Of Fate and Phantoms (Ministry of Curiosities Book 7)

by C. J. Archer

  "I agree with the woman who reckoned it's too early," Gus said. "They should've waited until everyone was asleep."

  Seth glanced at the inky sky. "It's dark enough and cold enough that no one will be out." But he sounded worried and glanced at the corner again. "Now what?"

  "We wait," Lincoln said.

  Gus groaned. "That bath ain't getting any closer."

  "You can go home," Lincoln said. "Take Charlie with you."

  "No." I folded my arms over my chest. "I'm staying."

  "There ain't no point staying," Gus said before Lincoln could answer. "Lady G ain't in danger. King even said she was going home soon, that's why they're gone for their run now. Come on, Charlie."

  "But once the group breaks up, King will be alone and we can confront him. If he doesn't want to answer, he could cause trouble. Lincoln and Seth will need your help to subdue him."

  Gus groaned. "I ain't going nowhere, am I?"

  Lincoln remained quiet, which I knew was agreement. He merely regarded me, as did Seth and Gus.

  I sighed. "Yes, I know I said that Gus is needed, not me. Fine, I'm going home. I don't want to get in the way."

  Seth huffed out a frosty breath. "You're going home because you want a warm bath and hot soup."

  "Next time you mention baths and soup, I'll thump you," Gus groaned.

  "We'll look around King's rooms for any sign of Mink," Lincoln said. "Then wait for them to return down here."

  "Perhaps Mink's inside waiting, too," I said. "Or perhaps he has returned home already."

  Lincoln squeezed my hand, depositing some money in my palm. "For the cab. Stay warm."

  He walked off. Seth and Gus trotted to catch up then fell into step beside him until they turned the corner into Rugby Street. I headed in the opposite direction to the pack and made my way to a busier thoroughfare where I paid for a hackney to take me home.

  The driver stopped at Lichfield's gates, unable to venture up the drive due to another coach blocking the entrance. It had begun to rain again, and my driver shouted at the other coachman to move on.

  "Oi!" my driver shouted. "What're you doing?"

  I hardly had time to register his words when the cabin door wrenched open. A man clad all in black, a hood covering most of his face, leaned inside. I swallowed my scream and scrambled out of his reach.

  "You have to come with me," he said, much too politely for a kidnapper.

  Still, I hesitated. I'd been abducted more times than I liked, and I wasn't prepared to add another to the tally. "What do you want?"

  "Just come with me and all will be explained."

  "No."

  "Come on, miss, it's cold and wet out here. It's warm and dry where we're going."

  "Are we going to my home, Lichfield Towers?"

  He peered at me from beneath the hood, his eyes two shiny centers among blackness. I couldn't make out his features and I didn't recognize his voice. "Somewhere nicer." He offered me his hand.

  I kicked it.

  He cried out and cradled it against his chest. He wasn't a very good kidnapper. I kicked him again while he was distracted, hitting him square in the chest. He fell back, landing on his rear in a puddle.

  "Bloody hell! What'd you do that for?"

  I pulled out the knife strapped to my forearm and the other from my boot and jumped out of the carriage. Ice-cold needles of rain pricked my face. I was already wet, and didn't care, but I'd begun to warm up in the carriage, and now I had to endure freezing rain again.

  "I am in no mood for this," I snapped. "It's damned cold and I want to go inside for a bath. Unless you have a good explanation for accosting me, I'm going in right now."

  "You seem to have this under control, lad," the hackney driver said, urging his horses onward.

  "Lad? She's not a lad." My abductor pushed himself to his feet and shook water off his cloak. "Put those knives away, Miss Holloway. I'm not here to hurt you."

  "Then why are you here? What do you want? Who sent you to fetch me? How do you know who I am?"

  "You just confirmed it. As to the rest, I'm not at liberty to say."

  "Then I'm not going with you." I skirted around him, careful to remain out of reach. I did not lower my weapons or take my eyes off him.

  "Bloody hell," he muttered, brushing himself off and flicking water over me in the process. "I ought to have asked for extra to do this."

