by C. J. Archer
"Go back to your afterl—"
"Stop!" Mrs. Drinkwater stood in the kitchen doorway, the pistol aimed at me. "How did you get out?" Her gaze darted past my shoulder. "Reggie! You're back."
My stomach plunged. Don't tell him. Please don't tell him.
"What are you doing, Merry?" Drinkwater asked. "I let her go."
"Charlie! Charlie, is that you?" Gus's shout came from behind a closed door to my left. Thank God he was alive.
"Gus! Yes, it's me."
"Are you all right?"
"I'm quite safe." I eyed Mrs. Drinkwater, and she lowered the pistol.
"It's done then?" she asked her husband. "Your murderer is dead?"
Drinkwater came to stand beside me. "It's done. I'll be in my workshop if you need me. Goodbye, miss. Do not forget your promise."
Mrs. Drinkwater frowned. "Your workshop? Reggie…you want to stay?"
"Of course. I have much to do. The commission may have fallen through, but that is of no consequence."
Commission?
"Then…" She glanced at me. "Then why did you release her? I interrupted her casting the spell to send you back. She won't allow you to remain, you know."
Those blank, dead eyes turned to me. "You gave me your word." His grinding tone froze my blood.
I swallowed. "Mrs. Drinkwater is mistaken. I was simply…talking to myself."
She stiffened. "I'm no fool. I overheard you." To her husband, she said, "Now that you have your revenge, you ought to go back anyway. You don't want to anger anyone up there." She eyed the ceiling.
"No one will be angry, particularly when they see what I can achieve after a few more months here. My dear, I'm close to a breakthrough. I know I am."
She winced. "You weren't all that close before your death."
"I beg your pardon! How would you know?"
She swallowed. "Reggie, I do think you ought to go. Besides, we can't keep Miss Holloway and Gus shut up in the cellar for weeks, or months, or however long it takes for you to succeed. For one thing, the first time I remove the gag to feed her, she'll say the words to send you back. Unless she's complicit, it's hopeless, and I can assure you, she will not be complicit."
He shrugged. "Then shoot her."
I gasped and stumbled away from him, but he caught my elbow and pushed me roughly forward. "Go on. Shoot."
His wife's jaw dropped. Her eyes bulged. "I can't do that! That's murder."
"You were going to kill her friend earlier."
"I only told them that to frighten her into summoning you. I wasn't really going to go through with it."
He clicked his tongue. "Weak."
"Reggie, please. Don't ask that of me. They'll hang me for it. I missed on purpose before. I'm really quite a good shot with this thing," she said with an apologetic smile.
Well then, if she wasn't going to shoot anyone… "Return to your afterlife, Mr—"
He struck out. Long fingers circled my throat and squeezed. "Shut up!"
"Charlie!" Gus's shout was almost drowned out by the blood thudding between my ears.
I couldn't utter a sound. Not even a squeak. It felt like everything in my throat was closing under the pressure from Drinkwater's fingers. He was much stronger in death than life, and fearless too. Besides, he'd already killed once…why not again?
I thrashed at him, tried to shove him off and kick him, and when that failed, I scrabbled at his fingers, scratching and digging into his rotting flesh with my nails. I struck bone.
"Reggie! Stop!"
Drinkwater didn't stop. My lungs screamed for air. It felt like a ton of bricks pressed on my chest. Silent tears streaked from the corners of my eyes, down my cheeks.
A gunshot deafened me. Drinkwater's body jerked, and his fingers loosened.
"I'm already dead. Foolish woman," he added with a mutter that could be barely heard over Gus's shouts and bangs against the closed door.
Drinkwater's weaker grip allowed me to draw in priceless air. I wasn't far enough away to speak all the words necessary to send him back, however. I needed a few feet between us at least or he'd catch me. I gasped in a few strong breaths then smashed my fist into his face. His head snapped back. He couldn't feel pain so stomping on his toe wouldn't do anything, nor would kneeing him in the nether regions. I had to use brute force to send him off balance. Unfortunately, with my size and his superior strength, brute force wasn't something I possessed.
