Ghost Talkers (24 page)

Well, she would need to have it off when they went to see Lady Penfold. Besides, it would make it easier for Merrow to spot her. Ginger uncovered her hair and took the apron off as she scanned the crowd.

In the hubbub, she asked Ben, “Do you see him?”

“Looking…”

The stream of soldiers thinned as they limped out of the station under the watchful eyes of the nurses in charge of them.

“Maybe he got out on the other side of the train?” Ginger folded the apron into a bundle around the veil.

“Stay here and I'll look.” Ben zoomed across the station and disappeared on the far side of the train.

Ginger pressed against the wall, fidgeting with the loose strings of the apron. He must have gone past while she was helping the soldiers from her car disembark. Please, let that be all it was. Ginger wrapped the strings of the apron around it, pulling them tight just to have something to do with her hands.

She let her soul slip a little further from her body to see if she could spot Merrow's aura in the station, but the vast space was awash in a sea of murky colours. Picking out a single one would be impossible.

Except for Ben's. She would recognise his spark anywhere. He darted now from car to car, just visible through the train as a livid spot of alarm. He reached the end of the train and soared up to the high, vaulted ceiling of the station. Even before he sank to where Ginger stood, she knew what he was going to say.

“He's not with the soldiers. I don't see him anywhere near the station.”

“Did you see him get on the train?” Ginger pressed her hand to her brow, trying to remember. “I was ahead, going to car eight. I didn't think to watch him.”

Ben shook his head. “I was watching you.”

“Do you think Lyme grabbed him?” She shook her head. “I don't know why I asked that as a question. That's the most likely scenario, isn't it?”

“Damn it. Yes,” Ben growled, the sound rolling out from him on a wave of vivid frustration and anger. “If Reg hurts him—”

“Let's keep that from happening.” She rubbed her forehead, over the growing ache behind her right eye. “The train took three hours. If they got him, they've had him at least that long. So, we're going to my aunt's. She will make things happen, and we'll get him back.” She hoped.

*   *   *

The Hôtel de Ville seemed impossibly grand after their days in Amiens. The daily grind of life at the front made the contrast between Le Havre and even Amiens stark. The hotel still had flowers on the tables in the lobby. With her head ducked, Ginger hurried across the lobby, feeling grubby against the opulent interior.

Ben flitted in front of her. “The way is clear up to your aunt's. Take the stairs, not the lift.”

She raised her brow in question. Her aunt was on the third floor.

“In an elevator, you're trapped, and someone else controls your passage. Stairs are confined, but you have more options and control.” He stared behind her, gaze flicking from the door to the street, to the people sitting in the lobby. “No one is following us, at least.”

She waited until she was on the stairs and less exposed before answering him. “Do you really think Reg would be looking for me here?”

“Yes. I do.” Ben's aura had pulled in tight around him, and fractures of murky red showed with each brittle movement. “If he has Merrow, then we must assume that Merrow has told him where we were headed.”

“But Merrow wouldn't—”

“Given the right lever, any man will speak.” Flakes of dry blue calm crumbled off of him as more fissures of apprehension cracked the surface of his aura.

She continued up the stairs, and Ben peeled away from her, floating up through the middle of the stairwell. He rotated slowly, eyes constantly moving around the space. Ginger's heart was racing from more than just the climb by the time she reached her aunt's floor. Ben gestured for her to wait at the top of the stairs as he sped down the hall.

Ginger leaned out in time to see him disappear through Lady Penfold's door. He reappeared a moment later and beckoned her. “It's all clear. Only the maid is here.”

“No Aunt Edie?” Ginger knocked on the door, palms sweating suddenly.

“I didn't see her.”

The door opened. Upon seeing Ginger, Bernetta, her aunt's maid, gave a little curtsy. “Pardon, mademoiselle. Your aunt is not in.”

“When do you expect her back?”

“Not for some time. She has gone to London.”

