by C. J. Archer
"Wish you'd find yourself a merry widow," Gus muttered into his glass. "Been too long, that's your problem."
"Don't be so crass in front of Charlie. And it hasn't been too long." He counted on his fingers and looked surprised when he needed a second hand. "Bloody hell," he muttered and stopped counting.
"We are in agreement," Lincoln said. "We must find out who else is in Ballantine's pack and who leads them. It may well be Ballantine himself, but I want to know for certain."
"We can ask the committee members what they know about him," I said. "If he's an important man in his social circle then he could be the pack leader. We should speak to them tomorrow."
"After we speak to Gawler again. If the killer wants the bloodline to remain pure then the obvious choice for a mate is from Gawler's pack. A mate chosen from them keeps the shape shifting trait strong while avoiding issues that arise from breeding within the same pack."
"You think Gawler lied to you?" I asked. "You think he does know something about them?"
Lincoln nodded. "The city is too small for two packs not to cross paths." I did not like the fierce look in his eyes. He hated when people lied to him.
"You'll be needing us then," Seth said, rising. "I'd better get to bed and rest."
"You sound like an old man," Gus said, also rising. "Let's go out. You've been trapped in here too long. You need some entertainment."
"It's been entertaining here."
Gus looked as if he was about to comment, but I shook my head in warning. "Well? Want to visit a gambling house? A fight?"
"Not tonight. Tomorrow, perhaps. But I won't gamble."
"Aye, I know."
"And I won't participate in any fights," Seth said. "My face has endured enough bruises of late."
"You don't have to do anything that will make you look even uglier."
Seth clapped him on the shoulder as they left. "We both know you think I'm handsome. There's no need to pretend otherwise."
We found Gawler at the Jolly Joker, a tavern that couldn't be more unlike its name. The narrow building was wedged between two taller tenements on an East End street that looked as if daylight and a broom hadn't touched it in years. It was even darker inside with only a single hissing lamp. Three men sitting on stools at the bar looked up as we entered. Gawler groaned and hunkered over his tankard, protecting it between his hands.
"What d'you want?" he growled.
I followed Lincoln in, Seth and Gus at my back. One of the men stood and looked down his florid nose at us. "I don't want no trouble."
"You'll get none," I said when Lincoln didn't answer. "As long as Mr. Gawler cooperates."
The man limped around to the other side of the counter, taking his tankard of ale with him. The third man stood and backed away, stopping when he stumbled into a stool.
"A word," Lincoln said to Gawler.
Gawler sighed and indicated a table away from the bar. He held a chair out for me and I sat, folding my hands on the table surface. It was sticky so I removed them again. Both Gawler and Lincoln sat too. Gus cracked his knuckles. Gawler swallowed heavily.
"Tell me what you know about the other shape shifter pack," Lincoln said. "And this time I want a truthful answer."
"I have been truthful!" Gawler tucked his hands between his legs. "Mr. Fitzroy, sir, please. I don't know nothing about them."
"You knew of their existence."
"Aye, but they keep to themselves and so do we. They want nothing to do with us. We ain't good enough for them."
"How do you know that if you've never spoken to them?"
Gawler paled as he realized his mistake. "I never spoke to them."
"You communicated in your other form?"
Gawler glanced toward the two other drinkers then leaned forward. "We talked once in our animal form. Well, it ain't talking. Not like this. It's grunts and sounds, mostly, with body movements and the like to show what we mean."
"And what did you discuss?"
He shrugged and clutched his tankard hard. "Nothing."
Lincoln's hand whipped out and grabbed Gawler's jacket lapel. Ale spilled over the tankard rim and splashed on the table. Lincoln twisted his fingers into the fabric, tightening the collar until Gawler's face turned red. "I don't have time for games," Lincoln said calmly. "Tell me what you discussed."
I took out several coins from my reticule and placed them on the table. "For your next drink." I checked how much I'd set down. "Or several."
Gawler managed a nod and choked out some incoherent words. Lincoln let him go and Gawler slumped into his chair, coughing spittle down his chin. He rubbed his throat and swallowed several times before managing to speak. "It were about territories. We decided to keep to the East End and they could have the better parts of the city. There was no fighting."
