by C. J. Archer
"Blimey," the ghost said, startled. He hadn't seen the men in the dark corner. "Why are there bobbies on the floor? Are you sure you're investigating my death, miss?"
"We are. The police don't think it's murder, but we do. We had to sneak in here after dark. They'll be fine."
"We must go," Lincoln announced. "There's no point staying here if the killer is unknown." He ushered me out. The ghost followed and Lincoln shut the door. He used his tools to lock the mortuary door then led the way back outside. The policemen would be found safe and well in the morning.
"Would you mind coming with us?" I asked the spirit. "We have more questions."
"Er…"
"Please," I said, not wanting to tell him that I could force him to come with me. "We want justice for you. Your family will appreciate it."
"Very well."
The spirit settled in the coach alongside me just as if he were alive. Fortunately Lincoln, who climbed into the cabin after the coach rolled on, did not sit on him.
"Where had you been that night?" I asked Protheroe. "Why were you in Hyde Park so late?"
"I was walking home after visiting Leonora. It was dashed difficult getting into her room, not to mention expensive after bribing her servants, but I managed it. It was the first time I'd dared a nighttime liaison. And the last," he said, looking deflated.
I repeated this for Lincoln. "You say her father didn't like you," Lincoln said. "Could he have orchestrated your murder?"
"Good lord! No!" Protheroe shook his head over and over but it became less and less vehement. "Surely not." He blinked back at Lincoln. "I…I'm not entirely certain he'd have the bottle."
"He wouldn't have done it himself," I said, "but set dogs onto you."
"He didn't own dogs. Not here in the city, anyway. Perhaps on his estate in Bristol."
Again, I repeated this for Lincoln then asked a question of my own. "What about a rival for Leonora's affections?"
He stretched his neck, jutting out his chin. "Leonora's damnably pretty and terribly kind-hearted. A sweeter girl you would not meet. Her father is rich, titled and well connected, so she's quite a catch. But I'm eminently suitable. My father's a baronet, and I have twenty thousand a year."
"So why did Mr. Ballantine not want you marrying his daughter?"
"It's Lord Ballantine. He's a baron. Had his sights set higher than a baronet's son, that's the problem. The old fool thought he could get someone better," he bit off. "But Leonora believed in love, and she loved me."
"She refused the men her father tried to marry her to?"
He nodded. "She told him I was the only one for her, and she didn't care who the other fellow was."
I filled Lincoln in on the discussion thus far.
"Was he going to force her to marry someone else?" Lincoln asked.
"He tried, but the other fellow wouldn't commit. Apparently he wanted to but didn't think his family would approve, her being only a baron's daughter. Those are Leonora's words—only a baron's daughter." He shook his head sadly. "Her father encouraged him to pursue her, and she's a good girl. She didn't like other people to dislike her, particularly her own father, so she went along with it for a time, hoping the fellow would lose interest eventually. But she'd finally had enough of pretending, and she worried he would approach his family soon and successfully plead his case. That's why Leonora and I met that night, to plan our escape. We were going to run away together, in case she was betrothed to this bore without warning. My poor Leonora. She'll give in now, I know it."
"Do you know the man's name?" I asked after repeating his words for Lincoln's benefit.
"No," Protheroe said. "She refused to tell me. She said she didn't want to affect my opinion of him in case we ever met. So good of her to be selfless like that."
I told Lincoln his answer and asked him if he had any more questions for Protheroe.
"Not yet," Lincoln said.
"Then I release your—"
"Wait!" Protheroe's spirit rose off the seat. "Will you pass on a message to my dear sweet Leonora from me?"
I hesitated, not wanting to make a promise to a dead man that I couldn't keep. "I'll do my best."
"Tell her I loved her with my whole heart and knew she loved me just as much. Tell her I want her to live a full and happy life. Even if that means she must marry this other fellow." If ghosts could get teary, I had no doubt that the man whose spirit sat beside me would have done so. "You'll find the Ballantine house on Queen's Gate, South Kensington."
