Grave Expectations (The Ministry of Curiosities Book 4) (4 page)

My mother approached and knelt in front of me, the way one does to speak to a small child. "I have waited for you to call me and now you are grown. How old are you, Charlotte?"

"Almost nineteen. I only learned about you after visiting St. Madeleine's in Paris this week."

Shock rippled through the mist, distorting her features before they came together again. "Why?"

"The couple that took me from the orphanage as a baby didn't tell me anything about my past. I have only recently learned that they were not my real parents."

Her fingers brushed my throat, but I felt nothing. "The necklace?"

"Matron gave it to me a week ago. It's in safekeeping."

"But you must wear it!"

I glanced at Lincoln. His fingers squeezed mine, but he didn't ask me to repeat my mother's words. "Why must I wear it?" I said for his benefit.

"To protect you from him. From your father."

"Victor Frankenstein is dead. He can no longer harm me."

Her hand clasped her throat. There were no ghostly tears in her eyes, no trembling fingers. "Good," she spat. "I hope he is in hell."

I wanted to ask her about their relationship, but it felt too awkward and personal, particularly with the others in the room. "He tried to use my necromancy to reanimate his creatures," I told her. "He was unsuccessful."

"Thank God. That man…he tried to use me too. He tricked me. I'm glad you are not sorry he is dead."

"I'm not."

"Even so, you must wear the necklace. The pet will keep you safe."

"Pet?"

She waved a hand in a typical French gesture. "I do not know the correct English word."

"Lincoln translated it as imp, a sort of mischievous creature."

"That is as good a word as any." Her gaze shifted to our linked hands again then slid back to me. "Where is the necklace?"

"Lincoln has it."

"Why?"

"We were unsure of its power. We were going to research it, but since you're here, is there anything you can tell us?" Perhaps I should have asked my mother more personal questions, but I couldn't bring myself to do so. Somehow it seemed easier to speak about the necklace.

"It holds an imp that is released when you speak three words while wearing it." She frowned. "I paid a French witch to make it, and the words are French. You must have the accent just so. Try for me please:
Je libère toi
."

"
Je libère toi
."

"Good. Now put on the necklace today, now, and remember those words. The pet will help you when you call it, but you must not call it unless necessary. It likes mischief, and may run away if there is no present danger."

"How can an uncontrollable, mischievous creature save me?"

"I don't know. I did not create it. Be assured, it will save you. But if you call it without reason, it will go in search of excitement."

"How do I get it back into the amber?"

"It tires quickly. After it saves your life, it will want to go back to sleep in the amber. At such times, it is easy to control. At others it is not so easy. You must catch it and order it back."

"It sounds unpredictable."

"Magic often is."

"Do you know many supernaturals? Witches," I added when her brow creased in confusion.

She shook her head. "So few remain, and most do not wish to be found."

"Was your family magical?"

"My mother was a necromancer, but she died when I was very small. My father remarried to a devout woman. She detested me, feared me. Do not go to them. They will not treat you as a granddaughter ought to be treated."

I knew enough about devout people to know the horrible truth in her words. "I won't seek them out," I assured her.

"I am sorry, dear Charlotte, but you are all alone now that your adopted parents died, yes?"

"Not at all. Lincoln and I are recently engaged."

Her wispy form shimmered, as if she were cold. "I see." She studied him carefully, drifting around his head twice, before settling once more in front of me. "He looks strong."

"He is."

"There is another English word." She clicked her tongue as she searched for it. "Int… Intimid…?"

"Intimidating." I suddenly felt awkward discussing him like this while he was in the room.

Lincoln must have known that I was talking about him because he once again squeezed my hand.

"You think he loves you?" my mother asked.

"I know it."

She stood and smoothed her ghostly skirts. "Charlotte, it is my duty as your mother to warn you that men are not like us. They do not have soft hearts. To them, love is a way to get something else they want."

"You're wrong, Mother," I said very firmly. "I'm sorry your experience was unfavorable, but I know some very good, kind men. The ones in this room, for example."

