by C. J. Archer
"Sorry to state the obvious, but you didn't catch him," Seth said from where he lounged against the door, arms crossed.
"I did not." Lincoln undid his tie and the top button of his shirt. He didn't look as if he'd sprinted down Hampstead Lane then jogged home. He looked as deliciously ruffled as always but not out of breath. "He had too much of a start on me."
"He wore red and gold livery," Alice told the others.
"What?" Seth exploded, pushing off from the door.
Gus rubbed his jaw. "One of the queen's men?"
"Or the prince's," Seth added, shaking his head. "Let's go to the palace and confront him now."
"You be mad," Cook said. "You can't just go in. You got to be invited."
"Then let's knock until we're invited in, shall we?"
"I agree with Seth," Gus said. "We have to confront him. Could you write and ask to be seen, Fitzroy?"
Lincoln held up his hand and the men quieted. "It was most likely not a royal footman."
"But Alice said—"
"Alice said he wore royal livery, not that he was from the royal household. If the queen or prince sent someone to spy on me, they would not have dressed them in such distinctive clothing."
"Oh!" I said, realization dawning. "You think someone dressed in royal livery to make it look like the royal family are spying on you."
Lincoln nodded.
"Someone's trying to blame the queen?" Alice asked. "But why?"
"It could be as simple as trying to throw suspicion onto anyone, and the royal angle was a convenient one, or it could be a more specific reason."
Cook grunted. "Don't seem too convenient to get hold of livery. Wager you can't buy it from the rag man."
"King could have stolen it from the livery room at the palace while impersonating a servant," Lincoln said. "It wouldn't have been difficult for him. Everyone would assume the servant was getting it repaired or cleaned."
"So he gave the uniform to someone else before he died," I said. "Then it's likely he wasn't working alone."
Lincoln nodded. "Perhaps he intended to use it himself. It's possible he did on one of his visits to the palace and we don't know it. It seems clear, however, that you're right, Charlie, and he passed the uniform on to someone else before his death."
"Whoever it was," I said, "I wonder why he was following us."
"Something to do with the murder?" Seth suggested. "Perhaps Lincoln interrogating Gawler has caught someone's attention."
I shivered. "By someone, you mean the killer."
Lincoln came to stand beside me and rested a hand on my shoulder. I touched it and smiled wanly up at him. He did not smile back.
"Seems likely," Gus said. "Are you going to visit Gawler again?"
"Perhaps." Lincoln's answers were far too evasive for my liking.
"If you do, you're taking someone with you," I told him.
"Aye," Gus chimed in. "We'll bring pistols."
"Perhaps you need a necromancer too. One who can call on the dead. if necessary."
"Steady on," Seth said. "No need to go in with explosives when guns will do."
"Speak for yourself," Gus shot back. "Explosives sound like a good idea to me."
Seth wagged a finger at Gus. "And you think this man a fitting father-figure to walk you down the aisle, Charlie."
"I'm going to request an audience with the queen," Lincoln announced. At our stares, he added, "She spoke to King alone before he died. If he didn't outright tell her what he wanted—or what his employer wanted—in that meeting, then he probably hinted at it."
"You going to interrogate the queen?" Cook smirked. "Don't get yourself hanged for treason."
"I'll be subtle."
Seth and Gus both snorted a laugh.
"Charlie will do most of the talking." Lincoln removed his hand from my shoulder and returned to his desk. "That's all, for now. I'll let you know what I decide to do when I've thought it through."
The others left; even Alice, who I thought might have some questions for him about the information that had arisen from our meeting with Leisl. I overheard Seth asking her how it went as I shut the door on them.
"You always assume my dismissal doesn't mean you," Lincoln said, not looking at me. He pulled a piece of paper and the inkstand toward him. "Why am I not surprised?"
I rested my hands on his shoulders and massaged. The tension eased and he tipped his head back to peer up at me.
"Go on," he said. "Ask me your questions so we can get on with it."
"Get on with what?"
"Me enjoying your company. Perhaps a kiss."
