Of Fate and Phantoms (Ministry of Curiosities Book 7)

by C. J. Archer

  Because he had softened somewhat, most likely because of my influence.

  "We'll try again tomorrow," he said.

  "In a different area?" I asked. "Using a different approach?"

  "Perhaps."

  "Why don't I come with you? That way—"

  "No!" Seth chopped his hand through the air. "Absolutely not. Whitechapel is not for ladies."

  I pressed my fist to my hip. "Have you forgotten that I used to live there?"

  "Have you forgotten that you're no longer a scrawny lad but a…" He made the shape of a curvy woman with his hands. "A pretty lady of breeding and education?" He pushed to his feet and snatched up a bowl. "No gentleman in his right mind would allow a lady he cared about to wander through the slums of the East End. Right, Fitzroy?" Seth thrust his bowl at Cook and arched his brows at Lincoln.

  Lincoln plucked a bowl off the table too. "If you're not busy tomorrow, Charlie, I'd appreciate your help."

  Seth shook his head and muttered something at the ceiling that sounded French.

  "She'll be fine," Gus told him, lining up for his soup. "We'll be there to make sure nothing happens to her."

  "I'll be there," Lincoln said.

  "What are we supposed to do while you two go gallivanting through Whitehall after a body changer who may or may not exist?" Seth asked.

  "You could take your mother and Alice out," I quipped. "I'm sure they'd both love spending time with you. Do try not to make cow eyes at Alice, though. You know how it riles Lady V."

  He screwed up his nose. "Stop being so smug, Charlie. You only won because he can't say no to you, not because it's a good idea."

  Cook snorted as he ladled soup into my bowl. "Seth be asking for it now," he whispered.

  "The stables need cleaning," Lincoln told Seth. "There's a task for you tomorrow. Gus can take the day off."

  Gus beamed. "Thank you, sir."

  Seth opened his mouth to protest but must have thought better of it. He simply shot me a glare then tucked into his soup.

  "Speaking of tomorrow," I said as I sat beside Lincoln. "Our new housekeeper will begin in the morning. Her name is Mrs. Cotchin, and she has excellent references from a household that Lady V is familiar with. She was a senior maid there and with the housekeeper far from retirement age, she decided she had to leave their employ if she wanted to improve her situation. I think she'll fit in here nicely. Doyle has met her, haven't you, Doyle?"

  The butler had entered quietly and helped himself to soup. He was used to dining with us on the odd occasion, and he no longer held himself in check if Lincoln or I entered the service area.

  "I have," he intoned. "She's an experienced woman of good character."

  "He means she's nice," I added.

  "But will she fit in?" Seth asked. "This household is not an easy one to adjust to. And what do we tell her about the strange comings and goings?"

  "We don't tell her anything," Lincoln said. "That side of things must remain a secret for now. Understood?"

  We all nodded.

  Cook pouted. "I ain't going to see you much no more, am I?"

  "You'll see me," Gus said.

  "Not me," Seth said. "Downstairs will become strictly for servants only."

  "You're a tosspot," Gus told him. "And you ain't no better than me, Cook or Doyle. The last year should've proved that to you."

  "Things are different now with my mother and Alice here. The invitations to social engagements are coming in thick and fast. It's time to resume my proper place in society."

  "You wish to leave my employ?" Lincoln asked.

  "What? No! I need to work. I just meant that I have to fit my work around my newfound popularity."

  "I thought you hated the sycophants and gossips," I said.

  "I do, on the whole."

  "Are you trying to appease your mother?"

  "God, no. I'm simply assisting her now that she has Alice to think about. And you, too, of course, Charlie. My mother wishes to take you both out to show you off to her friends. It's only right that I come along to keep an eye on things."

  Gus snorted. "You mean make sure no gen'lemen catch Alice's eye."

  "Don't be ridiculous." Seth beamed and pushed out his chest. "No other gentleman could possibly interest her when she gets to see me every day. She might go out, but she always comes home to me."

  "Toss pot," both Gus and Cook said.

