Her Majesty's Necromancer

by C. J. Archer

  "No," I said quietly. "You're right. Do you think he was poisoning you?"

  "Possibly. But why? The addiction would have got me anyway."

  "Did he visit you at the opium house or at home?" Lincoln asked.

  "The opium den. I rarely went home. I lived and died among strangers who profited from my weakness. It's not a noble way to be, Miss Charlie. I hope you never have to see the miserable souls wasting away their lives on the stuff."

  "Where is the house?" Lincoln asked, abruptly.

  "Lower Pell Lane, off Ratcliffe Highway, at the docks."

  "I know it."

  I blinked at Lincoln. "How do you know it?"

  "I've been there. A Chinaman named Lee is the so-called pharmacist."

  Gordon snorted. "He's no pharmacist."

  Lincoln didn't elaborate and I doubted I'd get further information out of him. That didn't mean I wouldn't try at a later time.

  "What about them?" I pointed to the bodies behind us, squashed ungainly into the back of the small cart. "Do you recognize them from Mr. Lee's den?"

  Gordon shook his head. "That doesn't mean they didn't frequent that hell too. I wouldn't have noticed the queen if she'd wandered in wearing a crown."

  We pulled up the cemetery gates and deposited the bodies where the groundskeepers couldn't fail to see them in the morning. "I do hope they put the right body back in the right grave," I said, stepping back to inspect our handiwork.

  "The extent of the decay on each should help them determine the order in which they were dug up." Lincoln passed his hand over the eyes of one of the corpses to close them. "Thackery?"

  Gordon lay down on his back, hands by his sides. He looked quite peaceful. "Ready," he said.

  I knelt and touched his hand. It wasn't necessary to do so to release the spirit, but I wanted to give him a connection to the living world right to the end. "Thank you, Gordon. You've been very helpful. Rest easy, now. Return to your afterlife. You are released."

  White mist floated up and the now empty body subsided as if it had expelled a deep breath. I closed its eyes then gave the spirit of Gordon Thackery a small smile.

  He returned it. "If you ever require my services again, Miss Charlie, please summon me. I'd be happy to help." He waved then his spirit mist dispersed and blew away.

  "He's gone," I said rising.

  Lincoln held his hand out to me to assist me up into the cart. "Are you all right?"

  "Yes." My answer surprised me. I was all right. The experience hadn't been awful at all.

  Lincoln climbed up beside me and urged the horse forward.

  "Let's hope they stay buried this time," I said, looking back at the bodies. "Do you think the captain will try to retrieve them again?"

  "Perhaps. I do know that he'll need to find other diggers. I doubt Jimmy and Pete will venture near the cemetery again for some time."

  "Gordon did perform rather well." I chuckled, but it ended with a yawn.

  "So did you," he said quietly.

  I glanced at him, but he was looking directly ahead. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking at the best of times, but the darkness made it impossible. "Does this mean you'll allow me to do more work for the ministry?"

  "If and when required."

  "I suppose this makes me Her Majesty's Necromancer." I laughed softly. "It sounds rather grand, if one ignores the macabre nature of it. I wonder what official positions receive? A medal? A sash?"

  "A warm fire and soup."

  "I prefer hot chocolate."

  "I'll make you a cup when we get home."

  I rested my head against his shoulder. To my surprise, he neither moved away nor tensed. I closed my eyes and stifled another yawn. "I wonder how many spirits my mother—my real mother, that is—raised."

  "We may never know."

  "If she's still alive, we can ask her."

  He was silent, and I suspected he was trying to decide whether to warn me not to hold out hope of her being alive. I wasn't a fool. I knew she was most likely dead, after all this time, but I still wanted to find out for certain.

  "We should make a list of all the London orphanages and cross off the ones we've both visited to save time. We can begin with the one in Kentish Town."

  "That was next on my list."

  I jerked upright. "But you already wrote to the administrator there and asked about my adoption."

  "No I didn't."

  "But you told me you had."

  "You never mentioned which orphanage you'd just returned from. I assumed it was the one in Clerkenwell where I'd last been. I haven't written letters."

