Page 92 of From the Ashes
"I don't think it's her," Seth said to me from behind his glass. "She's too preoccupied with her own problems to orchestrate the murders."
"What about the others?" I muttered. "Buchanan seems too drunk. If he were going to attempt to murder me tonight, wouldn't he want to be sober?"
"Definitely. Have you noticed how the general keeps glancing at the door?"
"Perhaps he's hungry."
Seth chuckled. "Gillingham has a firm grip on his walking stick too. It could house a sword or some other kind of weapon."
"By the same token, Lord Harcourt might have a weapon in his jacket pocket. He pats it every now and again, as if checking for something. There! He did it again."
I continued to watch the guests while attempting to make light conversation. It wasn't easy with Buchanan growing louder and continuing to wink at me, Lady Harcourt, General Eastbrooke and Lord Gillingham ignoring me, and Lord Harcourt and Marchbank keeping to themselves.
It was a relief when the dinner gong sounded. Lincoln offered me his arm, even though he should have escorted the highest ranked female, Lady Harcourt. She reacted to the snub with a flare of her nostrils and a hardening of features. The others noticed too, but most kept their opinions to themselves. Only Lady Harcourt's stepsons glanced at one another. To my surprise, it was the elder brother, Lord Harcourt who smirked. Buchanan's lips flattened.
We filed out of the drawing room, but due to a misunderstanding, Lord Harcourt went one way and I the other and we bumped elbows. "Apologies," he muttered. "Didn't see you there."
"I'll join you all shortly," Buchanan said just before we sat down.
I watched him go, unease settling into my stomach. Lincoln gave a slight nod, which I guessed meant he was suspicious too. He glanced at Seth who slipped quietly out. His departure was noticed by most of the guests.
Seth and Buchanan returned some minutes later ahead of Doyle pushing the dinner trolley into the dining room. He'd been given strict instructions not to let any food out of his sight between the kitchen and dining table, but even so, I waited for everyone else to try their soup before I dipped my spoon in.
"Delicious," Gillingham said from the other side of the table. "Always did say you had an excellent cook."
I had to tilt my head a little to the right to see him past the large central candelabra. He appeared to be sincere. The fool had forgotten that he'd once employed Cook himself.
Next came the oysters and shrimp, after which I made my excuses.
"Are you all right?" Lincoln asked with convincing concern.
"Just a little stomach ache," I said, heading out. "I'm sure it's nothing."
I made my way upstairs, pausing on the landing. I glanced down and stifled a gasp. Andrew Buchanan followed me. He lumbered up the stairs, stumbling once, a leering grin on his face.
I clutched my amber orb. "What do you want?"
"A little kiss from a pretty wench," he slurred.
The words hadn't even left his mouth when Lincoln appeared behind him. "Touch her and I'll hurt you."
Buchanan raised his hands in surrender. "I thought you two were no longer together. If you still want her for yourself, Fitzroy, you should have said earlier."
Lincoln moved up to the same step as Buchanan.
Buchanan swallowed. "I wasn't going to ravish her. Not unless she wanted me to, that is. Sometimes they do, but I suppose you're aware of that."
If he didn't shut up soon, he might find his mouth shut for him by Lincoln's fist.
"What's going on here?" the general called from the foot of the staircase. "Lincoln?"
"Buchanan was just returning to the dining room," Lincoln said.
Buchanan backed away, and would have fallen down the stairs if Lincoln hadn't caught his arm. He did not let go and escorted him the entire way down. All three men returned to the dining room, and I continued up.
I remained in my room for a few minutes then returned to the dining room. Everyone looked up as I re-entered.
"Feeling better?" Marchbank asked.
