The Last Necromancer

by C. J. Archer

  "I'll instruct Mr. Fitzroy to deliver you to my house this afternoon, where you will be safe from the roaming gazes of Seth and Gus."

  The notion brought an inexplicable swell of disappointment to my chest. I'd fought tooth and nail to get free, and yet I wasn't prepared to leave Lichfield Towers for a residence I knew nothing about, with a woman who would make me wear corsets and act like a lady.

  I snatched the corset off her and put it on over the new chemise. I turned my back to her and gasped as she pulled hard on the laces. "You said you wouldn't do it tight!"

  "This isn't tight." She pulled again, jerking my entire body toward her. "Hold onto the bedpost."

  I grumbled as she finished the lacing, then stood like a ridiculous statue with a straight back. I tried to draw in a deep breath, only to find my chest wouldn't expand enough. "This is torture."

  "It gives you a fine shape." She smiled. "You almost look respectable. Now, the petticoats."

  She helped me slip two petticoats over my drawers, then a black cotton gown over the top. The outfit was a spare one that had been used by a previous servant girl in her household. It was a little large, but not a bad fit. I'd hoped for something prettier when she'd announced that she would be outfitting me in women's clothing upon her arrival. If I had to wear a dress again, I'd prefer it to be something with a bustle in a brighter color. The servant's garb was drab.

  I laced up the boots, but she wouldn't let me out of the bedroom until she'd fixed my hair. There was little she could do, with it being so short, but she managed to make it a little more feminine with the strategic placement of a few pins at the front and a bonnet positioned toward the back.

  I admired her handiwork in the dressing table mirror and had to admit she'd done a fine job. I looked like a woman, albeit a somewhat gaunt one with owlish eyes.

  "They'll wonder how they ever mistook you for a boy." Lady Harcourt touched a finger under my chin and turned my head this way and that to inspect me from all angles. "You're quite pretty, with that sweet oval face and those big blue eyes." She let me go with a sigh. "You will have to come home with me after all."

  "No! I'm remaining here. Or I leave altogether," I added.

  She blinked. Was she offended? "Why don't you want to live with me? My house is larger than this. I have many servants, some of them girls of your age. You'll be bound to find a friend among them."

  "I do not wish to be your servant, Lady Harcourt. As kind as you have been to me, I prefer it here."

  "But there are only men here!"

  "Men are only large boys, and I'm used to boys."

  She spluttered a laugh. "I'm afraid you can't stay. I cannot, in all conscience, leave you here. Besides, Fitzroy won't know what to do with you, now that you're a girl. He has almost admitted as much to me."

  I stormed past her and opened the bedroom door. Fitzroy looked up from his desk and his eyes widened. He took in my dress and hair with a cool, sweeping gaze that finally settled on my face.

  "Is there a problem?" he asked, looking past me to Lady Harcourt. Despite his casual stance and words, his mouth was set firm and his eyes were hard. From the little I'd seen of him that morning, he was still furious with me for refusing to help. Well, I was furious too, and I wasn't giving in.

  "I am not going to live with her," I said, hands on hips. "Either you keep me here as your prisoner, or you let me go."

  "She cannot stay here." Lady Harcourt came to stand beside me. She was taller than me, but I liked to think I presented a fiercer façade.

  "If you make me go with her, I will find a way to escape," I said. "It'll be easier in a big household with more servants. Besides, won't they grow suspicious about the girl locked away in a room?"

  Fitzroy lifted a brow then nodded. "I agree."

  "She cannot stay here, Lincoln." Lady Harcourt's tone turned crisp. "Look at her!"

  What was that supposed to mean? "This was a pointless exercise." I went to remove the bonnet and veil, but Fitzroy grasped my hand. I glared at him.

  He glared back. "Leave it on."

  "Why?" I spat. "I am not going to help you, which means you are going to keep me here indefinitely, locked away where no one can see me. Or you will let me go. What does it matter how I dress?"

  "The ministry is not a charity," Fitzroy said in a voice that sent a chill skittering across my skin. "And I am not a kind person. You will do as I say and help us."

  "Or?"

  "There is no 'or.'"

  "Ha!"

