"Would you stop fidgeting?" Judith chastised me. Feeling caught, I let go of the hem of my dress, which I had been pulling at. I crossed my arms to stop myself from reaching for something else to play with and tried to focus on my surroundings again. Judith wasn't the only one who had noticed my restlessness. On my left, Margaret gave me a disapproving glare. She would have said something herself, but she and her husband were too busy trying to keep Isabelle in her seat. My family and I were sitting in the front pews of the small church a little distance outside the village, waiting for the pallbearers to bring the coffin up to the altar.

I had dressed up for the funeral with Holly's help. I wore a knee-length black dress which I had bought on a whim a couple months ago. The original price had been above my budget, but I bought it on sale and had planned to wear it for the small Christmas celebration we held at Portland Row each year. After Aickmere's that didn't happen, and I hadn't had the opportunity to wear it until now. The soft, swishing fabric that pooled over my lap like water wasn't exactly case-proof. That morning I had pulled my hair back in one of those half up-does, and Holly had used some of Alice's make up to hide the dark circles underneath my eyes.

I had barely gotten a wink of sleep since our experience at the station. I would have tried to make up for the lack of sleep with a few cat naps spread over the day, but yesterday had been dedicated to funeral preparations and the only times I was able to sneak away from choosing music, verses to be read and flower arrangements, I had to keep Isabelle and Oliver entertained.

It had been a long day followed by another restless night. Every time I closed my eyes, my mind flashed back to the echo I had been thrown into on the tracks. I just couldn't shake off the memory of terrified dread.

My friends had been nothing short of amazing. As promised, Lockwood marched us back to the cottage without so much as a comment. The moment we got back, Holly dragged me into the kitchen and slammed the door on the guys. Although it was only half past 10, Rebecca and Judith had already gone to bed so we had the kitchen to ourselves.

"Could you lift your shirt for me, Lucy?" Her tone sounded politely questioning, but I could see the mad determination I'd glimpsed back in Aldbury Castle, and decided not to protest. After pointing her to the first aid kit in the cabinet under the sink, I dutifully sad down and pulled up the hem of my shirt to just below my bra.

Holly gasped softly when she saw my back. I assumed that the bruising from my fall was showing. My muscles were already stiffening up for sure, I knew I'd be sore the following day. Holly worked fast, cleaning up the few scrapes with a cotton ball she had dipped in iodine before rubbing ointment on the bruises. After letting it dry, I tucked my shirt back into the waistband of my skirt.

Holly was packing the first aid kit back up, shooting glances in my direction. There was a question on her mind, but she seemed hesitant to voice it. I raised an eyebrow at her, and then she went for it.

"Lucy, that scar on your lower back…"

"What about it?"

"Is it from a case?"

For a moment I hesitated. Then I shook my head.

"No, it's older."

Holly opened her mouth to ask further, but I shook my head. "I don't want to talk about it, Holly. "

Holly took mercy on me, and without another word, she packed up the first aid kit and returned it to its proper place.

When my sisters rose up from the pews, I got to my feet as well. I tried to glance around subtly. My sisters were sorrowful, and Grace was already handing out tissues to the others. Isabelle and Oliver seemed uneasy as well, sticking close to their fathers. They didn't understand what we were all doing in church when it wasn't Sunday, and the heavy atmosphere upset them.

Four strong men carried the coffin down the aisle. I recognised Agent Jacobs, his expression sombre and serious. He looked perfectly in place, carrying the coffin in his dark undertaker suit. Stationmaster Mills, who walked in front of him, did not. He was wearing a dark suit as well, but something about it seemed ill-fitting. Maybe it was just his posture while carrying the coffin, but it looked like he was trying to disappear into it.