"I'll try to speak with her alone," I said. "Goodbye, Mr. Protheroe. You are released."
His spirit disintegrated and disappeared. "We have to speak to Leonora Ballantine," I told Lincoln. "She lives in South Kensington."
He nodded, watching me carefully.
"I think the girl's father killed him," I said. "Or the other suitor."
"Both are a possibility."
"We have no other suspects. If only we could find out the witness's name and interrogate him."
"According to my contact, he gave a false name to the police."
I tipped my head back and rested it against the wall behind me. "Poor Mr. Protheroe—and Miss Ballantine, of course. They were just a young couple in love and now her dreams are shattered and his life cut short. Part of me hopes we find another reason for the murder, something unrelated to her."
He switched seats to sit beside me and clasped my hand in his. "Perhaps there's another explanation. None of what Protheroe said had anything to do with King."
"You're right. There's most likely another reason. We just need to keep searching for it. Perhaps Leonora can help us." I yawned and rested my head on his shoulder.
"You don't need to convince me to visit her, Charlie. We'll go tomorrow."
"I'm coming with you."
"That was never in doubt."
He angled his body so that he could place his arm around me and I could rest against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the gentle rocking of the carriage lulled me. I fell asleep soon after he kissed the top of my head.
A flurry of messages arrived while we were still at breakfast. Lincoln read each one then folded them up and tucked them under his plate. He continued to eat his eggs as if receiving five messages in the space of thirty minutes was not odd. Seth, Alice and Gus looked to me. I shrugged.
As soon as the new footman, Whistler, left with the empty teapot, I spoke up. "Who are they from and what are the contents?"
Lincoln set down his knife and fork and picked up the letters. "The Bank of London," he said, indicating one. "Two are from the General Register Office, one of which is from their births department and the other from the census department. This one is from the Land Registry," he said, holding up a fourth letter. "And this is from an orphanage."
"Orphanage?" Alice asked.
Lincoln handed the letters around to us. "They were sent to me because yesterday someone made inquiries at each of those places about me or this address."
"Your triggers," I said, reading the one from the orphanage. It claimed that a gentleman had tried to discover if the orphanage had adopted out a baby by the name of Lincoln Fitzroy almost thirty years ago. "He has them set up at various departments and organizations," I told Alice. "If someone goes searching for information about Lincoln, a note on his file says to inform him immediately. I believe it costs a small fortune in bribes."
"A nominated committee member is also a point of contact," Lincoln added. "One of them will receive these too, depending on whose turn it is."
"But why?" Alice asked. "Do you stop the person who is making the inquiries? There are no names on these notes so I don't see how."
"There's a name on this one," Seth said, handing her the letter from the Register Office.
"That'll likely be false," Lincoln said. "No doubt it was the first place our anonymous inquirer went. I'd start by looking for my birth record too."
"It's where I began my search when I tried to learn more about him," I told Alice. "I lea
rned nothing. He's not listed."
"They got nowhere at the bank," Gus said, reading the letter. "Told him customer records are confidential. Would bloody hope so."
"I see the pattern," I said. "Whoever it was went to the Register Office first. They tried both your name on the birth register and this address for the census. They came up blank on both counts."
"I wasn't living here at the time of the last census," Lincoln said, buttering his toast. "I was still at the general's house in eighty-one. I expect our anonymous inquirer will learn that, soon enough. He didn't ask for the general's address at the census office, but I expect him to return today, after he learned late yesterday that I now own the general's house."
"From the Land Registry," I said, picking up the letter from where Alice had put it down. "You would have both this property and that one listed under your name now."
Alice held her teacup to her lips but did not sip. "If you can set up triggers, why not have your files removed altogether?"
"Too suspicious," Lincoln said. "If someone learns I live here but there's no record of anyone owning Lichfield Towers it would set alarm bells ringing."
