by C. J. Archer
Of Fate And Phantoms
Ministry of Curiosities, Book #7
C.J. Archer
C.J. Archer
Contents
About OF FATE AND PHANTOMS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
A Message From The Author
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About the Author
Copyright 2017 C.J. Archer
Visit C.J. at http://cjarcher.com
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About OF FATE AND PHANTOMS
As Charlie and Lincoln’s lives settle into a harmonious pattern, a new threat arises that could have far reaching effects for the royal family and Lincoln’s parents.
When a seer warns the Prince of Wales that his life is in danger, only Charlie and Lincoln take her seriously. After all, what sensible person would believe a gypsy who claims the danger will come in the form of the prince's dead father?
A meeting at the palace sets them on a path that takes Charlie back to her old haunts in the London slums, on the hunt for a man who can change his appearance. The new threat is their most dangerous yet, but for Lincoln, the biggest concern isn't confronting the shape-changer or meeting his parents for the first time, it's whether Charlie will put his engagement ring on her finger.
Chapter 1
London, New Year's Eve, 1889
"You look beautiful," Lincoln whispered, enclosing my hands in his.
We stood in the corridor between our rooms on a freezing New Year's Eve. Lincoln's warmth, however, chased away the chill. A tendril of his hair skimmed his brow. He didn't plan on tying it back for the ball. Apparently pirates cared nothing for grooming.
"Thank you," I murmured, a blush rising up my throat and infusing my cheeks. "You look rather dashing yourself."
"Pirates aren't supposed to look dashing." He eased back, taking my hopes of a kiss with him, and rubbed his bristly jaw. "Perhaps I should have started the beard a day earlier."
"Not too dashing," I quickly reassured him.
Who knew that such a self-confident man cared so much about looking the part of a pirate for a masquerade ball? He'd gone so far as to purchase a new shirt, complete with ruffled sleeves at the wrist, a wide leather belt, and a tricorn hat that he'd thrown in the dirt as soon as he got it home. Apparently pirates couldn't be seen in brand new hats. At least not the roguish pirate that Lincoln wanted to portray.
"You will look frightening once you put on the eye patch," I said. "We maidens will tremble in our shoes."
He leaned in again, as far as the broad skirts of my Georgian costume would allow. "I hope to scare away all but the bravest of maids."
I tried to think of a quip in response, but my mind went blank when his lips caressed the corner of my mouth and he palmed my waist. I felt the light pressure even through the corset boning.
"I'll save a dance for you," I said.
"Save them all for me. I won't be dancing with anyone else."
"You should. People will talk if you only dance with me."
"Let them."
"You want them to gossip?" I asked.
His lips curved into one of his rare smiles, but this one held a touch of mischief, an even rarer commodity. "I want them to know you're mine."
In the week since Christmas, Lincoln and I had settled into a pattern that fell somewhere between friendship and betrothed. We were neither, and yet sometimes, like now, it felt like we were both. I had not plucked my engagement ring from its velvet bed in the ring box, but that didn't stop us from touching hands as we passed in the corridor or sat next to one another at dinner. Only once had we kissed passionately, in the privacy of the parlor the day after he emerged from his sickbed.
That kiss had not been repeated, not even on the single occasion when we'd found ourselves alone in the house one Sunday morning. He'd retreated to his study and I'd gone to find him. I wasn’t sure what I hoped would happen, but I was certainly not expecting him to order me to leave. He'd sought me out later to apologize, blaming his abruptness on concern for my virtue and his lack of willpower. I'd laughed but he had not.
Lincoln's hands dropped to his sides, and his gaze shuttered. "We shouldn't be doing this. Not here. Not now."
Not now.
It was a reference to our status as a couple, or lack of it. I knew he wanted to be engaged again, and that his offer awaited my response in the form of putting the ring on my finger. Yet I wasn't ready to give up my newfound freedom. I had a small house of my own now. I had a roof over my head here at Lichfield Towers, and I could make my own decisions regarding my life, my person, and my future. I didn't want to jeopardize that, and certainly not with a man who'd proven to be unpredictable. And yet, I loved him. That could not be denied.
"You're right," I said on a sigh as I moved away. "It wouldn't do for Lady Vickers to see." A few months ago, I hadn't cared a whit for propriety, but things had changed since then. Not the least of it, the arrival of both Seth's mother and my friend Alice. Where before I was still something of a street urchin in my thoughts and behavior, I was now more aware of the necessity to act my age of nineteen. It was time to fit back into a society that had been alien to me for so long and be the sort of person they could both be proud to associate with. My newfound maturity could be attributed to facing down the twin evils of the Queen of Hearts' army and the headmistress of the School for Wayward Girls. Escaping that place alive would bend even the most stubborn will.
I went in search of Alice, and together we put on the wigs and masks we'd purchased during the week. The gowns had been discovered in a trunk in the attic, having been left there by the previous owner of Lichfield. They'd required minor repairs and airing out, but they were otherwise perfect.
