by C. J. Archer
"From his friends. Some could change into other animals. There was a pack of them, you see. A pack of shape-changers, all learning off each other. According to this fellow, however, none succeeded in changing into anything other than their main form. He'd had the only success."
My voice, as I repeated this for Lincoln, sounded stunned.
"The group," Lincoln said, "where do they live?"
"Whitechapel."
The palace footmen saw the impersonator disappear into Whitechapel. The impersonator must be one of the men Erskine stumbled upon, if not the leader himself. "His name?" I asked.
"King," Erskine said, "but I'm unsure if that's his real name. He didn't strike me as the sort of fellow to give it out to a stranger, even one like him. If I had to guess, I'd say he and his friends weren't always law-abiding, like most folk from Whitechapel." His nose wrinkled, as if he could still smell the unwashed slum dwellers. "Although I sensed my every move was being watched from the moment I entered that Godforsaken rookery, I came to no harm, and I suspect I had him to thank for it. He didn't strike me as an uncivil man, either. Indeed, he spoke quite eloquently, and I didn't feel threatened in his presence."
"Where did you speak to him and where can we find him?"
"At the Cat and Fiddle. Whether he still drinks there, I wouldn't know, but someone ought to know him. He was a popular figure."
"How long ago was this?"
He glanced at Harriet. "She was still quite young, not yet a woman. About eleven or twelve years ago."
"Can you describe this Mr. King?"
"Receding brown hair, mid-twenties at the time, moustache and side whiskers. He was quite tall and powerfully built, very broad in the shoulders. Large hands and feet, too, which in hindsight, I think might be a trait of our kind."
"What do you mean?"
He glanced at his hand, still covering his daughter's. His was extraordinarily broad, the fingers thick and the knuckles bulging. Hers too, for a woman's hands. There was nothing delicate about them, although she wasn't a big woman on the whole.
"The first fellow I spoke with had big hands too, as do Harriet and I." He thrust out one bare foot. "And big feet too. Poor Harriet. She always had gloves and shoes made to fit. She couldn't find any readymade feminine ones in shops."
I repeated what I'd learned about Mr. King for Lincoln and Harriet. It gave me time to digest it all, and consider any further questions to ask Erskine. But I could think of none.
Lincoln, however, wanted to know more about Erskine's own family. "What of your relatives?" he asked.
"I have none. I knew nothing of my parents, and was brought up by a governess then tutors who oversaw my day-to-day welfare. The family lawyer who managed my affairs until I was of age. If they knew anything about my form changing, they never said and I never asked."
I repeated this for Lincoln.
"Daddy was very much alone," Harriet said. "That's what he always told me. It was just him and me. That's why he wanted to make sure I married a man older than myself, to care for me properly after Daddy was gone. Someone of solid stock and good family."
Erskine's form shimmered. "Just in the nick of time as it turned out," he said. "Not that I expected Gillingham to lock her away like this. Tell me, Miss Holloway, what's the story there? Ought I be worried?"
Harriet blinked her innocent eyes at me, waiting for me to repeat her father's words back to her. She was so naive and seemed to actually care for her husband. Or, at least, care enough to want his child. I decided to keep quiet about the particulars and my opinion of Gillingham. Lord Erskine could do nothing in his present form to make his son-in-law pay for his treatment of Harriet. It would only frustrate him.
"No," I said. "Mr. Fitzroy and I are seeing that her husband treats her well."
"Good. Good. Is there anything else?"
"Do we have any more questions for his lordship?" I asked Lincoln.
"Have you seen King since that day?" he asked.
"No," Erskine said. "Having met him and ascertained that there were others like us in the world, I had no need to see him again. Knowing that we weren't alone was the important point. I didn't want a friendship with the fellow."
I passed on his answer to Lincoln, then added my own question. "King never sought you out?"
"I never gave him my title or place of residence. That would be foolish. The man's a slum dweller. He may be like me in that we can both change our form, but we are nothing alike in any other way. I didn't dare risk giving him a clue as to where to find me."
