by C. J. Archer
"His father gave Andrew's inheritance to you." Marguerite growled like a dog protecting her cubs. "Andrew had no money, no house, nothing. Of course he couldn't support a wife or family. It is grossly unfair!"
"He could have found work. He went to university, for goodness' sake. He's not an imbecile."
"It may be very well for schoolmasters' daughters to tread the boards at The Alhambra, but not for barons' sons!"
Julia's face flamed, her eyes flashed. "You foolish girl. If you think Andrew refused to marry you because he had no money, then I am sorry to inform you of your mistake. There was a stipulation in my husband's will that if Andrew marries, he receives a generous annuity from the estate."
Marguerite's mouth flopped open.
"Andrew knew that. So did Donald." Julia sat upright again and rose. "I've had quite enough grubbiness for one day. I no longer wish to be a part of this conversation."
"Stay," Lincoln said quietly. "You are the one who brought this to my attention and asked me to investigate. You'll remain to hear all the details."
She hesitated then sat again. I wasn't sure I would have been so acquiescent if Lincoln had spoken to me the way he spoke to her. It seemed most unlike her to put up with it. Perhaps she really did want to hear more grubby details, and her attempted storming out was for show only.
"Marguerite," Lincoln said, "did your husband know the baby wasn't his?"
"Yes, but not until after the birth." All the fire she'd displayed in her defense of Buchanan had gone out of her and she was once more a pale, forlorn figure. "It was obvious that Hector was full-term, and I admitted everything. He was angry, at first, but then he realized we hadn't even begun courting when Andrew and I…when it happened. Our marriage was a hasty one, you see, at my request. We'd known one another for some time, of course, and he had asked to court me but I'd always refused. When I acquiesced, we married almost immediately."
It aligned with what Estelle Pearson had told us so it must be the truth. However I wondered if Marguerite really knew her husband's thoughts on the matter. How many men would be so understanding upon discovering their younger brother had fathered their wife's child? And did he know that his wife still held a torch for Andrew?
"I think this throws water over your theory that Andrew was at Emberly recently," Julia said. "If he has known about the baby for years, why stir up old wounds now?"
I looked to Lincoln as a small frown connected his brows. "Unless his visit had nothing to do with the baby, after all," I said.
"You must be mistaken," Marguerite said with an unladylike sniff. "Andrew wasn't there, fighting with anyone on my baby's grave. Either it was someone else or John got confused. It happens, from time to time."
The double doors suddenly burst open and Lord Harcourt strode in, looking like thunder. "Fitzroy," he barked.
Lincoln stood and met him in between the two sofas. He held his arms casually at his side, whereas Harcourt's fists pumped. "I'm glad you're here," Lincoln said. "I have questions for you."
Marguerite rose and took her husband's arm, pinning herself to his side. Her bottom lip was thrust so far forward in a pout that it looked as if a bee had stung it. "Darling, he's been asking questions about Hector again. And…and about Andrew."
"Out!" Harcourt exploded. "Get out!" Then he did a very foolish thing. He stepped up to Lincoln and swung his fist.
Chapter 12
Lincoln caught Harcourt's fist a mere inch from his face. He didn't flinch. "Not in front of the ladies," he said.
Harcourt spluttered a garbled protest and looked as if he would wind up his other fist.
"Donald, please," his wife begged. She batted his shoulder with the hand that still clutched Lincoln's handkerchief, her face pale and pinched. "Don't fight him."
"Not here," Julia said, briskly. "I don't want blood on the sofa. Come now, everyone sit down and be friends again. This will not do."
I admired her determination to keep the meeting civilized. I wasn't sure I could have stepped between them like she did. While she shooed Harcourt with one hand, she placed her other on Lincoln's chest. Ah. Now I saw why she had stepped between them.
I folded my hands in my lap and kept my head bowed as Lincoln returned to the sofa beside me. I kept my gaze on my linked fingers.
"Explain yourself, Fitzroy," Harcourt snapped. "What is the meaning of your inquisition this time?"
