by C. J. Archer
Had she been about to call him a different name, perhaps a more personal one that she used to use?
The prince stiffened. "This man." He jerked his head at Lincoln. "How do you know him?"
Leisl pushed to her feet. The fierce set of her jaw, so like Lincoln's, spoke of her cool determination, yet the slight quiver of her lower lip softened the effect. "I have just learned that he…he is my son."
So Lincoln had told her that much in their brief encounter tonight. My son, she'd said, not our.
"Fitzroy," the prince murmured, mulling over the name that meant son of a king. He looked at Lincoln anew. "How old are you?"
"My age is not the issue here." In centuries past, Lincoln's impertinent answer would be considered an offence worthy of a beating. Nowadays, the prince simply flared his nostrils in disapproval. "The point is, you treated Leisl abominably this evening. Apologize."
"I beg your pardon?" the prince spluttered.
"Apologize to her."
My breath hitched. Leisl sucked in her top lip and half shook her head.
"I will not!" the prince bellowed. "She charged in here, uninvited, frightened the other guests, then proceeded to spout off about my late father. Why in God's name should I apologize to her? It is she who ought to apologize to me." His gaze flicked to the woman he'd known intimately on at least one occasion.
"We have both wronged the other," Leisl said. "So long ago."
Lincoln opened his mouth, most likely to protest. As the only one there who had his best interests at heart—and I included Lincoln himself in that assessment—I decided to step in before he spoke. This little family reunion wasn't going at all well and he had the potential to make it so much worse.
"Water under the bridge," I said in a light, breezy voice. "Perhaps we ought to discuss Leisl's warning. I think we'd all like to hear more about it."
The prince narrowed his gaze at me as I moved to stand alongside Lincoln. "Who are you?"
I bobbed a curtsy then lowered myself a little more. How low should I go? I almost lost my balance as I stood again, but Lincoln grasped my arm and steadied me. "My name is Miss Charlotte Holloway," I said. "I'm a friend of Mr. Fitzroy's."
"Miss Holloway, you claimed you know things that may help in this situation, but I think it's best if you leave this to me and Fitzroy.
"She stays," Lincoln said before I could respond. At the prince's arched brow, he added, "The supernatural doesn't frighten her."
I wouldn't have put it like that. Some of the supernatural frightened me terribly.
Leisl rose and stepped in front of me so that I couldn't see the prince's reaction. She touched my cheek, her gaze connecting with mine. She sucked a sharp breath through her teeth and her fingers curled on my cheek. The nails scraped my skin but did not break it.
"Yes, you can help," she said. "You see the dead. I cannot."
I could do more than see the dead. I could raise them and control them. I thought it best not to mention that in front of the future king of England, however. Although I doubted he had the power to reinstate a law to burn witches at the stake, I didn't want to take that chance.
Leisl turned to the prince who looked somewhat stunned after her pronouncement. At least he didn't call anyone mad, or demand my arrest. "I came to warn you, sire. You are in danger from your dead father."
"How can a spirit harm me? Are they not made of air?"
"I do not know. It is not clear."
He snorted. "Seeing the future is an imprecise science, is it?"
"The unclear can be changed. The clear cannot. Good fortune is with you tonight, sire. My son and his bride will help if you allow it."
"Oh! I'm not his bride," I said with a silly laugh that I wished I could take back as soon as it escaped my lips.
"I…I…" The prince smoothed his hand over his evening jacket then tugged on the cuffs. "I ought to return upstairs. You must leave now."
"But you are in danger!"
Lincoln placed a hand on her shoulder. "You've done all you can."
The prince held Lincoln's gaze for a very long time before breaking it to once again take in every inch of him…of his son. Did he see the similarities? Did he know or suspect? It wasn't clear from his expression, now closed and unreadable. It was so very like the mask Lincoln sometimes wore to hide his emotions that my breath hitched.
The prince turned sharply and strode up the stairs. Leisl gathered the lapels of her coat at her chest, her dark eyes focused not on the man she'd lain with in her youth, but the man who was the product of that union.
