Grave Expectations (The Ministry of Curiosities Book 4) (9 page)

Gordon slumped against the wall. If he'd been alive, he would be drawing in great gasps of air, but he didn't need to breathe. He pushed his hair off his face and smiled. Most of the body's teeth were missing and those that were not were yellow.

"Charlie! Charlie!" Gus threw his arms around me in a hug so fierce I could only gurgle in response.

"Easy now," Gordon said in a husky feminine voice that I could never associate with him. "Let her up."

Gus pulled away and patted my arms. "You all right?"

"I am. You?"

He nodded.

Thank God. I looked to Mrs. Drinkwater, standing near the door of the storeroom where Gus had been imprisoned. She swiped at her tears and handed the pistol to Gus. She was as meek as a mouse.

"All's well?" Gordon asked, marveling at his long gray hair. He stroked it, pulling out a clump. The body looked quite fresh. She must have only just died.

I suddenly giggled, partly in relief and partly because he looked ridiculous in the garish dress with feminine features. "You couldn't find a man's body?"

"This was all the mortuary had."

"Isn't the cemetery nearby?" I asked Mrs. Drinkwater. "Isn't that where your husband found his body?"

"The one on Old Brompton Road is few streets away to the east," she said.

"Ah. I went west." Gordon picked up his skirts and pirouetted. "Don't suppose I can stay in this body for the rest of the night. Just to see what it's like to—"

"No!" Three shouts drowned him out.

He held up his hands. "Very well. Walk back with me to the mortuary, Miss Charlie?"

"Of course." I turned to Mrs. Drinkwater. "Your husband's spirit has returned. Do not try to raise him again."

She nodded quickly. "I won't. I don't know how, anyway."

"If I were you, I'd get out of London," Gus muttered. "Death'll be furious when he finds out what you did."

Mrs. Drinkwater's lips trembled.

"Don't frighten her," I said. "Lincoln's not vindictive. He won't harm her."

Gus merely grunted. He took my hand and steered me along the corridor. "I hate this place."

"You must remove your husband's body," I said over my shoulder to Mrs. Drinkwater. "Return him to the cemetery tonight. Rest assured, Mr. Fitzroy won't come seeking vengeance. He's above that. You have my word."

She wiped at a tear that slid from her eye and looked down at her husband's limp form. I didn't know how she would manage to move him, and I didn't care. I just wanted to see that Gordon returned the body he'd borrowed and left too. I'd had enough of lingering spirits for one day.

The dark, miserable night embraced us. I wasn't sure of the hour, but nobody was out in the misty rain. Without so much as a cloak to huddle into, I was soon wet through to my skin and as cold as ice. I couldn't wait to get back to Lichfield and sit by the hearth with a bowl of Cook's soup and Lincoln's warm touch. He must be going out of his mind with worry.

S
eth scooped me up
, only setting me down when Cook demanded he have a turn hugging me. "Thank God you're back safe," Seth muttered. "We were so worried."

"Aye." Cook frowned as he studied the bruises around my throat. "You hurt bad?"

"Not really. I'm mostly tired, and very hungry."

"You need soup."

I kissed his cheek. "You're wonderful."

Gus thrust out his hands, exposing his bloodied wrists. "What about me? I was abducted too
and
shot, and no one's givin' me soup."

Seth shrugged then enveloped his friend in a hug until Gus shoved him off, only to have Cook follow suit.

"Stop it, you lump o' lard." Gus grinned, however, and allowed Seth to inspect the wound at his shoulder.

Cook chuckled and retrieved two bowls from the cupboard. I sidled closer to the stove and its delicious heat. "Is Lincoln here?"

"He's out looking for you." Seth shook his head and sighed. "He's been in and out most of the day, hoping you'd show up again here. I'm sure he'll walk in that door soon."

A set of footsteps echoed along the corridor, but it was only Doyle. "Miss Holloway, Mr. Gus! I'm so glad to see you both again."

"Thank you, Doyle. Are you all right?"

