Beyond the Grave (5 page)

To London's elite, a lady harboring any scandal in her background was indeed shameful and would ordinarily be scorned, ridiculed and ultimately drummed out of the best circles. She could not hope to marry well and would never be asked to so much as drink tea alongside a respectable lady. A lady with a past had no hope of dragging her good name out of the mud—ever. A past clung to her forever, like a stain on her very soul.

It was why I could never be more than a housemaid. As a vicar's daughter, I
might
have married above my station and been admitted to polite society. But as a waif who'd lived on the street for five years, marriage to a pig farmer was more than I could aspire to. It was fortunate, then, that I had no intentions of marrying anyone, since Lincoln had declared himself unavailable.

"Did she work here?" I asked the stage manager's assistant. "Do you remember her when she was known as Julia Templeton?"

"I do. We were dancers together on that very stage."

"You were a dancer? How marvelous. I could see from your bearing and grace that you were a cut above the average." My shameless flattery earned me a smile from Miss Redding, albeit a wary one. I'd best not lay it on too thick, or she might detect my insincerity. "Thank you for confirming my suspicion about Lady Harcourt. How did she come to dance here? Her father was a schoolmaster, wasn't he? Weren't her family appalled at her decision to dance at The Alhambra?"

"How should I know? Anyway, beggars can't be choosers, so I always say. She's not the first girl from a respectable family who had to put her dainty little toes on those boards out there, and she won't be the last."

"She needed the money?"

"So we all assumed. Her father died and her mother was ill, so she said, and she squirreled away every penny, half starving herself to hoard her wages."

My sympathies for Lady Harcourt rose, and I felt awful for thinking ill of her. Of course she must have been poor to accept work as a dancer. No respectable girl would dream of doing so unless she were desperate. "Why not work as a governess?" I said, more to myself.

Miss Redding sniffed. "She made sure to tell us that her dancing career would be a temporary one, and that she would be leaving as soon as she could secure an appropriate position in a respectable household. Indeed, she reminded us of this frequently."

"Did she catch the eye of Lord Harcourt from the stage?"

"Blimey, no. She wasn't a very good dancer, but she had the sort of figure men notice."

Unlike Miss Redding and myself. She was tall and slender while I was short and still rather skinny. Neither of us could claim a bosom to rival Lady Harcourt's.

"He noticed her in the promenade at interval," she went on. "When she found out who he was, she latched onto him pretty quick." The more she spoke, the more her accent changed from the crisp tones of an efficient assistant, to the flat vowels of a working class girl. "He weren't the first gentleman to notice her, mind, but he were the richest and had a title and all. He was also in need of a wife. When Miss D.D. learned that, she wouldn't let the other girls near him."

"Was Miss D.D her stage name?"

Miss Redding nodded. "We all had stage names what we gave out to the gentlemen at interval. Mr. Golightly didn't want us using our real ones. He said it kept us safe."

"Mr. Golightly is probably correct. So Miss D.D. captured Lord Harcourt's attention and the rest, as they say, is history."

"That's right. But…" She leaned down close again. "He weren't her first…admirer. Not by a long shot."

"A woman like that would have many admirers, I'm sure. She's quite beautiful."

Miss Redding lifted her hand and seemed to be about to touch her scarred face in a self-conscious move, but at the last moment patted her bouncy curls. "She knew it, too. At first she were shy, out there on the promenade, but after one or two bucks showed some interest, she learned mighty quick how to attract 'em. After less than a week here, she was batting her lashes at the gentlemen, and lowering her costume at her chest and hitching it high up her leg. Shameless, she was. Course, the gentleman fell over themselves to buy her drinks or give her gifts."

"Gifts?"

"Fans, combs, baubles. She kept some and sold others."

"This is very interesting, Miss Redding, and thank you for the information. But what I don't understand is, how could she go from that life to her current one and not a whiff of it reach society?"

She shrugged. "Toffs only see what they want to see. Miss D.D. wore a blonde wig and painted her lips. She also put on a hat when she were out on the promenade, something with feathers or veils to cover her face. No one knew her real name, not even us, but I learned it after I saw her likeness in the papers when she married Lord Harcourt."

