Veiled in Moonlight (The Ministry of Curiosities Book 8)

by C. J. Archer

  I inched across the floor, skirting the room. I was very close to the large vase by the door.

  "It was reported, but his name was not given," Lincoln said. "It was only reported as a dog attack, not a murder."

  "There you have it. Not a murder."

  "The police are wrong. It was murder and the killer was a shape shifter."

  The whiskers above his top lip twitched. "Ah. There it is. Leonora mentioned you accused her of being some sort of animal."

  "There's no point denying it, Ballantine," Lincoln said. "You have two forms, this one and a wolf-like one. Your wife is a shape changer too, and both your daughters."

  Ballantine snarled then charged toward Lincoln. Lincoln did not move.

  "Don't!" I cried.

  Ballantine stopped as if he suddenly recollected his humanity. He paced the carpet in front of Lincoln, a prowling animal if ever I saw one. He had not pushed aside the wolf within completely. "You've got a nerve," he growled.

  "Not only did Leonora admit it to us, but Lilith's ghost told Miss Holloway," Lincoln said far too calmly. I knew that calmness. He was prepared to fight if he had to.

  Ballantine may be older, and didn't look capable of moving fast, but he was a shape changer. He was strong, even in his human form.

  "Did Mr. Franklin tell you we spoke to him too?" Lincoln went on. "Did he tell you he confirmed our suspicions that he is a shape changer?"

  "Franklin can say what he likes." Ballantine stopped pacing and squared up to Lincoln. "It's nothing to do with me."

  "Isn't it?"

  Ballantine bristled. "You're mad. You both are." He swung around and stormed toward the door, and me. "I don't have to listen to this. Out of my way, Miss Holloway."

  I skipped to the side and he pushed open the door. It crashed back, startling Doyle standing in the entrance hall. He held onto Ballantine's hat only to have it snatched out of his grip.

  "You will not speak with my family again." Ballantine shook the hat at Lincoln. "I've sent my wife and daughter away so you can't accost either of them anymore."

  Away! Oh no. It was all our fault. Poor Leonora. I hoped she'd gone somewhere peaceful where she could start to mend her broken heart.

  Doyle caught the front door before Ballantine slammed it shut. I did not wait to see the carriage drive away but walked quickly to the drawing room and peered out the window. I couldn't see either Gus or Seth and hoped they'd managed to reach the gate before Ballantine saw them. From there, they should be able to follow him in a hack.

  "She's better off away from her father," Lincoln said from behind me.

  "Leonora? Yes. Yes, she is." I sighed and sank onto the seat by the window. "That was quite an encounter."

  He took my hand and rubbed his thumb over my knuckles. "How are your nerves?"

  "Fine. Yours?"

  "I'll recover."

  I didn't laugh. His face was so straight that I wasn't sure if he meant it as a joke.

  "I'm going out," he said. "I doubt Ballantine will return but I'll give Doyle instructions not to let him in. Or Swinburn or Franklin."

  "Where are you going?"

  "To find out where Leonora Ballantine has been banished to."

  We assumed Leonora had been banished to the family estate near Bristol, but we were wrong.

  "She's gone to the Isle of Wight," Lincoln announced upon his return. He'd found me in the attic, updating the ministry's archival records with all we'd learned in recent days.

  "The Isle of Wight!" I looked up from the document laid out before me on the desk. "Do they have a house there?"

  "They're visiting friends. That was all I could learn from the footman."

  "How long will they be gone?"

  "He didn't know."

  "I should have gone with you and spoken to Lilith's ghost. She might have overheard more." I sighed. "Poor little Lilith. She only stayed for her mother and now her mother has gone. She must feel very much alone."

  "Perhaps she'll move on to her afterlife now." He rested a hand on my shoulder and kissed the top of my head.

  I spent another hour in the attic while he retreated to the library. After recording the Ballantine family's details, I searched the records for anyone who might have shape changing qualities. While we knew what to call them, previous catalogers from centuries past might refer to them as something else. But I found nothing of interest.

  I was about to leave when Whistler, the footman, appeared. His gazed darted quickly around the room he was not allowed into unless asked, then settled on me. "Mr. Fitzroy requests your presence in the drawing room, miss. Lady Harcourt and Lords Marchbank and Gillingham have arrived and are staying for tea."