Nevertheless, I threw myself at him, swinging my fists to distract him with my punches. It worked. He stumbled and swayed backward. Unfortunately, he also caught me and used me as an anchor.
"Damned girl." Ignoring my fists and kicks, his fingers closed around my throat again.
"Reggie, please! You can't kill her. She's done nothing wrong!"
"You've been a good wife to bring me back, my dear. Now don't spoil it with your foolish sympathies. Think of what I can achieve! I must finish my work. The girl's life is unimportant when you consider the greater good."
She nodded numbly, like a puppet on a string. I tried to speak, to implore her help, but no sound came out of my mouth, and she simply stood there, her stunned gaze on my face as she watched me die.
Darkness crept in from the edges of my vision. I felt my life slipping away with every slowing pound of my heart. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I heard Gus's shouts and thumps, but he seemed so far away.
Another voice joined his, high pitched and feminine. I didn't recognize it, nor could I see who'd arrived.
Suddenly Drinkwater's hands were ripped from me. I fell to my knees and clasped my throat. I sucked in sweet, sweet air. Noise surrounded me—shouts from a number of different sources, and the slap of skin against skin, and the snap of…bones?
Mrs. Drinkwater knelt near me and peered into my face. She was shaking. "If you want to live, you have to get away. Now. Your friend is gallant but she is merely a woman."
I glanced up to see a woman dressed in a crimson and peacock blue dress fighting Drinkwater. She was smaller than him and her skirts hindered her kicks, but she was nimbler and the better fighter. Her punches struck true whereas his were wild and had little effect when they connected. I didn't need to see the pock marked face to know this woman was dead. Her strength alone was indication enough.
It took a moment for my addled, air-starved brain to put all the pieces together. The dead woman must be Gordon.
She—he—thumped Drinkwater, over and over, with well-timed punches. There was nothing feminine about her movements, from the way she balanced herself with her feet apart, to the way she disregarded her breasts as she slammed into Drinkwater, driving him into the wall.
I got to my feet, eyeing Mrs. Drinkwater carefully, but she made no move to raise the pistol. She looked defeated, numb, and somewhat lost. The competent woman who'd presented herself at Lichfield Towers was gone.
"She's dead too?" she asked me in a small voice.
I nodded. "Release Gus." I scrambled far away from the two fighters, just as Gordon slammed into the wall.
Drinkwater hadn't touched him. Gordon hit the wall again and again, like a ragdoll thrown at full force. He was at the mercy of Drinkwater's powers. And so was I.
Drinkwater turned to me.
Just as I was at the mercy of his magic, he was at the mercy of mine.
"Return to your afterlife, Reginald Drinkwater." I spoke the words in a rush and hoped it was fast enough. "I release you."
He stumbled to his knees. His bloodless lips pulled back in a snarl. "No! No, I'm not finished!" His body slumped forward, smashing his face against the floor. The white mist drifted out and up toward the ceiling. He hovered a moment, in which he growled his fury at me, before disappearing altogether.
Gordon slumped against the wall. If he'd been alive, he would be drawing in great gasps of air, but he didn't need to breathe. He pushed his hair off his face and smiled. Most of the body's teeth were missing and those that were not were yellow.
"Charlie! Charli
e!" Gus threw his arms around me in a hug so fierce I could only gurgle in response.
"Easy now," Gordon said in a husky feminine voice that I could never associate with him. "Let her up."
Gus pulled away and patted my arms. "You all right?"
"I am. You?"
He nodded.
Thank God. I looked to Mrs. Drinkwater, standing near the door of the storeroom where Gus had been imprisoned. She swiped at her tears and handed the pistol to Gus. She was as meek as a mouse.
"All's well?" Gordon asked, marveling at his long gray hair. He stroked it, pulling out a clump. The body looked quite fresh. She must have only just died.
I suddenly giggled, partly in relief and partly because he looked ridiculous in the garish dress with feminine features. "You couldn't find a man's body?"
"This was all the mortuary had."
"Isn't the cemetery nearby?" I asked Mrs. Drinkwater. "Isn't that where your husband found his body?"