That did explain the anonymity. It would be inconceivable to the society matrons that a dancer could elevate herself to a baron's wife, so they'd never suspect. "It was good of you not to reveal her secret."

She humphed. "Mr. Golightly pretended the new Lady Harcourt in the papers weren't our Miss D.D. but a lookalike. Then he threatened to dismiss anyone who breathed a word, which only told us she
were
Miss D.D." She laughed a brittle cackle that made me feel even more sorry for Lady Harcourt. Her secret hung by a tenuous thread that was in very real danger of snapping one day. "I suspect he got paid handsomely, and still does, to keep mum. Now, Miss Holloway, if you will answer something for me."

I backed a little toward the door. "If I can."

"Who really wants to know about Lady Harcourt's past? The newspapers?"

"I told you, Lord Harcourt's family."

"I doubt that." Her eyes flashed as she stepped toward me. "You're too young and the wrong sex to be a private inquiry agent, and I happen to know that Lord Harcourt's family are already aware of his widow's past."

I halted my retreat. "They are?"

She nodded. "At least one member, anyway."

"Her stepson," I said on a breath. "Andrew Buchanan."

She seemed surprised that I'd guessed. "You know how he knows about her then?"

"Not quite."

"What I'm about to tell you will come as quite a shock. You must prepare yourself, Miss Holloway, as your fiancé has a past as colorful as his stepmother's."

My eyes almost popped out of my head. "My what?"

"You're hoping to marry him, aren't you?"

"Uh, yes. How did you know?"

"I see you're from good family." She fingered my velvet cloak. It almost completely hid my maid's uniform except for the bottom half of the skirt. "You're young and pretty, just the sort he likes." Her finger brushed the underside of my jaw. "And all these questions can only mean you're trying to solve a puzzle about your intended's family. Perhaps your own parents have voiced concerns about Lady Harcourt's origins, so you took it upon yourself to learn more. Did Mr. Buchanan hint about The Alhambra so you decided to start here?"

"You are very perceptive, Miss Redding. I admire your powers of deduction immensely."

She smiled a genuine smile. "I hear he's very eligible, and I know him to be handsome."

"He comes here?"

"Not anymore." She sighed. "Such a pity, but after she broke his heart, he hasn't set foot in The Al."

"She?"

"Oh, I am sorry." Her hand fluttered at her chest as she gave me a pitying look. "I see that I have shocked you, and you don't even know the worst of it yet. Yes, your fiancé used to spend many an evening in the promenade with us dancing girls. He was very well liked for his generosity and his charming manner. He could have had his pick. But I'm sure you know how he is. You can't blame a fellow for cutting his teeth here when he were but a mere lad."

"How long ago was this?"

She counted on her fingers. "Four or five years ago."

"He would have been quite young." I didn't know Andrew Buchanan's exact age, but I didn't think he was more than twenty-two or twenty-three.

"He just started university, I believe. He would come here on holidays, sneaking out of the house when his father thought he was asleep." She merely shrugged one shoulder, as if it were not unusual. "As I said, I am sorry to be the one to tell you about his past, but you cannot be surprised." She didn't look sorry. From the cruel twist of her mouth and the spark in her eyes, I'd say she was enjoying every moment. Perhaps it wasn't just Lady Harcourt's good fortune she resented, but Buchanan's rejection of her, if she was one of the dancers who had admired him.

"That would have been during the time Lady Harcourt performed here," I said. "So he must have seen her."

"Oh yes, he saw her. He also fell in love with her."

I
had
to wait until the following day to impart my new knowledge. Lincoln and the others hadn't returned by midnight when I sank into bed, too tired to concentrate on my book. Seth and Gus emerged from the attic bedrooms late morning, yawning and rubbing red-rimmed eyes, but there was no sign of Lincoln.

"Did you have any success?" I asked them as they joined Cook and me in the kitchen.

"None," Seth said, inspecting the contents of a pot on the range.

