Her Majesty's Necromancer (10 page)

I couldn't know if he was right or not, but I felt Lincoln's bad humor had increased recently—since he'd learned that I'd asked Lady Harcourt about Gurry. I hated to think that my prying had put a wedge between us that might never be fully removed, but I wasn't completely sorry. How else was I meant to learn more about him?

Seth finally awoke late morning, about the same time that Lincoln returned, along with Gus. The latter had deep blue-black circles under his eyes and a spider web of red lines on his eyelids. He pounced on the soup Cook placed on the kitchen table in front of him and devoured it in a few gulps.

Lincoln set a large rectangular box on the table and took a seat. A blue silk ribbon was wrapped around the box, tied up in a bow. Silk ribbons were expensive. Seth, Gus, Cook and I all exchanged glances, but if Lincoln noticed, he didn't say. He merely sat at the table and accepted the bowl of soup Cook placed in front of him. He ate with less greed than Gus, but asked for more when he'd finished.

"Don't spoil your appetite for cake," I told them.

"There's cake?" Gus asked.

"Sponge. I believe we have you to thank for it, Mr. Fitzroy."

Lincoln's gaze slid to Cook and turned frosty. "We haven't had one in a while. I thought it was time."

"Actually, we had one only last week."

"I forgot."

"Is that so? And here I thought you forget nothing." I thought it best not to tease him too much, since he was trying to broker peace. Poking the bear would be unwise. "Sponge cake will go nicely with a cup of tea later."

He accepted the second bowl of soup from Cook and gave me a somewhat hesitant nod.

"Do you want me to return to the cemetery?" Seth asked from where he was leaning against the doorframe.

"Not yet," Lincoln said. "There's been no sign of the captain so far, and I suspect he'll be hesitant to return there. He's unlikely to risk trying to retrieve them."

I removed my apron and joined him at the table. "That will set him back, if he was specifically after those bodies."

"I'd say he was. He picked them for a reason. I questioned Mr. Tucker this morning and he claims three of them are from his cemetery, the first one taken and the last two."

"Gordon Thackery being the very last."

"The first was the one you witnessed, Charlie. His name was Lieutenant Martin Jolly, and another was Captain John Marshall. Mr. Tucker also spent yesterday traveling to the other London cemeteries. He discovered the second body to be dug up came from Kensal Green."

"Did he learn his name?"

"William Bunter. All except Bunter were in the army."

"Or was he, but it wasn't inscribed on his tombstone?"

He shook his head. "I checked with his family. Bunter was a shopkeeper in the family's Piccadilly ready-to-wear shop."

I eyed the box. "You did some shopping while you were there? What did you purchase?"

"Blimey," Gus muttered with a roll of his eyes. "Just like a woman to think about shopping in the middle of an important discussion."

"A cloak," Lincoln said.

"What's wrong with your old cloak?" I asked.

He regarded me with those deep, black eyes of his and I clamped my mouth shut. I'd overstepped the boundary he'd laid between us again. I needed to learn to behave as a maid should.

"My apologies," I muttered. "So not all the dead men were linked through the army."

He shook his head.

"There must be another connection," Seth said, joining us at the table. "There has to be a reason why the captain chose to dig up those four specifically."

"The Bunters mentioned their son had been acting strangely before he died," Lincoln went on. "He would disappear for days on end without word, and when he returned home, he was inexplicably tired. He also seemed to be losing money but claimed not to be gambling. He'd grown thin too."

"Opium," Cook said quietly.

Lincoln nodded. "I suspect so. The Bunters didn't know where William went during his missing days. He wouldn't tell them, despite their pleas."

"What did you discover at Mr. Lee's house?" I asked.

"He admitted that a man matching the captain's description frequented the house from time to time, but never partook of the opium. Lee claimed not to know what the captain was up to. He paid well for privacy."

"And Lee allowed him to be alone with the men while they were so vulnerable under the opium's effects?"

"The likes of Lee don't care about anyone's safety," Gus said. "Only money."