"Was King with you then?"
Gawler nodded and wrapped his big hand around his tankard. "He fought me for the leadership soon after."
And won, sending Gawler away to live and run alone.
"Did King meet them again?" Lincoln asked.
"I don't know."
"And you have no idea of the human identity of any of the pack members?" I asked.
He met my gaze and shook his head. "No, ma'am."
"We believe a gentleman by the name of Lord Ballantine is part of that pack," Lincoln said. "Does the name mean anything to you?"
Again, Gawler shook his head. He hunched over his tankard, looking more miserable with every passing minute. "I don't know their names or what they look like in human form, and no one from my pack does either. All I know is there were six or seven of them. They came from nowhere one night. After that, they left us alone and we never saw 'em again."
Lincoln remained silent a moment then suddenly stood. Gawler slunk down, as if he expected Lincoln to strike him.
"Do not lie to me again," Lincoln said.
"It weren't a lie!" Gawler cried. "I never spoke to 'em before, it's God's truth."
"Barking is speaking," Seth told him. "It's just a dog's way of speaking."
"We ain't dogs."
Lincoln walked off and held the tavern door open for me. He seemed tense but that could have been because he was staying alert for trouble. If Gawler had been with other pack members, this conversation could have ended differently. It was possible they were not far away, although all should be at work in the middle of the day.
"Barking ain't speaking," Gus said to Seth as we climbed into the coach.
"It is if it's how dogs communicate," Seth shot back.
"But that ain't speaking."
Seth appealed to me. "You want that pedant walking on your left on your wedding day, Charlie?"
I held up my hands. "Leave me out of this."
Lincoln ordered Tucker to drive us on to Lord Gillingham's house. Thankfully Seth and Gus ceased their arguing and fell into a discussion about the two London packs and whether they would always live in the same city harmoniously. We all concluded that their truce seemed as sturdy as a boat built from straw.
Harriet and Lord Gillingham were at home. Harriet patted the sofa beside her and beckoned me to sit while a footman fetched Lord Gillingham.
"What a pleasant surprise to see you, Charlie," Harriet said. "And Seth, too. Oh, and Mr. Fitzroy and…your man."
Seth smirked. Gus didn't look the least upset that Harriet had forgotten his name.
"We've just come from seeing Gawler," Lincoln said, launching into our reason for calling.
Harriet pouted, perhaps sorry not to exchange gossip first. "Let's wait for Gilly before we begin. He'll be down soon. Owen, bring tea for our guests, will you?"
"Tea would be lovely," I said with a glare for Lincoln.
He pressed his lips together but did not refuse the offer of tea.
"How are you feeling, Harriet?" I asked her as the butler departed.
"Very well," she said, touching her belly and smiling. "Very well indeed."
Gillingham joined us, walking perfec
tly fine despite not having a walking stick to lean on. He greeted Lincoln but merely nodded at Seth. He didn't acknowledge either Gus or me at all. "Harriet told me about the murdering shifter," he said. "You could have called a meeting if you have to make a report, Fitzroy."
"I'm not making a report," Lincoln said. "We're here to ask both you and Lady Gillingham some questions."
Gillingham looked at his wife then ordered the footman to close the door and not disturb us.
"But I've asked for tea," Harriet said.
"Forget tea."
She sighed. "Very well. But come and stand by me" She held out her hand. He hesitated. She beckoned him with a wave. "Come, my dear. I want you to stand by me. You look so small next to Mr. Fitzroy and Seth."
Gillingham stretched his neck out of his collar as a blush crept up it. He joined his wife and stood by the sofa but did not hold her hand. She lowered it to her lap, her face a picture of disappointment. Gillingham noticed and lifted a hand. After a hesitation, he finally settled it on her shoulder. She smiled coquettishly up at him.
"What do you know about Lord Ballantine?" Lincoln asked.
Gillingham shook his head. "Very little. He's rich and well connected. Comes and goes from London, but I can't recall where his seat is."
