by C. J. Archer
I appealed to Lincoln. "You didn't see any wolves, did you?"
He shook his head and his hair fell across his eyes making him look devilishly broody. "We did learn that Gawler's pack are doing some spying of their own. Gus followed one of the pack members to Swinburn's house. He did nothing, just watched for a few hours before being relieved by another."
"Why are they doing that?"
"Gawler is adamant that Swinburn is setting his pack up to take the blame for these murders."
"He may be right. Did Swinburn or his pack go for a run?"
Another shake of his head. "There were also extra constables on patrol and I saw some men with clubs roaming the streets."
"Vigilantes," I murmured. "So it has begun."
"It'll be hard for either pack to run now."
"Hard but not impossible."
He touched my chin and planted a light kiss on my lips. "Go back to bed, my love," he whispered.
I clasped my arms around his waist and held him to me. "Care to join me?"
"You are wicked. No wonder I adore you." He plucked my arms off and kissed my forehead. "Go back to bed alone and I'll see you for breakfast in two hours."
I pouted playfully. "You really are going to make me wait until our wedding night, aren't you?"
"I'm certainly going to try," he muttered as he walked off.
* * *
A message came for Lincoln over breakfast that made him groan. Considering he rarely showed emotion, I knew it must be particularly awful. I asked to see it as I returned to my chair with a plate of bacon, toast and a boiled egg.
"It's from Andrew Buchanan," I told Alice and Lady Vickers, who'd joined us in the dining room. Seth and Gus still slept. I read further and groaned too. "He has called a committee meeting here in an hour."
"So soon after the last one?" Alice asked. "Why?"
"He doesn't say."
"It had better be for a good reason," Lincoln growled. "Or I'll make his life miserable."
"I think it already is. His lover is getting married, he has no home, no money and no prospects of earning any. Plus he's a turd."
Lady Vickers clicked her tongue. I thought she didn't like my language, but it turned out to be because she didn't like Buchanan. "The man's a fool and a wastrel. He always was, and age hasn't improved him. He still acts like a petulant child. Look at the way he behaves over Julia! Quite pathetic."
"She does encourage it," I said. "Or she has in the past. That will probably stop, now that she's marrying." I pulled my toast apart but didn't eat. "Joining the committee might distract him, at least."
Alice lowered her fork to her plate. "Do you think it will give him some sorely needed purpose?"
"I do hope so," Lady Vickers said. "There's nothing more invigorating for the mind and spirit than a purpose. Don't you agree, Charlie?"
"I do," I said.
"My newfound purpose is to see that my son marries well and gets back on his feet."
I didn't think that a very sound purpose considering Seth already seemed to be well and truly on his feet. But I didn't say so.
"Good luck," Alice quipped as she got up to pour more tea into her cup.
Lady Vickers narrowed her gaze as if she were trying to work out if Alice meant something else by her comment. I detected nothing insincere, however.
The hour passed quickly and the three coaches arrived on time. Lords Marchbank and Gillingham drove up in their private coaches whereas Buchanan stepped out of a hansom that he then sent on its way.
"Good morning, everyone," he said as Doyle took his hat in the entrance hall. "Shall we adjourn to the library?"
"What's this about?" Gillingham asked before we'd all settled. Seth and Gus hadn't joined us since they were still asleep. Lincoln didn't look any worse for getting a mere two hours rest before breakfast. I'd once called him a machine—sometimes it didn't seem far from the truth.
Buchanan lifted a hand to ward off Gillingham's question, but it was me he addressed. "Charlotte, should you be here? You're not part of the committee—"
"She stays," Lincoln said.
"Get to the point, Buchanan," Gillingham snapped. "I've got things to do."
Buchanan snorted. "Like keep an eye on your wife?"
Gillingham had been about to take his seat, but he now rounded on Buchanan. "What are you implying?"
Buchanan hiked up his trouser legs and sat in an armchair. "Sit down, Gilly. You're not frightening anyone."
Gillingham's hand tightened around the head of his walking stick. "I should thrash you, you imbecile."