"One cannot trust slum dwellers." He did not seem to detect my sarcasm. "Thank you for helping us, but it's time for you to leave now, my lord."
"He's going?" Harriet whispered, her lower lip trembling. "Oh, Daddy, I wish I could embrace you one last time."
"So do I." He nodded at me to repeat his words. I did. "Goodbye, my dear Harriet. Be a good girl and obey your husband."
I couldn't bring myself to repeat his last words, but I passed on his fondest regards and wishes. They both seemed satisfied with that.
Then I sent him back.
"Charlie!" Lady V's screech had everyone shuddering and Seth putting his hands over his ears. It was as painful as nails down a blackboard. She certainly knew how to make an entrance that could garner the attention of the room. "What are you wearing?"
I sat sprawled in an armchair in the parlor, a glass of sherry in hand. Lincoln and I had just finished telling Gus, Seth and Alice about our conversation with the spirit of Lord Erskine, but we hadn't had a chance to discuss the implications or devise a plan before Lady V arrived.
She was dressed for dinner in what I now knew was her only evening gown, a black velvet and lace dress with the large bustle that was a few years out of date but nevertheless looked regal on her tall figure. Bella had attempted to do her hair but, having been employed by Seth because of her pretty face and curves rather than her hairdressing skills, the arrangement already looked in danger of collapsing like a tent in the wind.
"I had a need to wear boy's clothes today," I said simply.
"What could you have possibly been doing that necessitated boys' clothing? Climbing trees?"
"Not trees," I said into my glass.
Gus smirked and Alice bit down on her lip, but it curved at the edges into a smile despite her efforts. Lincoln remained as impassive as ever by the window, a glass of brandy dangling from his fingertips.
"Leave Charlie alone, Mother," Seth scolded. "She is the lady of the house, after all, and can do as she pleases."
"Not yet," Lady V quipped.
I saluted her with my glass. "Quite right."
Lincoln set his glass down and placed both hands on the window sill at his back. I kept my gaze studiously ahead on Lady V, but I felt very aware of his sudden alertness.
"A small sherry before I go, please, Seth." Lady V sat on the sofa beside Alice. "And even if you were mistress of Lichfield, Charlie, you must be prepared to receive callers at all times, and that means dressing appropriately. In women's attire," she added, as if I might mistake her meaning.
"We rarely have callers," I said. "Except the committee members, and I don't particularly care for their opinions."
Lady V clicked her tongue. "I see we're not going to have a sensible conversation about it."
I sighed. "I promise to wear women's clothing at all times around the house, unless a particular situation arises where I must change. Does that suffice?"
She gave me one of her queenly nods. "Thank you. Now, will you please sit like a lady, at least, and not like an apprentice in his cups?"
I straightened my back and pressed my knees together. I felt just like Harriet, a good girl who did as others bade her, even when it meant the loss of her liberty. In her situation, I would have climbed out the window and run off. But I was not like her, not even now that I lived in a grand mansion with respectable people.
I crossed my legs and downed my sherry in a gulp. If Lady V disapproved, she
gave no sign.
"Now, tell me what you've been doing that necessitated…" She looked me up and down, her nose wrinkled. "…that."
"I paid Lady Gillingham a visit, if you must know, and her husband is keeping her locked in her room for the night as punishment for coming here—"
"Locked away! Punishment!" She looked as if she would march to Gillingham's house and wring his neck. "That man's a monster. The poor girl must have been terribly upset."
"She's bearing it with more tolerance than I would."
"That's because you're like me, Charlie, and such behavior from our husbands would never be tolerable." She angled a sharp glare toward Lincoln.
He lifted a brow and I had the feeling he was challenging her—daring her—to accuse him. Then his gaze darted to mine, and a small crease appeared between his brows.
Doyle entered and announced the arrival of Lady Dalhouse's coach, Lady V's ride for the evening.
"Goodnight everyone," she said, rising. "Don't wait up." She kissed the top of her son's head, much to his embarrassment.