"You were such a little thing." She touched Lincoln's arm and, when he didn't move away, squeezed. "Now you are strong. Fierce."
"Tell me what you know about the danger," he said. "What have you seen?"
Leisl's fingers sprang apart and she let him go and stepped away. I wanted to chastise Lincoln for his coolness toward her when she must be feeling quite emotional to meet her long lost son. But I couldn't do so here, in front of her and others. Seth, Alice and Lady V approached cautiously down the stairs.
"It was his father," Leisl said emphatically. "He may wish to harm his son."
"How, when a spirit has no form?" Lincoln asked.
"I do not know."
"You said you saw it, in your vision. If you didn't see how it harmed him, then what, precisely, did you see?"
"No, no, not see a vision. Not…" She clicked her tongue in frustration. "Not like I see you now. I see it as feeling, in here." She touched her chest. At Lincoln's continued frown, she added, "You do not see my breath, yet you know I breathe. Yes?"
"I understand," I said. "It's an instinct that's nagging you, not an actual vision."
"An instinct," Lincoln said flatly.
"As you instinctively know when I'm near or in danger. You don't see the pictures in your mind's eye, but you do know." I touched his chest over his heart. "In here."
He closed his hand over mine and drew it to his side. "You're supposed to be a strong seer," he said to his mother. "I thought you could see pictures, visions."
"I do, with some. With the prince, it is in the heart only. Is instinct," she said with a smile at me. "As your bride say."
Lord and Lady Hothfield arrived along with the butler and footmen. It would seem we weren't welcome to see in the New Year. Lord Hothfield asked one of the footmen to have our carriage brought around, and another fetched our coats. Lady Vickers praised the ball and the esteemed guest list, but Lady Hothfield ignored her completely. Lady Vickers thrust out her considerable chest, threw back her head, and backed away. She bumped into the Greek statue. A moment later, she stepped away, a small smile on her face. The crimson cloth covering the statue's nether region disappeared into the folds of her skirt.
I bit my lip, but couldn't stop my grin. Seth and Alice both followed my gaze to the white marble statue, now entirely naked. Seth pinched the bridge of his nose while Alice giggled into her hand.
Lord and Lady Hothfield hadn't yet seen. They continued to sport scowls as the footmen produced our coats. I put mine on and caught Leisl observing me. Could she see into a person's past as well as their future? What did she see in mine?
"You are not medium," she said quietly. "You are more."
I glanced at Lincoln. Neither of us answered.
"Do not fear me," she said. "I do not harm the woman my…my son loves." She reached for his hand, but he moved away. Her face fell.
I took her hand instead. "Forgive him," I said. "He needs time."
She nodded and held my hand briefly in both of hers before letting go.
"If you need anything, we can be found at Lichfield Towers in Highgate. Take care, Leisl."
Alice hooked her arm through mine. "We'd better go," she whispered. "Lady Hothfield is looking at us so fiercely, I can feel her glare stabbing me."
"You!" Leisl took a step backward, her huge eyes fixed on Alice. "You are door."
"Door?" Alice tried to laugh but it fell flat. "Charlie, what d
oes she mean? Why is she looking at me like I'm the devil?"
"The door to other worlds," Leisl muttered, taking another step back. She pulled out a necklace from beneath her bodice and held it up. The flat oval pendant attached to the leather strip sported a roughly hewn etching of a blue eye. It was identical to one I'd found in Lincoln's possession some time ago. He'd told me his mother had given it to him when he was a baby. It was all he had of hers.
"What is she doing? Is she cursing me?" Alice's voice rose in panic and she sidled closer to me.
"Nothing like that," I quickly assured her. "It's for her own protection."
"She knows what I am? What my dreams do? How? How can she know?"
"I'll explain later." I took her hand and steered her toward the door.
"Alice?" Seth fell into step beside us. "You look pale. Allow me to escort you."
"Oh!" cried Lady Vickers. "Oh my! Oh dear, how wicked."
I spun round to see Lady Vickers pointing at the statue, her other hand shielding her eyes.
"I cannot bear to see such…such filth!" she screeched.
