He was right; there was nothing of note to be seen, save the scarred earth where the last of the stone had been removed. Hecate looked about her.
“Where was the burial ground?” she asked.
“Oh, what we know of was to the right, there, beyond where the abbey would have stood. Though of course there were very few actual marked graves.”
“Nonetheless, you had to seek permission to exhume any remains, did you not?”
He raised his eyebrows at her and twirled the waxed ends of his mustache. “Certainly, all our actions have been most proper in that regard.”
“And complete? Have you opened all the known graves?”
“’Pon my word, Hecate, you do have an uncommon interest in such things,” he said.
“You can hardly be surprised, given where I work.”
“I suppose not. Well, we have indeed taken up all the remains that had marked positions. As I said, every propriety was observed, all highly dignified, and so on and so forth.”
“And the unmarked graves? Can you be sure you have located all of them?”
“No, point of fact, we cannot. Not until we have dug all the footings, which will possibly, fair to say, reveal more … um … unfortunates. Very old remains, you understand? No living relatives or anything of that nature.”
“So, that area there, that looks like the last piece of ground to be dug. There could be more deceased to be discovered there, could there not?”
“It is possible, yes. Dash it all, Hecate, don’t go treading through the morass. Hold up!”
She strode off the boards, her leather boots slapping on the wet mud, grateful for her shortened skirts. She had to move swiftly to avoid her feet getting sucked in. She could hear Phileas’s heavier tread squelching in her wake. As she reached the point where the workmen were slicing through the ground with their spades, she experienced a sudden shiver and thought, for a fleeting instant, that she detected a spectral presence standing on the perimeter. She was not accustomed to encountering souls so far from the cathedral, so that she was momentarily thrown. She listened, and considered how the place affected her demeanor. Was there, she wondered, any trace of the sense of menace and evil she had detected that time in the crypt? Nothing seemed to present itself.
“Hecate, for pity’s sake, how am I to explain to your parents that I watched you disappear into the mud? Have a care.”
She leaned forward as far as she dared, peering into the gaping hole that the men had created. She could see no bones, nor any remnants of what might once have been coffins or tombs. While she did not detect that overpowering dread, she could sense an unease in the atmosphere, a disturbance above Phileas’s mild panic for her safety.
“Where do you take them?” she asked, wheeling about.
“What?” He teetered as he came to stand next to her.
“The remains that you find. Where do you take them?”
“For the moment, all have been placed in caskets and taken to the Chapel of Ease in Eign Street. Once we have finished our excavations they will be removed to the new municipal burial site out at Breinton.”
“Some several miles from the city center.”
“One or two. I don’t suppose it will matter to the … to those we find.”
“It may or may not,” she muttered, half closing her eyes, squinting in the direction she had detected a possible ghostly presence.
“Good Lord, look who has come among us!” Phileas exclaimed.
She turned to see who he was looking at and was astonished to witness John picking his way across the boards toward them. She had only mentioned her planned visit in passing, without date, time, or details. Had he watched her leave and followed her on foot? It seemed a strange thing for him to do.
“John,” she said as he drew close. “What brings you here?”
As he had been brought up to do, Phileas fell back on good manners to ease a slightly awkward situation. The two had met before, so were not complete strangers. Hecate was aware, however, that her father would have mentioned Reverend Forsyth as part of her new life in her place of work. And her mother had not been above referring to him in front of Phileas in a way that deliberately placed him as a possible husband for her daughter.
“Ah, the good Reverend. How kind of you to pay us a visit. It is always heartening for we men of business to have the support of the church. Puts our endeavors in a good light, don’t you know?”
“Mr. Sterling,” he said, raising his black hat briefly. “Hecate,” he said, smiling.
“Why are you here, John?” she repeated her question baldly, annoyed that he should perhaps have thought her incapable of going anywhere without him anymore.
“The dean asked me to see for myself that the exhumations have been done according to his instructions. Of course, I have every confidence in Mr. Sterling’s overseeing of the work, but, well, you know how Dean Chalmers likes to proceed with caution. He thought it only fitting someone from the cathedral should be sent to confirm—”
“So he sent you,” Hecate interrupted.
John smiled calmly. “He sent me.”
Phileas was determined to keep the encounter pleasant all around. “Good of him, and of you, Reverend, to spare the time. As you can see, we are nearly finished in these … ah, peculiar aspects of the construction. Scarcely a dozen more yards to dig. Oh, my foreman is hailing me. Forgive me, I shall return in an instant. Hecate, if you care for me at all, you will refrain from hurling yourself into the swamp.”
So saying he hurried off to address his foreman’s concerns, leaving the other two alone together.
Hecate spoke to John in a low voice so that their conversation would not be overheard by the workmen.
“I was quite capable of doing this myself, John.”
“Doing what, precisely?”
“Coming here to inspect the exhumations. I wished to confirm or disprove a theory, concerning the Resurgent Spirits.”
“Which is?”