We met Lady Vickers, Seth and Lincoln at the appointed hour. I bit back my giggle at Seth's foppish Georgian attire, complete with powdered wig and beauty spot. He'd insisted on matching our costumes, and wanted Lincoln to do the same to identify us as a group to the other guests. Lincoln had refused to dress as a dandy and decided on the pirate outfit instead. His argument that he matched the same era of our costumes had been unassailable, much to Seth's frustration.
Seth slapped on his hat, blew its long black feather off his face, and held his arm out to Alice. "You do look smart," he told her.
Smart? That was the best he could do? For such a charming man, he wasn't always at his most charming with her. Indeed, he even seemed a little overwhelmed by her. She was uncommonly pretty and possessed an air of aloofness.
He must have realized his response lacked enthusiasm because he added, "And beautiful. Lovely. A vision."
"And historically accurate," Alice said. "More or less."
Lady Vickers followed them out, her scowl directed at Alice's back. The severity of it became lost, however, with all the tinkling of the beads and tokens attached to the hem of her gypsy dress, visible beneath her fur coat. I'd tried to tell her that the beading and colorful dress were a cliché, and that gypsies didn't wear such ostentatious outfits, but then I'd have to tell her how I knew. Lady Vickers, for all her strength of character, might not like knowing that the woman she'd taken under her wing had visited a gypsy camp with a man who was half-gypsy himself.
I glanced at that man now and accepted his arm with a smile. "Are you sure you'll be warm enough?" I asked, eyeing his jerkin and doublet. He wore no coat.
"Charlie," he chided. "You promised."
"I promised not to ask if you were all right, not if you were warm enough. Besides, I said at the ball. We haven't arrived yet."
"Next time I'll be more specific."
"You have been ill, Lincoln, not to mention injured." And the evening air already felt icy. Frost would settle on the lawn overnight and into the bones of the homeless who could not find adequate shelter, as I knew all too well.
"I'm neither ill nor injured anymore."
"You may have recovered from your ordeal, but I have not." I left him contemplating that as Doyle, the butler, held the carriage door open for me. "Do you have enough blankets for warmth, Gus?" I called up to our coachman and friend. We really did need to find a proper coachman to take over his duties, as well as a housekeeper and maids. Lichfield was ready for them, and so was I.
"Thank you, Charlie." Gus patted his coat pocket where he kept his flask. "All set."
Seth leaned out of the carriage and spoke loudly enough for Gus to hear. "Don't worry about him. His skin's so thick nothing penetrates it."
"Unlike yours," Gus said. "It's so delicate you have to wear furs and feathers."
"It's a costume."
Gus snorted. "You told me you cobbled it together from pieces found in your own wardrobe. Costume, my ar—"
"Let's go!" I said, pushing Seth's shoulder. He retreated back inside the cabin.
The carriage was too crowded for five people, two of whom wore voluminous skirts. I didn't realize until Lincoln shut the door without joining us. The coach rocked as he climbed onto the seat next to Gus. I tried not to think of him sitting out in the cold, but memories of him lying unconscious in his bed after the kitchen explosion assaulted me anyway. That nightmare had occurred too recently for my liking. Not even he could be fully recovered yet.
As if she sensed my concern, Alice kept the conversation lively all the way to the Curzon Street residence of Lady Vickers' friend, Lady Hothfield. A footman opened the carriage door and we lowered our masks and shed the blankets keeping our knees warm.
"This is rather grand," Alice whispered as we stepped inside the house onto crimson carpet.
The spacious entrance hall was indeed grand, with the central staircase diverting into two at the landing and wrapping around the walls leading up to the next level. Lamps and a central chandelier blazed with light, catching the gilt in the frames, furniture legs and the tip of the spear clasped in a semi-naked statue's hand. The white marble Grecian's modesty was maintained by a flimsy red cloth that looked as if the flick of a finger could dislodge it.
I curled my hands into fists. "A little grander than the school," I agreed. "But don't tell the ghost of Sir Walter that I said so."
She grinned, I was relieved to see. When she'd first arrived at Lichfield, any mention of the castle prison we'd both been sent to in Yorkshire made her shiver with awful memories of her time there. It was good to see her putting that experience behind her.
Another footman—there were an awful lot of them—escorted us up the stairs toward the music. Lady Vickers introduced us to our host and hostess in the ballroom, but I had no illusions about our importance to them. We were merely there thanks to Lady Vickers herself, not because we held any interest for Lord and Lady Hothfield. Their greetings were polite enough, but it was Seth who earned most of their attention.
"It's been so long since we saw you, dear boy," Lord Hothfield exclaimed, slapping Seth on the shoulder. "You look as fit and strong as ever. What have you been up to?"
He didn't get a chance to explain, or lie, before Lady Hothfield spoke. "You haven't changed." She tapped Seth's chest with her fan. "Always such a handsome boy." She swapped the fan to her left hand, opened it then giggled behind it. "How we have missed you, dear Seth. How long has it been? Too long, I say."