Several faces peered over the balustrade to see what all the fuss was about. More than one gentlemen snickered, and a few ladies too, while an older woman covered her young companion's eyes.
"I want to see, Mama," the girl whined, clawing at her mother's hand.
Lady Hothfield's cheeks turned the color of the carpet. "Cover it up at once! You there, your jacket!" She dragged the hapless footman's jacket from his shoulders then flung it back at him. "Cover up the offensive area! Quickly!"
More guests peered down, and several giggled while others shook their heads in disgust. This level of society wasn't used to seeing nakedness in their entrance halls, not even on statues. Indeed, for some, nakedness in any room was abhorrent.
Gus arrived with our carriage. Lincoln climbed up beside him while we four piled inside and pulled the blankets over our laps. Lady Vickers produced the statue's loin cloth and waved it in front of Seth's face.
He shoved it away. "You're drunk."
She flicked the cloth at him. "How else am I to get through evenings like those?"
"I thought you wanted to go."
"And be whispered about behind my back? Be snubbed at every turn? That is not my idea of a pleasant evening, Seth."
"Then why accept the invitation at all? Indeed, why go to so much trouble to secure an invitation in the first place?"
"To force them to smile politely at me when I greet them. I want them to know that their malice did not bury me." She patted his cheek. "And to insure you will be accepted into society once again."
"Why do you care so much about that? I don't want it."
"You may not want it, but you need it. You don't want to get to my age and regret that you made a poor match because you didn't have access to the best ladies in your youth."
He stared at her. "I am lost for words."
"That's quite all right, dearest. You may thank me when your wits return, but please do so before I die. Or Charlie can summon me and you can tell me then."
Seth shook his head. "This conversation is one of the strangest I've ever had."
"Speaking of strange, thank goodness that gypsy woman arrived when she did," Lady Vickers said. "She certainly livened up a rather dull event. Not to mention the gossips have someone else to whisper about now."
"She was quite a crackpot," Seth agreed.
"Don't call her that in front of Lincoln," I warned them.
"Why not?"
I didn't want to tell them that Leisl was his mother, but I needed to explain why they must temper their comments in his presence. "She's a seer and so is he."
"He is?" both Lady Vickers and Alice said.
I saw no reason not to tell them. They were both aware of the supernatural and had kept the household secrets to themselves so far. Neither would want to jeopardize their situation at Lichfield by gossiping about us. "He is," I said. "His skill is minimal, however. He doesn't so much as have visions, as feelings about certain things, and an awareness about, well, about me, mostly." I didn't mention the vision he had that day we kissed. It was a private matter, a vision of both of us, together and happy.
I told them about Leisl's vision regarding the prince, and how he'd scoffed at her pronouncement.
"I wonder how his life will be in danger from a ghost," Seth said. "I can understand his reticence to believe her, particularly if he doesn't believe in the occult."
"He believes," I said. "The look on his face when she told him suggests he does."
"I wonder if that's how they met," Alice said. "She seemed to know him, although he denied it. Perhaps she told him his fortune at the fair once."
"He wouldn't attend the fair." Lady Vickers held up the statue's loin cloth and studied it back and front. "It's more likely she's one of his conquests."
"Mother," Seth growled. "Not in front of the young ladies."
"Tosh. They're not silly girls, and I'm not imparting anything they haven't already heard." She tucked the loincloth into her bodice. "This will make a lovely handkerchief. I'll take it with me to all the dinner parties and luncheons this week. I think it will be quite the sensation."
Seth groaned. "I blame America."
"For what?"
"For turning you into this shameless hoyden."
She laughed. "America is not to blame for that. It was my darling George's influence." She winked at Alice and me. She spoke often of George, the man who'd risen from footman to be her second husband. He'd been the love of her life. Alice and I enjoyed hearing stories about their time in America, and how wonderful George had been to her before his sudden death. Seth, however, usually walked out of the room.
He sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Are we nearly home?"
"I got leftover plum tarts," Cook said from the depths of the pantry. "Butter biscuits and two slices of orange cake."