  "It wasn't Clerkenwell," I whispered. "The administrator of the Kentish Town orphanage said someone had asked the same question as me, and I assumed it had been you. Lincoln, that means someone else is searching for information about my adoption."

  CHAPTER 6

  The library's fireplace threw out enough heat to keep the entire room warm. I sat on the crimson and gold Aubusson rug and stretched my toes toward the hearth. By the time Lincoln returned with a large cup of hot chocolate, my clothes were steaming and my hair curled at the edges.

  "You're not having one?" I asked as I accepted the cup.

  "I don't like chocolate."

  "Strange man." Stranger still that it was the first time he'd voiced an opinion on something as mundane as chocolate. I realized I had no idea of his likes and dislikes, although some of them I could guess. I imagined he loathed social events like balls, for example.

  "Are you warm?" he asked.

  I nodded. "Are you going to sit down?"

  "My clothes are damp."

  "The furniture will dry out. Or the rug."

  He hesitated then sat on the armchair. I thought he'd excuse himself and retreat to his rooms, so his presence felt like a small victory.

  "If you remove your jacket and boots, you'll dry faster," I said.

  "I'll keep them on."

  So much for small victories. I stared in silence at the flickering flames. Their dance mesmerized me, the warmth made me drowsy. It must have been almost dawn and I was dog tired, but I wasn't prepared to excuse myself from Lincoln's presence. It was rare that we spent time alone outside of training.

  I pulled my knees up and, feeling his gaze on me, rested my cheek on them and tilted my head to face him. I'd been wrong, however. He wasn't looking at me but at the fire.

  "Will you keep watch over the graves?" I asked. "In case the captain returns for the bodies?"

  "Seth and Gus can take turns tomorrow. Today." He rubbed his forehead. He must be exhausted. I'd at least slept a few hours, but he'd been up all night. "It's unlikely the captain will be back now."

  "If he learns where the bodies went anyway, that is."

  "Pete and Jimmy will have to tell him something, but whether they tell the truth or not, I cannot guess."

  "I wonder if the captain will be angry."

  "Probably. We've likely set him back."

  "I wonder what it is he's doing. I can't begin to think of a reason that would require the bodies be stored for months on end in a cool room. If he were a doctor, surely he would have dissected them by now." I shivered and hugged my knees tighter.

  "Perhaps."

  "Have you ever noticed how you give non-committal answers?"

  "Sometimes." The corner of his mouth twitched, and this time I was certain it was a smile.

  I smiled in return. It felt like another victory. Two in one night! No, three. He'd not corrected my usage of his first name in the cart. There was no better time to try my luck for a fourth win. "You're going to visit Mr. Lee's opium den to try to find out more about the captain, aren't you?"

  The black orbs of his eyes narrowed to pinpoints. "Why?"

  "I want to come with you."

  "No."

  "But—"

  "No, Charlie."

  I stretched out my legs and stroked the soft rug with my fingers. "There may be death there. Recent death. I could talk to a spirit w
hile you question Mr. Lee."

  "I don't want you near that place."

  I sighed. "Lincoln—"

  "Fitzroy," he barked.

  I squared my shoulders. I didn't deserve to be shouted at! "I am not a delicate flower that wilts at the first sign of danger, sir, so do not treat me like one."

  "I am your employer," he said through an unmoving jaw. "I'll treat you any way I bloody well like."

  "I would be concerned if we weren't arguing about you being over-protective toward me."

  He pushed off from the chair and rose above me. "While you live under my roof, you live by my rules."

  "And if I choose not to?" I held my breath. Would he throw me out? Would he go along with the committee's suggestion and banish me from London?

  "If I want your help at Lee's, I'll ask for it," was all he said.

  It didn't answer my question, but it was an improvement on an outright refusal. "That's all I want—your due consideration. I can be of assistance, Linc—Mr. Fitzroy. Tonight proved it."

  He drew in a deep breath that expanded his chest, then he strode out of the library.