"I'm unclear on how much Lee did know exactly," Lincoln told us. "He could be withholding information."

"Is his English good? Perhaps you need a translator."

"We understood one another."

Seth leaned in to me. "Mr. Fitzroy speaks perfect Chinese."

"Cantonese, and a little Mandarin."

How impressive. I wondered how many other languages he'd mastered. "What else did Mr. Lee tell you?"

"That the captain hasn't returned since the morning of Thackery's death, and that perhaps all four of our dead men frequented his establishment in the weeks and months before their deaths, but he can't be sure. It stands to reason that most were soldiers."

"Gordon said opium relieves the pain of war injuries."

He nodded. "Soldier's curse, some call it."

"Mr. Lee doesn't note down his customers' names?"

He shook his head. "The addicts like the anonymity he offers." He rose and picked up the box. To Seth and Gus he said, "Tucker and his staff are going to keep a close eye on Thackery, Marshall and Jolly's graves and report any visitors to me. We'll focus on watching Lee's instead."

"I'll go," Seth said, also rising. "Gets me out of scullery duty."

"What if the captain goes to a different opium den next time?" I asked. "If he thinks he's been found out, he'll be wise to change his pattern if he wishes to continue doing whatever it is he's doing."

Lincoln nodded, thoughtful. "We'll ask at other places I know."

"After a rest," I told him. "You must be exhausted."

He didn't answer, but strode out of the kitchen, the box under his arm. "Charlie, come with me."

"You've been summoned," Gus intoned in an imperial voice.

"Let us know what's in the box," Seth said, pushing me in the shoulder to hurry me up.

I wasn't sure if I was going to find out, or simply be given specific duties for the afternoon. I expected to be admonished for not blacking the fireplace in the parlor, but he went to the library instead. It was the one room that was perfectly clean. The more I cleaned in there, the longer I could spend browsing through the books.

He stood at the table and held out the box to me. I paused by the door, half expecting Seth or Gus to creep up behind me to watch, but there were no sounds. The house had fallen silent. Only my heartbeat made a noise as it pounded against my ribs.

"What is it?" I asked.

"The Bunters' shop didn't sell gentlemen's clothing."

"Oh."

"Take it." His curt reply dismissed all excitement. It was probably just a new apron.

I came further into the room and accepted the box. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me until you've seen it. If you don't like it, Mrs. Bunter said I may return it and you can choose another."

I placed the box on the table and carefully undid the bow, not wanting to damage the beautiful length of silk. My heart's hammering picked up speed as I lifted the lid with trembling fingers. I suspected that whatever was inside would be lovely—one didn't wrap up aprons with silk ribbons.

I set the lid aside and removed the plush black garment from the box. It was a short cloak, trimmed in gray fur, with a curlicue pattern was embellished all around. The royal blue silk lining was the same shade as the ribbon.

"My goodness," I said on a breath. I studied it from all angles, and brushed the soft plush against my cheek. "I…I don't know what to say. Are you giving this to me?"

He folded his arms over his chest. "You don't like it?"

"I do, it's beautiful. Thank you. But…where shall I wear it? It's much too fine for going to the market with Cook. I don't want to ruin it."

"Wear it whenever you want. That's why I bought it—to be worn." He sounded put out but I didn't see how my question could cause offence. The cloak must have cost him a considerable sum, and I didn't want to wear it just anywhere. It was the sort of cloak one should wear strolling around the park with wealthy and titled friends. My friends consisted of the other Lichfield Towers servants, and my old cloak was more than adequate in their company.

"Why did you buy it for me? You already gave me a cloak when the weather turned cool."

"This one will be warmer. I noticed you shivering the other night."

"Oh. Thank you, Lincoln. It's the loveliest thing I've ever owned."

He inclined his head and, with his hands behind his back, marched out of the library. He hadn't even said anything about me calling him Lincoln. I held the cloak against my chest, half expecting him to return and take it from me, to give to someone more deserving, like Lady Harcourt. But he didn't, and I stayed there in the library for some time, stroking my new cloak.