I ran my fingers through his hair. "I thought you were worried about kissing me in private."
His eyelids fluttered closed. "I'm still undecided on that matter."
"Well, kisses will depend on your answers, so think carefully before speaking."
"I'm listening," he murmured.
I stopped touching him, and he opened his eyes. I sat on a chair, keeping my distance. For now. "Why didn't you tell me about the portal at Frakingham House before?"
"What makes you think it's there?"
"It wasn't difficult to work out. You said you wanted to speak to Jack Langley about Alice because you had an inkling. It wasn't an inkling though, was it? You already knew he had information."
He stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles. It was a surprisingly relaxed position considering the pressure he was under to find not only the killer, but a solution to Alice's problem. "I guessed. I knew immediately upon arriving at Frakingham that something was different about it. I felt…a disturbance in some ruins on the grounds. The air felt different there. I questioned Langley, and he gave me the answers which I mentioned today."
"About the spell to open the portal?"
He nodded. "He refused to tell me more. It wasn't enough to help Alice, and I didn't want to get her hopes up, or yours, by mentioning it."
"We gave you no choice," I said heavily. "I am sorry, but you should have told me, Lincoln."
"She's your friend, and I know you're worried about her. I didn't want to upset you."
I sighed. His heart was in the right place, but he still didn't quite understand. "You and I are partners in everything now, and that means I share your burdens. You no longer need to bear them alone. I am strong enough."
"I know. So now do I get a kiss?"
I fought back my smile and my impulse to take his hand. "Not yet. I have a question about Harriet. Is she a demon?"
His moment's hesitation was the only indication that he was surprised I'd reached that conclusion. "In my opinion, yes. From what information I could read, and the little I managed to extract from Langley, she certainly resembles one, as do King, Gawler and the others. Shape shifters are a type of demon, but there are other types too. They seem to be the most common form of demon here on our realm, however, which suggests to me that their realm is closest to ours."
"Why have they come here?"
"I don't know."
"How many are there?"
"I don't know that, either. I do think Langley has grossly underestimated their number, however. He didn't seem to think them a problem anymore, and he also seemed to think the only portal is on his property, where he can keep an eye on it. Hence his reluctance to share too much information with me."
"He deems it unnecessary," I finished for him.
He nodded. "Any more questions?"
"Just one."
He sighed. "It had better be a good kiss."
"You will have earned it if you answer this one honestly. I want to know how you feel after spending time with your mother today and meeting your sister."
He breathed deeply and let it out slowly. "I don't know what I feel."
"You looked tense. Were you tense?"
"I wasn't relaxed."
"What did you think of the house?"
"It was tidy with an outward appearance of Englishness, but once inside I could see Leisl's Romany influenc
e."
"What did you think of Eva?" I asked.
"She seems intelligent, and she's good to her mother."
I didn't correct his use of “her” mother instead of “our.” He wasn't ready for that. "She seems like someone I'd like to get to know better," I said. "Would you like that, too?"
He hesitated. "If it's what you want then it can be arranged."
I rolled my eyes but did not say anything. It had been enough that he'd gone to the house. Lincoln needed time to adjust to new people in his life. I knew that all too well.
I stood and approached him. He pulled his feet in and blinked up at me. The boyish look almost undid me. I cupped his jaw with one hand and leaned on the arm of his chair with the other. "Those were good answers," I murmured. "Now, for your reward."
His eyelids shuttered. "I feel manipulated."
I chuckled. "You might as well get used to it." I touched my lips gently to his. They quivered with his restraint. They were so warm and impossibly soft for such a hard man.
I deepened the kiss, or perhaps he did, but not too much. Not beyond the point of no return. It wasn't a kiss filled with unbridled passion, but it connected us. It was filled with my love for him and his love for me, and with our respect and understanding. No ring on my finger could do more.
When I finally drew back and released him, my body felt both tingly with desire and languid with contentment. I watched him as his eyes slowly opened. I'd never seen such a look of peace on his face.
He stroked his thumb along my jaw. "You can manipulate me any time you like, Charlie."