  ***

  It was after midday when I arose to the sounds of voices downstairs. One of the voices was Seth's, the other softer and feminine. It must belong to Lady Harcourt, the only woman who visited Lichfield. I dressed quickly and headed down via the main staircase, but stopped on the landing, out of sight, above them. Seth's heated tone was not one I'd heard him employ with her before.

  "Why not?" he prompted her. "Don't I have a right to be there?"

  "Of course you do." Her voice was barely above a whisper. She glanced around, but did not think to look up the stairs to where I hid. "But it's not my ball or my invitation."

  "Would you invite me if it was?"

  "Of course," she soothed.

  "Even if it caused a scandal?" When she didn't answer, he added, "It would, you know. It would make you the subject of gossip and ridicule."

  "It might cause a scandal, but I wouldn't be tarred by it. A little gossip and ridicule doesn't bother me. If it did, I wouldn't be here."

  He grunted, but I couldn't decipher what he meant by it.

  "Darling Seth." She patted his cheek. "I know your current predicament troubles you."

  "You cannot possibly have a clue, Julia."

  "Clearly your memory is short."

  He grunted again.

  "You will find a way out of it, Seth. I'll do anything I can to help."

  He snatched something from her hand—an envelope?—and waved it in her face. "You could have helped with this. If you managed to get Death invited, why not me? I scowl far less than him, and my heritage is not a mystery. I'm also easier to get into bed and far less discerning about whom I take there, something for which I would have thought Lady Plumton grateful."

  She plucked off one of her gloves, finger by finger. "That's part of the problem. You're not particularly discreet."

  "Ah," he said with a theatrical sigh. "If only that were my singular fault."

  "But alas you have many?" She grinned and took back the envelope. "I'll wait in the parlor."

  "He could be some time."

  "Will you join me until he returns?"

  He glanced over his shoulder toward the service area. "Why not?" He held out his arm and she took it. Together they strolled through to the parlor.

  I crept down the stairs and headed to the kitchen where I found Cook alone. "Is there anything for breakfast?" I asked.

  "Cold sausage. I ain't got time to heat it up, now her ladyship's here." He stirred the contents of the bowl wedged in the crook of his arm.

  "She has requested tea?"

  "She be stayin' for lunch. I weren't goin' to put out much, what with Fitzroy and Gus not here, but now I have to cook somethin' special."

  "You can't serve sandwiches?"

  He glared at me.

  "I suppose not. Can I help?"

  "You can get your own breakfast and stay out of my way."

  I saluted him, just as Lincoln strode into the kitchen. "Good morning, sir. Did you come in from the courtyard?"

  He nodded. He remained by the door, his arms folded, and watched Cook beat the contents of the bowl. I stabbed a sausage in the pan on the stove and ate it whole. It was warm, despite what Cook had said. He might be in a sour mood, but he'd known I would come down hungry.

  "Lady Harcourt's here," I told Lincoln.

  "I know."

  Cook slowed and looked up at his master. I stared at him too, waiting for him to say he was about to go in to see her. He didn't. Was he avoiding her?

  "Somethin' I can get you, sir?" Cook eventually asked.

  Lincoln inclined his head at me. "Charlie." He turned and walked out.

  I blinked at him then looked to Cook for an answer. He shrugged. "You better go," he whispered.

  I fetched my apron from the hook and raced after Lincoln. I'd just finished tying it when he stepped out of the little room that was supposed to be the butler's office but we used for storing the tennis and croquet equipment. Some of his hair had come loose from its leather tie and skimmed his jaw line. It was looking particularly wild, and coupled with the intensity of his gaze, I braced myself. What had I done now?

  "I need to speak plainly to you," he said.

  I swallowed. "Please do."

  "We didn't end the night on a good note."

  "No-o," I hedged.

  "Charlie…" He glanced over my head and drew in a deep breath. "I want to thank you."

  Oh. Well. I hadn't expected gratitude. "For bringing Gordon Thackery back?"

  "In part, but also for how you handled him once he was here. You charmed him last night. If you'd left him to my company alone, I doubt the events would have gone quite so effortlessly well."