***

I wasn't expecting Lincoln to conduct my training that afternoon. Between rest and work, he had very little spare time. But after sleeping for a mere four hours, he found me helping Cook in the kitchen and ordered me to change and meet him outside, on the lawn at the front of the house.

The day had cleared up nicely but the miserly sun failed to take the chill out of the air. It was perfect weather for the vigorous exercise regime Lincoln put me through for the next two hours. The lack of warmth didn't stop me from sweating by the end of it, but not quite as much as I had two months ago.

There was no sign of his ill humor anymore, or the strangeness that had shrouded our encounter in the library. He was all stiff formality as he ordered me to repeat the various maneuvers, over and over. It was just as it always had been between us. I almost preferred the simmering anger. It was at least an emotion.

We still had quite a bit of our session to go when we had to stop for a visitor. The carriage rumbled up the long drive and it was some time before I realized who it belonged to. Lincoln must have recognized the horses and driver because before the carriage turned so we could see the escutcheon painted on the side, he ordered me into the house.

"Change into your uniform," he said quickly. "And stay in the kitchen."

I intended to do exactly as he asked, and only paused on the steps to see who had arrived unannounced in such grand style. As the carriage swept into a wide arc and pulled to a stop in front of Lincoln, I groaned. The escutcheon was that of a snake wrapped around a sword. Lord Gillingham's crest. I headed up the steps.

"You there! Girl!" Gillingham's barked order set my teeth on edge. I stopped, turned and inclined my head in question. I refused to curtsy to that man.

"What do you want?" Lincoln asked as Gillingham stepped down from the cabin.

The sun picked out the flecks of gray amid the red of his beard. He planted the end of his walking stick on the gravel and regarded first me then Lincoln with those insipid eyes of his. "Lady Harcourt has called a special meeting. It seems I am the first to arrive."

"A meeting? Why wasn't I informed?"

"I am informing you now." He went to walk off, but Lincoln stepped in front of him.

"What is the meeting about?"

"Ministry business." He stepped around Lincoln and pointed at me with the end of his cane. "Why is she dressed like that?"

"That's none of your affair."

"I'm training," I told him. Lincoln glanced over his shoulder at me. His face was positively rigid with fury. "Mr. Fitzroy is teaching me to fight and protect myself in the event of an attack."

Gillingham's red-gold eyebrows rose. Then he burst out laughing. "Is that a joke?"

Neither of us answered.

"You are trying to teach this girl to fight? Good lord, Fitzroy, you're softer in the head than I thought. Do you suppose that dressing her in boys' clothes will give her the strength, speed and aptitude of one? That's absurd."

"Nobody is concerned with what you think, Gillingham," Lincoln said. "Keep your opinions to yourself or leave."

I didn't trust Gillingham's smile. It was all lips and no teeth. "You'll find out soon enough what I and the others think at the meeting. You've been allowed free reign for too long, Fitzroy, and it's gone to your head. That time has come to an end. You cannot be allowed to make foolish decisions when the lives of so many depend upon you."

I had no idea what he was talking about, and if Lincoln did, he gave nothing away. He didn't even answer Gillingham; he simply turned and strode up to me. "Come inside," he said in a low voice.

"Wait a moment," Gillingham called. "Girl, come and collect my hat and scarf." He pointed into the cabin where the hat and scarf sat on the seat.

I went to fetch them, but Lincoln caught my arm. "Let him get them himself."

"It's all right. I am the Lichfield maid, and he's our guest. I ought to do it."

"He's no guest of mine," he growled.

"We have to tolerate him, for now, if a meeting has been called. It's all right," I said again. "I'll do this. You go inside and tell Cook to prepare tea."

He hesitated before removing his hand. I trotted down the stairs to Gillingham and the carriage. I reached into the cabin, but just as my fingers touched the silk of his hat, the crunch of gravel had me whipping around.

Teeth bared, Gillingham lunged at my head with his walking stick.

And Lincoln was too far away to stop it hitting me.