"Your brother was seen fighting with someone at Emberly Park on the evening he disappeared. It was the last time he was seen."
I lifted my head when Harcourt didn't respond. All the bluster leached out of him as we all waited, watching. "Seen?" he asked.
"Only by John," Marguerite told him.
"Fighting with whom?"
"Presumably with you," Lincoln said.
Harcourt's brows rose. "Do you have proof?"
"Of your involvement? No. However, a button engraved with the letter B was found at the mausoleum, as was some blood. Your brother hasn't been sighted since."
Julia's narrowed gaze pinned me. "Is he… That is to say, do you think he has met with…?" She fingered the black choker at her throat.
"We believe he's still alive," I said before she could accidentally divulge my necromancy to the Harcourts.
Her eyes fluttered closed. She breathed deeply. "Thank God."
"Pray that you're right," Marguerite said weakly.
"Harcourt," Lincoln prompted. "It's time you explained what happened."
Lord Harcourt, however, had just registered my presence. "Why is your maid here?"
"She works for me as an assistant now. Everything you wish to say to me can be said in front of her."
"I think not."
Lincoln's small sigh probably couldn't be heard by anyone except me. He was frustrated, and I felt guilty at being the cause of it.
"Donald, please, just tell us what happened," Marguerite whined. "Where is Andrew?"
"I don't know," he said tightly. "And that is the truth. We met around dusk as I was out riding. He'd seen me as he approached the house and hailed me. We talked for a long time. It became heated and we fought. I'm afraid he did hit his head and lost some blood. He was quite groggy for several minutes, but then he got up. I can assure you, he walked away. I told him to call in at Dr. Turcott's house and have the wound seen to."
"He never saw the doctor," Lincoln said. "We don't think he made it back to the village."
Harcourt scrubbed his face. "My God. Where is he?"
"Why didn't you invite him to dine with us?" Marguerite asked. "If you had, none of this would have happened?"
"I did. He refused."
"But why? It's been so long since he's been to Emberly. To have come so far and not dine with his family…I don't understand it."
"My dear, did you not hear me? We fought."
"Yes, but I haven't seen him since your father's funeral." Tears hovered on her eyelids. She dabbed at them again with Lincoln's handkerchief.
Julia's gaze was the first to slip away, then Harcourt's. As the realization slowly came over Marguerite that Andrew was likely avoiding her, her face fell further.
"What did you fight about?" I asked in an attempt to distract attention from her so she could recover. "The baby?"
"Money," Harcourt said.
"Money?" Julia lifted her shoulders. "But I give him a monthly sum to live on."
"It's not enough according to him. Andrew's tastes are expensive, Julia, you know that. No matter how much you give him, it will never be enough, because he'll gamble it all away." To Lincoln and me, he said, "He told me his debts have become too high and that his creditors are requesting payment."
"Oh, Andrew," Marguerite muttered.
"Our fight had nothing to do with the child. That matter was laid to rest years ago, along with Hector."
"So you refused to give him money and he became violent," Lincoln said.
"In a nutshell, yes. Andrew threatened to blackmail me when I first refused. He said he wou
ld make it known that I wasn't the baby's father. I think that's why he insisted on speaking to me at little Hector's grave. My brother has always enjoyed theatrics." This was said with a pointed look at Julia.
She pretended not to notice.
"I refused to give in," Harcourt went on. "I reminded him that he could get his hands on his annuity if he married. He said he'd rather gouge his eyes out, and declared that it was my responsibility as the elder brother and current baron to assist him. Once again, I refused. Then he brought up the order you belong to."
"Ministry," Lincoln corrected.
Julia sat forward. "What do you mean?"
Harcourt sighed. "He very recently discovered Father's link to your ministry through the journal he finally got around to reading. He must have been bored one night to open up that old thing and Father's other books. He said it took him several weeks of following up names, places and dates noted in the journal, but he worked out what Father and the others were up to. He told me that if I didn't give him money, he would tell the newspapers about the supernatural gibberish Father was involved in. As I already told you, I refused to give in. I don't care a whit whether Father was mad, or whether the world thinks he was. That's when we fought."