Lady Vickers was building up to something. I couldn't quite tell what, but I suspected it had something to do with Alice, because she requested Alice's presence as we ate a light luncheon together in the parlor overlooking the garden.
"Just we ladies," Lady Vickers said, nibbling on cold chicken left over from dinner. "We can discuss wedding arrangements. Tell us, Charlie, have you finalized your guest list?"
"Almost," I said.
"Will Lord Underwood be on it?"
"Underwood! I doubt it. I don't know if I even want Lady Harcourt there."
"Perhaps you ought to invite him here again, without her. You might find you like him."
I stared at her. Alice stared at her. One of us made an odd sound that Lady Vickers took as a request to go on.
"He's very well connected, not to mention he's a marquess. Marquesses aren't like earls, you know. You can't find one on every corner. Unmarried ones are even rarer."
Ah. Now I understood the direction of her thoughts. I eyed Alice to see if she did too, but she was concentrating on buttering a slice of bread.
"It's perfectly acceptable for you to invite him and not Lady Harcourt," Lady Vickers went on. "Mr. Fitzroy should be present, but it's not entirely necessary. This is for Alice's sake, after all."
Alice's head snapped up. "Mine?"
"Yes, dear, of course." Lady Vickers looked at her as if she were a simpleton. "Surely you weren't blind to his interest in you. It was quite obvious to everyone else, including Julia. She was rather put out, wouldn't you say, Charlie?" A small smile touched her lips. "Quite put out."
If she'd been discussing anyone other than Lady Harcourt, I would have thought Lady Vickers cruel. But it was difficult to muster sympathy for the woman who'd tried to keep Lincoln and me apart.
"I…I'm not interested in Lord Underwood," Alice said.
Lady Vickers set down her fork and laid a hand on Alice's arm. "I know he's a lot older than you, but you ought to consider him."
"It's not just his age." Alice appealed to me, but I merely urged her with a nod. "He's rather vacuous."
Lady Vickers recoiled. "Nonsense. He's a marquess!"
"His conversation wasn't all that interesting. I found him a little irritating, to be honest."
"Goodness, child, if we dismissed men because we found them irritating, the pool of eligible ones would shrink dramatically. Surely you can overlook that and find something worthwhile in him." She searched Alice's face. "Can't you?"
"I don't think so."
Lady Vickers plucked up her fork and stabbed a large piece of chicken. "You should be pleased that such an elevated man took notice of you. I certainly would have been flattered at your age."
"Then why don't you court him?" Alice threw her napkin on the table and stormed out of the room, her bustle bobbing with her purposeful strides.
Lady Vickers half-rose, but I caught her arm and she sat down again. She concentrated on shredding her chicken but did not eat it.
"Lady V, you offer me so much good advice," I said. "Will you allow me to offer you some?"
She sighed but did not tell me to go away.
"Don't interfere. The more you try to keep Alice and Seth apart, the more Seth will rebel. It only makes him want to win her over even more."
"He is rather contrary towards me." She sighed again. "He's such a fool when it comes to women. He falls in love too easily. He has fancied himself in love with half the women of London, of all different classes. Alice is merely his latest infatuation, and I don't want either of them to make a mistake then regret it. She's not the sort of girl he can discard like the others."
"It's kind of you to have her wellbeing at heart."
"And Seth must marry an heiress." She'd said it many times, but this time there was no vehemence in the statement. It was as if she were merely repeating the words out of habit.
I did not remind her that Seth had declared he would marry for love, not fortune. Unlike his mother, he didn't believe his family needed money to restore its good name. He'd worked hard to pay off his late father's debts when she'd run away with her new husband, but beyond that, he had no ambition. He was an honorable man. Perhaps the most honorable one I'd met.
We received a note from the palace the following day in reply to Lincoln's letter asking for an audience with the queen. Our presence was requested that afternoon.