  I groaned. What did the committee want now? "Thank you, Whistler, I'll be down in a moment."

  I slid the filing cabinet drawer closed and locked it. I pocketed the key and followed Whistler down the stairs to where Lincoln stood in strained silence while the three other committee members sat. Lord Marchbank greeted me but the other two did not acknowledge me in any way. Lord Gillingham tapped his finger on the head of his walking stick while Lady Harcourt stared out the window.

  "Finally!" Lord Gillingham declared, his finger stilling. "Now can we get on with it, Fitzroy?"

  Lincoln waited for Doyle to set down the tea tray and leave, closing the door behind him. I poured and passed a cup to Lady Harcourt. She did not take it, preferring to stare into the distance.

  "Julia!" Gillingham snapped before I could speak. "Take the bloody teacup so we can start this damned meeting. I don't have time for delays this morning. I've got to be at my club in half an hour."

  "Your club can wait," Marchbank said. "This is more important."

  Lady Harcourt turned slowly and held my gaze with her own. An icy chill skittered down my spine. The skin beneath her eyes was a little swollen, but that was the only sign she'd been crying. Her eyes drilled into me as brutally as ever. I got the feeling if we were alone, she'd wrap her fingers around my throat and squeeze as hard as she could.

  She accepted the teacup. It trembled in the saucer until she plucked it off.

  "Your time has been wasted coming here," Lincoln began. "I've kept you informed at every stage of the investigation."

  "Have you?" Gillingham shot back.

  "Yes."

  "I'm with Gilly on this," Marchbank said. "There appears to be very little progress. We need an update, Fitzroy."

  "There's little to report since my last message," Lincoln said. "Ballantine has sent his daughter away, just this morning, so now we can't question her as easily. He refuses to speak with us at all."

  "Keep pressing Swinburn," Gillingham said.

  "Why?" Lady Harcourt suddenly blurted out. "I don't see how he's involved at all."

  Gillingham shook his head as if he were disappointed in her. "He is involved, Julia. He must be. The man's a filthy upstart."

  "Because he's in trade?" She scoffed. "The only thing he's guilty of is being rich and influential without having peerage."

  "He doesn't just lack a peerage, he lacks breeding altogether! The man's grandfather was a sailor, for God's sake. A sailor!" He snorted a laugh. "Not a captain. Not even a navy man, serving his country. He worked on some kind of fishing boat, I believe. It's ridiculously absurd."

  "That's enough," Marchbank chided.

  "Sir Ignatius has risen through his own hard work and perhaps a little good fortune." The spark of battle lit up Lady Harcourt's eyes and flushed her cheeks. It was as if her elegant façade had cracked beyond repair and she'd decided to shed it altogether. I braced myself for the carnage that lay ahead. "What have you done, Gilly?" she pressed, all gritted teeth and curled lip. "You inherited your money and position, and if it weren't for that, you would be destitute. You're too stupid to employ, too arrogant to learn, and too proud to listen."

  "Julia, don't," Marchbank tried. "Let's leave it there before anyone regrets their words."

  But neither Lady Harcourt nor Lord Gillingham
seemed to hear him. "At least I didn't lie on my back and spread my legs for an old man with money and a title."

  Lady Harcourt's breath left her in a gasp and her head jerked to the side as if he'd slapped her. Then, whip-fast, she threw her teacup at him. "How dare you!"

  Chapter 11

  The cup missed its target, instead landing on the rug. Tea splashed over Gillingham's chest and arm, and a spot caught his chin.

  He shot to his feet and brandished his walking stick at her. Lincoln stepped in front of him and caught it. Gillingham tried to wrestle it from him but, realizing the futility, gave up. He snarled obscenities at Lady Harcourt instead.

  "You're vile, Julia. As vile as anything that crawled out of the gutter." Spittle formed in the corner of his mouth and landed on his chin, joining the tea he had not wiped away. "You and Swinburn belong together, that much is obvious now."

  "Enough," Lincoln growled, but he was almost drowned out by Marchbank's palm slapping down on the table.