  "From whom?"

  "The question you should have asked is, for what?"

  "I assume you meant for kidnapping me." Why was I having this very normal conversation with an abductor? It was absurd.

  "I told you, I'm not kidnapping you. I'm asking you to come with me."

  "Why would I go anywhere with a strange man who stops me from entering my home? I'm not a fool."

  "No, but you do ask a lot of questions." He regarded me, taking particular note of my knives. "You look like you know how to use those."

  "I've had weapons training and am skilled in the art of hand to hand combat."

  He paused. "Really? Are you sure you're a woman? It's hard to tell in this light with you dressed in those clothes. Perhaps you're not Miss Holloway."

  "I never said I was."

  He sighed. "I don't have time for this. My master is waiting for you."

  "I don't have time for this either—or the inclination. Either you tell me who you work for or I go inside and you can tell your master that you failed."

  "I feel sorry for your man." He sighed again. "Very well, I'll whisper it to you."

  "So you can get closer and capture me?" I snorted.

  "Blimey, you're suspicious. Very well, I'll show you." He parted his cloak to reveal a red coat with a lot of gold braiding and highly decorated lapels. The royal livery. "Now will you come with me?"

  I relaxed my stance but didn't put my weapons away. "Why the subterfuge?" I asked the footman.

  "My master is concerned about spies and newspaper men. The fewer people who know he has employed you, the better." He directed me to his coach. "Will you come now?"

  "If I must, but wouldn't he rather wait for Mr. Fitzroy?"

  "I was told to collect both of you or one of you if the other was unavailable. I asked at your house, but was told neither of you were at home. They think I left but I decided to wait here for the first conveyance to arrive. I recognized you from your visit to the palace." He looked me up and down. "Although you do look different in that garb. Now get inside before I freeze to death. Please."

  He opened the door for me and I got in. He folded up the step and climbed up to the driver's seat. There was no one else either inside or outside the coach. The interior was appointed in the same colors as his livery, the luxurious velvet soft to touch. I removed my gloves and buried them in the blanket provided. Perhaps I could ask for soup at the palace, and hot tea too. I would certainly demand to sit by a fire. Surely the prince wouldn't mind once he saw my state. The bath would have to wait.

  I should have asked if I could speak to Doyle first and leave a message, but considering the lengths the footman had gone to, I doubted he would have allowed me to go to the house. I hoped I returned before Lincoln. Perhaps the prince would allow me to send a message once I arrived at the palace. It was unlikely the meeting would go for very long anyway, if he only wanted a report on our progress.

  A cluster of lamps burning brightly in the street caught my attention. I peered at them as we sped past, and frowned. The lights lit up the dour stone arch of the Kensal Green Cemetery. Kensal Green! But that wasn't on the way to Buckingham Palace.

  My stomach dropped. I'd been tricked. We weren't going to meet the prince. The footman wasn't a royal footman, but someone wearing a disguise. And the longer I remained in the speeding coach, the further away from Lichfield Towers I'd be.

  Chapter 14

  I placed my hands flat against the carriage window and looked down. Endless pavement and road slipped past, no grass or earth. Jumping out would break bones at the least and perhaps kill
me. Escape was impossible.

  I gripped the edge of the seat and bided my time. The coach eventually slowed to turn a corner and I prepared to leap out, but I changed my mind as we passed through a large iron gate guarded by two men dressed in great coats. It would be difficult to get past them.

  We drove along a short drive to a mansion built in the formal Georgian style, but modest in size compared to Lichfield. Dark shapes loomed, some as high as the coach, but closer inspection revealed them to be topiaries. The estate was secluded behind high walls, and the house guarded by another two men who stood stiffly by the lamp posts either side of the steps. I should have risked jumping out earlier. My chances of escaping now would be minimal at best.

  I gripped my knives in each hand and willed my heart to cease its pounding. I needed to remain calm so I could think.

  The coach door was opened by a different man than my driver. I hardly even glanced at him before leaping out and racing back up the drive.

  "Wait!" he shouted. "Miss Holloway!"