Buckingham Palace awed me every time I saw it, inside and out. It wasn't simply the scale of it—although it was enormous—or the richly appointed rooms, but the busyness. Courtiers mingled in groups or strolled singly through the rooms. I couldn't discern why they were there at all. Were they friends of the queen's? Family? Were they awaiting an audience or did they live there? Dozens upon dozens of footmen stood around like statues, awaiting orders or hurrying silently past. And those were just the servants I saw. There would be many more working out of sight. No wonder it had been so easy for King to get in.
We were led to a different part of the palace than on our last visit. Open windows let in light and fresh air, and they offered beautiful views to the gardens. This wing wasn't like the queen's private rooms, where gloom and mustiness reigned. The further we walked, the more I realized we were again venturing into a private area. There were fewer people about and it was quieter. One of the queen's ladies usually escorted us to the monarch's rooms on previous visits, but this time it was a footman.
He paused in an open doorway and bowed. "Mr. Fitzroy and Miss Holloway," he announced to the Prince of Wales and another gentleman seated in what appeared to be a large office. The ornately carved desk took pride of place in the center of the room, with all the other furniture arranged to draw one's eye to it. The paintings on the walls depicted hunting scenes, and the burgundy and green color scheme of the furnishings unmistakably marked this as a gentleman's room.
I curtseyed and Lincoln gave a perfunctory bow. I could feel the uncertainty vibrating off him. He'd not expected to see his father again. "I was led to believe the queen requested my presence," Lincoln said carefully. "Is she here?"
"She's away." The Prince of Wales nodded at the footman, who exited and shut the door. "You're right, Fitzroy, I did lead you to believe that Her Majesty responded to your missive. I wasn't sure you would come if you knew you would be meeting me. I hope you're not disappointed, and perhaps I can help you anyway. May I introduce you to my brother, His Royal Highness Prince
Alfred, the Duke of Edinburgh." It was smoothly done, not allowing Lincoln any cause to protest. There was nothing to do but greet both men cordially.
"Your Highness," Lincoln said stiffly to the gentleman who looked very much like his older brother. They both bore neatly trimmed greying beards, their slick hair parted severely down the middle. Deep-set eyes, so much like their mother's, were surrounded by puffy, loose skin, a sure sign of late nights and the excesses of a comfortable life.
I curtseyed again as the Prince of Wales informed his brother that I was Lincoln's fiancée.
"I read the announcement in the newspapers," the Prince of Wales said.
"Just like everyone else, eh?" The Duke of Edinburgh grunted in what I supposed was a laugh. He pushed himself out of the deep leather armchair and strolled up to us, hands behind his back. He ignored me and inspected Lincoln like he was a thoroughbred in a stable. "So this is he?"
My breath caught. He knew. His older brother must have told him that Lincoln was his illegitimate son. How many others knew? I watched Lincoln out of the corner of my eye, but he remained unmoved. He watched the duke and, when the duke looked up to study Lincoln's face again, he was startled. He backed away.
"Fine fellow, isn't he?" The Prince of Wales said with a puff of his chest. "Handsome, strong, clever too."
"Hmmm." The duke eased himself into his chair and reached for a silver cigar case. "Pity."
Pity that Lincoln was everything a man could want in a son and yet he could not be acknowledged? Perhaps. It was impossible to tell his meaning from that one word.
"Has he met your other children?" the duke asked his brother.
"Of course not," the Prince of Wales snapped. "Why would he?"
"If Mr. Fitzroy is an investigator, he could look into that Cleveland Street incident and find out what really happened." The duke gave a lazy shrug. "Just a thought."
The prince's face colored. "He's not that sort of investigator, and the Ministry of Curiosities is not that kind of department."
I recalled the Cleveland Street incident. It had been quite a scandal. Just after I settled in at Lichfield Towers, the newspapers had reported on a police raid at a house in Cleveland Street after an investigation revealed it to be a brothel catering for gentlemen wanting liaisons with other men. That had been shocking enough, but even worse, Seth had recently heard a rumor that the Prince of Wales's eldest son had been a customer at the brothel. As second in line to the throne, after his father, the rumor could damage the royal family's reputation.