"You are a young woman," she said gently. "And sheltered too."

"Not as much as you may think."

"You must listen to me when I tell you to be careful. I am your mother and I wish you to be happy. Find a man who is not so…strong. Find one less intimidating, who will do
your
bidding."

I pressed my lips together. This meeting was taking a turn in a direction I didn't like, yet I didn't have the heart to continue to disagree with her. "I will consider your advice. Thank you, Mother. Mama. May I call you that?"

"Of course." Her sweet smile momentarily filled out the hollowed contours of her cheeks and chased away the dark shadows circling her eyes. "That is a word I hoped to hear one day from your lips. I wish I were alive to hold you, dearest daughter, but this spirit form must do for now."

"We'll see one another again, won't we?" I asked, my tears once more close.

"Of course. You may summon my spirit whenever you need me. I am here for you, Charlotte. Always."

I nodded, no longer able to speak through my tears.

"Promise me you will get your necklace from him." She angled her head at Lincoln. "If he refuses, steal it. Listen to me, your mother, not him. I know what is best for you. You are always in my heart. Do you understand?"

I nodded again.

"
Bon
. Now, we must say farewell." She kissed her fingertips and held them up. I kissed mine and touched them to hers, although I felt nothing.

"Goodbye, Mama," I whispered. "I release you."

She slipped away, gliding up to the ceiling then disappearing altogether.

"She's gone?" Lincoln asked.

I nodded.

"Well?" Gus prompted. "What did she say?"

"Gus," Seth hissed. "That's private."

"I was askin' about the un-private bits."

"She spoke about the amber pendant," I told them. "She said I should wear it at all times." I mentioned how she'd commissioned it, and why, and how to release the imp from the amber. "The words must be spoken in French while I wear it."

Lincoln withdrew his hand from mine. "The creature sounds too unpredictable. We can't risk it escaping."

"She wanted me to steal it back if you didn't return it to me."

He refilled my teacup and handed it to me. "Research it further. There might be something in the library."

"You've read every book in the library and you have a fantastic memory. Do you recall reading about an imp?"

If he heard the challenge in my voice, he gave no indication. "All sorts of creatures are mentioned, but nothing trapped in amber. Perhaps that's a new technique."

"Very well, I'll see what I can find." I didn't tell him that I would have it back, one way or another. If my mother thought it important then I would wear it. I didn't want to argue with Lincoln. Not when everything was so lovely between us.

L
incoln finally gave
in and allowed me to go to the prison with him after I caught him at a rare weak moment—he was in the middle of kissing me.

With my back to his door, his hands on my waist, I gently pushed him away and simply told him I was going too. With a resigned sigh, he said, "I suspected as much."

What followed was a list of rules, most of them boiling down to staying vigilant and staying close to him. I did as told because his commands were entirely sensible—and he said please.

The entrance gate of Surrey House of Correction rose out of the landscape like a grim, austere medieval castle presiding over its subjects. Lincoln and I were shown into the governor's office in the heart of the complex. The prison was designed like an octopus with four tentacles; the central office windows overlooked each yard between the tentacles. A smattering of prisoners huddled in the corners out of the wind, but otherwise the yards were barren.

"He's in the infirmary," Governor Crease said upon our inquiry. "You can't visit him." He was a tall, imposing man with impressive muttonchops and moustache but no beard. Small, round eyes peered back at us with intense focus that seemed to be searching our souls for our crimes.

Lincoln passed a fat envelope across the desk. Crease peered inside and, without so much as a blink, opened the top drawer of his desk and dropped it inside. He locked the drawer with a key that he slipped into his watch pocket.

"I'll have one of the guards escort you."

A few minutes later we were shown into another building that reminded me of the wards at the Bedlam asylum. Men dressed in shapeless, drab prison garb lay on beds divided into two rows. There were no blankets to cover them and no nurses to tend to them. Some watched us warily, but others were either asleep or too sick to open their eyes.