"Bristol region."
"Harriet?" I asked. "Have you met Lord or Lady Ballantine? Or their daughter?"
"Not that I recall." She frowned hard then shook her head. "What rank is he?"
"Baron."
"That explains it," she said, as if it did. "And Lady Ballantine's people?"
"We don't know anything about them. Both Lord and Lady Ballantine are shape shifters."
"Oh!" She placed a hand over her black ribbon choker. "How marvelous! Are they part of the other secret pack?"
"Possibly," Lincoln said.
Gillingham patted his wife's shoulder lightly as if he wasn't quite sure he could trust her not to bite off his hand. "It's best if you don't meet them, my dear. They must be involved in this murder or Fitzroy wouldn't be asking about them."
They both looked to Lincoln. He neither confirmed nor denied it.
"Best to lay low now, anyway," Gillingham told her. "Wouldn't want to harm the baby, would you?"
A dreamy smile crossed her lips. "You're right. You're very good to think of me and Wolfy, Gilly."
"Wolfy?" I asked, as Gillingham made an odd sort of choking-coughing sound.
"The pet name I gave the baby," Harriet said, beaming. "I thought it was appropriate, considering it will be half like me. Gilly doesn't want me to call it that in public, but you're not the public." She placed her hand over his, completely covering it with her larger one.
Gillingham tried to tug free but she did not let him go. "Stop fretting, Gilly. These are our friends."
"Do you know anyone who associates with Ballantine?" Lincoln asked.
"The Prince of Wales, of course," Gillingham said. "He's part of that set, along with Underwood."
Well, well. Now that was an interesting connection.
"Speak with Julia," Gillingham added. "She'll have met him."
"That woman." Harriet pulled a face. "Stay away from her, Seth. You know what she's like."
Seth blinked, startled. "Er, yes. I'll be on my guard."
"You should have called a meeting about this, Fitzroy," Gillingham said.
"I will when I have something to tell you," Lincoln said.
"If there's nothing else…?" Gillingham pulled free and strode quickly toward the door. He flung it open and beckoned his butler.
"You be on your guard too, Charlie," Harriet whispered as she walked out with me. "Julia may have Lord Underwood to amuse her now, but she's always looking for new lovers and Mr. Fitzroy is just a man, after all."
"Uh, yes. I will be alert."
"He does seem utterly devoted to you, however. Just like my Gilly is to me. Now." She smiled at her husband.
He spun on his heel and walked quickly off, taking the main stairs two at a time. The walking stick he usually carried was certainly an affectation, then.
We drove on to Lady Harcourt's Mayfair house where she lived with her stepson, Andrew Buchanan. He was not at home, however, and I was glad. Conversation with him was a trial.
"Probably out drinking," Seth muttered to me as we entered the drawing room where Lady Harcourt sat in a jade green and cobalt blue gown to receive us.
She was the picture of civility and elegance, but a closer inspection revealed the deeper grooves around her mouth and lackluster eyes. Something troubled her.
"Are you all right, Julia?" Seth asked, ever the gentleman. "You look unwell."
"Perfectly all right, thank you." She tucked a letter she'd been reading into the folds of her skirt. "This is quite the force. Is something wrong at Lichfield?"
"We need to ask about a friend of Lord Underwood's," Lincoln said.
"Underwood!" bellowed Buchanan, swaggering through the door. "Not that blathering fool again. Julia is still seeing him, you know, despite his interest in your friend, Charlotte."
I sighed. This interview was going to take longer now he was here.
"Stop it, Andrew," Lady Harcourt hissed.
He cocked his head to the side, considering, then said, "No, I don't believe I want to stop." He loosened his tie and undid his waistcoat buttons then flopped into a chair. He belched and wiped his hand across his mouth. "Yes, I'm drunk," he said. "Hardly surprising, is it? I mean, who wouldn't want to be drunk all the time while living here? It's the only way to get through the day. The nights, however…" His mouth twisted into a cruel smile. "Those are worth being sober for."
