by C. J. Archer
"I met her stepson," I said, compelled to tell him something. "Andrew. He was just entering the house as I was leaving. I think he'd been out all night."
Seth pulled a face. "Andrew Buchanan, a dissolute little waste of space and air. Stay away from him, Charlie. He's no good."
"I doubt I'll see him again."
"Why's he no good?" Cook asked.
Seth sat at the kitchen table and began removing his boots. "He's Lord Harcourt's second son. The eldest is a fine fellow, but keeps to himself on the family estate. Andrew lives at the Mayfair house with his stepmother, and squanders his inheritance on gambling and women."
"Half the bucks in this city do that," Cook said, stirring the soup. "Includin' you."
"Yes, well." Seth cleared his throat. "I make an attempt to pay my debts, at least, while he racks up more without a care. Nor did I injure anyone in my downfall. Except a few hearts, perhaps."
Cook snorted.
"Andrew Buchanan is a malicious gossip who likes to cause trouble," Seth went on. "He rubs people the wrong way and has never worked a day in his life. He thinks women are there for his amusement."
"And you don't?" I asked.
"Of course not! I treat women like delicate flowers."
"Ripe for the pluckin'," Cook added with a chuckle.
Seth glared at him.
"Poor Lady H, being saddled with Andrew," I said. "Can she throw him out?"
"He can't afford to live elsewhere. Besides, I'd say Andrew is a small price to pay for what she gained through the marriage."
Lady Harcourt had been a common schoolmaster's daughter before she'd married Lord Harcourt. It was odd to think the beautiful, refined woman had begun life no better off than me. What different paths we'd taken. Mine had led me to the lowest rungs of society, while hers had raised her to the upper echelons. Yet I didn't envy her. Not anymore.
"I'm going to change," I told them. "I'll be back for soup."
I didn't get to my room, however. I knocked on Lincoln's door, and when he opened it, fixed him with a glare. He eyed me up and down, and I suddenly felt like a bedraggled rat that had crawled out of the sewers.
"Why didn't you tell me you learned where Jimmy and Pete lived?" I asked with more vehemence than I would have if I hadn't felt embarrassed by my appearance.
One of his severe black brows lifted. "How do you know the second man is named Pete?"
"Does that matter?"
"Yes."
"Perhaps Seth told me."
"He didn't know it."
I crossed my arms. "Gus?"
"He's not here." His eyes narrowed but that didn't stop me from receiving the full force of his icy glare. "You went to The Red Lion, didn't you?"
I swallowed. This wasn't how the conversation was meant to go. I wondered if it would be wise to try to run to the safety of my room or if I should battle it out. He would probably catch me before I reached the door, so I chose the latter. But I ought to have known better than try and win against Lincoln.
CHAPTER 4
"I did go to The Red Lion," I said, with as much defiance as I could muster in the face of his frostiness. "I was in the vicinity and thought I might be able to find out more information than you did. It seems you discovered more than you let on, however. I would have saved myself the bother if I'd known."
He grunted. "You're cold and wet. You should change before you catch a chill."
"I'm in more danger of catching a chill from your glare than I am from being wet."
His eyes narrowed. "I don't understand."
"Never mind. You're changing the subject. May I come in?"
"No."
I sighed. "The tavern keeper at The Red Lion told me you got into a fight with Jimmy and Pete, last night, over a game of dice. Did you follow them home after that?"
"I did. Questioning them proved futile. They refused to tell me what they were doing, why, or who they worked for."
"Are you sure they're working for someone?"
"They don't seem intelligent enough to know what to do with the bodies, so I think they are. Whoever it is must be paying them very well, because they told me nothing of use. That's why I followed them. Keeping watch will eventually give me the information I need to determine if their master is guilty of something supernatural or not."
"So why didn't you tell me this when you returned last night?"
"I didn't think I had to keep my maid informed of ministry business, since it doesn't concern her."
"Of course it does. If it concerns you—and Seth and Gus—then it concerns me. Besides, I want to help in any way I can."
"You have enough to do here, Charlie. There's no need for you to do more."
I wasn't sure whether I ought to be offended or pleased. Was he trying to protect me or shut me out? "Being your maid is all well and good, but I'd like to do more, on occasion. If Seth and Gus can, then why not me?"
He backed away, but I moved into the open doorway so he couldn't close the door. "You're not ready to do more, Charlie."
"I disagree," I said tightly. "I am ready. I can defend myself, if necessary, and an extra set of eyes might be handy from time to time. Not to mention my necromancy would be useful."
"You wish to use it," he said flatly. "In public view."
"In private, and only when other avenues are closed to us."
He seemed to consider this for a moment, then he said, "I thought you didn't like your power."
"It's not something I wish to advertise, but I've had time to accept it now. I'm not as horrified at myself as I used to be. My father—Anselm Holloway—made me feel little better than a creature from the marshes, but you…you and the others here at Lichfield helped me to see that I'm not something to be abhorred."
"You are certainly not that," he said quietly.
"Then you will let me help?"
"Unlikely."
"Lincoln!"