I dove to the side so that the stick hit the carriage, not me, and landed on my hands and knees on the gravel. My palms stung, but I jumped up and went to grab Gillingham's arm and twist it as Lincoln had taught me.

Except he got there first. He stood between us and grabbed Gillingham's wrist. He snatched the walking stick and snapped it in two over his knee. It was the second stick of Gillingham's that he'd broken in as many months.

"Pathetic," Gillingham said as another carriage rolled up behind his. He laughed; a brittle, dry laugh that was as humorless as the man himself. "She's a maid, Fitzroy, and a creature of death. You shouldn't—"

Lincoln clamped a hand to the other man's jaw, shutting his mouth with an audible clack of teeth. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of Gillingham's cheeks and the sound he made could have been that of choking, a protest or cry of pain.

"Lincoln! Let him go!" General Eastbrooke shouted from his carriage. The two drivers exchanged alarmed and uncertain glances.

Lincoln's face only hardened, something I'd not thought possible. His mouth twisted and the black orbs of his eyes were so dense that I was afraid he might never see his way out of his rage.

Oh God, he could break Gillingham's jaw.

General Eastbrooke tried to pull Lincoln off Gillingham, but Lincoln made no sign that he'd registered his presence. I laid a hand on his arm too, but that did nothing, so I pressed my palm against his cheek.

He blinked.

I stroked my thumb over his face and he blinked again. He removed his hand, shoving Gillingham away as he did so. "Don't come near her," he said in a voice so raw that I hardly recognized it. He took my hand and pulled me with him. I had to run to keep up with his long strides.

"I was only testing her," Gillingham grumbled. "You claimed to be training her to defend herself. I wanted to see if you were getting results."

"Is that so?" General Eastbrooke sounded amused. "And how did she go in your little test, Gilly?"

Gillingham grunted and if he gave a response, I didn't hear it.

Once inside the house, Lincoln let me go. Only then did he seem to see me. He took my hands and inspected the palms, then ordered me upstairs. "See to the grazes."

"Will you be all right?" I asked, searching his face for signs that he might try to kill Gillingham in my absence.

He nodded stiffly. "Of course. Go."

I headed upstairs to my room and washed the bits of gravel off before changing into my maid's uniform. I used the service stairs to get to the kitchen, rather than the main staircase, to avoid any encounters with other committee members.

Gus looked up from where he was arranging cups and saucers on a tray at the kitchen table. "Charlie, what happened?"

I glanced from him to Cook, putting the final dusting of icing sugar on the cake. "What do you mean?"

"Death came in here looking like he wanted to murder someone, ordering us to get cake and tea into the parlor for the committee members. Did Lord Gillingham do something to annoy him again?"

"Annoy? That's one way of putting it. Set the cake on that tray and I'll carry it in." I went to fetch the cake plates and forks from the cupboard.

"He asked me to serve," Gus said. "I don't want to annoy him any more than he already is by disobeying."

"You can still serve. I'll take in the cake and you take the tea things. Two trays, two servants."

He relented without argument so Lincoln mustn't have said "Don't let Charlie do it." Even if he had, I would have fought to perform my role. I wasn't going to let Lord Gillingham think he'd frightened me when he hadn't. On the contrary. I was pleased with myself for foiling his so-called test. He'd bolstered my confidence without intending to. I must be sure to tell Lincoln that later. It might make him a little less angry.

I heard his voice before I reached the parlor. He was recounting the evening we'd found the bodies at the butcher's and learned about the captain from Pete and Jimmy. There were a few holes in his story, however, and the committee members pounced on them.

"How did you return the bodies to the cemetery?" Lord Marchbank asked.

"I appropriated the butcher's cart."

"And moved them on your own?"

"Am I not enough?"

I entered, with Gus behind me, and set the tray on the table near Lincoln. I avoided his glare and set about slicing the cake. Ordinarily I would place the tea things near Lady Harcourt, as she liked to perform hostess duties, but this way I would have to remain in the parlor longer. I glanced at Lord Gillingham as I handed him a slice of cake. Both of his cheeks sported bruises above his beard, and there was a rigidity about his shoulders that hadn't been there before. He didn't acknowledge me, for which I was grateful.