"That's what prompted him to go to Emberly," I said. "He'd only just pieced together the puzzle and decided to use it to his advantage."
Lincoln nodded. "So he left the estate in the dark, on foot, with a bleeding head wound. Not to mention that he was disappointed in your refusal to help."
"Oh, Donald," Marguerite said on a sigh. "Why didn't you go after him and give him some money? He's your brother. He needs you."
Harcourt lifted his chin. "He's hopeless."
"Yes, but we must make allowances for him being the younger brother. He was never given the same responsibilities as you, or the same opportunities."
Harcourt snorted. "He was pampered by our mother."
"As was my brother. John is so like Andrew. At least, he was before the accident. And yet you've given John a home and comforts."
Harcourt gave another snort. "You are right there. They are very much alike. I cannot support them both. It's unthinkable. Besides, Julia is supporting Andrew." He flashed a hard, cold smile at her. "Our dear stepmother is more than happy to help her beloved stepson. Aren't you, Julia?"
Marguerite's nervous gazed shifted between them. Julia returned Harcourt's smile, but with more softness. "Of course I'm happy to help," she said smoothly. "Andrew and I are company for one another."
"How pleasant for you both," Harcourt sneered.
"Did Buchanan mention where he was staying that night?" Lincoln asked.
"No, but I do know where he was planning to go next. My brother is such a fool. After I refused to support his gambling habit, he declared that he was going to consult a seer and win some ready for himself."
"A seer?" the rest of us echoed.
"He says he found her name in Father's journal then cross-checked it against some ministry archives you keep in the attic, Julia. I told him the idea was absurd, and that he'd lost his mind, but he was determined to find her and use her so-called foresight to learn the winner of an upcoming boxing match. If it worked, he would use her again to place strategic bets all over the city, culminating in next spring's racing carnivals." He snorted. "I told him he was a fool and he laughed in my face. He said I was the fool and always had been."
Marguerite tucked her feet underneath the sofa and wrung her hands together. She did not meet her husband's gaze, even though he didn't stop looking at her.
"Do you remember the seer's name?" Lincoln asked.
"Leah, Lill, something foreign. Do you think that's where he went?"
"It's possible."
"I don't know if this supernatural business is real or not, nor do I want to know. If I can't see it or touch it, then I want no part of it."
"How fortunate that your father gave me the responsibility of being on the committee then," Julia said with a smile that didn't disguise the sting in her tone.
"You'll get no argument from me, but you might from Andrew. He seemed put out that he wasn't even informed." Harcourt slapped his hands down on the arms of his chair and pushed himself to his feet. "Christ, I need a drink."
Lincoln and I rose as Harcourt poured himself a glass of brandy at the sideboard, but Julia didn't let us leave immediately. Or rather, she didn't let Lincoln leave. She hung onto his arm. "We are all grateful that you're looking into Andrew's disappearance, Lincoln. You've done a marvelous job so far."
"Marvelous," Marguerite echoed as she tugged on the bell pull. "Do continue to keep us informed. We're most anxious to have Andrew return to the family bosom. Aren't we, Donald?"
"Of course," Harcourt muttered, lifting the glass to his lips. "I just wish it required less turning over of old stones."
"The stones have only been turned over in private," Julia assured him. "Mr. Fitzroy is a gentleman and won't reveal anything told to him in confidence."
"And her?" Harcourt pointed his glass at me. I felt like he was poking me in the shoulder in the hopes of picking a fight.
"Miss Holloway can be trusted to keep silent," Lincoln said.
Harcourt's top lip curled. "We all know what gossips the servants can be."
Millard, who'd entered at that moment, stiffened, which was quite a feat since he was already rigid. Julia finally relinquished her grasp on Lincoln's arm and Millard showed us to the front door.