  Other voices joined his, but one boomed over the rest. "Stop, Miss Holloway! It's only I, the Prince of Wales!"

  I skidded to a halt on the gravel and glanced back. The prince did indeed stand near the coach, sheltering beneath an umbrella held by a footman. The footman who'd opened the coach door caught up to me, panting.

  "This way…please…Miss Holloway." He indicated the house, the waiting prince, and the collection of servants watching me.

  "Why didn't someone tell me earlier?" I growled, walking back.

  I performed a small curtsy for the prince but it must have looked ridiculous, dressed as I was in boys' clothes. "Your highness." I did not repeat my question in his hearing, but he must have understood why I'd run off.

  "I apologize for the subterfuge," he said as we headed into the house. His footman did not produce another umbrella for me, nor did the prince offer me his. Since I was thoroughly wet, it hardly mattered. "There are spies everywhere."

  "There are? Have you caught one? What did he say?"

  "Nothing like that. But I am certain there must be spies, and since this is a delicate matter…"

  "Is that why we're meeting here and not at the palace?"

  "It is."

  Warmth hit me as soon as we entered the house. The footman with the umbrella melted away and two others replaced him, one taking my wet coat, cap and gloves and the other standing around doing nothing but staring ahead as if he couldn't see us. With so many servants about, the prince couldn't possibly expect this meeting to be kept a secret, surely. Or perhaps, to him, the servants were irrelevant.

  He led me to a parlor off the entrance where a fire crackled. Despite the less than impressive proportions, the room was decorated in grand style with gilt leaves on the high ceiling, the walls and on much of the furniture. Crimson carpet offset the sage green color scheme of the furnishings and white marble fireplace.

  "Is this your home?" I asked, and immediately regretted my question. Of course the prince didn't live here. It wasn't large enough, for one thing, and he must live at the palace, surely, since it would one day be his.

  "Only when I crave privacy," he said, indicating I should sit by the fire. "When I feel as if I'm being watched."

  I lifted my gaze to the footman standing by the door and the second one who entered carrying a tray with more things on it than two people needed. "Do you feel as if you're being watched now?"

  "Now more than ever," he said.

  "By whom?"

  He dismissed the footman with a lift of his finger. "I wish I knew."

  Both footmen left and shut the door, leaving us alone. If I had a reputation worth protecting, I would protest. But my reputation was ruined already, and Lincoln wanted to marry me anyway. He wouldn't be concerned if I met the prince in private, and nor was I.

  "Please forgive this arrangement," the prince said, perhaps realizing how it must seem. "You are in no danger from me, and your reputation will remain safe. My men won't say a word."

  "Thank you for your concern."

  "Chocolate or tea?" He indicated the cups on the tray. "Cake or biscuits?"

  "Tea, please, and cake would be most welcome."

  He poured and handed me a cup and slice of butter cake then sat back with a cup of chocolate. He didn't look at all regal in his green and gold smoking jacket, open at the front to reveal a matching waistcoat, but his aloof bearing made up for the casual attire. There was little chance I could forget who I spoke to.

  "Where is Mr. Fitzroy?" he asked idly.

  "Watching the man we suspect is responsible for impersonating the late Prince Consort."

  He lowered his cup to the saucer, and the angle of his chin dropped. "You have found him?"

  "We believe so." I hesitated, unsure how much I ought to tell him. But he was our employer, the heir to the throne and, perhaps most importantly, a worried son. He should know what we'd discovered, if only to be reassured. "Mr. Fitzroy found the stolen picture of your father in the man's belongings. He plans on confronting the man tonight and questioning him about it."

  "Who is he?"

  "A fellow by the name of King. It doesn't seem to be his real name, but the one he now goes by."

  "That tells me nothing. Who is he?"

  "I, I don't know what you mean."

  "Who are his relations, his friends? Do I know him, Miss Holloway?"

  "I doubt it," I said. "He's originally from the East End, but now resides in Bloomsbury."

  "I know a few authors and artists from Bloomsbury but none named King."

  "His friends still live in the East End. They visit him occasionally."