"The one on Old Brompton Road is few streets away to the east," she said.
"Ah. I went west." Gordon picked up his skirts and pirouetted. "Don't suppose I can stay in this body for the rest of the night. Just to see what it's like to—"
"No!" Three shouts drowned him out.
He held up his hands. "Very well. Walk back with me to the mortuary, Miss Charlie?"
"Of course." I turned to Mrs. Drinkwater. "Your husband's spirit has returned. Do not try to raise him again."
She nodded quickly. "I won't. I don't know how, anyway."
"If I were you, I'd get out of London," Gus muttered. "Death'll be furious when he finds out what you did."
Mrs. Drinkwater's lips trembled.
"Don't frighten her," I said. "Lincoln's not vindictive. He won't harm her."
Gus merely grunted. He took my hand and steered me along the corridor. "I hate this place."
"You must remove your husband's body," I said over my shoulder to Mrs. Drinkwater. "Return him to the cemetery tonight. Rest assured, Mr. Fitzroy won't come seeking vengeance. He's above that. You have my word."
She wiped at a tear that slid from her eye and looked down at her husband's limp form. I didn't know how she would manage to move him, and I didn't care. I just wanted to see that Gordon returned the body he'd borrowed and left too. I'd had enough of lingering spirits for one day.
The dark, miserable night embraced us. I wasn't sure of the hour, but nobody was out in the misty rain. Without so much as a cloak to huddle into, I was soon wet through to my skin and as cold as ice. I couldn't wait to get back to Lichfield and sit by the hearth with a bowl of Cook's soup and Lincoln's warm touch. He must be going out of his mind with worry.
* * *
Seth scooped me up, only setting me down when Cook demanded he have a turn hugging me. "Thank God you're back safe," Seth muttered. "We were so worried."
"Aye." Cook frowned as he studied the bruises around my throat. "You hurt bad?"
"Not really. I'm mostly tired, and very hungry."
"You need soup."
I kissed his cheek. "You're wonderful."
Gus thrust out his hands, exposing his bloodied wrists. "What about me? I was abducted too and shot, and no one's givin' me soup."
Seth shrugged then enveloped his friend in a hug until Gus shoved him off, only to have Cook follow suit.
"Stop it, you lump o' lard." Gus grinned, however, and allowed Seth to inspect the wound at his shoulder.
Cook chuckled and retrieved two bowls from the cupboard. I sidled closer to the stove and its delicious heat. "Is Lincoln here?"
"He's out looking for you." Seth shook his head and sighed. "He's been in and out most of the day, hoping you'd show up again here. I'm sure he'll walk in that door soon."
A set of footsteps echoed along the corridor, but it was only Doyle. "Miss Holloway, Mr. Gus! I'm so glad to see you both again."
"Thank you, Doyle. Are you all right?"
He nodded. "Cook and I were drugged with some awful tea, but there appear to be no lingering effects."
Cook handed me a bowl. "Aside from going deaf when Fitzroy shouted at us, wanting to know what happened and getting mad when we couldn't give answers."
I drew in a deep breath as he ladled broth into my bowl. "Where is he looking?"
"That's the problem, he didn't know where to start," Seth said. "The Mrs. Webb employed by the Powell's is not the same as the housekeeper we knew as Mrs. Webb. No surprise there."
"She tricked us."
"Don't take it to heart." He put his arm around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head. "So who was she really, and why did she take you?"
"And how did you get away?" Doyle chimed in.
Gus and I briefly filled them in on some of the particulars, leaving out all the supernatural elements so as not to overwhelm Doyle. Cook swore several times, as did Seth, to a lesser extent, but Doyle was the perfect butler and merely made sour faces and horrified little gasps.
"Diabolical," he muttered.
"It is," I said. "And if this sort of thing concerns you, Doyle, then I'm afraid we'll have to let you go. Dangerous incidents happen with alarming frequency around here."
"Thank you for your frankness. I'll keep that in mind." It was not, I noticed, an answer one way or another.