We all watched her leave and then a collective sigh filled the room. "Your mother never fails to create a stir wherever she goes," I said to Seth.
"Why do you think I drink so much?" He got up to refill his glass, and refilled Gus's too, but Cook and Lincoln refused. "Another sherry, ladies?"
"No, thank you," I said.
"Not for me, either," Alice said. "I've had quite enough for one evening."
Seth set down the decanter. "Poppycock."
Poppycock? Since when had that word dropped into Seth's vocabulary?
"What now, Fitzroy?" Gus asked. "Want us to go to the Cat and Fiddle tonight?"
Lincoln nodded. "We three will head there shortly."
"To a Whitechapel tavern!" Alice blinked owlishly at Lincoln. "Is that wise?"
Lincoln's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Yes."
"They'll be fine," I assured her before she protested. "They've done it many times. Lincoln has even been into the Cat and Fiddle before, and no one has troubled him."
"Not after he smashed some heads together that night," Gus said with a chuckle. When he noticed no one else chuckling with him, he sobered.
"You're right to worry," Seth said, coming to Alice's side. He squatted beside her and patted her hand. "Whitechapel is a dangerous place, but we're well trained in the art of pugilism." He tapped his chin. "I'm used to taking a few blows in the process of gathering information. A bruise here and there never bothered me, and the other fellow always winds up worse off."
Cook rolled his eyes, and Gus shook his head.
Alice frowned prettily, albeit dramatically. "You're so brave! To venture into a rookery with only your fists as weapons, when the thugs will possess knives and possibly even guns. You're a hero, Seth. A true warrior."
Gus snorted a laugh and Cook grinned. "I like you more 'n' more, Alice," he said.
Seth laughed too, and didn't seem at all perturbed to have been mocked. "Yes. Well. We'll be armed with more than just our fists, of course." He backed away and plucked his glass off the table where he'd deposited it. "The thing is," he said to me, "how can we be sure Erskine isn't talking complete…poppycock?"
Poppycock again. Good lord, if he was going to act and sound like a toff around Alice, we were going to have to have conversations without her present. "I think he spoke the truth," I said.
"He had no reason to lie," Lincoln added. He set down his glass and strode across the room. "Get ready. We leave in thirty minutes."
Seth and Gus followed him out, and Cook rose to leave too.
"Just a moment," I said to him. "How is Mrs. Cotchin working out? Are you two getting along?"
He scratched his bald head. "She be too busy to bother me. I told her straight up that the kitchen be my space and the rest of the house be hers. So far she ain't caused no problems."
"Good, I'm glad everything's settled."
"She did look at me odd when I came in here and looked to be about to say something, but then Doyle spoke to her. I 'spect he'll tell her what's what with us."
"I hope he doesn't tell her too much. Not yet, at least. We don't want her fleeing with fright and telling tales."
"She be a robust sort, I reckon, but Doyle won't tell."
"What of the new kitchen?"
"It ain't all done yet. The builders be back tomorrow. It'll be grand when it be finished. The new cooker be a dream to work." His face lit up at the mention of the cooker. He was a complex, interesting man, yet his joys were simple. He loved to cook.
He left, leaving Alice and I alone. "I think I'll stay in my boys' clothing a little longer," I said, sitting like a man again with my knees apart. "It's rather liberating sprawling in an armchair like this."
"Perhaps I'll try it one day when no one's about."
"Or you could try it when everyone is about, if you'd like to shock them."
"I'd prefer to avoid Lady Vickers' censure, thank you. I get quite enough fierce glances directed my way when she sees me with Seth."
"Speaking of Seth, you shouldn't tease him. He handles your barbs well, but he is trying very hard to impress you."
"I wish he wouldn't," she muttered, looking away.
"I've never seen him try so hard, in fact," I went on. "He's used to women falling at his feet no matter what he says or does. You confound him."
Her fingers twisted in her lap and she still didn't meet my gaze.
