Beyond the Grave Page 3

  "That must be when the committee purchased this place," Seth said.

  "And when Mr. Fitzroy moved in and came to be in charge," I added. "Lord Harcourt died shortly after, did he not?"

  "Aye," Gus said. "Before Seth and me came to work here. Years of plannin', only to be pushin' up daisies when all the fun starts."

  "You have a strange definition of fun. Are there more entries for Fitzroy?"

  We searched through the remaining pages but found very little. They mostly consisted of dates written beside "Lich" and the abbreviated names for Fitzroy, Marchbank, Eastbrooke and Gillingham. They must have been meetings held at Lichfield with the entire committee, including the general who would have retired by then.

  "Nothing about Lady H then?" Gus asked.

  "Aha!" Seth spun the book around with a flourish to show Gus. "An entry describing how he bedded her for the first time, in luscious detail."

  Gus grabbed the journal and poured over the page. He handed it back with a withering glare. "Turd," he muttered, returning to his own book.

  Seth chuckled. "She does rate a few mentions. Here's one. 'My dearest Julia' he usually refers to her. 'For my dearest Julia, a ball gown of pink silk, Madame La Mondelle the modiste, £12.'"

  I pointed to a sketch of a necklace and matching earrings on the next page. "I recognize those. She wore them the night of the ball. 'Diamonds for my dearest Julia, Ogden & Sons jewelers, £1,050.'"

  Gus whistled. "He must've been made of money."

  I flipped back through the journal, but there were no earlier entries for her. "I think these were written after they married, or perhaps when they were courting. There are no entries for when they met, as far as I can see. She seems to have suddenly burst onto the scene. I expect a mention of her as Miss Something-or-other, but there's nothing prior to him buying her jewelry and dresses."

  Seth took back the journal and snapped it shut. "None of this has anything to do with the missing Andrew Buchanan. It's not even his journal."

  "No, but he had it in his possession. Fitzroy was also looking through it when I came in. He wouldn't be interested if it had no importance."

  "Then you look through it. I need some tea if I'm to be stuck in here for hours."

  He left Gus and me searching through the remaining books. I kept coming back to the journal, however. When Seth returned with a tray of tea things, I picked the journal up again and studied it in more detail. What would Andrew glean from pages upon pages of his father's notes? Which name, event or date in particular would interest him?

  It struck me when I saw a long list of phrases. The list began with "Department of Oddities" at the top and ended with "Ministry of Peculiar Things" underlined at the bottom. It was the original name for the newly-formed Ministry Of Curiosities, headed by Lincoln. Lord Harcourt and the other committee members acted as custodians of the archives and ministry affairs, while Lincoln did all the real work. "I wonder if Buchanan came to realize that his father was involved in something quite extraordinary. It might explain his new interest in the occult." I indicated the other books, many of which were basic primers on various supernatural subjects. "Perhaps he discovered the ministry's existence through this journal."

  Seth nodded thoughtfully. "Could be."

  "I wonder if it bothered him that he was never told anything about it."

  "I wonder if he knew he and his brother were overlooked as heirs to the secret in favor of their step-mother?"

  "The luscious Lady H," Gus said with a frown. "You sure she ain't mentioned more in there? Maybe in some code or other. Only, if I were meetin' on the sly with a girl who were beneath me, I'd have put her name in code."

  "No one is beneath you," Seth rattled off rather automatically, as if his heart weren't in the jibe but he felt compelled to say it anyway.

  He and I exchanged glances, then both fell on the journal. We flipped to the pages before the first mention of Lady Harcourt's name, and searched through the listing of dates and other bits and pieces. In the end, I gave up with a sigh.

  "Nothing," I said, slumping back into the chair. It wasn't lost on me that I was spending far too much time searching for information about Lord Harcourt's relationship with Lady Harcourt and not on the missing Andrew Buchanan, but I dismissed it as a result of my still being upset over Lincoln's rejection. Although I no longer held much respect for Lady Harcourt, I felt we had an affinity with one another now, both having been set aside by him.