  Lady Harcourt bustled past me and laid a hand on his arm. She searched his face, her brow deeply furrowed. "Lincoln? What are you going to do?"

  He met my gaze over the top of her head. It was masked; unreadable. He pulled away from her and strode to the door. "In here," he growled at Seth and Gus.

  The two guards stopped dead just inside the doorway. Neither could take their eyes off me. Their warm, lingering gazes brought heat to my cheeks and I wished I could hide beneath my hair again.

  "Stop staring," I snapped. "Haven't you seen a girl before?"

  "Um, I, um, didn't know you was so pretty." Gus no longer looked at me but at his feet; most of his words were mumbled into his chest.

  Seth cleared his throat and sketched a short bow. "That dress is very fetching on you, Charlie. Er, Charlotte. Miss Charlotte."

  "It's a servant's dress and plain black," I said. "It is the least fetching outfit imaginable. And you can continue to call me Charlie. Or better yet, don't speak to me at all."

  Seth's face fell, and I regretted my harsh manner. It wasn't his fault that I was in this predicament. It was entirely Fitzroy's.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Lady Harcourt raising her brows at him. See, she mouthed.

  "Prepare the carriage," Fitzroy ordered his men.

  "Where are you taking me?" I asked as Gus and Seth left.

  "Out." To Lady Harcourt, he said, "Does she have gloves?"

  "I'll fetch them." She disappeared into the bedroom.

  "I am not going anywhere with you," I told Fitzroy.

  He said nothing, which worried me. I'd found he was far more dangerous when he didn't speak.

  Lady Harcourt returned and handed me a pair of black gloves. "It's warm out and you won't require a coat." When I neither put on the gloves nor moved, she lifted her brows at Fitzroy. "Now what?"

  Fitzroy put out his hand. I hesitated then placed the gloves on his palm. "What are you—?"

  He picked me up and slung me over his shoulder. One arm clamped across my kicking legs like a steel barrier, the other still clutched the gloves.

  "Let me go!" I tried to straighten, but the corset not only made breathing difficult, it limited my movement. I squirmed instead, intent on not making it easy for him, but it made little difference. Besides, I was very aware that my bottom was close to his face. I might not be much of a lady, or want to be one, but wriggling my rear end in his face was not something I could bring myself to do. I stilled.

  He carried me out of the room. Lady Harcourt followed behind us, her steps short and quick.

  "Put me down!" I shouted.

  "Don't bother screaming," he said as he descended the stairs. "Cook, Seth and Gus won't help you."

  I called him every crude name I could think of, loudly, and pounded his back with my fists. Nothing made him stop, but at least he would sport bruises for a week. Not only did he not stop, he didn't slow down. Indeed, his pace quickened, and his steps became jauntier as we reached the next flight of stairs. It made for a very uncomfortable ride.

  "You're deliberately being rough now," I snapped.

  "This is my natural way of descending stairs."

  "It is not. You've got the smoothest stride of anyone I've seen. It's why you're able to sneak up on people." I tried to twist to get a better look at him, but it was impossible. I could only see the back of his head. His unruly black hair was tied up with a leather strip. Perhaps if I pulled it…

  Lady Harcourt clicked her tongue.
"I'll need to fix her hair in the carriage."

  "You're not coming with us," he said.

  "I must! She needs a chaperone!"

  He reached the base of the staircase and turned toward her as she stopped alongside us. I suspected he was bestowing one of his chilling glares on her because she stepped away.

  "It's a mistake, Lincoln," she said as he carried me outside. I took that to mean she'd given in.

  We had to wait a few minutes for the carriage to be brought around. When it stopped, and Seth opened the door, Fitzroy dislodged me from his shoulder onto the bench seat. I bounced and hit my arm against the other side. Before I'd recovered my balance, he'd climbed after me and shut the door.

  The coach took off with a jerk. I lunged for the door, but Fitzroy was too quick. He barred it with his arm.

  "You're a prick." I sank into the corner and pushed the hairpins that had come loose back in place.

  "It's not too late to change your mind," he said. "Help me willingly and you can live at Lichfield Towers under my protection."