“London!” Ginger put her hand to her chest and looked at Ben. It would be too great a coincidence for that to be related to their London spy. Besides which, her aunt went to London all the time.… But why now? With everything that was going on, why would her aunt leave the country now? She shook her head. Ben's paranoia was infecting her.

“But she left instructions to make the apartment available to you.” The maid beckoned Ginger in. “Please, mademoiselle. I will bring you some refreshments.”

“Thank you, Bernetta.” Ginger made her way to the sitting room and dropped into one of the overstuffed chairs. She leaned her head against the soft velvet and turned to stare at Ben.

He paced around the room, hopping from place to place with his agitation. The last fragments of calm had shivered free, so he had only a mesh of red and heavy grey wrapped around him. “I think you should go to the Spirit Corps billets. Better—to Potter's Field.”

“I thought you wanted to get me away from there.”

“At least it has walls and guards. This…” He gestured at the large picture window. “This is like a trap.”

“Well, first I'm going to have a sandwich and send a telegram to Aunt Edie. She can make things happen from London, perhaps even more easily than here.” She rubbed her eyes. God, but she was tired. “And I need to talk to the circle.”

“Why?”

“To tell them about Mrs. Richardson.”

Ben's brows came together. He compressed his lips and nodded, looking away. “Of course.”

“Do you … do you remember what happened—”

“Of course I do!” The cracks in his aura widened, shattering into a whirling cloud of fury. “I'm dead, not stupid.”

“No, no, of course you're not.” Ginger held up her hands to try to soothe him, though she could not touch him. “I didn't mean that you—I only thought … never mind all that. Help me find some paper so we can draft a telegram?”

A drawer shot open, the paper within rattling in a breeze. Ginger bit the inside of her lip. “Ben…”

He pulled his head down to his chest, bending over until he formed an unnaturally small ball. The tight wad of soul stayed there, while a thinner, paler version of him stood, smiling bloodlessly at Ginger. “My apologies. Of course I remember what happened to Mrs. Richardson. It just slipped my mind that you would need to tell the circle. Nothing more sinister than that.”

Ginger swallowed and sat down to write.

*   *   *

Before Ginger was finished writing, Bernetta appeared with a plate of watercress sandwiches. Ginger's stomach gave a sudden, deep growl. Good heavens. When had she last eaten? Thank heavens that Bernetta was well trained, and gave no sign of having heard the indecorous noise.

Ben, however, raised both eyebrows. “Did you bring a monster with you?”

“Thank you, Bernetta.” Ginger gestured to the small table in front of her aunt's sofa. “If you could just put them there and wait for a moment. I have a telegram I'd like for you to have sent for me.”

“Of course, madame.”

“And while you are out, may I ask you to run to the asylum where the Spirit Corps hospitality girls are and ask Helen Jackson to come here?”

“Oh—I am sorry, but all of the Spirit Corps women have been moved inside to new dorms at the old knitting mill.”

That was the warehouse they were using for Potter's Field. It had no proper barracks. There were offices on the upper floors that could be converted, but most of the women had wanted to avoid being so close to spirits when they slept. The only rooms that had been in use were for the small infirmary. “For heaven's sake, why on earth are they there?”

“It is for safety, I believe. The walls.” She gave a small shake of her head. “But no one can enter without a pass, so I am not certain of all the reasons. Only what I heard Lady Penfold say.”

“And I suppose you don't have a pass.”

“Correct, mademoiselle.”

Circling her, Ben said, “I'll go. You stay here and rest. And eat. I don't want your monster to get any bigger.”

Ginger snorted and wrinkled her nose at him. “Thank you.”

“Will that be all, mademoiselle?”

Ginger handed the young woman the telegram she had written to Lady Penfold. “Just this, thank you.”

*   *   *

Ben returned in no more than a half hour. His spirit was frayed around the edges, and wisps of blue-grey drifted off of him with each movement. He hung in the air in the middle of the apartment, plucking at the collar of his shirt.

Ginger sat up on the sofa, lowering her feet to the floor. “Darling?”

His brows drew together, and he stared at her.

“Ben…” Ginger bit the inside of her lip. He did not entirely look as though he recognised his name. “Ben, love. Do you know me?”