  "He went to the theater a lot," Seth said, pointing out a series of entries on several pages that I'd dismissed. "But then he suddenly stopped, directly before the first appearance of "my dearest Julia.'"

  I pulled the journal closer. "'The Al?'" I shrugged.

  "The Alhambra Theater. It's a music hall in Leicester Square."

  I smirked. "Ah, yes." I knew of The Alhambra and its allure. The theater held performances of spectacles and ballets, but was better known as a place to ogle the scantily clad dancers who would join the young bucks for a drink during the long interval. I'd even heard of whores slipping inside in the hopes of securing a customer. The gentlemen were easy pickings for us pickpockets when they left drunk as sailors and unable to walk straight, let alone catch us.

  "Blimey," Gus said. "You think old Harcourt was entertainin' himself with the doxies at The Alhambra?"

  Seth nodded. "I also think he met with the future Lady Harcourt there. Look at this." He tapped his finger on the initials J.T.

  I shrugged. "It could mean anything."

  "Templeton was her maiden name." He flipped back through the preceding pages, pointing out every entry of "The Al" with the initials J.T. beside it and a date. There were many, but the further back we went, the entries changed. J.T. was simply J, and prior to that, alongside "The Al" appeared the words "Miss D.D."

  "Who is Miss D.D?" I asked.

  "An actress or dancer?" Seth shrugged. "Perhaps he replaced her with Julia Templeton."

  "The Alhambra is an odd place to meet the daughter of a school master. I couldn't imagine her father being too pleased to know she was there."

  "P'haps she just liked the theater," Gus said.

  "Then she'd more likely choose one with a better reputation."

  Seth chuckled. "One doesn't go to The Alhambra to watch the stage. Except for the can can."

  "Speaking from experience?"

  He grinned. "Entirely."

  "We ought to find out more about Miss D.D. and why Lord Harcourt listed her in his journal."

  "Why?" Gus asked.

  "Indeed?" Seth chimed in. "What has it to do with the investigation into Buchanan's disappearance?"

  "I'm not sure," I said, "but we ought to look into it. If nothing else, it's something to do."

  "You need to rest your foot."

  "I will, but after it's healed we should investigate all loose ends from this journal. Buchanan most likely found something in here that intrigued him, something that he went on to investigate."

  "This is interesting." Seth flattened out both sides of the journal. "A page is missing. It's been torn very close to the spine."

  I peered closer. "So it has. And look. You can make out the impression on this page of something that was written on the torn one. It was underlined." I flipped to the next page. "The impression even appears here too. One only writes so heavily when one is angry."

  "I think it's a name. Estelle Mary…Pearson."

  "I wonder who she is."

  He flipped a few pages, but her name did not reappear. "There are some dates and times here, perhaps for appointments, but no names or places beside them. If they are associated with this Estelle Mary Pearson, we'll never know."

  "It's the most vehement writing throughout the entire journal. I wonder if Buchanan recognized the name."

  "Ask her ladyship if she knows it," Gus said.

  "Good idea. I'll suggest to Fitzroy to do so."

  They both looked at me with sympathy. "Is that wise?" Seth asked.

  "Bes
t wait for him to calm down," Gus added.

  They had a point. "I'll do it later."

  Seth took the journal off me. "I'll do it."

  I took the book back. "No, I will. I have to speak with him sooner or later. I promise not to argue with him this time. I'll keep the conversation to ministry business only. There? Happy now?"

  Gus responded with a snort. Seth muttered, "Hardly," and continued to read.

  "You can do one thing for me," I said to Seth. "There's a gift box on my dressing table. Please return it to Mr. Fitzroy. I find it difficult to carry things while using the infernal crutches."

  "What's in the box?" he asked.

  "Oi! Mind your own bloody business," Gus snapped. "Don't answer him, Charlie."

  Seth merely shrugged. We all returned to reading through the books, until finally we heard Lincoln return, but not through the front door. His hair was a little more tangled than when he'd left, his face flushed. His gaze didn't meet mine, but slipped straight to the table and the things on it.