"Lincoln," Lady Harcourt said, accepting a cup of tea from Gus, "how did—"

She stopped when Lord Gillingham put up his hand. "Wait for the maid to leave," he said.

"All of my staff are aware of what happened," Lincoln told him. "They're ministry employees and as such need to know ministry business."

"Did you hear that?" Gillingham directed his spluttered appeal to General Eastbrooke and Lord Marchbank. "He's lost all reason! Involving a maid in our affairs is dangerous, as well as ludicrous. Particularly
this
maid."

"Calm down, Gilly," Eastbrooke said with a shake of his head. "She already knows what we're about, and Lincoln won't tell her anything he thinks ought to be kept from her. You know that."

"Bloody mistake," Gillingham muttered.

"If anyone can be trusted, it's Lincoln," said Lady Harcourt. "May we move on? I have a question. How did you get the grave robbers to tell you about the captain?"

Lincoln tore his steely glare away from Gillingham and fixed it on her. "I used my charms."

She stared directly back, unsmiling. Gillingham snorted.

"You beat the stuffing out of them, didn't you?" Eastbrooke said around a bite of cake. "Be sure to keep your name out of it. We don't want any more trouble with the police."

Lincoln shook his head when I offered him cake. His gaze met mine and for a brief moment, it seemed to warm. But the moment was fleeting and the pits became dark, cold wells again.

"You should have learned more from them," Gillingham said. "You've got no name of the man paying them, no place of residence, and only a general description. If it were me, I'd have scared something more useful out of them."

If it were him, he'd probably have soiled his trousers.

"Not good enough, Fitzroy," he muttered into his teacup. "Your
charm
didn't work on this occasion."

"That isn't fair," I snapped, rounding on him.

Lord Gillingham gulped too much of the hot tea and coughed until his eyes watered. I took the moment to continue, ignoring Lincoln's warning of "Charlie, don't." It wasn't fair that he be blamed, and it was about time they became aware of how useful I could be.

"It wasn't Lincoln who scared them off but the body of a dead man."

"What do you mean?" both Eastbrooke and Marchbank asked.

"I raised one of the bodies in the butcher's and used him to scare answers out of Pete and Jimmy. It worked effectively. The men were tight-lipped until that point and weren't going to give us anything. While
we
think they gave us enough to continue the investigation, if you do not, then it's my fault, not Mr. Fitzroy's."

"You did
what
?" Gillingham exploded. "Are you mad, girl? Fitzroy, you allowed her to do this?"

"I ordered her to do it," Lincoln said. "Not that it is your affair, what I do and how I manage ministry business."

"It bloody well is!" Gillingham had the sort of coloring that reddened easily, but his face had turned positively crimson.

"That's enough!" Eastbrooke shouted. "You're out of line, Gilly. Lincoln's methods may not be conventional, but they are effective. It's precisely because of his unconventional methods that he's good at what he does. You know that as well as anyone in this room. Now pipe down and listen to what he has to say."

"Unconventional and ungentlemanly."

Lady Harcourt dropped her teacup into the saucer with a clatter to draw everyone's attention. "He is more of a gentleman than you, Gillingham, in every sense of the word."

Gillingham sneered at her, but she simply picked up her teacup again and took a sip. I tried to catch her eye and smile my approval, but she didn't look my way.

"If the necromancer is living here, she might as well be useful," Lord Marchbank said quietly, with a nod in my direction. "As long as she's discreet."

"How discreet is it to have a dead man walking the streets?" Gillingham muttered in a last gasp effort to speak his mind. He remained silent on the topic after that, thankfully. Another protest and Lincoln may have decided to break the man's jaw after all.

"I've investigated further," Lincoln went on, picking up the story. "The four men whose bodies were taken were probably all opium addicts. The captain visited them at either one or more opium dens while they were still alive, and he targeted them specifically after death. It's unclear why. The grave robbers think the captain may be an army man, but his description says otherwise. He wore spectacles and doesn't have a strong build. That, coupled with his interest in cadavers, makes me think he might be a medical officer in the armed forces rather than a regular officer."