"Wait until after you hear what I have to say." Buchanan's laconic manner had me wanting to thrash him.
"What do you mean about keeping an eye on Harriet?" I asked, knowing I was playing into his hands.
Buchanan waved at the brandy on the sideboard. "Pour me a glass, Fitzroy."
"No," Lincoln said flatly.
"It's ten in the morning!" Marchbank said. "Get on with the meeting. Why did you call us here? What's happened?"
"Very well." Buchanan gave the brandy decanter a longing look then tore his gaze away. "I wanted to take Fitzroy to task. He hasn't reported in yet."
"There's nothing to report," I said.
Buchanan held up a finger. "The meeting with the journalist." He held up another finger. "The summons to the palace."
"The palace!" Gillingham spat. "Why haven't you mentioned it, Fitzroy? Buchanan's right, you need to report in on such important meetings immediately."
"No, I do not," Lincoln said. "There's nothing to report. I learned nothing at the palace. Her Majesty simply wanted to discuss the possibility that werewolves are roaming the city. She wanted reassurance that we will find them and stop them from killing again."
"And was she reassured?" Marchbank asked.
"I believe so."
"She was," I added. I waited to see if Lincoln would mention the discussion surrounding Swinburn and the duke's threat to close the ministry, but he didn't.
"You went too?" Buchanan said to me. "Was that necessary?"
Lincoln merely glared at him.
"You don't think I should have gone?" I asked sweetly. "Why not?"
"Because of what you are."
"You mean a necromancer? It's all right, Mr. Buchanan, you can say the word. I won't bring back your father and have him put you over his knee. Well, I may, if you really annoy me."
Buchanan's lips twitched and twisted with indignation. "You little—"
"Don't." Lincoln's low growl sent a shiver down my spine.
Buchanan paled. "I'm merely pointing out that Her Majesty might not like having a necromancer in her midst."
"She knows," I lied. The queen did not know. She thought me a medium, a more acceptable supernatural than one who raised the dead.
"Very well then, but be sure to keep the committee informed of all your meetings, Fitzroy, not just the ones you choose to tell us about."
"I'll inform you when you need to know," Lincoln said. "Is that clear?"
"It's clear," Marchbank said before Buchanan tumbled into even bigger trouble. "Is that all, Buchanan?"
"No. There's another matter," Buchanan said, smugly.
Gillingham sighed. "This had better be worth my time."
"It's about you, as it happens. Or rather, your wife."
Gillingham stamped the end of his walking stick into the floor. "Harriet is not a matter that requires discussion. No one is interested in your gossip."
"She is a matter for discussion within the ministry. Just as Charlotte is. Anyone of an unnatural nature must be discussed, cataloged and monitored." Buchanan touched a finger to his lips then pointed at Gillingham. His theatricality made a mockery of Gillingham and his protest. "Indeed, didn't you say something similar once when it came to Charlotte's whereabouts?"
"How do you know about that?" Gillingham spluttered. "You weren't on the committee then."
"Julia," Lord Marchbank said with a shake of his head. "She told
you everything that went on in our meetings, didn't she, Buchanan?"
Buchanan lifted one shoulder in elegant nonchalance.
"If you reciprocate and tell her what is said here, you will find yourself off the committee," Marchbank said.
"Or worse," Lincoln added.
"Right. Well." Buchanan cleared his throat. "Getting back to my point about the lovely Lady Gillingham. We all know what she is and the scum she associates with."
"She does not associate with scum." Gillingham's voice rose to a shout.
"She runs with Gawler's pack."
"That is different. Nobody knows about that but us, so it doesn't count."
Buchanan snorted. "Given that the attacks have occurred in their jurisdiction, she is a suspect and must be treated as such."
Gillingham stamped his walking stick into the floor over and over. "Enough! Enough of this rubbish, Buchanan! My wife is above suspicion. She's a countess, for God's sake."
"She's a werewolf. She thinks and acts like a…an animal. They're wild creatures, Gilly, and cannot be controlled. Their superior strength, speed and senses make them even more difficult to manage. You know that." Buchanan bared his teeth in a twisted smile. "Indeed, I'd wager you know how strong your wife is better than anyone."