Nobody wanted to see a Ghost-touched body, so when the coffin was placed on the stand infant of the altar, it remained closed. The priest had performed the last rites in private earlier that morning. Behind the closed lid, Mam's body had silver coins on the eyes, and an iron chain around the neck. The priest had said prayers and put a sprig of lavender on her chest, to stop her from coming back as a Visitor. I doubted it was necessary. We had complied with all her last requests, and I couldn't imagine her having any unfinished business.

The organ started the first notes of the hymn we had chosen, and soon the congregation started singing.

"So..." When we all had a steaming mug of tea, Kipps was the one who started the conversation.

"What happened back there? We saw you be blown backwards, and the next moment you were screaming bloody murder."

I didn't look up from my mug when I replied to him, watching the steam rising from the tea curl and swirl into the air instead.

"I fell onto the tracks. I... I experienced-" my voice broke, and I had to take a deep breath before I could start again. "I felt the echo of the ghost's death. My father's death..." A heavy silence descended on us, and I took a quick sip of tea to distract myself from the awkward glances the others were shooting my way. Of course I burned my tongue on it.

"That must have been terrible," Holly whispered. I nodded to show I'd heard her, but I didn't know what to say in response, so I kept quiet.

"But shouldn't the iron from the tracks have suppressed any psychic energy?" Quill asked. He was swirling his tea around in his mug with his teaspoon, not making any move to drink it. I gave a little shrug, but George had an explanation ready.

"The echo didn't one from the tracks, but from the ballast stones," he started, "and I could pick up on it almost as fast as Lucy. Taking into account what we saw tonight, as well as what that Jacobs fellow told us the other day, it is safe to say that the apparition is strong. His death was violent, so it is possible that we were able to pick up on the echo because of the blood that will have dripped through the stones after the collision with the train kill-"

"Yes, very interesting George," Lockwood interrupted. "But perhaps not what we should focus on right now." George's gaze flicked towards me and he gave a short nod. "right, of course."

Lockwood turned to me, his expression softening ever so slightly. "What do you want to do, Luce? We can tell Jacobs of our findings and transfer the case to him so we can leave after the funeral, if you would prefer that."

I was shaking my head before he had even finished his sentence. "No, I can handle this," I stated, although I wasn't sure I could. The others exchanged worried glances, but nobody challenged me on it. Soon after we all went to bed.

Most of the service after the coffin was brought in passed me by in a blur. Hymns were sung, a passage was read and preached about, Grace and Judith delivered the eulogy. Mary grabbed my hand while the priest read a final passage. The tears streaming down her face sent a jolt through my chest, and I glanced around at my other sisters. They were all crying softly, dabbing at their eyes with tissues, or in Margaret and Alice's case, sniffling into their husbands' shoulders. Grace was clutching Peter's hand as if it was the only thing anchoring her, and Rebecca had turned in her seat to reach for the young woman sitting in the pew behind her, who took her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her palm.

I laced my fingers together with Mary's and looked down at my knees. Never had I wished for my hair to cover my face as much as in that moment, the one time I had pulled it back entirely. All my sisters were looking for comfort and reassurance as the funeral service was coming to a close and the pallbearers got ready to carry the coffin again.

What would people think of me for not crying at the funeral of my own mother?

The plot of land prepared for Mam's coffin was located right next to my father's grave. It was small, most of the space taken up by the grave that had been dug earlier. Iron strips lined the rectangular plot of land to discourage nightly strolls of the death. As the coffin was lowered, the priest said a final prayer and then my sisters and I tossed our lavender and lily bouquets onto the coffin.

After all the rituals were finished, my sisters and I took our position to receive the guests' condolences. It was a seemingly endless stream of people telling us how sorry they were for our loss, and what a good person Mam had been. Hah.

I had to turn a particularly unbelieving scoff into a coughing fit when Mrs Abrahams - the owner of one of the two hotels in town - clasped my hands in between hers and told me what a loss Mam's death was to the community. I was sure the only loss Mrs Abrahams felt was the time she'd have to spend trying to find herself a new washerwoman.