  "Stop it, Gilly," Marchbank ordered. "The committee is bound together, whether you like it or not, and I expect civility from every member. Keep your opinions of one another to yourselves."

  Gillingham tried pulling his walking stick free of Lincoln's grip again, and appeared to be losing the battle until Lincoln released it. Gillingham fell backward into the chair with such momentum that it rocked on its back legs and looked in danger of tipping over.

  Lady Harcourt turned to the window and appeared to drift away with her thoughts. I kept a wary eye on her, however, expecting her to flare up again at any moment.

  "Lord Ballantine doesn't think the same as you when it comes to Swinburn," Lincoln said to Gillingham. I held my breath as I waited for another tirade to spew from his lordship's mouth.

  But he simply removed his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed his sleeve where the tea had splashed. "Perhaps Swinburn has something over him," he said. "Perhaps he owes Swinburn money."

  "Or Swinburn knows he had something to do with Protheroe's death," Lord Marchbank added.

  "Ballantine's not involved," Gillingham said. "You know that, March. Stop stirring the pot."

  "I know nothing of the sort. He seems to have the strongest motive."

  "What about the second lover?" Gillingham said. "That Eddy fellow did it. That's my theory."

  "Why are you discounting Ballantine without further evidence?" I asked.

  Gillingham peered down his nose at me. "It's Lord Ballantine to you, Charlotte. As to why I don't think he's guilty? He's a peer from an upstanding family. That's why."

  "He's a shape shifter," I shot back. "The entire family are shape shifters, and a shape shifter killed Protheroe."

  "Swinburn may be a shifter too. Many people are."

  "Who else?" Lord Marchbank asked, frowning.

  Gillingham resumed patting down his damp clothing with his handkerchief, a pink tinge to his cheeks.

  Marchbank looked to Lincoln. Lincoln gave a slight shake of his head. Marchbank wouldn't be so easily put off, and the frown did not disappear from his brow.

  "My men are watching Ballantine," Lincoln said. "I will also watch Swinburn, but it's more likely that Ballantine is the pack leader, given his peerage. Eddy is still the key to solving this. Once we find out who he is, we'll have another person to question. Even if he's not involved, he might know why Protheroe was killed."

  "That seems to be all we can do for now." Marchbank pushed up from the chair. "At least there have been no more deaths."

  "Which confirms that this wasn't random but targeted," Lincoln said. "Protheroe was meant to die."

  Marchbank shook Lincoln's hand and bowed to me. "Come, Gilly, Julia. Let's leave these two alone to plan their wedding."

  "He's got more important things to do," Gillingham muttered.

  The two men were met by Doyle, who led them to the front door. Lady Harcourt remained behind. I sighed. It would seem she had something to say.

  "May I have a word, Lincoln?" she asked.

  "Of course."

  She gave me a flinty glare. "I suppose she's staying."

  "If Charlie wants to."

  I hesitated a moment, but my curiosity outweighed my displeasure at being in the same room as Lady Harcourt.

  Lincoln closed the door behind the gentlemen and invited her to sit. She refused with a lift of her chin.

  "I do not want you to treat Sir Ignatius like a suspect in the murder," she said.

  "He is a suspect," Lincoln said.

  She clicked her tongue, her irritation flaring again. "Can you not be more discreet with your questions?"

  "No."

  "Stop being so obstinate, Lincoln. Of course you can tread more carefully." She seemed to be waiting for a response, but when he gave none, she added, "There is no point in going in with guns blazing like a character from a penny dreadful. It only makes him defensive and less likely to cooperate."

  "You think he'll cooperate if I tread carefully?"

  "He might."

  "I disagree. And anyway, I've had little to say to Swinburn. Most of my encounters have been with Ballantine, his daughter, or his young friend, Mr. Franklin."

  "You don't understand," she hissed. "He knows I am connected to you. I invited you to Lord Underwood's party. He knows you're sniffing around him and Ballantine. Honestly, Lincoln, I hadn't expected you to be so obvious about it."

  "Has he threatened you, Julia?"

  She hesitated before saying, "No."

  "Did he imply that he'll not be your…friend if we continued our questioning?" I asked.

