Of Fate and Phantoms (Ministry of Curiosities Book 7)

by C. J. Archer

  "And you've decided to stay. I am so relieved."

  Mink glanced past me to Lincoln. He cleared his throat. "Sir?"

  "You may stay," Lincoln said. "Until a better arrangement can be made."

  "What can be better than here?" I asked.

  But he didn't answer. He limped past us to the kitchen. "Is there anything to eat?"

  All except Mink headed to the kitchen. The other boys had already gone to bed, and Mink looked tired. He'd only stayed up to speak with us and make sure my offer still stood. Lady V, Mrs. Cotchin and Bella had also retired, much to Seth's relief. He'd forestalled his mother's lecture until the next day.

  He accepted a bowl of soup from Cook and sat at the kitchen table. "Both my hands hurt," he said to no one in particular. "I'm not sure I can feed myself." He blinked innocently at Alice.

  She pretended not to notice and handed a bowl of soup to me.

  Cook picked up Seth's spoon. "Open up for the choo choo train."

  Seth snatched the spoon off him and fed himself.

  "Charlie," Lincoln said, accepting a soup bowl off Alice. "You wanted to have a bath first."

  "Actually you wanted me to have a bath first," I said. "I think you three ought to go before me. You were out longer than me and it'll do wonders for your injuries. I'm nice and warm by the fire."

  "Speaking of fires," Alice said, "one has been lit in each of your rooms."

  "You're such a kind, thoughtful woman," Seth smiled at her. "That's very sweet of you."

  "It was Mrs. Cotchin's idea. I'll tell her in the morning that you called her sweet. She'll be delighted."

  His smiled tightened. "Still, you are kind and thoughtful."

  Alice somewhat reluctantly retired to bed and it wasn't until she'd gone that I remembered her dreams. I only hoped tonight they didn't come to life. I was too tired to tackle rabbits or battle armies, and the men too sore.

  In the end, Gus went in the bath first, followed by Seth. Cook had to help him out of his shirt since he couldn't lift his arms above his head. He was still in the bath when Dr. MacConnell arrived. The doctor saw to Lincoln first since he sported more injuries.

  "Fractured bones in his left hand," Dr. MacDonnell reported when he allowed me back in to Lincoln's rooms after his examination. Lincoln sat on an armchair, his shirt open, revealing a triangle of black and blue skin. His face looked paler than when I'd left him. "Some broken ribs and various bruises on the torso and limbs. It's unlikely there are internal injuries or Mr. Fitzroy would have succumbed to them by now. It's fortunate that his musculature is strong. It's my belief it protected him."

  "Thank you, doctor," I said without taking my gaze off Lincoln. He looked like a damaged warrior, badly in need of rest. "You haven't bandaged his hand."

  "The bones are fractured, not broken. It should be bandaged after the bath. He assures me you're capable of doing it, Miss Holloway."

  "I am."

  "Be sure the bones do not move in that hand in the meantime," the doctor said with a stern glare at Lincoln. "Don't forget the salve. Apply it liberally to the bruises. There's nothing to be done about the ribs, I'm afraid. Now." He snapped his bag closed. "Where's the next patient?"

  "I'll take you to him."

  By the time I'd delivered Dr. MacDonnell to Seth's rooms and returned to Lincoln's, he'd gone. I poured myself a brandy and waited for him by the fire. My clothes and hair had dried but I welcomed the delicious warmth. It seemed to take an age for the chill to leave my bones, but when it did, I closed my eyes and sank into the armchair.

  A light caress on my cheek woke me. "Lincoln?" I murmured. "Did I fall asleep?"

  "Go to bed," he said, his voice as soothing and warm as the fire. "It's been a long day."

  I sat up and yawned. He perched on the footstool in front of me, looking every bit a devilish rake with his damp hair falling around his face and his shirt open, revealing the bruises. He watched me with an intensity that made my insides weak. I cupped his jaw gently, just below the cut on his cheek, in the hope of capturing the look.

  "I'll go to bed after I've bandaged your hand and seen to your wounds," I told him.

  A mischievous gleam flickered in his eyes. "Dr. MacDonnell only mentioned my hand. I can see to the rest of my wounds myself."

  "And deny me the pleasure of touching your bare chest?"

  "You have no rights to see my bare chest, young lady. Not until you put my ring on your finger." He nodded at the ring in its box, sitting near the front of the desk. It had moved further forward. Was he moving it so I couldn't fail to notice it?

  "Perhaps I wish to sample the goods before I buy."

  The corners of his mouth kicked up. "You drive a hard bargain."

  "Take off your shirt."

  He hesitated then put out his injured hand. "This first."

  I sighed. And he thought I drove a hard bargain. I ached to touch him, even clinically, but he seemed able to resist. He always was a man of iron self-control.

  The doctor had left bandages and splints to keep Lincoln's fingers from moving. I gently positioned each splint beneath the fingers then firmly wrapped up the hand, fingers and wrist. It must have hurt but he made no sound.

  "Remove your shirt," I ordered when I finished. At his hesitation, I added, "I won't ravish you."

