Beyond the Grave (3 page)

"Jewelry," Gus said, holding up a star-shaped pendent hanging from a worn leather strip. "And not quality, neither. Not for a fancy toff like Buchanan."

"Not jewelry; charms." Seth swiveled the journal he'd been reading to show us. Each charm's likeness had been sketched onto a page with artistic skill. The diagrams were labeled with what appeared to be explanations of each particular charm's power. The star was supposed to ward off illness.

It reminded me of the eye pendent I'd found in Lincoln's room. His charm protected the wearer against spells cast by someone with the evil eye. The pendent had come from Lincoln's mother, whom he'd never met and knew very little about. He didn't know that I'd discovered it was gypsy in origin.

"What else does that journal say?" I signaled for Seth to bring it closer so we could both study it.

He moved around to my side of the table and flipped to the beginning. "It belonged to Lord Harcourt—"

"Lord Harcourt? I thought it was Andrew Buchanan's journal."

He pointed to the lines written in an elegant looping hand on the front page. "Warren Buchanan, third Baron Harcourt, is the late Lord Harcourt, not the present one."

"Lady H's husband," Gus added, craning his neck to see. "What's it say then? Anythin' about his courtin' her ladyship?"

"If you mean does he describe climbing through her window to ravish her, then no. It's not that kind of journal." Seth leafed forward through the pages. "It's more of a random collection of information, perhaps designed to jog his memory. There are hastily scribbled verses and quotes, for example, and several sketches of the supernatural objects contained in that box. Names and dates for appointments, addresses, and what appear to be the odds of runners at Royal Ascot and the like. Our committee members feature heavily." He tapped an entry near the middle of the book.

"General Registry Office,'" I read. Below the page's heading was a list of names and years, written in different ink each time. The script grew scratchy and thin toward the end. "'Marchbank '77. Harcourt '78. Gillingham '79. I think it's a list of which committee member was to be alerted if certain public records were accessed at the General Registry Office."

Both men stared at me.

I cleared my throat. "I have some experience with the triggers set there. General Eastbrooke isn't listed, I see."

"He would have been posted overseas during those years," Seth said. "He hasn't been retired long."

He pointed out some more entries that could be attributed to ministry business. I slapped my hand down at the first sighting of Lincoln's name, halting his progress. There was no date associated with it, but it did mention Lichfield Towers. Underneath was a sketch of the house itself. The entry was very close to the final pages of the entire journal.

"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.

"Best 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.