“Ginger.” He nodded and drew a hand over his face, shuddering. “Ginger. Yes. Sorry.”

“No, no. There is no need to apologize.” Her heart beat raggedly in her chest. “What is the matter? Did something happen to the circle?”

“The…? Oh. The circle. No.” He inhaled, as if he still had breath, and drew the folds of his soul tighter. “Give me a minute, I'm still … I just need a moment.”

This was the point at which she would have once urged him to sit down and pressed a cup of tea on him, or perhaps held his hand, but she could do neither of those things. Ginger twined her own fingers together and drew her legs up under her on the sofa, huddling into the corner for warmth while Ben wafted in the air. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Talk to me—” He waved his hand vaguely at the room. “Remind me of before.”

She swallowed and nodded. “I had a letter from Dorothy Porter the other day. She's engaged to Lord Lakefield and blames it all on us. Apparently, when I brought her along to your parent's country home for that hunting party—because lord knows I was not going to go riding with the dogs—”

“Chasing the hounds.”

“Chasing the hounds, then. I was not going to go do that, and certainly not sidesaddle. So Dorothy says that while she was there she met your friend Lakefield—who is a good enough chap, but a trifle shorter than her—and then met him again at a field hospital in Gallipoli. She was his nurse, I gather. Well, one thing has led to another, as they say, and they are planning to get married. I suppose they already have, given the date of the letter.”

“I should have married you.” Ben crossed the room and sank to sit next to her on the sofa. “That way you would at least have a widow's pension.”

“Dear … I'm an heiress. Money is not a concern for me.” Ginger slid her hand toward his and shivered at the coolness. “I wish we had married for other, more intimate reasons.”

His aura blushed rosy and spread out in a soft cloud. The edges of his soul seemed better defined than when he had first returned. “Well … yes. There is that.”

“Are you able to tell me what happened while you were away?”

He stared at her for a moment and then blinked. “Right. Yes. There is a salt line all the way around the outer wall of the Spirit Corps. The only way in is through the nexus, and I couldn't—I tried, but…”

“But you are no longer primed to go through the nexus.” Ginger sank back on the sofa with a groan. “Well … the salt line means that Helen got my message, which is good, even if it does make things a little more complicated for us.”

“At least it makes the relocation of the mediums less sinister.”

“True. It means Helen was taken seriously, which is all to the good.” Ginger drummed her fingers on the cushion, considering her options. “Which means … I can just go there myself instead of skulking around sending secret messages.”

“I don't think that's safe.”

“Why?”

Ben opened his mouth, and then shook his head. “I just don't. You mustn't go. Do I need a reason for everything?”

“If you want to convince me, instead of simply forbidding me, then yes. I require a reason.” Ginger levered herself up from the couch. As she stood, the room tipped and swayed. She pressed a palm against the arm of the sofa, steadying herself until the dizziness passed. Perhaps she should stay here and rest for a bit. “Besides which, there is Merrow to consider. If I can't reach Aunt Edie, then I have to go to Brigadier-General Davies.”

“But he's—”

“Not in London, and your spy friend said ‘Right about the London Traitor.'” And it seemed distinctly unlikely that the brigadier-general was the one who had strangled Ben. “We have to have help. Fact finding, I can do on my own. Rescuing Merrow? I can't.”

Ben grimaced, tugging at his collar. He stood and paced around the room with his head bent. “All right. Yes. I suppose it will be safe enough.”

“I'm so glad you agree.” Ginger shook out her skirt. “Since I was going to go anyway.”

“Obstinate, headstrong girl.” He gave something like a smile. “I suppose I can't complain when it's the thing I love about you.”

“The thing? That implies that I have only one lovable point.”

“Well … perhaps more than one. Maybe two things.”

“I see. And what is the other?”

“I would say your passion, but that's part of being headstrong. Or your conviction, but that's related to being obstinate. Fearless, but that is a combination of both. Perhaps, then, I shall cite your love of Brussels sprouts.”