"It's all right, Alice. If you have no feelings for him in that way, then there's nothing for it. He'll recover, I'm sure. I'd wager his belief in his own appeal is in more danger than his heart."
She looked relieved. "I'm glad to hear it, because…I don't know what to make of him, to be honest. I'm not one for falling at the feet of handsome, charming men just because they're handsome and charming."
"I don't think we'd be such good friends if you were."
"There must be something more in a man to interest me, something of substance," she said.
"Seth does have substance. It just takes time to find it beneath the attractive exterior. He's terribly loyal, for one thing, and fiercely determined to right the past wrongs of his father." He'd worked hard to pay his father's debts, taking any work he could find. Some of that work was dubious, however. "Is it his lack of money and property?"
"No! He's gainfully employed here, and that's quite enough for me."
"Lady V, then? I know she doesn't think it a good match, but she'll come round once she gets to know you."
She sighed and slumped into the chair, her spine finally relaxing for the first time since sitting down. "That's the thing, Charlie. I hardly know him and he hardly knows me."
"I admit he's probably dazzled by your beauty, as most men are, but you do at least have substance beneath your pretty face, and if he doesn't know it yet, he will. He surely knows I wouldn't be friends with a silly twit." I laughed, but she merely smiled, and half-heartedly at that. "What is it, Alice? What's troubling you?"
"He's not being himself around me, is he? I can tell from your reactions and that of the others."
"I don't understand."
She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "He seems very upright, never saying or doing anything foolish or confrontational. He agrees with all my opinions, even when I deliberately say something absurd."
"You've been testing him?"
She winced. "It's awful of me, I know."
"Actually, I was thinking how clever of you. As to him agreeing with you, I'd play along. I wish Lincoln would agree with all my opinions."
"No, you don't."
I sighed. Perhaps she was right. Lincoln was his own man. A sycophant wouldn't do for me at all, and not for Alice either.
"Tell me, is Seth usually the sort of person who says poppycock?" she asked.
I smiled. "No. He tends to use much stronger words, although he does temper it a little in his mother's presence. Sometimes. And he'd never say a crude word in front of a woman. He t
reats me like a sister, so I don't count."
"I suppose."
"Do you want me to talk to him?"
"If you like, but I don't want him to think that it makes me interested in him in that way."
"I'll try to word it so he understands."
"It's just that I don't know him yet, not the real him without the act. So how can I tell if I will like him in that way?"
"Noted." Good lord, I sounded like Lincoln. "I'll speak with him tomorrow. Now, I'm starved. Do you want some supper?"
"Good idea."
"Ring for Doyle while I get changed. I don't want to send Mrs. Cotchin into a spin if she sees me dressed like this."
"You're remarkably calm considering Lincoln and the others are heading into Whitechapel at night."
"They can take care of themselves. All joking aside, they're very capable."
"Yes, but…" She sighed. "Sorry, I'm simply thinking the worst."
"Try not to." I gave her a flat smile, but as I headed up to my rooms, the familiar icy fingers of dread curled around my bones.
Instead of going straight to my rooms, I stood in the corridor outside Lincoln's. He emerged almost immediately, having probably sensed my presence. He'd already changed into coarse flannel trousers and a graying shirt. His feet were bare and he held a yellow neckerchief with frayed ends in one hand. His hair was still tied back. I knew from previous excursions into the East End that he'd untie it and ruffle it up a little.
He handed me the neckerchief. "Would you mind?"
I took the scrap of fabric and fixed it around his neck. Then I reached behind his head and untied his hair. It fell to his nape, but didn't have the desired crumpled effect, so I dug my fingers through it, scrunching and tangling it. We stood very close; closer than was decent for an unmarried couple. I tilted my face up to see him better, only to notice him already watching me. Heat smoldered in his half-closed eyes. He lowered his face to mine and my heart did a little somersault in anticipation of his kiss.
Then he suddenly pulled away and clutched my arms, holding me at bay. "I must finish getting ready," he said, his voice a low hum.
I cleared my throat. "I'll see you when you get back."