  "It's not you I'm worried about," he muttered.

  I arched my brows but he didn't notice as he struggled to remove his shirt over his head.

  "Allow me." I pulled the shirt up, revealing the dark bruises on his chest and stomach. "Oh, Lincoln. It must be painful."

  He watched me carefully, as if he were unsure how to react.

  I unscrewed the lid of the jar of salve and sniffed the thick, gluey contents. "It smells pleasant enough." I avoided looking at his face and focused on his shoulders and arms, gently dabbing the salve onto the bruises. When I got to his chest, however, I stopped. "It would be easier if you were lying down rather than sitting."

  "You want me to lie on the bed?"

  "The sofa isn't long enough."

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "You have to ask?"

  My face flamed. "I suppose it is a little intimate."

  "A little?" He grunted softly.

  "You forget that I've seen you in your bed without a shirt on before."

  "Don't remind me. I live with the guilt every day. In my defense, I didn't know you were a woman then." He stood. "This will do. Proceed."

  I rubbed the salve into the wounds. They covered much of his torso, mostly the chest and stomach, but also covered his back. There was hardly an inch of him not covered in salve by the time I finished.

  I concentrated so hard on the task, focusing only on the patch of skin where I worked, that I failed to notice his deep breathing until I stood back and admired my work.

  "If you think this is any less amatory than lying on the bed, you're sorely mistaken," I said.

  "That is your opinion." His raspy voice had me looking up. His eyes were shuttered behind their lids, his jaw set hard.

  I wanted to stroke away the firmness. Wanted to kiss his bruises, and whisper his name in his ear. I wanted to run my fingers through his hair and feel his fingers in mine. And I knew, without a doubt, that he wanted that too.

  I rested my hand on an unmarked area of skin at his waist. "Lincoln…" I murmured. "Kiss me."

  Chapter 16

  Lincoln placed his hand over mine then drew it away. "No," he said firmly. "No kissing, no touching, no more of…this. It's too…" He heaved a sigh. "I can't."

  I dropped my hand and lowered my head. It may have been a demure gesture, but my heart was anything but. It rampaged in my chest, giving me no peace. "If that's what you want."

  "It's not what I want, Charlie. What I want is for you to put my ring on your finger. This will be done the proper way or no way."

  He was fishing for an answer, but I couldn't give it to him. Not tonight. I searched for something to say to break the tensio
n and finally found a safer topic. "Lincoln, we should talk."

  He had been putting on his shirt, but stopped. "Yes."

  "I've had a thought about the boys."

  "What?"

  "The boys. Mink, Finley and the rest of their gang."

  He resumed dressing, pulling his shirt over his head, allowing me a moment to watch and admire. "What about them?"

  "Their presence here makes Lichfield very crowded, and I'm not sure Lady V will cope with them all running about. Since the cottage you gave me for my birthday sits empty, I thought I'd give it to them. They can live there, get jobs or go to school. A dry, warm place to stay will do them wonders."

  He hiked up his trousers at the knees and sat. "I've been thinking about them, too, and have a better idea."

  "You've been thinking about Mink and Finley? I knew it."

  His eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"

  "It means I knew you cared about them more than you admitted. You left them a coat while I was away, and perhaps more that you won't own up to. They certainly wore better clothes than when I lived there. It's not a weakness to care about them, Lincoln. It merely makes you more human."

  His lips twitched. "Less like a machine?"

  "I never thought you were a machine. I only called you that to rile you."

  "You did not succeed. Not with that."

  "Can we get back on topic, please? What's your idea and how could it possibly be better than mine? I think giving them the cottage solves many of their problems."

  "But not all. It is a good idea," he added quickly. "And the boys may prefer it when they hear the particulars of mine." He stretched out his legs until his bare feet were alongside my booted ones. "I inherited more than the general's position on the committee. I inherited his house and fortune, neither of which are inconsiderable."

  "You want to give them the general's house! But it's enormous and there are only five of them."

  "Not them, Gus's aunt, Mrs. Sullivan."

  Gus's great aunt had been a charwoman for more than forty years, but in her retirement had opened up her home to poor girls in need of shelter. She was a kind soul, full of vigor, wisdom and a generous spirit that outstripped her means. I knew Lincoln gave her money to provide for the girls, something he'd only begun to do after I noted how Mrs. Sullivan could have changed my life if I'd met her years ago.

  "You win," I said, smiling. "Your idea is better than mine."

  "You haven't heard it all yet."

  "I don't need to. I suspect you'll hand over the running of the house to her, and let her take in as many girls as she can manage. Boys too. She'll need help with all of that."

  "The house is staffed, their wages paid for out of the income earned from Eastbrooke's investments. There's enough to cover more staff, provisions, and wages for a permanent teacher."

  "You have thought it through," I said.

  "Do you think Mink's gang will agree to it? They don't strike me as the sort who'll take kindly to being told what to do."

  "If they want to live in the free world and not behind bars, they'll have to get used to a little discipline in their lives. But not too much. Mrs. Sullivan is very fair. She'll have the right touch. And I know Mink will secretly want an education. He's so bright, he could be anything when he grows up." Tears pricked my eyes and tingled my nose. "Oh, Lincoln, don't ever let anyone tell you you're unkind. You're going to change their lives for the better. Few people can go to their graves saying that."