"The only thing that matters is keeping your birth parents a secret," I said. "And there are no records of your birth at the General Register Office. I suppose that's why he tried the orphanage."
He nodded. "I doubt they'll continue that line of inquiry. There are too many orphanages. Most likely he'll give up and assume I was handed in to an orphanage and my name changed by my new family, or I wasn't born in England."
"So we have no need to worry that someone is trying to find out more about you?" Alice said carefully.
Lincoln drank the rest of his tea and stood. "There is some cause for mild concern, simply because someone is trying to learn more about me. The question is, why."
"And is it the same spy dressed in royal livery," I said.
"Ready, Charlie?"
I followed him out of the dining room. "You're more worried than you let on," I said, taking his arm.
"It's possible the inquirer is trying to find a link between me and Leisl after following us there. The most obvious link is the one that is actually true."
"Does it matter if they do know you're her son?"
"I'm not yet sure."
I squeezed his arm. "I think you're worried about her, but I also don't think you should be."
We walked slowly up the stairs, our steps in harmony. "I am not worried about her any more than I would be worried about a member of the public," he said. "With that being the case, why don't you think I should be worried?"
"Because if someone wanted to get to you, they would target me."
He grunted. "Thank you, Charlie, that doesn't help ease my mind."
I hugged his arm. Pointing out the obvious wouldn't change anything, since he already knew it, but it might ease his mind knowing that I was aware of the situation.
"I will remain vigilant at all times," I assured him. "And I have my imp with me."
By the time a well-dressed young woman stepped out from Lord Ballantine's South Kensington terrace on Queen's Gate, the clouds had closed in and the air turned chilly. Lincoln and I had waited for over three hours and not a single soul had come or gone before the dark haired beauty emerged. For that reason, we assumed she was a resident, not a visitor. She had only a maid with her, fortunately. Our plan would be easier to enact with just a maid rather than an overbearing parent.
We'd decided that I should speak to Leonora Ballantine alone, so as not to startle her. I waited until she and her maid were out of sight of the house before falling into step alongside them.
"Excuse me, are you Miss Leonora Ballantine?" I asked.
Her steps slowed as she studied me through eyes swollen from crying, but she held her head high and did not shy away. "Have we met?" she asked, not at all put out by my boldness.
"My name is Charlie Holloway, and I mean you no harm. Indeed, I have a message to pass on from a friend of yours."
She stopped and her maid too. A small frown creased her forehead. "Who?"
"I can only tell you in private," I said, eyeing the maid. At her hesitation, I added, "Perhaps your maid can stand over by the church gate, where she can still see you. The message is for your ears only."
"There is no one I wish to receive secret messages from," Leonora said. "You may tell me here or not at all."
Oh dear. Now I had to say the word, and in front of her maid too. I disliked this part. "I am a necromancer."
Leonora shivered, burying her hands deeper into the muff. She ought to don a cloak in this weather too, but a muff was better than nothing. My hands and feet felt like ice.
"What's a necromancer?" the maid asked, blinking at her mistress. "Miss, I don't like this."
"Stand by the gate," Leonora told her.
"But—"
"Go, Ryan."
The maid reluctantly moved away, her gaze never leaving her mistress.
"I'm sorry for the secrecy," I said to Leonora, "but, as you've probably guessed, the message is from Mr. Protheroe and is for your ears only."
She blinked huge brown eyes at me and nibbled on a full lower lip. She was as lovely as Protheroe described with a slender figure and childlike face. Her willingness to believe me and send her maid away hinted at a spirited nature, but her red-rimmed eyes held no spark. She looked utterly forlorn.
"A necromancer speaks to the dead, correct?" Leonora asked.
"Yes."
"How do I know I can trust you?"
"Mr. Protheroe's spirit told me of your plans to run away together."
She gasped and bit her lip again. Tears welled in her eyes. "Not even Ryan knew," she whispered.
I glanced toward the maid, who was watching us intently. "We must speak quickly, Miss Ballantine. What I'm about to tell you will shock you, but please hear me to the end. Mr. Protheroe believed he was murdered."
