguerite and Julia both fainted, while Buchanan and Harcourt turned pale faces away from the shocking sight.

  The poor footman stumbled backward and fell to the floor. He scrambled away from the wheelchair, then turned onto all fours, and vomited. He was covered in blood.

  The smoky spirit of Edgecombe rose out of his body and drifted aimlessly around the room, as if caught by the drafts. When he finally stilled, he stared down at his own ghostly legs. Was he unable to believe he'd just killed himself? Or was he enthralled by his transformation into a ghost?

  The spirit of Cleves strolled up to him, signaled a rude hang gesture, then came back to me. "Am I done here?"

  "Yes, thank you," I said numbly. "Your assistance was most beneficial. You are released now, Mr. Cleves. Return to your afterlife."

  He slipped away, and Edgecombe's spirit followed soon after, thank God. I didn't want to converse with him.

  Lincoln checked the pulpy mess of the body in the wheelchair. He also held a pistol. Where had it come from? Why hadn't he used it before?

  My brain was busy trying to sort through questions and answers, yet my feet wouldn't move. I did not, however, collapse into a faint like Julia and Marguerite. I attributed my stoicism not to my more robust health, but my refusal to wear a corset. My lungs were not restricted like theirs. I was able to breathe as much air as my body required.

  Harcourt gently picked up his wife and carried her back to the sofa, where he waved the smelling salts beneath her nose. As she began to rouse, he wordlessly passed the salts onto Buchanan, who repeated the motion beneath Julia's nose. It would have been quite a romantic, noble scene if it weren't for the dead body and the retching footman in the entrance hall.

  Lincoln tucked his gun back into the waistband of his trousers, beneath his jacket. He then took charge, ordering the servants and helping where needed. He and Millard carried the body into the mews to await a coroner, and I summoned the courage to assist two of the maids in cleaning up the mess. I liked to think my lack of hysteria helped calm them, but in truth they cried throughout and raced off to the service area to wash themselves clean afterward.

  "Let’s go home, Charlie. You've done enough." Lincoln gently took my bloodied hand in his own and steered me toward the door and out to the waiting carriage. Someone must have apprised Seth of the events, because he seemed unsurprised to see us in such a state and did not ask questions.

  Back at Lichfield, I headed straight for the bathroom and turned on the taps. While the bath filled, I stripped off and scrubbed as much of the blood off my skin as I could at the sink without removing the skin itself. Finally, feeling more like myself, I sank into the bath and let the warm water soak away any remaining blood, fear and horror.

  The knock on the door roused me some time later, when the water had begun to cool. "Charlie? Are you all right?" It was Lincoln. He must be concerned, though perhaps he was waiting for the bath himself.

  "Yes, thank you. I'll be out in a moment."

  "I have clothes for you."

  I dried off, and with the towel around my body, opened the door a crack. The corridor was empty except for the clothing placed neatly in a pile on the nearby table. I took the garments back into the bathroom and hurriedly dressed.

  I found Lincoln in the parlor, stoking the fire. He must have washed outside because he was clean, his hair damp.

  "I'm sorry I occupied the bathroom for so long," I told him as I settled on the chair by the fire.

  "The bathroom is all yours whenever you want it. Tea?"

  "God, yes." Cook had not only provided tea, but also scones with large pots of jam and cream. He knew me so well. I helped myself to one and slathered as much jam and cream on top as would stay on.

  I angled my head to the fire to help dry my hair and ate an entire scone in a mere three bites.

  "Better?" Lincoln asked as he watched me sip tea.

  I nodded. "Much, thank you. I think I was a little in shock for a while there."

  "Nobody but me would have noticed. You carried yourself admirably, Charlie. Much more capably than the other females."

  I felt the heat rise in my face at his praise. "Perhaps that's because I'm used to death now."

  "Death, yes; horror, no. I'm sorry you had to see that."

  "Poor Marguerite, to see her brother die in such a ghastly manner."

  "I would like to tell you that she'll recover, but her mind was already delicate. I'm not sure how she'll cope with this."

  I sighed. Then I frowned. "I didn't know you had a gun."

  "We were confronting a man who put another into Bedlam using force and trickery. I thought a weapon might be useful."

  "Why didn't you use it?"

  "There was no opportunity. If I had, he might have shot you. Or anyone." His eyes banked with deeper, blacker shadows as he looked at me. "I couldn't risk it."

  He couldn't risk me being injured. Of all the people in that room, I was the only one he cared about. It was both thrilling and intoxicating, yet troubling too to think that he might sacrifice other lives if it meant saving mine.