Lady Harcourt closed her eyes and went very still, as if holding herself together. Was this how she lived now? With Buchanan coming home drunk in the middle of the day and mercilessly berating her?
"Stop it, Buchanan," Seth snapped. "You're making a fool of yourself."
"Me? Ha! You ought to have seen her the night after your dinner party. She begged Underwood not to leave her unsatisfied. But he didn't come in, so she begged me—"
"Andrew!" Lady Harcourt cried. Her chest heaved with her gasping breaths and her face turned a vibrant shade of red. Very little ruffled her feathers, but her stepson seemed to know which points to press.
"Enough!" Lincoln growled. "We need to ask Julia questions relating to a murder reported in the newspaper."
Buchanan snorted. "Don't believe everything you read in the paper. Oh, wait. Perhaps you should, if the source is a reliable one." His wet chuckle ended in a snort. "A reliable witness could be someone who knows what happened, who was there, watching the entire thing play out like a bad dream."
Everyone except Lady Harcourt knew he was referring to the report in the newspapers that had exposed her past as a dancer at The Alhambra where she'd met her future husband, Buchanan's father. Andrew himself had been the source. But from the slowly dawning look on her face, the very clever Lady Harcourt was piecing it together now from his drunken rambling.
"Andrew," she murmured, staring at him. "Andrew, did you…?"
Realizing he'd underestimated her, he sniffed and flicked unseen dust from his trouser legs. "We're not talking about that newspaper article. Your vanity knows no bounds, Julia. Not everything is about you."
He protested too much, and he didn't look at her. He was a hopeless liar.
An eerie silence thickened the air. Lady Harcourt's bloodless lips moved but no words came out. She stared at him, her eyes filling with tears. Then her body twitched, as if something inside her snapped. Her eyes dried and her lips peeled back from her teeth.
She shot to her feet and flung herself at Buchanan. He did not see her until she wrapped long, slender fingers around his neck. "I'll kill you!" she screamed.
Chapter 7
The reactions of Lincoln, Seth and Gus were not ordinarily slow, but it took a few moments before they wrestled Lady Harcourt off Buchanan. By that time she'd managed to scratch his face and spit in his eye.<
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Buchanan cowered in the chair, legs raised to protect his nether regions, and he held his arms up to shield his head from further injuries and spittle. Lady Harcourt struggled to free herself from Lincoln's grip. She did not give up, nor did she halt the stream of vile words spewing from her mouth. There was nothing of the lady about her now. She was all teeth and red, blotchy cheeks as she called Buchanan names I hadn't heard in months.
Realizing he was safe, Buchanan unfurled himself and wiped his sleeve across his eyes. When his fingers came away bloody after touching his face, he paled. "You bitch! That'll leave scars!"
"I hate you!" she shouted back. "I hate the sight of you!"
"Julia," Seth warned, "calm down. The servants can hear you. The entire street can hear you."
"I don't care," she snarled at him. She wrenched free of Lincoln's grip. Or, more likely, he let her go.
Buchanan shrank into his chair again until he realized she wouldn't attack him a second time. He removed his handkerchief and dabbed at the three scratches on his cheek. It looked like claws had left them.
"How could you?" she railed at him. "How could you do this to me after everything we've meant to one another?"
The muscles in his face hardened. His eyes narrowed. He slowly stood and took two determined steps toward her until Lincoln put up his hand to halt him. "What did we mean to one another, Julia?" His vicious snarl matched hers for venom. "Answer me that! Did you ever like me? Did you ever enjoy my company the way I enjoyed yours? Or was I simply a stepping stone to get you where you wanted to go? As soon as my father appeared at The Al, you walked all over me to get to him, and you've been walking over me ever since." He choked out a bitter laugh. "Until your star fell from its lofty heights and you needed me to secure you invitations, that is."
"My star fell because you went to the newspapers!" She folded her arms, much of the fight leaving her, although I suspected a spark would ignite it again at any moment. "Anyway, I no longer need you for anything. I have Lord Underwood and his friends now. They appreciate me."
"For how long? Underwood is already losing interest. You saw how he treated that girl the night of the Lichfield dinner."