  I didn't share their sentiments on this score. Despite his cockiness, a hint of vulnerability edged Seth's tone. He truly liked Alice and wanted to make a good impression. This man, who won hearts wherever he went, was finding it difficult to win the heart of a woman he actually admired.

  "What happened with Lady Gillingham?" Lincoln asked me.

  I exchanged a glance with Doyle, the only witness to events in the drawing room. "She was about to tell me something that may have been important to our investigation, but we were interrupted by her husband."

  The black centers of Lincoln's eyes constricted to pinpoints. His spoon stilled in the bowl. "And?"

  "And she threw him across the room."

  Gus and Seth set down their spoons. "Bloody hell," Gus said. "Is he dead?"

  "No." Cook sat back in the chair and rubbed his stomach. "Next time, we hope."

  "He came here to order her to return home with him," I said. "He didn't like her speaking to me. He manhandled her and she lashed out. She's remarkably strong."

  "Her senses are acute, too," Lincoln said. "Like an animal's."

  "She picked him up and threw him at the wall as if he weighed nothing more than a cat. She shocked herself, I think. He came to and was still furious with her. He wanted to know why she was here so I told him about our meeting at the palace and how we needed her help. I didn't give him any details, though. He still didn't allow her to talk to me, however. She left without telling me what she wanted to say." I looked to Lincoln. "Should I not have told him anything?"

  "I would have informed him and the others anyway," he said. "I'll set up a committee meeting."

  I glanced at the clock on the mantel. "Gillingham already has. They'll convene here in thirty minutes."

  "Cake and finger buns will be served," Cook said, rising. "I'll clean up now and start preparing the tea."

  "You want us there?" Gus asked.

  Lincoln nodded. "You'll attend all committee meetings from now on. It'll save me repeating everything later."

  "They won't like it."

  Lincoln lifted one shoulder and stood.

  "Does that trouble you?" I asked Gus.

  He grinned, revealing two rows of broken and missing teeth. "No. Just making sure it don't trouble no one else."

  "Charlie," Lincoln said, holding out his hand. I placed my hand in his and we walked out of the kitchen together. "Gillingham will still be furious with you," he said.

  "I know."

  He rubbed his thumb along mine, the sensation gentle and soothing. "Do you want me to step in if he berates you?"

  "Only if he seems to be getting the better of me. Perhaps just give him one of your deathly stares."

  "Deathly stares?"

  "The ones that make Gillingham and most others quake in their boots."

  He pulled me into the dark recesses beneath the main staircase and held me against his body. My heart thumped so fiercely he must have been able to feel it. "You never quaked in your boots."

  "I most certainly did. I just never let you see it."

  He pressed his lips to my forehead and sighed. I put my arms around him and rested my cheek on his chest. His heartbeat was loud but steady.

  "Did I ever look at you that way when I sent you to the school?" he asked.

  "No. You hardly looked at me at all." I held him tighter, wanting him to know I didn't harbor any anger toward him for sending me from Lichfield. His deep regret had diminished my anger upon our reunion, and seeing him vulnerable, after the kitchen explosion, had dissolved it altogether. "I stopped being afraid shortly after meeting you
when I realized you only killed in self-defense."

  "Nowadays."

  "But let's not tell Gillingham that." I pulled away and stroked his cheek. It was rough; he hadn't shaved before going into Whitechapel.

  "I can always make an exception for him."

  I laughed softly at his joke. At least, I thought it was a joke. "You'd better go and change for the meeting."

  Lincoln's first meeting as a member of the committee began with him reminding them that he was General Eastbrooke's heir and therefore not only inherited his house and wealth but also his position on the committee.

  "Yes, yes," Gillingham said with a stamp of his walking stick into the floor. "We all know."

  "The general's death is a timely reminder to everyone to have a successor in place to take over their position here," Lincoln said. "Preferably one who knows of the ministry's existence, if not all of the details. Charlie is mine."

  "And if she dies before you?" Lord Marchbank asked. If anyone else asked that I would consider it a horrid thing to say to a man about his intended, but not the very practical earl.

  "Seth," Lincoln said.