"That's enough, Charlie," he growled. "Go and change out of your wet clothes. I'll see you later for training."
"Very well, but I would like to point out that it's unfair that you are allowed to be involved in my affairs and I can't be involved in yours."
"I don't understand."
"I know you're trying to find my mother through the orphanages. We could cover more in faster time if we worked together. Or am I not allowed to search for my own mother because it's taboo ministry business?"
"It will be if it becomes too dangerous for you."
I blinked rapidly at him. "But she's my mother." It sounded pathetic—small—and I wished I could take it back as soon as I’d said it. He was probably right in that others might try to use her necromancy too, if they knew about it, just as Frankenstein had tried to use me. But who else knew about her—or me, for that matter? There was unlikely to be any danger now.
"You admonish me for trying to keep you safe?" he asked quietly.
"Frankenstein is gone, and Holloway is in jail. Nobody else who knows or, I suspect, cares what I can do."
"We cannot know that for certain. For now, I'd like you to be careful." He went to shut the door, and this time I backed out. There was no point arguing with him anymore.
His words had reminded me of the man I'd seen get off the omnibus—the same man who'd watched me as I left the orphanage. It was probably just a coincidence, however. Nothing untoward had happened, and he'd not even approached me.
I changed my clothes and returned to the kitchen for soup. Poor Gus was still out in the rain, watching Jimmy and Pete, and since I'd been given the day off, Seth acted as scullery maid and washed the dishes.
"You had a morning off yesterday," he complained as he collected bowls. "Why did he give you an entire day today?"
"I'm not sure." I handed him my bowl and gave him a sweet smile. It didn't work and he stormed out of the kitchen like a boy who'd been scolded by his mother.
"Death be gettin' soft, now there's a woman in the house," Cook said.
"Fitzroy, soft?" I laughed. "H
ardly. Come and play cards with me until it's time for training to begin."
He sat with me and pulled the deck of cards from his apron pocket. "I thought you'd given up cards," he said as he dealt. "You bein' no good and all."
"I'm not too bad when I concentrate." I checked my cards and placed the queen of hearts on the table. "Did you know that Fitzroy has a set of weighted dice?"
"I do not cheat at dice. Or cards."
I spun around as my stomach plunged. Lincoln strode into the kitchen, looking like he wanted to challenge me to a duel for besmirching his reputation. "Why are you always sneaking about? It's grossly unfair."
"I am not sneaking." He flicked his hand and Cook dealt him in. "Why do you think I cheat?"
"The Red Lion barkeep said you won every throw against Jimmy and Pete."
"That was luck."
"Every time? How many throws were there?"
"Twenty-eight." He threw down a card and swept up the pile. He'd won the round.
"Twenty-eight!" I looked to Cook. "In your experience, has anyone ever won twenty-eight throws of dice in a row?"
Cook glanced from me to Lincoln then threw in his entire hand. "I have bread to bake."
"Coward," I muttered.
"It was merely luck, Charlie," Lincoln said again. "Jimmy and Pete couldn't accept that, even after they inspected the dice." He tapped the table with his finger. "Are you playing or arguing?"
I threw down my best card and won the hand.
"You should have discarded something lower," he said. "My card was only a six."
"What if I didn't have anything lower?"
He looked at me like he didn't believe me.
We played for another hour and he won every round except for those where he deliberately discarded a low value card. It was extraordinary. It was as if he could see my hand. I checked the deck during the break we took for him to have his soup, but I couldn't see any markings on them. If he was cheating, it wasn't obvious how he was doing it.
"You're wasting your time," he said. "I do not cheat. I'm merely lucky at cards. And dice." He sounded offended.
I resisted telling him, once again, that nobody was that lucky. "You could make a fortune at those disreputable gambling dens that you gentlemen like to frequent."
He said nothing, merely finished his soup. Seth, who'd rejoined us, laughed softly. "Where do you think we met? It was at one of those disreputable gambling dens. Mr. Fitzroy did indeed win everything that night."
I recalled Seth telling me the story of how he'd been about to wager his body as a last resort when Lincoln had stepped in and won enough to clear Seth's debts. His price had been Seth's service, which he still seemed to be paying off a year later.
"He was banned that night," Seth said, smiling. "For suspected cheating."
"I didn't—"
"Cheat," I finished for Lincoln. "So you keep saying."
He set the bowl down hard on the table. "It's time for your training." I got the feeling he was going to make me work extra hard today. "Change into your exercise clothes and meet me in the ballroom. It's still raining outside and there's more space in there."
I did as told, leaving him behind in the kitchen. I changed into my training attire of loose fitting men's trousers and an oversized shirt. Even without a corset, women's clothing was too restrictive. I would one day have to learn to fight in it, so Lincoln had told me, but not yet.
The ballroom was located on the first level. I rarely entered the vast, empty room, as there was no need to clean a space that was never used. Besides, it made me a little sad to see such a grand room go to waste. In days past, the three crystal chandeliers would have presided over revelry and scandal, but now they gathered dust. Perhaps Lady Harcourt could convince Lincoln to hold a ball there, one day, to breathe life into the room. Perhaps after he attended a few elsewhere, he'd want to hold one of his own.