Outside, Seth lounged on the driver's seat while Gus leaned back against coach, one foot resting on the step behind him. He came to attention when we joined him, and opened the door.
"You're supposed to give her your hand, you Philistine," Seth said, from the edge of the driver's seat.
Gus rolled his eyes and I smiled back. "I can manage," I assured him.
He held out his hand anyway. "What's a Philistine?" he whispered as I stepped past him.
"I don't know," I whispered back. "Handsome cove?"
He grinned a somewhat sinister grin thanks to his broken teeth, but the humor dancing in his eyes softened it considerably.
"I'm sorry I wasn't much help in there," I said to Lincoln as the coach rolled away. "I was probably more of a hindrance."
"They'll grow used to you."
I pulled a face. "I hope not, only because I wish never to see the Harcourts again once Buchanan is found. Except the dowager, of course. I can't avoid her."
"I'll shield you from the committee members as much as possible."
"Thank you, but I don't wish to be shielded. If I am to work with you—"
"For me."
"If I am, then I must be prepared to face them, from time to time, across cups of tea."
"They will come to accept you. I'll see to it."
I didn't know how. Centuries of tradition and prejudice couldn't be wiped out with a few choice words, even if those words were spoken by someone who was not easily trifled with.
"Do you recall the name of a seer in the journal?" I asked. "Leah, I think Harcourt said."
"Lela. It appeared in the first few pages."
"You have a good memory."
"Yes."
I suppressed a smile. He wasn't shy about his many abilities. "Can a seer really predict which horse will win a race?"
"It doesn't work like that, as far as I am aware."
"Buchanan will be disappointed when he discovers it. So how does it work?"
"Since I am the only seer I know, and my talent is limited, I cannot be entirely sure. I have vague feelings, impressions if you like, and only about people I am close to. You, Seth and Gus, for example. I know when you are about to seek me out, and occasionally the gist of what you are about to say, if not the exact words. I can also predict when you are about to slap me, for instance."
Was he trying to make a joke? Yes, I think so. His eyes danced merrily and his features lifted a little. "That's because it usually comes immediately after you've admitted doing something worthy of a sl
ap. I hardly call that a fine example of your talent."
"Granted, your temper is easy to predict."
I laughed. "What's put you in such a fine mood? I feel positively wretched after spending time with that family. They aren't particularly supportive of one another. There is even an undercurrent of dislike between Lord and Lady Harcourt, although outwardly he seems to dote on her and she depend on him."
"I hadn't noticed."
"For a seer, you're quite blind at times. Don't you think it's odd that you are aware when I am not in the house, yet you don't understand other people at all?"
He shifted on the seat, and I wondered if my observation had made him feel inadequate. He was so used to being competent that this failing might bother him. "As I said, my talent is limited. I couldn't tell you if we were about to have an accident, for example, or who will win a boxing match."
"I wonder if this Lela can."
"We'll find out tomorrow, when we visit her."
"Where will we find her? We should have asked the dowager if we could look through the archives too, like Buchanan did."
"No need. I've made copies of them and stored them in the attic at Lichfield. The records are catalogued by name and cross-referenced to an index of supernatural talents. There are not many seers listed. It won't take long to find Lela."
"Why am I not surprised that you're so organized?"
"We'll check the records together. It's time you became familiar with them. Once you are, you can create a new entry for Estelle Pearson, and update the one about yourself."
Oh. Of course I would be listed in his catalogue. I wasn't sure whether to be pleased or disconcerted, however. Perhaps a little of both. It was, after all, nice to be worthy of being catalogued yet troubling for the same reason.
* * *
Lela lived in a van on Mitcham Common on the southern edge of the city. She was a gypsy, and we were fortunate that it was coming up to winter or she and her family would have been traveling through the countryside, picking fruit. The cold weather brought the Romany gypsies back to London, and its numerous commons, where they squeezed what small fortune they could from selling their crafts or pushing grinding barrows through the streets to sharpen scissors, saws and knives.