  I snorted. "You cannot guarantee my safety once he learns what I am. He'll not stop until he catches me."

  "Then I'll have to stop him before he catches you."

  "How?"

  "By killing him."

  I swallowed past the lump in my throat and tore my gaze away from his icy one to stare out the window. We left the Lichfield Towers estate, and drove past Highgate Wood, onto streets lined with shops and taverns. People went about their business, blissfully unaware that a necromancer was in their midst.

  "And what will happen to me if you stop him?" I asked. "What will you do with the inconvenient necromancer?"

  "I don't know yet. Perhaps I'll employ you as a maid."

  "I don't want to be anyone's maid."

  "The work won't be too hard."

  "I'm not afraid of hard work. I don't want a master. I haven't had one in years, and that's the way I like it."

  "Every woman has a master."

  "Lady Harcourt doesn't."

  "That's different. She's a widow, and a wealthy one at that."

  I said nothing as we passed by the Highgate Cemetery gates. The breeze rustled the leaves and it began to rain. A small dog scampered away from the curb, afraid of the horses thundering hooves and the carriage’s clattering wheels. Its brown fur was bedraggled and knotted, its eyes weepy as it watched us pass. Sadness welled inside me at the pathetic creature.

  "You're taking me to Tufnell Park," I said. "To my father."

  He didn't answer.

  We continued through Tufnell Park, going nowhere near Father's house. I frowned at Fitzroy, but he stared out the window, his gaze intent yet unseeing. A muscle pulsed in his throat above his collar. It would seem his thoughts had distracted him. Perhaps I should try escaping again.

  I waited for the coach to slow, but by the time it did, Fitzroy was once more alert. The time for leaping from the coach had passed.

  "This is Whitechapel," I said, looking around.

  I'd lived there twice before, including when the Ripper had been doing his worst, but not in this street. It was a narrow lane, paved with uneven stones made slick with slops and rain. There were no shops or taverns, only crumbling, crooked buildings divided into rooms. I knew from experience that those rooms were crammed with as many people that could fit into them as possible. Barefoot children watched us, their hollow faces reminding me of my own. A group of them approached the horses and coach, but Gus's hiss sent them scurrying back.

  A woman with a crying baby clamped to her hip emerged from one of the buildings. She put out a hand and mouthed please. Seth tossed her a coin. That only drew out more women, and some men too.

  Seth opened the door and held his hand out. It took me a moment to realize he was offering to assist me down, as a gentleman would a lady. I glanced at Fitzroy, expecting him to grab my arm and pin me to the seat.

  "You wished to leave," was all he said. "So leave."

  "You're letting me go? Just like that?"

  "It's what you want."

  I watched him through narrowed eyes. "I don't trust you. You're up to something."

  "Go," he said heavily. "Let's see how long you last here without my protection."

  Ah. Now I understood. He was proving a point, or trying to. I laughed without humor. "This is my home," I said, nodding at the grimy faces, the filthy gutter. "I know how to survive out here. I've been doing it for years."

  "Not as a woman, and a respectable, pretty one at that."

  One of the men hawked a glob of spit onto the stones. The child on the woman's hip cried harder. Fitzroy was right. Although it was daylight, and women and children crowded near, it wouldn't be long before I found myself alone at night. Dressed as a woman, I would be vulnerable, a target.

  "Your lack of hair might save you," he went on. "But it also means you have nothing to sell. Aside from the obvious, of course."

  I lashed out, but he caught both my wrists before I connected. He drew me closer, so that I was almost sitting on his lap. His eyes were as black up close as they were from a distance.

  "Reconsider." His deep, rumbling voice almost hypnotized me into saying yes.

  "No. You won't leave me here. I'm too valuable to you, and you're too cock-sure to consider failure. You won't leave me," I said again.

  He let me go, shoving me back onto the seat as he did so. "Get out."

  I flattened my hands down my skirts and called his bluff. I climbed out, refusing Seth's offered hand. Fitzroy closed the door himself and remained inside. Seth climbed up onto the driver's seat beside Gus and the coach pulled away.

  I was free. I smiled at the retreating coach, still unable to believe that I'd won. Surely it was a trick. It must be. And yet they were out of sight already, around the corner.