  She smirked. "Yes, Charlotte, he did imply that."

  I suppose that was as good as a threat in her eyes.

  "Let me be clear," Lincoln said. "This investigation is more important than your friendship with Swinburn or anyone else."

  "Do be reasonable, Lincoln. I only asked you to tread carefully, be discreet. Surely even you can manage that."

  Lincoln went quite still. I recognized the anger banking in his eyes, but it would seem Lady Harcourt did not.

  "It would seem I wasn't clear enough," he said tightly. "I will not be changing the way I extract information from anyone, and that includes Swinburn."

  "For goodness’ sake, Lincoln!" she spat back. "I'm simply asking you to go about your business in a way that doesn't make it seem as if he, or his friends, are suspects. Why are you being so difficult about it?"

  "This is not open for discussion. Your relationship with Swinburn is not to interfere with this investigation," he told her. "Is that understood?"

  Her spine straightened. The muscles in her jaw worked. I held my breath, half expecting her to throw something at him. But Lincoln wasn't Gillingham, and she must know she wouldn't get away with the petulant act.

  "There is no relationship between myself and Sir Ignatius," she said haughtily.

  "Your behavior at the party would suggest that you wish there was. If your efforts are successful, you may have to give up your position on the committee."

  "You think I would share ministry secrets with him?" she gasped out.

  "If you believe it would win him, yes." His bluntness had me worried for the crockery in the vicinity of Lady Harcourt.

  Her lips pressed together so hard they went white. She stepped up to him and swung her hand at his face. He caught it easily. She did not struggle but stepped even closer, her skirt crushed between them. Her top lip peeled back in a vicious smile and Lincoln let her go. He opened the door.

  The color rose to her cheeks, but her lips remained bloodless, a white gash within her pink face. She had never looked so beautiful or so dangerous. Her gaze once again focused on me as if I was the root of all her problems and her life would be better if she could rip me out of the ground, out of Lichfield, and toss me away.

  Part of me wished she'd try, just so I could test my fighting skills. But she did not. She stalked past me, her head high, her skirts snapping at her ankles with each stride. Doyle opened the front d
oor for her and she left.

  I breathed out heavily and sank into a chair. "That was eventful."

  "And useful," he said, sitting on the chair arm. He stroked the back of my neck, but his mind didn't seem to be on the task.

  "In what way?" I asked.

  "She just confirmed that Swinburn is involved in Protheroe’s murder. He may not be directly involved, but he knows something, thanks to his friendship with Ballantine, or he wouldn't have put pressure on her to speak to me."

  I nodded slowly. "Do you think she meant to confirm it?"

  He took his time answering, and I suspected it wasn't something he had considered. "I don't know. I do know we should find out how deeply their acquaintance goes."

  "How?"

  "By investigating the business dealings of both men."

  Lincoln spent the rest of the day and most of the next looking through financial records. I saw very little of him, or of Gus and Seth, who continued to follow Lord Ballantine about the city. Seth reported in after luncheon, when Lincoln was also home, and gave an account of Ballantine's movements. His lordship seemed to spend a lot of time at his club. While Seth could enter the club as a gentleman member, he'd decided against it. Ballantine already knew him, and his sudden appearance there would draw attention. It would be easier to follow him if he wasn't aware he was being watched.

  Seth was about to leave and rejoin Gus outside Ballantine's house when Eva Cornell arrived. Leisl was not with her. Doyle showed her into the drawing room, where I sat with Lady Vickers and Alice. Seth joined us while Whistler went to fetch Lincoln.

  "I thought I heard a new arrival," Seth said, smiling. "Good morning, Miss Cornell. What a pleasant surprise this is."

  She eyed him with suspicion. "Good morning, my lord."

  "Call me Seth. I hate the ‘lord’ bit. It makes me think of fat old men. If you call me 'my lord' I'll worry that I've put on weight or have gray hairs sprouting from my ears."

  Eva laughed, only to stop abruptly. She bit her lip, apparently embarrassed to have found him amusing.

  Lady Vickers clicked her tongue and lowered the shirt she was mending for him. "Honestly, Seth, how do you expect to get on if people don't use your title?"