Holly was the first of my friends to give me her condolences, and she was also the first whose words sounded genuine.

"I'm so sorry, Lucy," she whispered as she pulled me into a tight hug.

"Thank you, Hol," I murmured back, and then she was off shaking hands with my sisters. Kipps put a warm hand on my shoulder when he offered his condolences, and George simply grasped my hand. We had shared enough physical contact at the station to fulfil our quota for the next couple weeks.

Lockwood hung back a bit, allowing other guests to approach me first. One of them was stationmaster Mills. Mills was a man in his late fifties, with severe grey eyes and a permanent 5 o'clock shadow. Just like agent Jacobs, the townfolk respected him, but unlike agent Jacobs, nobody avoided him.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Little Miss," he told me. When he shook my hand, he pushed a folded square of paper into my palm.

I fiddled with the edges of the note as I watched Mam's coffin disappear underneath the dirt. Each spade full should have hammered down the fact that Mam was gone, but my thoughts were wandering yet again. As I watched, I couldn't help but wonder. Had they had buried my old friends like that? With a simple service and insincere mourners telling their family platitudes? I had to swallow down the lump in my throat at the thought. I hadn't been there.

With an angry gesture, I wiped the only tears I'd shed that day away and looked up. Lockwood was standing infant of me. For once there wasn't no hint of a smile on his face. His dark eyes were serious and sombre as he pulled me into a quick embrace.

"We'll solve this case, Luce," he promised me, and those words meant more to me than any condolences ever could.

"Thank you, Lockwood," I managed. He tightened the hug for a moment and then stepped away.

"Will you be okay?" he asked, and I gave a nod. "Good, we'll be waiting for you Luce." he was about to walk away when I grabbed his hand and slipped him the square of paper.

"Could you keep that safe for me? I don't have pockets."

The barest hint of a smile appeared on his face as he put the paper in one of his pockets.

"Of course, Lucy."

—

After the service and burial, we all went back to the house. the rest of Lockwood and Co had holed up in my old room, and left my family and me to sorting through Mam's stuff. I still wasn't all there with my thoughts, so when my sisters put me and Mary at the kitchen table to write thank-you notes to all the condolence cards we had received since the obituary had been posted in the local paper two days ago, I didn't protest. Benedict stayed in the kitchen as well, watching Isabelle and Oliver as they coloured so they wouldn't bother their mothers and aunts.

For the next hour and a half, Mary and I wrote the cards, while our other sisters went through Mam's stuff to see what was worth keeping and what we could throw away. It was easy to get lost in my task, and I threw myself into it with full dedication trying to ignore the occasional sniffles that came from Mary.

—

In fact, I was so engrossed in penning down the same message over and over again (Anne Carlyle's daughters: Margaret, Alice, Judith, Rebecca, Mary and Lucy, thank you for your sympathy during this trying time), I almost didn't notice when Lockwood walked into the kitchen and dropped the little square of paper on the table next to me. He shot me a small smile before turning around. He brushed past Judith on his way out, who was entering the kitchen with a set of photo albums underneath her arm.

I put down my pen, which was almost out of ink anyway, and finally looked at the note stationmaster Mills had handed me. The message was short and to the point, entirely in line with what I had expected from the man.

Dear Little Miss,

I hope you and your friends can find the time to join me for tea tomorrow morning. I have something to share which might aide you in your investigation.

Jonathan Mills

"If you're quite done exchanging notes with your boyfriend?" Judith sniped as she dumped the photo albums on the last free spot on the table. Heat rose to my cheeks.

"I don't know what you are talking about," I tried. Judith just snorted.

"Oh please, we all saw you two at the cemetery."

"What is it to you anyway?" I snapped. Judith didn't answer, just shot me an angry glare. We may have ended up in a staring contest, if my other sisters hadn't come dripping into the kitchen at that moment.

"Oh, you found the albums Judith?" Alice asked, wiping a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Let's see them!"