  It was positively effusive praise, and for a moment I was rendered speechless. After our quarrel in the library, I hadn't been sure what he'd thought of the role I'd played. I'd even begun to suspect he regretted asking me to raise Gordon's spirit at all. "I appreciate your thanks, Mr. Fitzroy, but I'm happy to help. It was no trouble. I rather enjoyed it, dead bodies notwithstanding. Gordon was quite the gentleman. I'm only glad he was so willing. It wouldn't have been pleasant to have to coerce him."

  "You liked him."

  "I did. I suppose he charmed me as much as I charmed him." I laughed softly, but it faded as his eyes darkened. I cleared my throat. Since he neither moved away nor said anything further, I decided to push my luck. "Does your newfound gratitude mean you'll take me to Mr. Lee's after all?"

  "Not unless I can find a use for you there. At the moment, it's better that I work alone."

  "Very good. You're learning."

  He lifted both brows.

  "Your response today is more considered and diplomatic than the one you gave last night. I'll make allowances for your tiredness and forgive you completely." I shot him a bright grin to show him I was teasing.

  "Thank you," he said drily. "And I'll make allowances for your persistent nature and forgive you for asking me yet again."

  I gasped in mock horror. "Mr. Fitzroy, did you just make a joke?"

  "No." He walked off, leaving me standing in the corridor trying to determine what sort of mood he was in. I gave up when Seth joined me and we entered the kitchen together.

  "What's Lady H here for?" Cook asked him.

  "Death's been invited to a ball tomorrow night, and she's delivering the invitation."

  Cook snorted. "He won't go."

  "That's what I told her. He'd rather rip his own arm off than dance with silly girls."

  "Why would he dance with silly girls?" I asked. "Surely there will be some sensible ones there."

  "Sensible women, yes, but not girls. And it's the girls who are in need of husbands, hence their pursuit of one of the few eligible bachelors in the city. The far more interesting women are mostly taken, except for the occasional dried up widow."

  "I doubt Lady Harcourt would appreciate bei
ng called dried up."

  "Except her, but he's already taken a dip in those waters and didn't like it."

  Cook, standing by the stove, snickered.

  I followed Seth into the servants' dining room, which also doubled as a small parlor. We didn't use it often, preferring the warmth and coziness of the kitchen. Besides, he'd taken to polishing shoes on the dining table.

  "Is Gus watching the cemetery?"

  Seth nodded and checked the clock on the mantel. "I'll relieve him soon."

  "I suppose there'll be a committee meeting to inform them of the latest developments." I picked up a pair of Lincoln's shoes, which had been sitting on the bench for two days, and joined Seth at the table.

  He slid the polish toward me. "Fitzroy says not."

  "Why not?"

  He smirked. "He wants to wait, as we don't know if anything supernatural has occurred yet. Besides, they only create an unnecessary layer of bureaucracy that wastes time."

  "Is that your opinion or his?"

  "Definitely mine. I can't imagine what he thinks, and I wouldn't dare guess."

  "Very wise." I buffed off the black polish then set down the shoe and picked up the other. "I wish I knew what they were talking about. Do you think he has already refused the invitation?"

  "Why don't you go and listen in? You like to eavesdrop."

  I dropped the shoe. "Uh…"

  "I've learned a great many things from eavesdropping, so I'm not going to tell you not to do it. Just be careful you don't get caught, especially by Death."

  I picked up the shoe. "You make it sound as if I do it frequently. It's not my fault people say things when I happen to be nearby. I don't eavesdrop on purpose."

  He tapped my nose with his finger and frowned. "Sorry. I left a smudge."

  He handed me a clean cloth and I rubbed my nose. "Is it gone?"

  He shook his head. "You'll need soap."

  Cook beckoned me from the doorway. "Soup course be ready."

  "You take it to them," I told Seth. "I can't. Not looking like this."

  He scraped the chair back and stood. "Sorry, Charlie, I've got to relieve Gus." He hadn't even finished polishing the shoes.

  "That's not fair."

  "You look like an adorable chimney sweep when you pout."

  I shot him a withering glare. He flashed me a grin.