She gasped again but did not interrupt.
"He tasked me with learning the identity of his murderer," I said, launching into the story Lincoln and I had practiced while we waited. We'd decided to lie a little rather than tell her about the ministry and shape changers. The less she knew about supernatural creatures, the less hysteria may ensue. "He didn't see his attacker, and he believes the only reason to kill him is because he was about to run away with you."
Her face paled. "No," she whispered. "Surely that's not it. Wh-why doesn't he think it was a random attack?"
"That is a possibility, but we must rule out a deliberate one."
She shook her head slowly, her unseeing gaze staring straight ahead. She was thinking it through, weighing up the implications of my words, perhaps even wondering if she ought to believe me after all. "But if his death was because of our liaison…then the only person against us was my father." Her gaze suddenly focused on me. "Surely you don't think he would go to such great lengths to stop us!"
"It's not me who mentioned him," I said carefully.
The muscles in her face twitched, as if she were warring with her emotions, trying to hold herself together. She was succeeding, but only just.
"What of your other suitor?" I said. The one your father wanted you to marry? Perhaps it was he."
"He didn't know about Roderick." Her voice sounded thick with unshed tears. "Only my parents did. My mother was satisfied with Roderick as a husband, but my father wasn't. He had plans for me, you see." Her mouth twisted, her voice turned bitter. "Ambitious ones."
"Is your father capable of murder?" I asked. "Perhaps not committing the crime himself, but paying another?"
"I…I don't know. He has a temper, but he has never hurt me. He was extremely angry when I told him about Roderick, though. He railed at me for encouraging Roderick and forbade us to see one another. The entire household heard his shouting. Roderick and I met in secret after that, with Ryan's help. She's good to me, and she risked everything to help us meet without…" Her face crumpled and her lips trembled. "Without my p
arents' knowledge."
I fished out a handkerchief from my reticule but she shook her head. A moment later, she was once again composed. "You say the other suitor didn't know about Mr. Protheroe," I said. "But what if he found out and became jealous?"
She lifted one shoulder. "He's very nice and not at all violent in nature. Indeed, I like him. Not love, understand, just like."
"Men who aren't violent in nature may still pay someone who is."
She nodded weakly. She looked deflated, as if the little courage she'd clung to since learning of Protheroe's death had finally deserted her. I felt awful for being the one to rob her of it. It felt so cruel.
"What is his name, so I may investigate him?" I asked.
She shook her head. "I shan't tell you. Please, don't ask again. I cannot say. Father has forbidden me to speak his name to anyone. It needs to remain utterly secret until his family are informed. But I can assure you, Miss Holloway, he's not a killer, and nor would he pay anyone to kill on his behalf. I am certain of it. He's far too honorable."
I gave her a tight smile and nod that I hoped appeared genuine. As badly as I wanted to know the other man's name, I couldn't pressure her to go against her father's wishes. She was fragile enough. Besides, there were other ways to find out.
"Mr. Protheroe asked me to pass on a message to you," I said gently.
Her eyes glistened and a look of joy passed over her face. "He did?"
"He wants you to know that he loved you and that he knew you loved him deeply."
Her face crumpled again. "Oh, Roderick."
I moved closer and touched her elbow to steady her in case she felt weak. "He said he wants you to have a happy life and to not mourn him too long. He even suggested that you ought to consider the other fellow your father wishes you to marry."
"How can I?" she said through her sobs. "How can I ever love another?"
I had no answer for that. I doubted I could ever feel the same love for a man that I felt for Lincoln. I offered her my handkerchief again but she didn't take her hands out of the muff and shook her head.
The maid, Ryan, glared daggers at me from the church gate but did not approach.
"It is possible there is another reason for Mr. Protheroe's murder," I said. "Can you think of anything that may have slipped his mind?" I knew it was unlikely that she would know something the victim did not, but the question had to be asked.