It was strange, being in that kitchen with all my sisters. The last time everyone had sat here together, I had been about six years old. In the years that followed, my sisters all found their own life and left home. The evidence of that were Benedict, Richard, and Peter, squeezed to the side of the small room as we all crowded around the table to look at the pictures. Isabelle had squeezed herself in-between Margaret and Alice, standing on her tiptoes to see the albums too.

I tried to join in on the reminiscing about our childhood as we leaved through the photos, but a lot of the anecdotes had happened before I was born or when I was too young to remember. I felt a strange sense of isolation wash over me. No matter what, I would always be different from the other women at the kitchen table. If not because of my talent, because of my stubborn personality, or the way my accent had changed since moving to London, then because of the difference in age.

If you glanced at the photos, it was hard to say who was who without the descriptions. All of us had dark hair and a somewhat similar build, although Mary had stayed somewhat more delicate than the rest of us as she grew up. The only one who was actually pretty if you compared her to the magazines was Judith. The rest of us shared our strong facial features. It was only because of the names scribbled on the first pages of the album that you could know for sure who you were looking at.

"I think we're missing an album," Margaret remarked, wiping away a stray tear with the back of her hand. "None of these albums contain pictures of Mary or Lucy."

"Maybe the other album is upstairs somewhere?" I suggested. "I'll go and check Mam's room." Without waiting for the others, I rose from my chair and pushed my way out of the kitchen.

"I already checked Mam's room for albums, you won't find them!" Judith protested. I ignored her. I knew I wouldn't find Mary's or my baby pictures in this house; I had taken the album with me when I left for London over two years ago.

I walked up the stairs and across the landing, pausing for a moment to listen outside the door to my room. My friends were talking to each other in hushed tones. A few seconds later somebody, I suspected it was Kipps, gave a groan, and the others laughed. Perhaps they were playing a card game, Kipps was notoriously bad at those. I could hear the skull give petulant commentary, but as nobody besides me could hear it, it didn't make much of a difference. It was good to hear them. It brought a sense of normalcy, and I resolved to go sit with them for a while after checking out Mam's room.

Entering Mam's room was strange. For as long as I remembered, the room had been off limits, and for a moment as I stood there, looking at the cream coloured walls, I expected Mam to come in and yell at me. It was a ridiculous thought. Even if she came back as a visitor – and as mentioned before, I highly doubted she would – Her coming to haunt her bedroom was unlikely.

Mam slept in a slept in a small double bed, with a soft pink bedspread and pillow. The cotton sheets were at least a decade old, but still stark white, and when I touched them to lift the mattress, they felt soft. They were a testament to her skills as a laundress. I heaved up the mattress and shoved my knee underneath to keep it up right as I looked underneath.

A thick manila folder lay in the middle of the slatted base frame. I grabbed it, let the mattress fall back in place again, and sat down on top of it. I took off the little elastic bands that held the folder closed and opened it.

The room seemed to tilt around me as I leafed through its contents. They were newspaper cutouts, articles from different newspapers, and I recognised every single headline. The earliest one was about the house fire on sheen road, the latest about Aickmere's. A weight landed on my chest with enough force to send my mind reeling when I found the thick envelope in between.

I closed up the folder with shaking fingers and stumbled out of Mam's room. I made my way across the landing, down the stairs, and past the kitchen.

Somebody, Mary I think, saw me walk by and stuck her head out of the door opening.

"Lucy? Where are you going?"

I didn't answer her. I felt cooped up and out of breath, I needed to be alone, but that was pretty much impossible in this house.

I walked straight out the front door without a second thought. The outside air seemed to lift the weight on my chest a little, but the house still loomed over me, and I felt small in its shadow.

With the folder clutched to my chest, I started running.

A/N: Chapter 7 is here! I hope you enjoyed this, because this was a fun but difficult chapter to write. Please let me know what you thought!