I hadn't thought of that but it was a good guess, based on what we knew.

Everyone looked to the general. "You don't expect me to know him, do you?" He shook his head. "There are countless captains in the medical corps. Besides, I retired some years ago."

"There isn't enough information to go on," Marchbank agreed. "We need a name."

"There may be countless medical officers," Lincoln added, "but how many have been dismissed for dubious behavior?"

"It's possible he did something of a similar nature during his tenure, I suppose." The general stroked his mutton chop whiskers and stared into the middle distance. "No one comes to mind, but I'll look into it."

"Good thinking, Fitzroy." Marchbank nodded his approval. I liked the middle-aged nobleman on the whole, even though his visage was perhaps the most frightening of all the committee members with his scarred face, crooked nose and gruff manner. He certainly looked nothing like the soft Gillingham, yet of the two, I'd rather spend time in Marchbank's company.

Gus had already left the parlor and I'd lingered as long as I possibly could without raising suspicions. I went to walk out but Lincoln, standing near the door, caught my elbow.

"Stay," he said quietly. "This concerns you." He let me go and addressed the rest of the room. "Someone is trying to find Charlie's mother."

"Damn," Eastbrooke muttered. "I was afraid of this."

"How do you know?" Lady Harcourt asked.

"We became aware of it when we visited an orphanage. Someone had already been there and asked the same questions."

"
We
?" She arched her brows at him. "Have you been looking for her too? Together?"

"Yes," he lied.

I arched my brows at him too, but he ignored me.

"Damn," Eastbrooke said again. "I thought nobody except Holloway knew she was adopted."

Gillingham shook his head. "The threat should have been removed as soon as we learned of the adoption."

I gasped. "Removed? You would kill my—kill Holloway?" I looked to Lincoln but he was stony faced.

"What did you expect, girl?" Gillingham snapped.

"But what if he hasn't told anyone?"

"Who else could it have been? He is the only one living who knows you are a necromancer and adopted."

"Aside from all of you."

He half rose from his chair, his face turning a mottled red once more. "How
dare
you accuse us of betraying the ministry!"

"I'm not accusing you of betrayal, but of searching for my real mother without informing anyone."

"Be seated, Gilly," Eastbrooke snapped. "The girl is right. She hasn't accused anyone of anything. But I must inform you, miss, that everything of a supernatural nature must go through the ministry first. You and your mother are supernatural creatures, and as such, any investigation surrounding you both must be tabled at a meeting
before
Lincoln takes care of it."

"I am
not
a creature, sir." I had the feeling his little speech had been more for the party's benefit than mine specifically. Reminding them of their duty to not act without official sanction, perhaps?

"Of course you're not, Charlie," Lady Harcourt said. Her soft brown eyes settled on me. "The general was talking in broad strokes."

"We must learn who it is and how he knows about her," Marchbank said.

"Charlie and I will continue to search for her mother," Lincoln told him. "Hopefully we'll learn more about the other party as we do so."

"You'll be quite busy then. Can you manage, Fitzroy?"

"Of course. My staff will help."

Marchbank rocked out of the deep armchair and lurched to his feet. "Their household duties will suffer if you spread them too thin."

"We'll be sure not to let standards slip," I told him.

Marchbank grunted. "A house this size ought to have more staff. Have you considered employing some extras?"

"That would only cause complications," Lincoln said. "I don't need a large staff. Not all the rooms are in use."

"Pity," Lady Harcourt said, setting down her teacup and also rising. "I do wish to see the ballroom filled with music and dancing. It's quite a magnificent room."

"Are we done?" Marchbank asked. "I have to get ready for dinner. Lady Marchbank will expect me home to receive the guests."

General Eastbrooke chuckled. "Makes me glad I never married. The army was my wife and my children for so long, I don't think I could have adjusted to a domestic life in retirement. I like living alone."