  "If only you'd pulled your gun out before he drew his," I said.

  He sipped his tea and looked at the flames.

  "You could have, couldn't you? Either before or after, when his attention was on one of the others. He wouldn't have noticed you until it was too late."

  Still he didn't answer, and I knew I was correct. Lincoln had de
liberately not shown his hand, perhaps so as not to startle Edgecombe into shooting one of us. But perhaps also so he could calmly and very deliberately talk the man into seeing the hopelessness of the situation and his future.

  "You intended for him to kill himself," I said quietly. "Didn't you?"

  He slowly lowered the cup to the table. "The man hated his life. He wanted it to end. Added to which, he would have gone to prison. Buchanan and Harcourt would have seen to it."

  A lump made swallowing difficult. Tears pricked my eyes. Perhaps he was right and the future he so coldly mapped out for Edgecombe was the one he would most likely have had. And perhaps Edgecombe would never have been willing to make the best of the situation. But Lincoln should not have encouraged him to end his life. He should not have played any sort of hand in Edgecombe's decision.

  "I have told you, do not romanticize me," he said, standing. "I'm the man known as Death by the people who know me best."

  "Not by me."

  He bent and touched my hair, brushing the damp locks off my cheek and tucking them behind my ear. "Perhaps you're a fool."

  "Perhaps I am."

  He lowered his hand, before I could catch it, and walked away.

  * * *

  The dowager Lady Harcourt arrived two days later when I was in the midst of packing a trunk for my journey to France. Lincoln and I weren't set to leave for another two days, but I decided to get an early start. I had to do something or go mad from waiting to experience so many firsts—first time outside of England, first time on a boat, first glimpse of the sea, first time alone with Lincoln for several days.

  I wasn't sure if Julia was a welcome distraction or not. On the one hand, I didn't want to suffer through her remarks, which had become snider and snider over the past few weeks, but on the other, I wanted to know how her family was faring after the recent tragedy.

  Lincoln took the decision away from me. "You'll act as mistress of Lichfield and have tea with us in the parlor," he told me. While I was recovering from my shock he opened the door to greet her.

  "Lincoln," Julia said, kissing his cheek and laying her hand on his shoulder. "I'm so pleased to see you've recovered after that trying experience."

  "There was nothing for me to recover from," he said, stepping away.

  Julia lowered her hand and caught sight of me, standing back near the staircase. "Charlie," she said with bland indifference.

  "Lady Harcourt," I said, unable to call her by her first name when she hadn't asked me to. Some things were so deeply ingrained into one's habits that they could not be expunged, even with a large dose of spite.

  Lincoln turned his back on her and arched his brows at me. His eyeballs angled toward the parlor, and I understood what he wanted me to do.

  "Come and join us for tea," I said with a smile.

  "Not me, I'm afraid," Lincoln said. "I have work to do."

  I shook my head at him. "Surely, you can spare a few minutes."

  "You must join us." Julia slipped her arm through his and steered him toward the parlor. "After all, I came here to speak to you."

  I rolled my eyes as she turned her head away. "Tea, please, Gus," I whispered to him when he appeared.

  "With a dash of venom for the lady?" he asked with a wink.

  "She has enough of her own."

  I walked into the parlor with a smooth, unhurried step that I hoped oozed confidence and decorum. If it did, it unfortunately went unnoticed by Julia. Her entire attention was focused on Lincoln as he stood near the window. I sank onto the chair by the hearth where the fire would hopefully chase the chill from my bones, which Julia's arrival had put there.

  "How is Lady Harcourt?" I asked her since neither of them spoke.

  "Much weaker, as is expected," Julia said. "She and Donald returned to Emberly yesterday, thank goodness. She hadn't stopped crying since John's death."

  "She just lost her brother under quite awful circumstances."

  "Charlie, if you wish to be a part of the ministry then you must harden yourself or you will end up the same way as poor Marguerite—witless and the butt of jokes." She held her hand up as I opened my mouth to protest. "Yes, it's cruel, but I am only the messenger, not the instigator. Do not blame me for pointing out how others will react."

  Ha! She seemed to be the only one saying and thinking such things. On the other hand, I did not move in the same circles as her and did not hear the gossip. I was never more grateful for that than now.

  "And the body of Edgecombe?" Lincoln asked.

  Julia chuckled a throaty laugh. "Always the macabre with you, my dear. Your fascination with death continues to astound me." Her gaze flicked to me then away. Was she implying that his attention to me was due to my necromancy? "The body will be sent to the Edgecombe family estate, where a cousin will oversee the funeral and burial arrangements."