"No bacon or eggs?" Gus asked, taking a seat at the kitchen table. He and Doyle had seen to the horses and coach upon our return, while Lady Vickers had retired immediately, with the assistance of her maid, Bella. The rest of us gathered in the kitchen where the range was still warm.
"It ain't breakfast," Cook said, setting a tray laden with food on the table.
Gus pounced on it, but Seth slapped his hand away. "Ladies first." He slid the tray toward Alice.
She took a biscuit and thanked him. Seth smiled then slid the tray closer to himself, away from Gus. It didn't stop Gus from reaching over and grabbing a tart.
Lincoln, standing at the stove, poured hot chocolate directly into cups that I handed out to everyone. Doyle didn't want one, and nor did he eat. He looked tired.
"Perhaps you should retire," I said quietly to him.
"Not while Mr. Fitzroy needs me," he said.
"I don't need you," Lincoln said, sitting beside me. "Charlie's right. You should retire."
Doyle looked as if he would protest but then seemed to think better of it. There really could be no arguing with Lincoln on this score. He'd never required the services of a valet before, and there was nothing else for Doyle to do. "Very good, sir. I'll see that all the doors are locked before I go up. Goodnight everyone, and a very happy new year."
At some point on the journey home, the clock had ticked past midnight and into 1890. A new year and a new beginning.
"How be the evening?" Cook asked once Doyle was gone. We kept no secrets from Doyle, but sometimes the men didn't feel as if he was one of us since he'd only joined the Lichfield Towers staff recently.
"Interesting," Seth told him. "My mother caused a commotion that means we'll probably never get invited back to the Hothfields."
Gus chuckled. "The more I know of your mother, the more I like her."
Seth wrinkled his nose. "If you marry her, I will not call you Papa."
That got everyone laughing, even Seth.
"She wasn't the only one causing commotions," Lincoln said.
I touched his
knee under the table, wanting him to know that I supported his decision to discuss Leisl and her vision with the others. He rested his hand over mine.
"My mother showed up."
The kitchen filled with gasps, including my own. I hadn't expected him to tell them that.
"That gypsy is your mother?" Seth asked.
"Romany," I corrected. "They don't like being called gypsy."
"Could you not see the resemblance?" Lincoln asked.
"A little, now that you mention it," Seth said with a shrug. "But…if she's your mother, who's your father?"
Lincoln's fingers flexed around mine. "That information is not important."
Seth pressed his lips together and concentrated on his cup.
Lincoln briefly told Gus and Cook about Leisl's vision.
"The question is, what do we do now?" I asked. "The prince ought to be protected."
"How?" Cook asked. "He doesn't believe in her visions."
"He believes," Lincoln said. "He doesn't want to admit it."
"He'll be quaking in his jeweled slippers tonight then," Gus said with a snort.
"We should visit him tomorrow," I said.
Alice laughed softly. "Charlie, one doesn't simply pay calls on the royal family."
"There must be a way of getting word to him."
"Why not approach it a different way?" Seth asked. "You could summon the spirit of the dead prince consort and ask him if he's going to do something nasty to his son."
"That's a foolish plan," Gus scoffed. "He ain't going to admit it, for one. And what's he going to do in spirit form?"
"Haunt him to death," Cook said. "That's what I'd do."
"Haunt your own son!"
"Maybe the Prince O' Wales is a right turd and deserves it."
Seth nodded slowly. "He doesn't treat his mistresses all that well once he tires of them."
"They tell you that?" Gus asked, his mouth cocked in a sly grin.
Seth’s gaze flicked to Alice. "Of course not. Why would I be in communication with the mistresses of His Royal Highness?"
"Got enough of your own to worry about, eh?" Cook's belly shook with his deep laugh.
"Half-wits," Seth muttered. "The point is, Cook may be right, and the prince consort might want his son to toe the royal line and straighten up now that he's middle aged. It won't be long before he'll take over the throne, but the way he acts, he won't be taken seriously by the public or government. It's not just the numerous mistresses; it's the parties, holidays and exorbitant expense. His lifestyle does not come cheaply or discreetly."