"He's disappeared good and proper," Gus said. "Ain't a stick of truth in any of the rumors we been chasin' down all night. Nobody knows where he is."

"Nobody particularly cares, either, except those who claim he owes them money. They're worried they'll never see their debts paid if he's dead." Seth dipped the soup ladle into the pot and lifted it to his pursed lips.

Cook snatched it before his mouth could touch it. "Where be your manners? Get a bowl."

"It was just a little sip!"

Cook clicked his tongue and shook his head. "And you be raised a gen'leman, too."

Seth pouted and fetched himself a bowl from the cupboard.

"Get one for me too," Gus said. "Charlie?"

"I've already had some."

"Did your expedition to The Alhambra produce any results?" Seth asked, holding out the two bowls for Cook.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, but I don't want to repeat myself. I'll wait for Mr. Fitzroy to come down."

"He already been down," Cook said. "He went out while you were cleanin' in the parlor."

"Oh. Well. I'd still like to wait."

I occupied the next little while with dusting. It felt good to be able to perform my duties once again, even though I used the walking stick to get around. Lincoln returned when I'd just completed the library. I saw him ride up the driveway at speed, then a few minutes later, Gus came to collect me.

"Death wants you to wait for him in the parlor," he said in a plummy toff accent.

"You have to stop calling him that. It's neither accurate nor fair."

"I think it bloody well is. Wherever he goes, a dead body is sure to turn up sooner or later."

I sighed and followed him across the entrance hall to the parlor. Lincoln and Seth joined us a few minutes later. Lincoln had removed the leather strip tying his hair back and the locks fell in waves to just below his collar. He ran his hand through it in a self-conscious move that was rare for him.

"Seth tells me you have information about Lady Harcourt's past," he said.

"And a good afternoon to you too." I gave a little curtsy which he couldn't fail to notice mocked his lack of gentlemanly greeting. He did not move a muscle. "I have indeed learned some things from The Alhambra staff. Lady Harcourt met Lord Harcourt in the promenade when she was a dancer at that establishment."

Seth's jaw dropped, and Gus's eyes bulged. Then he tipped his head back and laughed. "Her ladyship were a dancer at The Al? I'd wager she was popular at interval with her big—"

Seth smacked his shoulder and Gus choked on the rest of his sentence. "She's a lady now," Seth said, "and one doesn't blacken a lady's character by discussing her figure, or her past."

"But what if it's true?"

"Even more reason to sweep it under the rug and nail the rug down so tightly that it can never be lifted again. This news goes no further than this room." Seth arched his brows at me. "Charlie?"

"I'm surprised at you, Seth." I was rather put-out, to be honest. Lady Harcourt was no better than me, yet he was prepared to protect her honor. Would he have done so for mine, or was it because she was a proper lady now, through her marriage? "We have to confront her about her past."

"No," Lincoln said. "We let the matter rest here."

I leaned on my walking stick, gripping the mastiff's head tightly in my fist. "You knew, didn't you?"

"Suspected. She always seemed more…worldly than a schoolmaster's daughter ought to be."

Gus snickered.

"I wondered how she met someone of Harcourt's standing, and long suspected it was under circumstances that some would frown upon," Lincoln went on. "I didn't know it was at The Alhambra until you found those references."

"If you already knew, and you weren't prepared to take the matter further, why allow me to investigate?"

His gaze slipped away. "You would have gone anyway. I thought it best to get it out of your system."

"Get what out of my system?"

Several seconds passed before he answered. "You can see now that Lady Harcourt has had a difficult past. Sometimes she acts in a particular way to preserve herself because she's afraid of losing what she's gained."

I blinked at him. "Are you saying you want me to be friends with her? After she threw me to the wolves?"

"I am not a wolf."

"Then stop growling like one."

Gus and Seth exchanged glances, clearly lost by our conversation. They didn't know Lady Harcourt had used me to betray Lincoln's trust and then scarpered so that I would take the blame. Lincoln did, however, yet he wanted me to sympathize with her and excuse her behavior.