  A child of about six came up to me and tugged on my sleeve. "Coin, miss? We be starving."

  "I haven't got any money," I told her, loud enough so that they could all hear. If they thought I had money, I wouldn't get far before I was robbed.

  I walked away, ignoring the stares and the occasional tug on my skirt. With no money, my options were limited. I could sell the bonnet, and perhaps the gown after I stole some boys' clothes. I'd keep the boots. They were sturdy and only a little worn. They would last some time. I smiled as I walked along the miserable streets of Whitechapel. Fitzroy had under-estimated me.

  I spent the rest of the day wandering, thinking about where next to live. I couldn't return to Stringer and the others, and Fitzroy's investigation meant I was too obvious in my previous haunts now. It might be time to leave London altogether. But where to go? How close was the nearest city?

  By the time evening fell, I was starving. My stomach protested, even though I'd eaten one good meal already at breakfast. And despite being summer, it was cold. I had no shawl or coat and I'd left the gloves in the coach. I'd become too used to the good life at Lichfield Towers. I'd known that would happen. I could kick myself for accepting Fitzroy's hospitality.

  As darkness descended, I settled under a railway bridge. It stank of urine but it was empty of other residents. Because of the rain, no one had hung out clothes to dry, but I hadn't given up hope. There was always the morning. I just had to get through the night unnoticed.

  I drew my knees up and settled my chin on them. If Fitzroy changed his mind and returned to the place where he left me, he'd find me gone. Should I make my way back so that I was easy to find? He would have to apologize before I agreed to return.

  The more I thought about it, the surer I became that he would return. Lady Harcourt would send him back when she discovered what he'd done. She and the other committee members wouldn't let him just leave me here. She was much too kind, and they needed me.

  But he'd made it clear that he was the leader. They did as he said. And he was a determined man, not one to back down. I hardly knew him, but I knew that. If he'd decided to throw me into the pond, then he would certainly not fish me out again
at someone else's suggestion.

  It would seem I'd overestimated my worth to them. To him. I was nothing, after all. A well of sadness I hadn't experienced for a long time opened inside me.

  "Who're you?" came a harsh voice from behind me. "What're you doin' on my patch?"

  I spun round and flattened myself against the bridge supports. There was just enough light from the single gas lamp to see by and I saw a very large man looming over me. He looked like a bear with his black shaggy beard, long hair, and big hands.

  "I'm going," I said, deepening my voice. I'd already removed the pins from my hair to cover my face again, but I was still dressed in women's clothing. "I didn't know this was your place."

  "Halt there." He lumbered toward me and I edged away. "I said halt!"

  I turned to flee, but he lunged. He had a surprisingly long reach and was fleeter of foot than he looked. He caught my elbow and jerked me round to face him.

  "Please, let me go, sir. I mean you no harm or disrespect."

  "What's a girl like you doing out here all alone, eh?" He glanced around, as if expecting to see my menfolk nearby.

  "I'm not alone," I said quickly. "My father and two brothers will be here soon. They're dock workers and carry big knives."

  "The docks ain't near here. And I got a big weapon too." He grinned, revealing teeth as black as his beard. He groped his trousers at his crotch and licked his lips beneath his moustache. "Show me ya face, girl. I wanna see it while I fuck you."

  I pushed at him, but he was too strong, too big. He laughed at my pathetic attempts. I kicked his shin and he yowled.

  "You little bitch!" He hooked a leg behind my knees, making them buckle. I crashed to the ground, hitting my hip and head against the bricks of the bridge support. I scrabbled and hit out, but could get no strength behind my punches with the damned corset constricting movement and breathing. He pinned my arms above my head with one of his massive hands and swept my hair back with his other.

  "Ain't you're a prize. Got lucky tonight, didn't I? Eh? First some coin, now a tasty little tart."

  I tried to kick him again, but he lay half on top of me, pinning me. He pulled my skirts above my knees and his fat fingers rubbed my thigh through my drawers. I tasted bile and blood and realized I'd been biting my lip to stop from crying out. Screaming would only draw more men my way. A pack of them would be worse than just this one.