Seth's face reddened. I bit my lip to stop my smile. He'd told me the day before that he wasn't looking forward to seeing Lady Hothfield again. Their last meeting had been in her bedchamber, over a year ago, before Lincoln had employed him. I'd been utterly flabbergasted by his admission, because she wasn't at all the type of woman he admired or desired. Indeed, she was much older than Lady Harcourt, one of his most recent lovers. It had taken a few probing questions before I realized that Seth had most likely slept with her for money. In fact, he'd only answered my questions after I promised to help him avoid Lady Hothfield.
I was about to do my duty and ask him to join me when his mother ushered him away. Lady Hothfield's gaze lingered on Seth until he disappeared into the crowd.
Lincoln, Alice and I followed, only to divert as Lady Vickers introduced her son to a small gathering of ladies. He cast a hapless glance at us over his shoulder, but I thought it best to leave him alone for the time being. He needed to get these initial introductions over with at some point. It was, after all, his mother's reason for attending.
"This room is lovely," Alice said, gazing up at the six dazzling chandeliers above. "And don't all the costumes look marvelous? Did you see Queen Elizabeth?"
"I couldn't miss her with that hair." I pointed my chin at a Roman senator and his wife, dressed in the outfit of an ancient Roman noblewoman. "I like what she's wearing. Next time, I'll try that."
"Do you recognize anyone you know?" Being taller than me, Alice could see over some of the heads and further into the ballroom.
"It's hard to tell with their masks in place," I said.
"There's Lord Gillingham," Lincoln said, nodding at one of several Georgian fops in the room.
"So it is. I can tell from the walking stick."
"And his wife is over there."
My gaze followed his to a group of women, their ages indeterminate thanks to their masks. "Which one?"
"The medieval princess in green."
"Are you sure? Her hair is darker."
"She's wearing a wig."
"Then how can you tell it's her?" Alice asked.
Lincoln hesitated before saying, "She's the right height and weight."
"There must be dozens of women here the same size as her," I said, indicating the hundred or more guests. "Come now, Lincoln, tell us. How do you know?"
Again, he paused. Was he reluctant to give up this knowledge? "It's no single thing. Some of her face is visible. Her mouth and chin, her throat and ears."
"Her ears?" Alice laughed, only to stop abruptly upon Lincoln's glare. He managed to instill as much steel with one eye covered by the patch as two perfectly good ones.
"She also has a broad set to her shoulders, and tilts her head to the left when she's listening. Her hands are quite large and she tucks them behind her back most of the time, perhaps because she feels self-conscious."
I looked down at my hands. They were average sized, but I could well believe they were smaller than the shape-shifting Lady Gillingham's. According to Lincoln, who'd seen her in her beast form, she resembled a wolf, and not at all human. I was wildly curious to see her change, but didn't dare ask. If she was self-conscious about her hands, imagine how she'd feel about a hairy, beastly body?
Alice blinked slowly at him through the holes in her mask. "You're entirely serious, aren't you? Are you so observant with everyone?"
"He is," I told her. "It's a skill."
If I didn't know Lincoln so well I would have been jealous that he observed so much about another woman, but I knew he probably had a dozen little ways of telling me apart from others my size. Lady Gillingham was not special.
"Oh, look, here comes another pirate," I said as a gentleman of impressive stature approached. "His costume is not nearly as unique as yours, though, Lincoln."
"It's Marchbank," he said.
I squinted as the man joined us. I could see the scars on his face now that he was closer. The broad brimmed hat, long black wig and large eye patch had hidden much,
but not those.
"Good evening, Charlie, Fitzroy," he said. "Excellent costumes."
I introduced him to Alice then we fell into a discussion about the costumes. No one mentioned the recent events at Lichfield. The night General Eastbrooke had almost killed Lincoln, tried to kill me, and had blown up our kitchen was rarely discussed, even by those of us enduring the rebuilding of the kitchen. I, for one, had difficulty digesting the horror, and part of me didn't want to. It wasn't so much the horror of the injuries and destruction but of the general's betrayal. He'd been the closest thing to a father that Lincoln had, and yet he'd gone to great lengths to attempt to control and undermine him.
"I wonder what the prince and his cronies will wear," Marchbank said, watching Lincoln closely.
Lincoln went very still. "Prince?"
"I see you haven't heard."
Lady Vickers took that moment to burst through the crowd, her grin as broad as her handsome face. "You will never believe who is set to come tonight."
"The prince," I said.
Her smile wilted but only for a moment. "Isn't it exciting! I wonder who he'll bring with him. He always attends parties with a group of lively, charming royals. Such a charming man himself. I do hope his sons come, although I don't think they move in the same circles, more's the pity. You simply must meet him, Charlie, and you too, Alice. And Fitzroy, if you wish. I'll introduce you."
"You know him?" Alice asked.
Lady Vickers waved her hand airily. "We've met." It was hardly the same thing, but she seemed so excited that I didn't want to say anything to deflate her.
"Which prince?" I asked, glancing at Lincoln. He stood stoically, his hands at his back, and his face bland, although I could tell from the stiff set of his shoulders and firmness of his jaw that this news affected him. His father was the Prince of Wales, first in line to inherit the throne.
Lord Marchbank and the other committee members knew. No one else did, perhaps not even the prince himself.