  He wrinkled his nose as if he could smell the foul stench of the rookeries. "Then how did he rise to Bloomsbury?"

  "We don't know. Perhaps Mr. Fitzroy will discover the answer to that mystery tonight too."

  "Yes. Good." He thumped the chair arm and gave an emphatic nod. "Hopefully that'll put an end to their rendezvous."

  "Whose rendezvous?"

  He looked as if he hadn't heard me, and I felt as invisible as one of his servants. But then the tension left his shoulders and he rubbed his forehead. "The queen informed me late today that she'd had a visit from my father's ghost, looking very much alive, as she put it."

  "When?"

  "Yesterday. She only told me about it a few hours ago, hence this meeting. I was going to put the wind up Fitzroy but that's not necessary now."

  "Is the queen all right?"

  "Quite. Indeed, she was in good spirits. She is utterly convinced it's him, you see, and no matter how often I tell her it's an imposter, she refuses to believe me. Once she makes up her mind, it takes a miracle to change it, and she's made up her mind that my father's ghost visits her for a chat."

  "Did you question the servants? Did anyone see him enter?" They must have. A man looking like the late prince consort couldn't wander into the palace without being detected.

  "No. Not a single one. It's very odd. They're all on the lookout for someone claiming to be him after the last incident, but nobody saw him this time. Hopeless, the lot of them."

  Or perhaps King had taken on the shape of someone else, someone the servants expected to see in the palace. He could have changed into the form of one of the servants, another family member, or official. If he was capable of changing into any shape, the possibilities were endless. And frightening.

  "Did your mother—did the queen—tell you what they discussed?" I asked.

  "He made her promise not to tell anyone, and she won't break that promise. I tried to get her to tell me, as did one of my brothers, but she refused. She's a bloody—" He cut himself off and drank his chocolate instead.

  I sipped, too, considering the possibilities. What did King want? Money? He hadn't asked for any yet, but he might. On the other hand, he could have simply taken whatever he wanted from the palace and sold it. An expensive vase, a gold frame or candlestick. "He must want something," I said, thinking aloud.


  "Perhaps to influence her, in some way, but I don't yet know to what purpose."

  "Does she have much political influence?" I asked.

  "In certain quarters. There are other types of influence, however. If she endorses a business, say a jeweler or horse trainer, customers would flock."

  I nodded slowly. "It's a sound theory." I wondered if Lincoln would think to ask King that sort of question.

  "She is utterly convinced that it's him," he said quietly. "Nothing I say can sway her opinion."

  "It must be frustrating for you and your family."

  "My family?" He looked taken aback. "I meant frustrating because she's the queen and she knows she can do, say and think as she pleases. The opinions of others, even those of her children, are irrelevant to her." He studied his teacup then finally lifted it to his lips. "I'm sorry, Miss Holloway, I didn't mean to say such a thing to you. My family is a sensitive topic."

  "It's quite all right. I'm not used to families, you see. I don't have one. Not really."

  He smiled. "That is not entirely a bad thing. Family are sometimes a thorn in one's side."

  "I'm sure they're a great comfort, too. One can depend on family to keep one's secrets. You can trust family."

  "Trust them to tell you exactly what they think of you, you mean." His smile became a smirk. "To lecture you, point out your sins, and compare you to your upstanding father who never put a foot wrong." He went to sip his chocolate again but set the cup down, a sour look on his face. He got up and poured himself a drink at the sideboard.

  I didn't know what to say, or if my opinion was even sought. Perhaps he simply needed to talk to someone who wanted nothing from him in return. Perhaps being here, he felt safe. Did he bring his mistresses here? Or his friends, to get away from the public? What secrets did these walls and servants keep?

  "At least we have the fellow in hand now," the prince muttered into his glass, his back to me. "It'll shut her up when she finds out he's an imposter."

  "Almost have him in hand," I corrected.

  He turned, a scowl on his face, as if annoyed that I was still listening to his private musings. I put down my cup and began to rise, but he put up his hand to stay me. He did not, however, say anything.