  "What's this?" he growled.

  It would seem the exercise and cool air hadn't improved his mood. At least he wasn't shouting.

  Seth and Gus got to their feet and edged toward the door as Lincoln strode in. "We was just, er…" Gus looked to Seth.

  "Leaving," Seth finished.

  "Cowards," I muttered, earning me a glare from Gus. "I was tired of sewing so decided to do some investigating," I told Lincoln, as the other two filed out. Their departure left me feeling somewhat exposed and vulnerable. The bruises from my earlier battle with Lincoln were still raw, and I had no inclination to earn any more. I was determined to keep this conversation away from matters of the heart.

  "Have you learned anything?" His manner seemed less threatening, his growl not quite so harsh. Perhaps he had resolved not to clash with me again too.

  "Lord Harcourt's journal is the most interesting thing here."

  "Agreed."

  "You read it?"

  "Only a few pages." He sat. "Did you?"

  "We deciphered a few entries. If Buchanan is clever enough, he would have worked out that his father was part of the ministry, but whether he understands its function is unknown."

  "The jury is out on whether he is indeed clever enough."

  It may have been a joke but I didn't feel like smiling. "The only interesting thing of note is the missing page."

  He leaned forward, but being on the opposite side of the table to me, he was still somewhat far away. I opened the book to where the page had been. He ran his finger over the indentation left behind by the vicious scribble of Estelle Pearson's name. "He was angry when he wrote this."

  "There is no other mention of her. Linc—Mr. Fitzroy, perhaps you could ask Lady Harcourt if she knows the name."

  "I will. Anything else?"

  I bit the inside of my lip. There was no indication that Miss D.D. and The Alhambra theater had anything to do with Buchanan's disappearance, but I couldn't put it out of my mind. "There are some odd entries here, associated with Lady Harcourt and The Alhambra."

  A small crease connected his severe black brows. He followed the entries back through the journal to where the initials J.T. were replaced with Miss D.D. His expression didn't change, not even to add an extra blink, but even so, I detected something shift in him. The entries did mean something.

  "Do you know why Lord Harcourt would be meeting his future wife at The Alhambra?"

  His slight hesitation had me sitting forward. "No."

  "Do you know how they met?"

  "No. He was a staid, steady gentleman. I wouldn't have thought The Alhambra was his sort of thing."

  "But how did they meet? It's not as if schoolmasters' daughters socialize within the same circles as lords. Harcourt has only sons, so she wasn't a governess for him."

  "She's never told me the story of their introduction."

  "You never asked?"

  "No."

  I frowned. "Why not?"

  "It never came up."

  "But you were…" I swallowed the rest of my sentence. Saying it aloud might betray my jealousy. She had at least shared his bed, and it was becoming more and more obvious that I never would. "I would have thought you'd like to the know everything there was to know about your…paramours."

  "Is that what you think?"

  "Investigating her seems like something you would do before you…became involved with a woman. Checking on their situations, their families, interests and so forth." I cleared my throat and shifted my weight in the chair. Sitting for so long was becoming tiresome. I needed to get up and move about. I needed to get away from Lincoln and my growing humiliation.

  "My liaison with Lady Harcourt was fleeting, and over almost as soon as it had begun. I never bothered to ask her about her private life, and she never offered up the information." It was considerably more than I expected him to give. Indeed, I'd expected avoidance altogether. His words shocked me into looking at him once again.

  He met my gaze with his level one. "Does that explanation suffice?"

  Was he mocking me? Teasing me over my jealousy? I doubted it, since he was trying to cut off my feelings for him before they blossomed. I lifted my chin. "It will have to do. So what's next? How will you find Buchanan?"

  "I'll make inquiries at the places he frequents. I've already begun, but there are several more on my list."

  "And you'll search for this Estelle Pearson?"

  "I'll see what I can find in the public records, but it'll be a painstaking process unless she lives in the same house in which she was born."