  "And Mr. Buchanan?" I asked. "Has he learned anything from this experience?"

  "Learned? Whatever do you mean?"

  "Not to gamble, for one."

  "His debts are now paid."

  "By you?" Lincoln asked.

  She gave a slight nod.

  "What's to stop him racking up further debts and coming to you to pay them off again and again?"

  "I know you think I've created a rod for my own back, but there was nothing else to be done. I would rather not have his creditors send around their thugs in the middle of the night, terrifying my staff. They've experienced quite enough trauma, thank you. I made my decision and that's final."

  "Did you report to the rest of the committee?"

  "I have, but since it didn't turn out to be a ministry matter, it was a courtesy only. There is no need for you to write an additional report. My husband's journals and other things will be returned to the attic and filed away once more."

  "What of Buchanan's curiosity?"

  "I think he no longer has any. Once I assured him that seers cannot foresee the winners of races, he lost interest."

  Gus brought in tea and I poured as he silently left again. Julia accepted her cup and we waited for her to announce the reason for her visit. Part of me worried that she had discovered our pending journey to France and had come to put a stop to it. But Lincoln had assured me the committee members would not be told.

  "I've come to offer my services," she finally announced, setting down her cup. "I wish to redecorate this room, among others. If you are to have young ladies of good family call upon you—"

  "There will be no one calling upon me," Lincoln said.

  "Tosh. Of course there will be. We must find you a wife, poste haste. I am in earnest now, Lincoln. And not just any wife, but the right wife. Someone sweet of nature, who is content with her lot in life, and not at all magical." Her smile was all teeth and no humor, and I had no doubt it was directed at me, along with her comments on the type of wife Lincoln should have. The mythical woman she described was my opposite in every way.

  "Someone like Miss Overton?" I asked.

  "Precisely. If only you had come to know her better, Lincoln, you would have found her company very…interesting."

  "I doubt that," he said.

  "Granted, she was a little silly."

  I pressed my lips together to suppress my smile.

  "But she is lovely, in her way, and very pretty."

  I watched Lincoln over the rim of my cup to see if he agreed with this last sentiment, but he had his blank expression in place and gave nothing away.

  "Thank you for your offer to redecorate," he said before she could go on. "But it's not necessary. Charlie will be redecorating the entire house."

  "Charlie! But…she has no experience in these things. No offence meant, child, but a house like Lichfield requires a good eye to do it justice."

  That wasn't offensive at all.

  "And deep pockets?" Lincoln intoned.

  I grinned into my teacup.

  "A good eye," she said again stiffly, "and an innate sense of style and sophistication that cannot be learne
d."

  Now I was determined to present the most tastefully redecorated parlor the city had ever seen. The only problem was, I had no idea how to go about it. She was right. I was the least sophisticated woman to be left in charge of such a task for such a grand house. How did one go about finding things to buy? Were there periodicals? Who should I place orders with? And for what?

  "Charlie will do the room justice, I'm sure," he said. "Before you go, Julia, I should inform you that I will be absent for up to a week."

  She lowered her cup as if it were suddenly too heavy. "Where are you going?"

  "It's a private matter."

  "Private?" she echoed, as if such a thing was absurd. "But…you have no…" She picked up her cup again and sipped.

  "Privacy?" he finished for her. "I do understand that my life and the ministry's are tied together in the tightest of ways, but I think even you would allow me some time to myself."

  "Are you going on a holiday?"

  "Of sorts."

  She blinked at him, perhaps trying to picture Lincoln with his trouser legs rolled up, strolling along a beach. The image was so absurd that I giggled. He arched his brows at me, and I could swear his lips lifted a little at the edges.

  "I'll write to the rest of the committee to inform them," he told her.

  She continued to stare at him, her tea forgotten. "But…how are we to get in touch with you if there is urgent ministry business?"

  "Leave it with my staff. I'll tend to everything when I return. Excuse me, ladies, I have work to do." He set his cup down and left us.

  I wasn't surprised when Julia announced that she had to leave too. I walked her to the door and assisted her with her hat. She paused in the middle of her goodbye, her gaze intent on the chatelaine at my hip. She traced the outline of the goddess figure with her fingernail.

  "It's pretty, isn't it?" I said.

  Her hand whipped back as if the silver stung. With a nod at me, she let herself out. I wasn't sorry to see her go.

  "Lincoln," I said, when I found him with Seth in the stables, preparing the horses for a ride, including the small gray mare that he'd bought for my use alone. "Why did you tell her that I was going to redecorate?"