  Seth straightened. "Really? Er, thank you, I suppose."

  "My son Edward is my heir," Marchbank said. "You all know that, and he's aware of the ministry. Gilly? Julia? Neither of you have children. Who do you appoint?"

  "That's none of your affair," Gilly said with a sniff.

  "It is. We may need to seek them out when you're dead and tell them about us."

  "My wife inherits everything," he said, lowering his chin so that he mumbled into his chest. "She knows about the ministry."

  "Andrew is my heir," Lady Harcourt said quietly. She wore deep black today, despite appearing in half-mourning colors in recent weeks. The lustrous sheen of the gown brought out the gloss in her hair and the whiteness of her skin. She was a woman aware of her beauty and knew how to enhance it with clothing and jewels, and black certainly suited her. Yet the sudden change surprised me. Was she mourning the general? Or the death of her reputation and popularity?

  "Buchanan?" Gillingham waved off the cup of tea I held out to him. "Why not his brother?"

  Andrew Buchanan was the younger son of Lady Harcourt's late husband. Donald Buchanan, the current Lord Harcourt, was the elder and lived with his wife on the family estate in Oxfordshire. Both knew about the ministry, but as the eldest, Donald should have inherited the committee position from his father. Old Lord Harcourt had elected his wife, however.

  "Andrew is interested," she said, "Donald is not. Besides, Donald rarely comes to London."

  "Then that's settled." Gillingham tilted his chin at the teapot. "Got anything stronger, Fitzroy?"

  Seth poured him a brandy at the sideboard. We sat in the drawing room rather than the library. With both Seth and Gus joining us, the larger room suited better. Lady Vickers and Alice had not yet returned from their shopping expedition, and Doyle had been instructed not to disturb us, so privacy wasn't an issue.

  Gillingham accepted the brandy glass. "Now," the earl said, "I called this meeting because it came to my attention that the events of the masked ball led to Charlotte and Fitzroy being summoned to the palace."

  "The palace?" Marchbank's heavy brows crashed together. "Why weren't we informed?"

  "Who did you see there?" Lady Harcourt asked, her features suddenly coming to life. "The Prince of Wales?"

  Lincoln nodded. "I was about to call a meeting to inform you but Gillingham got in first."

  "How did you learn about all this before us, Gilly?" Marchbank asked.

  Gillingham swirled the brandy around his glass. "Mere happenstance."

  "It arose out of Leisl's pronouncement that she sensed the Prince Consort's ghost would bring danger to his family," Lincoln said. "On the night of the ball I suggested to the Prince of Wales that we could help him in ghostly matters, so he took me up on the offer and summoned us." He told them how the meeting went and that we spoke to the ghost himself.

  "In the presence of the queen?" Lady Harcourt asked. "How did that go?"

  "Awkwardly," I said. "But we got answers. He's not haunting his family and has no wish to harm them. But that's not the most interesting part of the meeting."

  Lincoln told them about the imposter and his theory that it could have been a shape shifter posing as the Prince Consort rather than a lookalike. "I'm seeking the counsel of another shifter known to us through the archives," he said, avoiding mentioning Harriet by name.

  "Another shifter?" Lady Harcourt asked. "You mean we already know of one? Perhaps he's the imposter?"

  "She's not. She can only change into a beast form, not human."

  "She?" Marchbank echoed at the same time that Lady Harcourt said, "So she says. Women do not always tell the truth, Lincoln."

  "Nor do men," he countered.

  She gave him a tight smile over her teacup.

  "So what did your shifter have to say?" Marchbank asked. "Did she know of anyone who can do what you suggest?"

  "No," I said. "But she may know something of importance. Unfortunately we were interrupted before she could impart anything of use to me."

  "You can't rely on one silly female who most likely doesn't know anything." Gillingham said, waggling his empty glass at Gus. "You must extend your inquiries."

  Gus dutifully stood and poured him another brandy. "We are."

  Gillingham didn't even look his way.

  "The palace footman followed the imposter as far as Whitechapel," Lincoln went on. "We're currently making inquiries there."

  "How?"