He nodded. "Cook and I were drugged with some awful tea, but there appear to be no lingering effects."

Cook handed me a bowl. "Aside from going deaf when Fitzroy shouted at us, wanting to know what happened and getting mad when we couldn't give answers."

I drew in a deep breath as he ladled broth into my bowl. "Where is he looking?"

"That's the problem, he didn't know where to start," Seth said. "The Mrs. Webb employed by the Powell's is not the same as the housekeeper we knew as Mrs. Webb. No surprise there."

"She tricked us."

"Don't take it to heart." He put his arm around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head. "So who was she really, and why did she take you?"

"And how did you get away?" Doyle chimed in.

Gus and I briefly filled them in on some of the particulars, leaving out all the supernatural elements so as not to overwhelm Doyle. Cook swore several times, as did Seth, to a lesser extent, but Doyle was the perfect butler and merely made sour faces and horrified little gasps.

"Diabolical," he muttered.

"It is," I said. "And if this sort of thing concerns you, Doyle, then I'm afraid we'll have to let you go. Dangerous incidents happen with alarming frequency around here."

"Thank you for your frankness. I'll keep that in mind." It was not, I noticed, an answer one way or another.

I hadn't forgotten that he was under suspicion either. Mrs. Drinkwater had been helped by someone who knew we needed a housekeeper. Doyle might seem innocent and concerned, but I hadn't ruled him out.

Lincoln still hadn't returned by the time I finished my soup, so after overseeing the cleaning and dressing of Gus's wound, I retired to my rooms to freshen up. A knock at my door several minutes later sent my heart tripping over itself.

It was only Seth. "Don't look so disappointed," he said. "May I come in?"

"Do you want to know what really happened, now that we're alone?"

"Gus already told me."

"You've grown quite serious," I said. "What's wrong?"

"The committee came shortly after we discovered your disappearance."

I screwed up my nose. "Why?"

"Fitzroy sent messages to each of them demanding to know every last detail about the two supernatural deaths."

"He assumed my abduction was related to the murders?"

"He did. And in his correspondence, he mentioned your abduction, and demanded they come to Lichfield immediately for questioning."

"Were they helpful?"

"They gave no further information, and then proceeded to tell him that they were right and he was wrong, and you should be sent away."

I sat down on an armchair near the fire with a resigned sigh. "I expect that didn't go down too well."

"Fitzroy went very quiet."

"He's more dangerous when he's quiet." It meant he was shutting himself off emotionally. An unemotional Lincoln was a ruthless Lincoln.

"Charlie…" He sat opposite and rested his elbows on his knees. He bowed his head, sending his blond locks tumbling over his forehead into his eyes. "The committee will probably try to contact you now that you've returned safe and sound. Julia indicated to me that they'll try to convince you to leave of your own accord."

"How?"

"By telling you it's best for the ministry if you're not here. And best for Fitzroy too."

I slumped back and rubbed my aching temples. "They think I'm being selfish."

He looked up through the curtain of his hair.

"Do you think I'm being selfish, Seth?"

"No!"

"Should I leave? For Lincoln's sake?"

He sat up straight and squared his shoulders. "No. Definitely not. I hate to think what he'd turn into if you left. He was a cold block of ice before you arrived, but these last few weeks have seen him thaw. You've humanized him."

To hear it put like that made my heart swell, but I felt compelled to defend Lincoln. "I'm not sure I can take all the credit. I simply brought out what was already there, only deeply buried."

He shrugged. "I wanted to warn you so you can prepare yourself. Don't take what they say to heart."

I smiled and was about to thank him when Lincoln strode in.

I
barely had
time to register his presence before he lifted me out of the chair and drew me into a fierce hug. He buried one hand in my hair, holding my head against his chest. The rapid, erratic beat of his heart drowned out everything else, so that I didn't hear Seth leave. When Lincoln set me down again, we were alone with the door closed.

He held me at arm's length and checked me over. His stormy gaze settled on the bruises at my throat then lifted to my face, questioning.

