Beyond the Grave by C. J. Archer

murmuring and her entire body jolted as if something had slammed into her. Her chest expanded then fell and expanded again. She breathed.
    My God. She was alive. I held my lantern higher to get a proper look. She gave me a sympathetic smile that reached her eyes—eyes that should have been empty and soulless.
    "Do not be afraid, Miss Holloway, I'm not going to harm you, but I am going to leave you now."
    "Y—you can't!"
    She walked off, her gait jerky but gaining in steadiness with every step. "I can."
    I hurried after her and grabbed her arm again. "But I control you!"
    "I have a matter of some importance to see to, now that I am here." Her boney fingers picked off mine until she was free once more. "Do not try to detain me again, Miss Holloway. I do not wish to hurt you." She could have snapped my fingers, but she didn't. She moved away from me with determination and a step that was now entirely steady.
    "I release you!" I shouted. "Go! Return to your afterlife!"
    She continued to walk on into the night then broke into an awkward run. I hobbled after her but tripped over a tree root. My lantern went out and I was shrouded in darkness.
    "I release the spirit of Estelle Mary Pearson! Return!"
    "That will not work," she called back to me from somewhere up ahead, where her dark shape disappeared among the trees and tombstones.
    I tried again, but this time there was no response. Perhaps I'd succeeded in sending the spirit back after all. I stumbled through the cemetery in the direction she'd gone, but found no body. I crawled on hands and knees, praying I would touch flesh and clothing instead of stone and leaves. I searched for hours, through the rain and increasing cold. I became thoroughly lost in the dark but kept crawling over the ground and graves like a pathetic creature, even after all hope was lost.
    By the time the glow on the horizon signaled the start of a damp, miserable new day, my clothes were wet through and my petticoats plastered to my skin. My skirt, stockings and gloves were filthy and torn, and my walking stick missing. I sat with my back to a tomb of a weeping angel and burst into tears.
    I knew without doubt that Estelle Pearson's spirit was still on Earth, occupying her decaying body, yet somehow come to life.
    And it was all my fault.

Chapter 6
    D awn provided enough light for me to find my way out of the cemetery. I limped through the gate and passed a groundsman with his broad-brimmed hat pulled low over his face. If I'd been in a stronger frame of mind I would have checked to see if it was the one with the purple birthmark. That rat had told Captain Jasper where to find me, resulting in my recent abduction. He ought to know what had come of his actions so that next time he would be more careful. But I was in no mood for a confrontation of any kind.
    I limped home in the drizzling rain, careful not to put too much weight on my cut foot, even though it didn't feel sore anymore. A small mercy. At least my slow progress gave me more time to think of a way to inform Lincoln of what I'd done. I considered not telling him, but my absence from Lichfield as I searched for Estelle Pearson would be suspicious. Besides, he would need only to look at my face and know something was wrong.
    By the time I reached Lichfield's back door, however, I was still no closer to finding the right words. I unlocked the door then relocked it and hung the key on the hook in the kitchen. Despite removing my boots, I left behind damp footprints on the floor and service stairs.
    I stopped outside my rooms. The door was ajar. Had I closed it? Light flickered inside, yet I'd blown out all the candles before leaving. Hope flared in my breast.
    I pushed open the door. "Miss Pearson, I'm so reliev—"
    Lincoln crouched by the grate where a fire blazed. He stood and dusted off his hands as he took in my disheveled appearance. The flickering flames cast deep shadows beneath his eyes and cheeks, and emphasized the downturn of his mouth.