Gillingham shot to his feet, his face redder than his hair. "I won't listen to this."
"You need to listen to it," Buchanan shot back. "She's a suspect just as much as anyone in Gawler's pack is. You are the best person to follow and observe—"
"I will not spy on my wife!"
"Why not? If she is innocent, it's in your power to prove it."
Gillingham sat down again and shook his head.
"You're afraid, aren't you?" Buchanan goaded. "Afraid of what she'll do to you if she finds out."
"That's enough," Marchbank snapped. "Buchanan, be quiet. Harriet is not a suspect."
"I agree," I said. "A person's character is not suppressed when he or she shifts into their other form. Someone with murderous tendencies in human shape retains that in their wolf shape, and I can say with utmost confidence that Harriet is not a murderer. You know it, too, Andrew. You might be a turd but you're a good judge of character."
Buchanan made a miffed sound through his nose but, to my surprise, didn't challenge me. Perhaps because Lincoln stood close enough to throttle him.
"Charlie's right," Marchbank said. "Harriet is no murderess. That doesn't exonerate her pack, however."
We all agreed on that score, but Lincoln did say he believed Gawler himself was innocent.
"Even so," Marchbank said, "it might be wise for Harriet to stay away from them for now so she doesn't get caught up in this mess. That newspaper article has stirred up unrest."
Lincoln nodded. "There were vigilantes and extra constables in the East End overnight."
Gillingham groaned and rubbed his forehead.
"Harriet claimed she's not running with her pack until after the baby is born," I said. "She'll be safe."
"She still associates with them," Gillingham said heavily.
"Then forbid it," Buchanan said with a flourishing wave of his hand. "Oh, that's right, you can't tell her what to do anymore."
"This coming from a man who has had so much luck controlling his woman," Gillingham spat. "You couldn't forbid Julia to associate with other men while she was with you, and then you lost her altogether to another. Tell me, does she even let you in her bed anymore?"
Buchanan leapt from his chair and flew at Gillingham. Gillingham must have assumed Lincoln would stop him, so didn't try to defend himself. His misguided confidence meant that Buchanan smashed his fist into Gillingham's jaw, sending the earl's head slamming into the armchair's backrest. He cried out and put his hands up, his walking stick flailing aimlessly and in danger of hitting the books on the shelf behind him. Buchanan pulled his fist back and went to strike again, but Lincoln finally stepped in and caught his arm.
Buchanan stood down but glared daggers at Gillingham. Since Gillingham had closed his eyes, he didn't notice.
"This meeting is adjourned," Marchbank said, rising. "Buchanan, come with me. I'll take you home."
Buchanan tugged on his jacket cuffs and strode out of the library. He flung open the door and almost walked into Seth, who was about to enter. Seth took one look at Buchanan then Gillingham, rubbing his jaw, and grinned.
"I missed all the fun," he said.
Buchanan slipped past him, deliberately bumping his shoulder against Seth's and snatched his hat off Doyle.
Seth rolled his eyes. "Charlie? What happened?"
I led him to the parlor on the other side of the entrance hall and told him about the meeting. He chuckled through most of it.
* * *
Lincoln, Seth and Gus went out for the rest of the day. Alice and I occupied ourselves in the attic, but I left her there when Whistler informed me Lincoln had returned and wished to see me. I looked forward to sneaking in some kisses in the privacy of his rooms, but he wasn't alone. Seth and Gus were with him in his office.
"Why are you pouting?" Gus asked me.
"No reason," I said on a sigh.
"Where's Alice?" Seth asked.
"In the attic."
"What's she doing in the attic?"
"Practicing her penmanship. How did you go this afternoon?"
"We spoke with all of the men and women in Gawler's pack," Lincoln said. "We asked them whether they were involved in the recent murders. They all denied it. Two definitely told the truth."
"And the others?"
"My seer's senses weren't strong enough to know for certain."