"It's the only injury," I told him. "And it's not too sore."

He nodded. Swallowed. I was acutely aware that he hadn't yet spoken.

His thumb stroked my jaw and he angled his head to kiss me. What began as a chaste kiss quickly turned into one of longing that told me how worried he'd been. There was no need for words between us. All the built-up fear and his immense relief poured out of him in that kiss.

I circled my arms around his neck and held him as tightly as he held me. I wanted to comfort him as much as his presence comforted me, and for several minutes we simply cherished one another's company.

And then, as if he'd doused that part of himself, he drew away and regarded me through eyes that were as black and bleak as a deep lake in winter. "What happened?"

"What has Gus already told you?" I asked.

"Nothing. I saw he was back and he said you were up here. I came immediately. Who was the woman calling herself Mrs. Webb and where did she take you? Why?"

"Mrs. Webb was in fact Mrs. Drinkwater."

A muscle in his jaw pulsed. "I didn't consider the victims. She wanted you to raise her husband?"

"So he could get revenge on his killer, although I think she simply missed him. She is somewhat dependent on her husband's good opinion of her. I think she felt lost after his death, alone."

"She forced you to raise his spirit by threatening Gus?"

I nodded.

It was some time before he spoke again, and I feared he was warring with himself about whether to tell me I should have sacrificed Gus.

"I raised Drinkwater's spirit and was then gagged so I couldn't send him back. He re-entered his body and killed his murderer before returning to the house."

He stroked his thumb across my lower lip. His steely façade slipped, revealing a flicker of raw emotion before schooling it again. "He knew his killer?"

"He'd never seen him before, but the fellow mentioned going to The Feathers to celebrate a successful commission, so Drinkwater waited for him there. He must have been a hired gunman, but he didn't divulge who he worked for before Drinkwater killed him."

Most people wouldn't have noticed the effect this news had on Lincoln, but I spotted the telltale tightening of his lips.

"His wife wanted to send him back to his afterlife again," I went on, "but he decided to stay. There was a fight, and while he was distracted, I spoke the words to return his spirit. Mrs. Drinkwater took care of his body."

"You overpowered him alone or did Gus help?"

"Gus was locked in the storeroom at the time, and I'll never have enough training to teach me to overpower a reanimated body. We had help from Gordon Thackery."

His brows shot up.

"I summoned him as soon as I woke up in the cellar. He found himself a body and returned to assist us in that guise."

He gave a firm nod. "Thackery was a good choice."

It was as much praise as I would get. It was enough.

"Lincoln, she knew so much about me. Somebody must have helped her. I suspected Doyle, since he knew we needed a housekeeper, but it couldn't have been him. He isn't aware of my necromancy. Or is he?"

"Seth wouldn't have told him."

"I hate to say this, but it must be someone on the committee."

He dragged his hand through his hair and stared at the fireplace. After a moment, he stoked the coals. Each thrust of the fire iron was more vigorous than the last until I stopped him by placing my hand over his.

"Sit with me by the fire," I said gently.

"I can't." He returned the iron to the stand. "I have to go out."

"But it's late." After midnight, according to the clock on the mantel.

"Go to bed, Charlie."

"I'd rather sit by the hearth and fall asleep in your arms."

He pecked the top of my head. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight!" I threw my hands in the air. "How is it a good night when you're going out and I'll probably have night terrors."

"I'll look in on you when I return if I hear you."

I thrust my hands on my hips. I'd been looking forward to sitting with him, being held and comforted by him, and he was heading out again! "Are you going to question the committee members?"

He turned and strode to the door. I raced past him and stood in front of it.

"Do not shut me out, Lincoln. Tell me where you're going."

"You won't approve."

He mustn't be going to see the committee members then. "Mrs. Drinkwater?"

His gaze shifted away.

"Lincoln! Don't harm her. She isn't the villain here."

"I beg to differ."

"You should speak to her to find out who helped her, granted, but do it gently, and in daylight. I'm sure she'll tell you if you ask nicely."