  "It's likely she's in the same parish."

  "True. Or Lady Harcourt may know something."

  "And what of The Alhambra?" I asked.

  "I have no intention of going there."

  "Why not?"

  "Those entries appear to be a private matter between Lord and Lady Harcourt, nothing to do with the disappearance of Buchanan."

  "But you can't know that for certain," I said.

  "Instinct tells me otherwise."

  "Instinct?"

  "It rarely fails me."

  I hobbled away on my crutches. "How fortunate for you."

  "Charlie."

  His quiet command set my nerves jangling again. I stopped. "Yes?"

  He approached, but did not come too close, and stood with his hands behind his back. The distance was more of an indication of how he felt than his closed face and hooded eyes. "I need to apologize for my earlier behavior. I should never have allowed anger to rule me. If I scared you then I'm sorry. If I offended or wounded you, then I'm doubly sorry. I'm usually not in the habit of allowing my temper to get the better of me, but lately…" He shook his head, as if he couldn't quite understand how it had happened.

  "It seems I bring out your temper," I mumbled.

  "The fault is entirely mine, not yours. Forgive me." He offered a brief bow then moved past me and strode away.

  I stared at his back, grateful that he had broken the ice and apologized, yet uncertain how we could ever be comfortable around one another again.

  With a sigh, I headed into the kitchen. By the time I reached it, I'd decided to find something to do to keep my mind off Lincoln. Housework wasn't enough. It allowed far too much thinking time. What I needed was a puzzle. Aside from searching for Andrew Buchanan, the biggest puzzle I knew was finding out what Lord Harcourt had been up to at The Alhambra, and how Miss D.D. had been replaced by the future Lady Harcourt.

  Chapter 3

  It was another three days until the doctor returned and declared I could dispense with the crutches, as long as I didn't put too much weight on my cut foot. He suggested using a walking stick, and Gus went to fetch one from the attic. It had been left by the previous owner of Lichfield Towers, a gentleman of advanced years, and sported the carved wooden head of a mastiff. It was quite ugly and not at all feminine. It went against Seth's fashionable sensibilities to allow me to leave the house with it until I told him I'd leave the
house anyway, with or without the stick.

  "Why won't you tell us where you're going?" he asked, as I put on my warmest cloak, the one Lincoln had given me only a few weeks before. His question made me wonder if his reluctance to let me go had more to do with his concern for my safety than the stick's ugliness.

  "Because you won't approve."

  "Better go with her," Gus said with a grim set to his mouth.

  "You can't," I said. "Neither of you can. You're about to head out yourselves." They were going with Lincoln to a gambling den in the east end that gossip suggested Andrew Buchanan liked to frequent. So far, their search had not produced anything more substantial than rumor and innuendo. Several of Buchanan's acquaintances had suggested he was being held prisoner by someone he owed money to, had offended, or ruined. Apparently they'd laughed themselves into fits at the prospect.

  "At least tell us what you're up to," Seth said as he slid a dagger up his sleeve. "It'll ease my conscience if I know where you are."

  I sighed. "It's like having two overbearing big brothers."

  "Three," Cook chimed in with a wave of his vegetable knife.

  I smiled. In truth, I quite liked the idea of having brothers. They weren't yet stifling me, but I did wonder if the novelty would wear off if I had to report on my whereabouts every day. "The Alhambra."

  All three stopped what they were doing to stare at me.

  "It's broad daylight, there will be no disreputable gentlemen about, and not a chance that I'll be mistaken for a doxy in my maid's uniform or this cloak." Hand on hip, I dared them to gainsay me.

  "Does he know you're going out?" was all Seth asked.

  There was no need to mention names. We all knew who he meant. "I was just about to inform him." Right on cue, Lincoln strolled in, looking magnificent in full-length coachman's cape and leather gloves, his hair neatly tied back, and his black boots gleaming. He would cut quite an imposing figure on the driver's seat, particularly if he drove at his usual breakneck speed through the city wearing that scowl.