Only one guard stood at the door. He directed us to the bed three down on the left. It took me a moment to recognize the figure lying there, curled over and clutching his stomach. Holloway was so changed. He'd lost weight and the usually neat man had grown a patchy beard. Without Macassar oil, his hair hung loose and lank past his nape. The blue spidery veins on his closed eyelids stood out alarmingly against pale, glistening skin.

"Holloway," Lincoln said. "Are you awake?"

The man I'd affectionately called Father for thirteen years, and less affectionately for another five, cracked open his eyes. Whatever ailed him clearly didn't affect his mind because he took us both in then grunted.

"The devil child." His voice was as fragile as the rest of him. "Come to take me to the pits of hell?"

"You're not dead yet," I said, feeling bold now that I saw how sick he was. I thought I'd feel anger and hatred, but I felt neither of those. Indeed, I felt nothing for him except a small kernel of nostalgia that took little effort to quash.

"What do you want?"

The prisoner in the next bed began coughing uncontrollably. The warden and other prisoners took no notice.

"Sign these papers." Lincoln produced a folded document from his inside jacket pocket. He'd come prepared.

"What papers?" Holloway asked.

"Charlie is going to wed."

Holloway pushed himself up on his elbow with effort. I stepped forward to help him, but he flinched and gave me a look of such horror that I hung back. "She needs my consent." He chuckled and lay down again. "How ironic."

"Sign it," I said, "and I will be out of your way forever. You'll never have to see me again."

"No."

I exchanged a glance with Lincoln. He looked like he wanted to thump Holloway. "Why not?" I asked. "Why do you care what I do?"

"Marriage is a sacred endeavor in the eyes of God. I cannot allow a creature like yourself to enter a house of God and speak vows meant for good, Christian folk. What sort of vicar would that make me? What sort of man?"

"A forgiving one. A kind one." But the more I spoke, the more I saw how hopeless it was. Holloway wasn't the sort of man who feared death, or Lincoln, or me. He thought he was in the right, and nothing could sway him.

"I tried to save you," he said to me. "I tried to remove the devil from you—"

"By digging it out of me with a knife!"

"If I were in better health, and not confined to this hell, I would try again. Now it's up to you to fight the devil alone. If this man you wish to marry truly loved you, he would help you fight it." He sighed and seemed to sink further into the bed. "Be gone, Devil. Get away from me."

I moved off, but Lincoln did not. He leaned down to the figure in the bed and whispered something in his ear. Holloway's eyes widened. His Adam's apple bobbed.

"What did you say to him?" I asked as we followed the warden back to the governor's office.

"I told him that he will die soon, and that he'd better hope his treatment of you does not go against his God's wishes. I may have recited a few lines of the testament that counsel compassion to everyone."

"How do you know he'll die soon? He might recover."

We arrived in the governor's office and he didn't have a chance to answer me. Nor did he respond as we drove off, and I didn't ask again. Neither of us mentioned Holloway or his refusal to grant his permission.

I knew from Lincoln's rigidity that he was seething. His black fathomless eyes stared out the window, and the muscles in his jaw stretched taut.

"We'll speak with a lawyer," I said quietly. "It will all work out, Lincoln. You'll see." A small, cold place inside me hoped that Holloway would die, handing over my guardianship to the state, but it was not the sort of thing I could admit out loud.

Seth drove us to the newspaper offices of
The Times,
where we placed our advertisement for a housekeeper, then drove home. I felt flat, restless, and it only grew worse as the hour for the committee meeting approached. As the first arrival rolled along the drive, I began to regret my insistence that I face them too. While I wanted to present a united front with Lincoln, I was in no mood for their snobbery and, in the case of Lady Harcourt, jealousy.

The first to arrive was General Eastbrooke with Lord Marchbank close behind. They eyed me with curiosity as we sat in the library and waited for the others to arrive. I folded my hand over my engagement ring to hide it until they were all present.

"What's
she
doing here?" Lord Gillingham asked before he'd even fully entered the library. "Get rid of her."

"Charlie is staying," Lincoln said blandly.