"I have to do this now," he ground out through a clenched jaw. "And I certainly can't be
nice
."

"You need to calm down first."

"I
need
to do this
now
." He stretched out his fingers then bunched them into fists. "Move aside."

I folded my arms. "The Drinkwaters are victims. The poor woman just lost her husband."

"She kidnapped you and held you captive for hours, and you feel sympathy for her?"

"She didn't hurt me, or Gus, and she could have." I wasn't sure when my feelings toward her changed from anger to sympathy. Perhaps when I realized she'd only tried to bring back the man she loved and had never planned to kill anyone. Perhaps I would have acted just as irrationally in her position.

He thumped his palms flat on the door, either side of my head. He leaned in, but I was under no illusion that he would kiss me. His temper was written in every hard plane of his face. "She is the reason I was sick with worry all day. I don't like worrying. It prevents me from thinking clearly, and that makes me useless." He stepped back. "Move."

I lifted my chin.

He grasped my arms, picked me up and set me down again, out of the way. He jerked the door open.

"Don't kill her!" I called after him.

"I'll do as I see fit."

I watched him stride along the corridor to the stairs and listened until I could no longer hear his light steps. He wouldn't kill her. He simply wanted answers.

If I repeated that over and over perhaps I might eventually convince myself.

L
incoln hadn't returned
by the time I awoke in the morning. According to Doyle, his bed hadn't been slept in, although that didn't mean Lincoln hadn't returned, merely that he hadn't been to bed.

I felt too restless to sit in the parlor alone and present a show of being a lady for the butler's sake, so I ignored Doyle's disapproving frown and ate breakfast in the kitchen. Afterward, I joined Seth in the stables, only to be summoned back inside when Doyle announced we had a caller.

"Mr. Andrew Buchanan to see you, miss."

"Buchanan!" Seth and I exchanged glances. "Is he here to see me or Mr. Fitzroy?"

"You, miss."

Seth followed me inside, and we were joined by Gus and Doyle. It would seem I wasn't to be left alone, even with someone we knew. Not that I trusted Buchanan. Not in the least. I mentally added him to my list of people who may have helped Mrs. Drinkwater kidnap me, although I couldn't think why he'd do it.

"Miss Holloway." He stood with his hands behind his back and bowed upon my entry. When he straightened, I saw that he appeared fully recovered from his ordeal in Bedlam's insane asylum. The color had returned to his cheeks, and the shadows had been erased from his eyes. He gave me a lazy smile that would have melted most female hearts, but not mine. I knew him well enough to dislike him.

"Good morning, Mr. Buchanan. You're looking in fine spirits."

"Thanks to you." He cleared his throat and glanced pointedly at each of my chaperones.

"You know Seth and Gus, and you've just met our new butler, Doyle."

Doyle dutifully bowed.

Buchanan acknowledged only Seth with a curt nod. "Good to see this old place getting some staff finally. If you're in need of maids, please allow me to direct you to several I know. All good girls, I assure you."

Behind me, either Seth or Gus snorted. I, however, was intrigued with how much he knew of our domestic situation.

"Do you know someone who will make a suitable housekeeper?" I asked.

"Maids only. You'll want someone staid for a housekeeper, and I don't know any women who'd fit that description." He smirked. "None from the serving classes, anyway."

I believed him. I couldn't see him even knowing a woman like Mrs. Drinkwater, let alone collaborating with her. Helping her was of no benefit to him.

"I have something for you." Buchanan produced a small package that he'd been holding behind his back. It was tied with a red bow.

"What's this?"

"Open it and see."

I didn't take it. "Is this a gift, Mr. Buchanan?"

His smile became strained. "Yes. Hence the bow."

"I can't accept it."

"You must. I owe you."

"You don't. Besides, you've already thanked us."

"I wanted to give you something that truly showed my appreciation for your efforts. I might still be in Bedlam, if it weren't for you."

"Then perhaps you ought to give Mr. Fitzroy a gift too, as well as Seth and Gus. We all worked together to free you."