I would not. It was unthinkable, and it hurt that he expected it. It hurt even more that he still held her in high regard.

"So the matter will be forgotten," I said. "I think that's a mistake."

He shook his head, but it was Seth who spoke. "One does not ask a lady about her past, Charlie, particularly in matters of the heart."

"She wasn't a lady then."

Gus grunted a laugh. "And I'd wager the heart had nothin' to do with it."

"All the more reason to let sleeping dogs lie," Seth said. "That's the etiquette when a gentleman discovers these things."

"I doubt other ladies would be so blind," I said.

"They would savage her," he agreed. "I can't have that on my conscience. I suggest that this goes no further than the four of us." He arched his brows at Lincoln.

Lincoln nodded. "It has nothing to do with our search for Buchanan, so I will not mention it in her company or elsewhere. Nor will any of you." He glared at Gus and Gus swallowed heavily and nodded. Then he looked to me.

"You may be wrong," I said, trying to keep the smugness out of my voice. "There
is
a connection with this piece of information and Andrew Buchanan, as it happens."

All three men gave me their full attention.

"Buchanan used to frequent The Alhambra too. He fell in love with the dancer known as Miss D.D.—Julia Templeton—but was quickly set aside when a more eligible gentleman took an interest in her—his own father. Such rejection from a mere dancer would have angered him. Couple that with jealousy, and then to have the same woman become his stepmother! Can you imagine it?"

Gus was the first to recover his voice. "Blimey," he muttered. "That's a kick in the bollocks that he'd feel for years."

"Precisely. Perhaps Buchanan had finally had enough of seeing her every day and decided to walk away from his life, and her, forever."

Seth stroked his chin and pulled a face as he thought. "It doesn't sound like something he would do. Why now? Why not when they married?"

I shrugged. "He had no money and needed the financial support of his father, and now his stepmother perhaps."

"But nothing has changed. He still has no money. The long list of creditors proves that. Fitzroy?"

"It's an interesting fact, but irrelevant."

As much as I was in the mood for an argument with him, I couldn't do it over this point. He was right. If there was a connection linking this piece of information with Buchanan's disappearance, there was no evidence of it. Yet. Hopefully I would uncover it some other way, as questioning Lady Harcourt was out. I wouldn't go against Lincoln's wishes.

Seth shook his head over and over. "Imagine being usurped in your lover's bed by your own father. Not that I've ever fallen madly in love, but it would gall me to have found my father's fat arse in the bed of one of my conquests."

"He were married to your mother right up to the end, weren't he?" Gus asked.

"Marriage vows never stopped him from exploring outside the matrimonial bed."

"I wonder if Lord Harcourt knew about his son and wife," I said to cover the awkwardness I felt at hearing Seth reveal such information about his own father. He rarely spoke about his family, but I suspected they'd cast him aside when he did whatever he'd done to disgrace himself. One day I would ask him about it.

"Buchanan was very much sought after in those days," Seth said. "This was before he ruined his reputation by racking up debts and the maidenheads of virgins."

"That's what Miss Redding at The Alhambra told me. Minus the part about debts and maidenheads. Apparently the dancers were besotted with him."

"Girls of good family were, too. A wealthy nobleman for a father and a handsome face is a combination that appeals across the class divide."

"It ain't done you much good," Gus said. "Or Buchanan. He's been livin' off his stepmother and you been livin' off Mr. Fitzroy."

Seth batted his lashes. "You think I'm handsome?"

Gus rolled his eyes.

"Besides, my family are no longer wealthy, and the title is a noose around my neck. It tends not to be of help when one's mother has run off with the second footman."

I gaped at him.

He touched my chin and closed my mouth for me. "Yes, Charlie, the
second
footman. Not even the first."

Lincoln cleared his throat. He seemed unperturbed by Seth's revelation, so he must have known about it. Gus too. "Were there any girls in particular who were associated with Buchanan?" Lincoln asked.

Seth nodded in thought. "One rumor had legs. He supposedly put a girl in the pudding club."

Gus gave him a blank look. "Huh?"

"Got her with child, you dolt."