I hadn't forgotten that he was under suspicion either. Mrs. Drinkwater had been helped by someone who knew we needed a housekeeper. Doyle might seem innocent and concerned, but I hadn't ruled him out.
Lincoln still hadn't returned by the time I finished my soup, so after overseeing the cleaning and dressing of Gus's wound, I retired to my rooms to freshen up. A knock at my door several minutes later sent my heart tripping over itself.
It was only Seth. "Don't look so disappointed," he said. "May I come in?"
"Do you want to know what really happened, now that we're alone?"
"Gus already told me."
"You've grown quite serious," I said. "What's wrong?"
"The committee came shortly after we discovered your disappearance."
I screwed up my nose. "Why?"
"Fitzroy sent messages to each of them demanding to know every last detail about the two supernatural deaths."
"He assumed my abduction was related to the murders?"
"He did. And in his correspondence, he mentioned your abduction, and demanded they come to Lichfield immediately for questioning."
"Were they helpful?"
"They gave no further information, and then proceeded to tell him that they were right and he was wrong, and you should be sent away."
I sat down on an armchair near the fire with a resigned sigh. "I expect that didn't go down too well."
"Fitzroy went very quiet."
"He's more dangerous when he's quiet." It meant he was shutting himself off emotionally. An unemotional Lincoln was a ruthless Lincoln.
"Charlie…" He sat opposite and rested his elbows on his knees. He bowed his head, sending his blond locks tumbling over his forehead into his eyes. "The committee will probably try to contact you now that you've returned safe and sound. Julia indicated to me that they'll try to convince you to leave of your own accord."
"How?"
"By telling you it's best for the ministry if you're not here. And best for Fitzroy too."
I slumped back and rubbed my aching temples. "They think I'm being selfish."
He looked up through the curtain of his hair.
"Do you think I'm being selfish, Seth?"
"No!"
"Should I leave? For Lincoln's sake?"
He sat up straight and squared his shoulders. "No. Definitely not. I hate to think what he'd turn into if you left. He was a cold block of ice before you arrived, but these last few weeks have seen him thaw. You've humanized him."
To hear it put like that made my heart swell, but I felt compelled to defend Lincoln. "I'm not sure I can take all the credit. I simply brought out what was already there, only deeply buried."
He shrugged. "I wanted to
warn you so you can prepare yourself. Don't take what they say to heart."
I smiled and was about to thank him when Lincoln strode in.
Chapter 9
I barely had time to register his presence before he lifted me out of the chair and drew me into a fierce hug. He buried one hand in my hair, holding my head against his chest. The rapid, erratic beat of his heart drowned out everything else, so that I didn't hear Seth leave. When Lincoln set me down again, we were alone with the door closed.
He held me at arm's length and checked me over. His stormy gaze settled on the bruises at my throat then lifted to my face, questioning.
"It's the only injury," I told him. "And it's not too sore."
He nodded. Swallowed. I was acutely aware that he hadn't yet spoken.
His thumb stroked my jaw and he angled his head to kiss me. What began as a chaste kiss quickly turned into one of longing that told me how worried he'd been. There was no need for words between us. All the built-up fear and his immense relief poured out of him in that kiss.
I circled my arms around his neck and held him as tightly as he held me. I wanted to comfort him as much as his presence comforted me, and for several minutes we simply cherished one another's company.
And then, as if he'd doused that part of himself, he drew away and regarded me through eyes that were as black and bleak as a deep lake in winter. "What happened?"
"What has Gus already told you?" I asked.
"Nothing. I saw he was back and he said you were up here. I came immediately. Who was the woman calling herself Mrs. Webb and where did she take you? Why?"
"Mrs. Webb was in fact Mrs. Drinkwater."
A muscle in his jaw pulsed. "I didn't consider the victims. She wanted you to raise her husband?"
"So he could get revenge on his killer, although I think she simply missed him. She is somewhat dependent on her husband's good opinion of her. I think she felt lost after his death, alone."
"She forced you to raise his spirit by threatening Gus?"
I nodded.
It was some time before he spoke again, and I feared he was warring with himself about whether to tell me I should have sacrificed Gus.