He shifted his weight and the color rose in his cheeks. He cleared his throat. "You see, the thing is, I never treated them the way I treated you. Once I realized that I ignored you upon our first meeting, I…I felt terrible. I wanted to make up for it and show you that I've turned over a new leaf."

"Have you?"

"Most assuredly." He puffed out his chest. "I'm a new man. No more gambling for me."

There was another snort from the men, and this time I was sure it was Gus. Buchanan's nostrils flared.

"I'm glad to hear it," I said quickly.

He held out the package again. "I know you're engaged to Fitzroy, but I don't think he'll mind. Please take it, Miss Holloway."

I accepted the gift, not because I wanted to appease him, but because I wanted him to stay and talk to me. At least until I managed to get some answers out of him.

I sat and asked Doyle to bring tea. Gus and Seth craned their necks to watch as I untied the ribbon and unwrapped the gift. It was a book of poems by Wordsworth. "Thank you."

"Julia said you like to read."

"I do. And it's a very handsome book." The pages were thick and edged with gold, the cover a deep red leather stamped with the title, also in gold.

He smiled that lazy, charming smile of his again. I could well believe he'd turned over a new leaf. Gone was the sneering lift of his lip, the half-closed eyes, as if he couldn't be bothered to open them fully. He sat straight and tall in the chair opposite, whereas I expected him to sprawl. He seemed so changed that I hated to tell him that, while I liked to read novels, I didn't particularly like poetry.

I set the book on the table and tried to think of something to say. I couldn't. The way he stared at me unnerved me. The book was most likely a ruse, but why this sudden interest? Was he interested in me or my necromancy?

"Forgive me for being a little flustered this morning," I said, "I've recently returned from my own ordeal."

"Oh? Nothing too awful, I hope."

I decided to tell him the truth, or some of it. If I wanted to know if he was involved, then I needed to be direct. "I was kidnapped, as it happens."

"Good lord. Were you harmed?" He did seem quite surprised; concerned, too.

"I'm all right now, thank you. Lady Harcourt didn't mention it?"

"She did not. Was this related to your ministry?"

"Most likely, but it's difficult to know for sure," I lied. "I'm surprised she didn't speak about it."

"She doesn't see fit to keep me up to date with everything in her life. I suspect she sees the ministry as something of her own. I have, after all, only just learned of its existence. I don't expect her to inform me of everything. Yet."

"You want to become more involved in ministry affairs?"

He lifted one shoulder. "Why not? It's my birthright."

"Actually, it's your older brother's birthright."

"He has no interest. I do. I find the occult business fascinating. Your magic, for example…what's it called again?"

I eyed the door to make sure Doyle hadn't returned. "Necromancy."

"Necromancy. Fascinating stuff."

This was a new development that I hadn't anticipated. Andrew Buchanan hadn't been considered for the committee position vacated upon his father's death because Lord Harcourt didn't think his second son responsible enough. Based on previous encounters, I tended to agree.

"The committee is merely an advisory body, with no real power," I told him in an attempt to discourage him. "Mr. Fitzroy is the leader and makes all the decisions."

"The committee placed him in the position of leader."

"No. An old prophecy saw to that." I waylaid further discussion on the matter by steering the conversation toward his stepmother. "How is Lady Harcourt? I ought to visit her and thank her for her concern. She called upon Mr. Fitzroy when she learned of my disappearance yesterday, you see."

"She did?" His sly smile reminded me of the Buchanan of old. "Be careful with my dear step-mama. She has sharp claws and likes to dig them into things she believes belong to her. My father found himself thoroughly hooked."

"Are you warning me because you think I have something of hers?"

He stroked his lips with the side of his finger. I hadn't forgotten that this man had been in love with Lady Harcourt before she became his stepmother, when she'd been a dancer at The Alhambra. Was that what this visit was about? His attempt to find out if Lincoln and I were in fact engaged and Buchanan was safe to pursue a dalliance with her again? That family's affairs were dirtier than a pigsty.