"One of The Alhambra's dancers?" I asked.

Seth shrugged. "I don't know for certain, but since it was a rumor circulating among my set, I'd say she was rather more than a dancer. I can't recall the details, not being particularly interested in Buchanan at the time, and I have no idea if the child was born at all."

"Thank you, that may be useful," Lincoln said. "An ear for gossip is a skill I lack, but you don't."

Seth puffed his chest out like a rooster at the rare compliment.

Gus flicked his finger at Seth's temple. "Pity you didn't mention it sooner, eh?"

Seth shot him a murderous glare and rubbed his forehead.

"Our visitors will arrive shortly," Lincoln told them. "If you could help Cook prepare, I'm sure he will be grateful."

"Visitors?" I asked as Seth and Gus left us. Clearly they already knew who was expected at Lichfield.

"Lady Harcourt is joining me for afternoon tea with her other stepson, the current Lord Harcourt, and his wife. I want to question him about his brother's habits, friends, that sort of thing."

"That'll get confusing with two Lady Harcourts in the same room."

"Lord Harcourt's stepmother—Julia—is referred to as the Dowager Lady Harcourt, but you should continue to refer to her as madam or Lady Harcourt, as you've always done. I'm sure the ladies will work out who you're speaking to. If you need to speak to them at all, that is."

"Ah, yes, maids should be seen and not heard, isn't that right?"

He flinched and I was taken by surprise. I'd not expected my silly barb to impact him at all. "You'll be expected to behave as a maid ought to, yes." He clasped his hands behind his back and added, "I don't like it either, but we must maintain our respective roles in front of the committee members or pressure will mount for me to send you away."

"You're right. Of course. Thank you, Lincoln."

He shifted his weight ever so slightly from one foot to the other. "You don't need to thank me."

"I do. I've forgotten in recent days how fortunate I am to be here. As…disappointed as I am, that you set me aside after that kiss, I'll always be grateful to you for allowing me to stay on in
any
capacity. I don't resent being a maid here. Far from it."

He was silent for so long that I forced myself to look at him, catching him staring at me. His gaze darted to my left ear. "You earned your position here, Charlie, and I'm very aware that it's beneath you, as the daughter of either Holloway
or
Frankenstein. Your gratitude is misguided."

I twisted my hand around the walking stick knob and was about to admonish him for not accepting my thanks gracefully when he added, "But it is appreciated."

He turned on his heel, and since I couldn't run after him, I had to call out. "Why are you protecting Lady Harcourt so fiercely?"

He stopped in the doorway and unclasped his hands. He turned. "I'm not protecting her."

"You are. If it were another woman, you would have questioned her about her past and her relationship with her missing stepson in particular. You wouldn't leave any stone unturned, even if that stone appeared to be small and insignificant."

"Usually small and insignificant stones prove to be just that and nothing more. Besides, she has endured enough humiliation in her lifetime."

"You think dancing to earn enough money to live off is humiliating?"

"I imagine it was for her. She's a very proud woman."

He sounded as if he admired greatly. Or pitied her. Either way, he was clearly no longer angry with her for pressing me to question the spirit of Mr. Gurry, the tutor he'd killed. "I see." I busied myself with fluffing the cushions on the sofa to hide the tears welling in my eyes.

I was jealous. I knew it as clear as day, even though I'd never experienced the emotion before. That didn't mean I could extinguish it as easily as blowing out a flame.

I didn't hear his footsteps receding, but he had an extremely light step so I abandoned the cushion plumping and turned to leave. He was still standing in the doorway, his gaze on me. Intently.

"Charlie," he murmured.

I limped toward him. "Yes?"

"I…congratulate you on learning so much at The Alhambra. May I ask how you forced your informant to talk to you?"

That was it? That's what he wanted to say to me? "First of all, I didn't treat Miss Redding like an informant, but more of a confidant. With the application of a little sugar for sweetening, and a large dollop of lying, I simply allowed her to tell me what she wanted to tell me. It helped that she disliked Lady Harcourt when she was a dancer there, and her resentment has only deepened over the years."