Her Majesty's Necromancer (The Ministry of Curiosities #2)(5)

The ground near the grave was scuffed up and boot prints headed away from the site. There was nothing special about them. They were of average size and could have belonged to Tucker or one of the other groundsmen.

There were several other graves nearby, all of them quite new. Lincoln was probably right about the spirits not knowing anything. They needed to be present to have seen anything, and according to the books and what I'd already observed, spirits parted from their bodies at the time of death, not at their burial. Besides, the thought of raising the dead chilled me to the bone. I only wanted to do it as a last resort and preferably when I wasn't alone.

But I wasn't alone. A man watched me from beneath a tree, where he leaned on a rake. When he saw that I'd noticed him, he quickly continued to rake up leaves.

"Excuse me," I said as I approached. "Do you work here?"

He turned his back to me and continued raking a patch of earth that was already clear. Well, that was rude.

"My name is Charlotte," I said. "They told me my uncle's grave was robbed last night. Do you know anything about it?"

He nodded.

Since he made no effort to look at me, I skirted his pile of leaves to face him. He was a young man with a port wine birthmark covering one cheek and a squint that made his eyes all but disappear. He removed his cap and scrunched it in his hand.

"Is it your job to tidy this area?"

He nodded into his chest.

"But you weren't here last night when the grave was robbed."

"I was, miss," he mumbled. Thank goodness the man could talk. I was beginning to think he'd have to write his answers in the dirt.

"But Mr. Tucker didn't mention a witness."

"I didn't see anything, miss."

"That's a shame. I hoped you could tell me something about the men who took the body of my uncle."

He glanced at me then down at the ground again. His hand tightened around the rake handle while the other continued to scrunch the cap. He seemed quite agitated.

"Is there something you want to tell me?"

He nodded.

"Let me see if I understand you. You were here, you know something, but you didn't see anything." I gasped. "Did you hear them?"

He nodded again. Finally, I was getting somewhere. Shyness was one thing, but I didn't have all day to coax the answers from him.

"What did you hear?" I prompted.

"One was called Jimmy."

"Anything else?"

He shrugged. "Jimmy said the body was heavy. I mean, your uncle was heavy. Pardon, miss." What little I could see of his face colored. He placed his cap on his head again, pulled the brim down, and resumed raking.

I suspected he had more to say, but his sudden flare of embarrassment had caught his tongue. If I wanted answers, I had to make him feel comfortable. I fetched the empty wheelbarrow from beneath a tree and wheeled it over to him. He stopped raking and actually met my gaze with his own. I smiled gently.

"Did you learn the other man's name?" I asked.

He shook his head.

"Did they say where they were going?"

This time he gave a half-shake before he stopped and frowned. I encouraged him with a broader smile. "They mentioned The Red Lion," he said.

"The one in Kentish Town?"

He shrugged.

"In what context did they speak about it?"

"They had to be there by nine to meet someone for a game of dice."

I tapped my finger on the wheelbarrow handle. The Red Lion tavern in Kentish Town wasn't too far. I knew the area well, having lived in a gang there a few years ago.

"You going to tell the police?" he asked.

"Yes," I lied.

He looked relieved. "I thought about telling them…"

"There's no need for you to do so now," I assured him. "I'll pass on everything you told me."

He dipped his head and continued to rake.

"Thank you," I said. "You've been very helpful." I didn't admonish him for not speaking up to Tucker, Lincoln or the police. Being confronted by authority figures must have been daunting for such a shy man.

I thanked him again and headed out of the cemetery. The costermonger who often parked his cart near the entrance eyed me from beneath the brim of his wide hat. The man's scrutiny unnerved me. I'd been arrested because of him, and he'd told Anselm Holloway where I lived. Both incidents had almost ended badly for me. Those dangers had passed, so why was he taking such an interest in me now?

I hurried home to tell Lincoln about the link to The Red Lion, but decided to wait when I saw Lady Harcourt's carriage at the house. She mustn't be staying long, or the driver would have taken the horses and coach around to the back. Still, I didn't particularly want to see her. While I liked her on the whole, she'd been distant toward me since I'd become a housemaid at Lichfield. Perhaps she felt I'd snubbed her after she offered a similar position to me in her own household—before she'd agreed that banishment from London would be better. Or perhaps she didn't want to associate with a mere maid. I shouldn't be surprised. She ought not to even notice me now. I was privileged to get a nod in greeting from her whenever she visited.

I walked around to the servants' entrance and hung up my coat and hat on the hook inside, by the door. Cook and Gus looked up as I entered the kitchen. Gus greeted me by handing me a tray with teapot and cups.