  "You don't need to know my methods." Lincoln's ice cold voice matched his eyes. "All you need to know is that they work."

  Gillingham gulped his brandy down.

  "The involvement of the palace is a bold move on the villain's part and extremely concerning." Marchbank stroked the white scar slicing through his beard. "It means he has no respect for authority, coupled with a brazen nature. A dangerous combination in my book."

  "Or it could mean he already bore a remarkable resemblance to Prince Albert," I said.

  Everyone turned to me. "Go on," Lincoln said.

  "Did the imposter choose the Prince Consort because he already resembled him to a certain extent so the shift wouldn't be too difficult? Or does pretending to be the prince achieve something in particular? If the former, then his motives will be difficult to discover, but if the latter, then it will be easier because it's highly specific. He chose the dead prince for a reason."

  Marchbank nodded. "Excellent point, Charlie."

  "Not really," Gillingham drawled. "It brings us no closer to learning the imposter's identity."

  "It's something to consider," Seth spat back.

  "Who asked you? Fill up my glass, there's a good fellow."

  Seth ignored him. Gillingham waggled his empty glass, and Gus got up to fill it again, but Lincoln put a hand out to stop him.

  "The meeting is concluded," Lincoln said. "I've told you everything you need to know."

  "Need?" Marchbank intoned. He nevertheless rose, as did Lady Harcourt. Lord Gillingham did not.

  "I'll keep you informed of developments," Lincoln said.

  "Will you really?" Gillingham sniffed. "Because it seems to me that you haven't questioned the most logical suspect. Your mother."

  It felt as if the air got sucked out of the room as everyone focused on Lincoln. His face remained impassive. "Leisl is not a suspect."

  "Why not? She knew about the imposter. Perhaps she knew because she has something to do with the villain."

  Sometimes I wondered if Gillingham had a death wish. To my surprise, however, Lincoln merely repeated, "She's not a suspect."

  "Why would she warn the Prince of Wales if she were part of the scheme?" I asked. "Your theory is absurd."

  "She may have had regrets." Gillingham shrugged. "She's a gypsy. They think differently to us. No offense intended, Fitzroy, but it's not like you care about the woman who gave you up, is it?
"

  If Lincoln didn't shut him up, perhaps I would. It was very tempting.

  "If she were involved," Seth said, "which I doubt, why would she choose the royal family, and the Prince of Wales in particular? What would she gain?"

  "Revenge for past wrongs," Gillingham said before I could stop him.

  Seth and Gus both frowned. As the only ones who weren't aware of the relationship between the prince and Leisl, Gillingham's response made no sense to them.

  "What wrongs?" Seth asked.

  "It's not relevant to this investigation," I said quickly.

  "Charlie's right," Lincoln said. "It's not relevant. But Gillingham wants to remind everyone that Leisl and the prince had a liaison some thirty years ago. It resulted in me."

  Seth and Gus stared at him, utterly speechless. Then Seth burst out laughing. "Is that a joke?"

  "I don't joke."

  Seth's laughter died. "Right. Er, Charlie, did you know about this?"

  I nodded.

  "Blimey," Gus muttered. "Does that make you a prince? Do you outrank everyone here?"

  Gillingham snorted. "Simpleton. Illegitimacy has no rank. He would have to be publicly acknowledged and a title bestowed upon him. That sort of thing doesn't happen, nowadays."

  "Ain't no one here who can say their pa is a prince."

  Gillingham had no response to that and Gus sat back with a smug look on his face.

  "Are you quite sure we can rule out revenge?" Marchbank asked. "It's a simple yet effective tactic—scare him with a strange vision about his dead father, and embarrass him in a public place."

  When Lincoln didn't answer, I said, "I may have only just met her, but she seemed sensible and not at all inclined for revenge. Besides, why now after thirty years?"

  "Ask her. We expect you to, Fitzroy, regardless of your personal feelings on the matter."

  "I have no personal feelings on the matter," Lincoln said. "If I decide to question her, it will be because I think it's relevant, not because you or anyone else does. Is that clear?"

  Marchbank held up his hands in surrender. "If you say so."