I perched on the edge of his desk. A pile of newspapers sat on the corner, all ironed by Doyle and ready for Lincoln's perusal. He liked to keep up with the news, but it was no more important than now. I picked up the pile and went through them. The Star was not among them. I glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was an evening paper so ought to arrive soon.
"I asked Doyle to bring me The Star as soon as it's delivered," Lincoln said, reading my thoughts. "No ironing necessary."
"He won't like that," Seth said. "He lives to iron newspapers."
The knock on the door couldn't have been more timely. Gus answered it and accepted the newspaper from Doyle. He closed the door again and handed the paper to Lincoln. It was The Star's latest edition.
Lincoln moved the inkstand, books and notebooks to the edges of his desk and spread out the newspaper. He tapped his finger on the main article on the front page.
"Damn," he muttered.
Seth, Gus and I crowded around his chair and read over his shoulder. No. Oh no. Once again, Mr. Salter's article mentioned werewolves being responsible for the attacks, but that wasn't the worst of it. He wrote about the Ministry of Curiosities and our role in controlling supernaturals. As if that revelation weren't enough, he then went on to claim we were an inept, corrupt, and biased organization.
"Fuck," Gus said. "This is bad. Really bad."
Chapter 6
There was nothing to be done about the article. It was already printed and a retraction would come too late. No sooner had the ministry been revealed to the public than our reputation had been ruined. A denial couldn't fix it. We'd begun our public life on the back foot. I thanked God Lincoln wasn't named in the article.
"I propose we kill the journalist," Seth said. At my glare he put up his hands in surrender. "A joke."
"I don't think Salter is entirely to blame for this." I leaned into Lincoln's back as he sat, and indicated the newspaper on the desk in front of him. "Someone is behind it. Someone has fed him the information about the ministry and is urging him to write this nonsense to destroy us. My money's on Swinburn."
"And mine's on the Duke of Edinburgh," Lincoln said.
"Since we're casting votes, I pick Julia," Seth added.
Gus shrugged. "Could be any of 'em. Or none."
"Thank you for your insight." Seth drummed his fingers on the desk. "We need to do somethin
g about this. Any ideas, Fitzroy?"
"We continue on as planned," Lincoln said. "Our priority is to protect the public and find the murderer."
"And what if the public don't want us to save them?"
"Aye," Gus chimed in. "Or what if we're shut down? We can't help no one if we shut up shop."
"No one will shut us down based on a newspaper article," Lincoln said.
I placed my hands on his shoulders and absently massaged. "We'll simply move our operations underground. Plans are already in motion."
Gus studied the floor beneath his feet. "Someone's digging tunnels under Lichfield while we were out?"
Seth thumped Gus's arm. "Idiot. She means metaphorically underground." He looked to me. "Don't you?"
I smiled. "I do. We're making a copy of the archive files. Now get to work. I suspect the only way to salvage our reputation and remain in operation is to find the killer and stop him or her."
"And find out who is leaking information to Salter," Lincoln added.
* * *
Seth watched Swinburn overnight while Gus remained in the Old Nichol slum to spy on Gawler. Lincoln didn't specify where he would go, but I suspected he would travel between the two and speak with his own informants in an attempt to gather information.
It wasn't until he returned the following morning, and I questioned him, that he told me about breaking into Salter's lodgings again. This time he'd found the notebook—and brought it home with him.
"Let me know if you find anything in here," he said, handing it to me. We stood in my bedroom, although he remained near the door. I'd got up to answer it upon his soft knock before dawn. I'd known it would be him so hadn't bothered with a wrap.
He studiously kept his gaze on my face.
"What are you going to do?" I asked.
"Sleep." He turned the chair at my dressing table around, put his booted feet on the trunk at the end of my bed, crossed his ankles and arms, and closed his eyes.
I kissed him lightly on the lips then returned to bed. He slept soundlessly for two hours while I scoured the pages of the notebook.
"Anything?" he asked, startling me.
I yawned and shook my head. "Nothing. No mention of Swinburn or any other names I recognize. He merely labels all of his informants as "Source" then assigns them a letter of the alphabet. Source K is ours."