Or not. I rather thought he'd prefer to use the room for fighting than dancing.
Lincoln arrived a few minutes after me in his regular clothes of shirt and trousers. He rarely wore a waistcoat or tie around the house, unless he was receiving callers, and he rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows for training. If he knew the effect his state of casual undress had on me, he would probably don the full suit. Sometimes it was a marvel that I could learn anything at all.
"I'm ready," I said, planting my feet on the floorboards to steady my stance.
"I thought we'd try something different today." He nodded at the sideboard and table, pushed up against the wall and covered by dust sheets. On the table, a long knife, short one, and a club had been set out. "Choose a weapon."
"I thought you said I wasn't ready for weapons training."
"We have to start at some point. Inspect the weapons and tell me which one you want to use, but do not pick any up."
"Why not?"
"Don't ask questions."
I crossed the room and inspected the three weapons then turned back to him. "Does Cook know—"
I heard the dust cover flap in the moment before something slammed into my back and a set of arms gripped me round the waist from behind. The warning didn't give me enough time to turn to fight my attacker—Seth, I assumed—but I was able to position my arms so that he couldn't pin them too. Then I jabbed my elbow into his ribs, stomped on his toe, and threw back a punch that had the fortune to hit his groin.
He let me go and I spun round. He was too busy clutching himself and going deathly pale to counter my attack, so instead of attempting to gouge his eyes out, I simply placed my hand over his face.
"I win," I told him, fighting to keep my grin under control. "Are you all right?"
He squeaked a response that I didn't understand.
"Sorry," I said. "If you'd come out from your hiding place more quietly, I wouldn't have had time to react."
"Good," Lincoln said, joining us. "But you should have grabbed the weapons while he was incapacitated then fled."
"You said not to pick up the weapons. I was following orders."
"My orders are irrelevant in the event of an attack. You must do everything you can to escape, and if that means defying me, then I give you my permission."
"How gracious of you." I clutched Seth's shoulder. A little color had returned to his cheeks, but he still looked in some pain. "I didn't think I hit you that hard. I couldn't muster as much strength as I would have if I were facing you."
"It's the most sensitive area on the male body," Lincoln said. "Remember that, aim for it, then run if you can. Your primary goal is to get away from your attacker, not defeat him."
Seth rubbed his crotch and finally released his nether regions. "Jesus, Charlie, not so hard next time. I might need it later tonight."
"I am sorry." I bit my lip and glanced at his crotch. "I hope it still works."
"So do I!"
"And so does your lady friend, I'm sure." I grinned and he managed a wobbly smile in return.
"Leave us," Lincoln growled at Seth.
The poor man walked gingerly from the ballroom. "I haven't done any permanent damage, have I?" I asked Lincoln once Seth was out of earshot.
"Unlikely."
"Good. I'd hate to deprive the ladies of their favorite pastime."
He narrowed his gaze at me.
"That was a joke," I said.
"Young ladies shouldn't make such crude jokes."
"I'm hardly a lady, and that's tame compared to what I used to say." Fitting in with gangs of boys required far cruder jokes than that. "Will you allow me to help you investigate now?"
"I will consider it."
"Are you going to teach me to fight with weapons?"
He shook his head. "That was a ruse to get you near Seth's hiding place. Training will resume as normal. That little exercise proved to me that your reflexes are fast, your hearing excellent, and your nerves steady. But you still need to become stronger and build your repertoire of maneuvers before you learn how to fight with weapons."
&nb
sp; He'd rendered me quite speechless. I'd never thought I'd hear such praise from his mouth. I was still basking in his words when he suddenly grabbed me round the waist in almost the same manner that Seth had. Except I'd not had a chance to keep my arms free. With them pinned to my sides, I was only able to stomp on his toe, wriggle and kick backward, failing to connect with his legs.
"That wasn't fair," I said, giving up. If I couldn't beat him, I might as well enjoy the feel of his arms around me.
"No attack is fair. During training, you must always be alert. Whenever you are out walking on your own, you must always be alert."
I tilted my head to peer up at him. His jaw was at my eye level, his throat near my lips. I relaxed against him and rested my head on his shoulder. His long, slow exhale fanned my hair. His heart gave a single, booming thud against my back. It stirred my blood, raised my hopes.
"Lincoln," I whispered into the smooth skin at the base of his throat.
His arms loosened so that I was able to turn into him and place my hands on his chest. His heart beat rapidly, erratically, and even as I registered that, I pushed hard against him with one hand and slammed the palm of my other under his chin, snapping his head back.
I went to step out of his embrace entirely, but he'd already recovered and grasped my forearms. I was facing him now, however, and had the use of my legs. I stomped on his toe then lifted my knee to smash it into his groin, but he knocked it away with his hand. With one arm now free, I swung a punch into his stomach and another at his jaw, but missed.
In the blink of an eye, he'd grabbed both my arms again and lowered me to the floor with more gentleness than an attacker would have. He sat on my thighs and stretched my arms over my head. He gripped both my hands in one of his and planted the other on the floor beside my head.