  "I'm not dead yet, despite King's best efforts." But he smiled to soften the shock of his statement.

  It still wiped the smile off my face. The beatings had been brutal, and the thought of King wandering freely around the city sickened me. He ought to pay for what he'd done. But how? Tell the police? That would involve a trial and we'd all be witnesses. It wasn't an ideal situation but I would do whatever was necessary.

  Lincoln crouched in front of me and took my hand. "Thank you for staying in Rugby Street and not going home. If not for you, we would not be alive."

  I looked down at our hands because I didn't want him to see me cry. Somehow I'd blocked out my role in tonight's events, but now it all came crashing back. "I killed her. I ended her life."

  "It was kill someone or die ourselves. All of us."

  "I know." I looked up and wanted to fall into the warm depths of his eyes and never come out. "I would do it again given the same circumstances. If it's in my power to save you, I will."

  He kissed my forehead. I closed my eyes and listened to my thundering heart, my ragged breaths. I knew he meant it as a platonic kiss, but it still affected me deeply. Everything about him did.

  Gawler arrived mid-morning as Lincoln and I prepared to go to the palace. With so many people now living at Lichfield, it was difficult to find somewhere private to talk. We had to ask Mink to leave the library. He took a stack of books with him.

  Gawler screwed his cap in his hands and stood with his back to the fire. He met Lincoln's gaze steadily, albeit warily. The mix of uncertainty yet determination were at odds. "Thank you for seeing me, sir. I thought you might not let me in."

  "We're not enemies," Lincoln said. "You've done nothing wrong."

  "Aye, but my friends…my pack…I heard what happened. It affects all of us, not just them."

  "You mean that woman's death?" I asked cautiously. My stomach churned and I worried I would toss up my breakfast. "We're sorry for your loss."

  "I appreciate that, but I know she done wrong. They told me what happened."

  "Her family," I muttered, hardly daring to ask the question, but knowing I had to ask it. "Did she have a husband? Children?"

  "A husband but no children."

  I nodded, numb. Lincoln placed his hand on my lower back. "What else did your friends tell you about last night?" he asked Gawler.

  "That King ordered them to kill you while he took your friend to his rooms to—" He shook his head. "I…I didn't expect that. You must understand, I thought he'd be different with her. I wouldn't have sent her to him if I thought he'd treat her like one of the females in his pack, like he had a right to her."

  "Why are you here?" Lincoln asked.

  "King's dead."

  Lincoln's hand at my back tensed.

  "My God," I said. "How?"

  "Someone stabbed him in the night, right there in his lodgings. Police are crawling over it now, looking for clues, interviewing the landlady."

  I felt a little weak and had to sit down. Lincoln rested his hand on my shoulder. I didn't look at him. Couldn't. Had he ordered King's death? Or had he told Gillingham to do it? Had that been what their brief conversation had been about last night?

  "Who did it?" Lincoln asked. "Do your friends know?" It was impossible to tell from his voice whether he was surprised by the murder or was simply asking the question to deflect suspicion.

  "They'd gone home. They saw nothing." Gawler cleared his throat. "I came to tell you that with King dead there's no need to trouble my pack no more."

  "You're their leader now?" Lincoln asked.

  Gawler nodded. "They'll follow my orders, and I ain't like King. I won't put them in danger like he did. I won't order them to hurt anyone. So you can leave them in peace."

  "I intended to, but I need their names and current addresses for my records. The whereabouts of people like your friends must be known at all times."

  Gawler hesitated then nodded. Lincoln retrieved paper from the desk by the window and dipped the pen in the ink. Gawler recited the names and addresses of his pack, including that of the deceased woman.

  "I'll be off now," he said as Lincoln returned the pen to the stand. "Give my regards to your friend, miss. Tell her if she wants to go for a run again to come see me. There won't be no initiations with me. She won't have to do nothing she don't want to. Just run."

  "Thank you, Mr. Gawler," I said, offering up a weak smile. "I'll pass on your message."

  Lincoln saw him out just as Doyle drove the coach ar
ound. With Seth and Gus too injured, he'd volunteered to drive us to the palace. I secretly suspected he wanted to glimpse the elegance of the place, even if only from the outside.

  Lincoln assisted me into the cabin then ordered Doyle to drive on once we settled. We sat in silence for a moment until Lincoln broke it. "You have something you wish to ask me," he said.

  Sometimes, his ability to know what I was thinking unnerved me. "I'll just come out and say it. Lincoln, if you had a hand in King's death…if you ordered it, I want you to know that I understand why. You don't have to lie to me."

  "I didn't do it, nor did I order it, but I don't blame you for jumping to that conclusion, considering my past."

  I blew out a breath, more relieved than I expected to be. King had been thoroughly unlikable and was incredibly dangerous; not only because of his own power to change into multiple forms but because of the power he held over his pack. They would have done anything for him, including committing murder.

  "I assume the man paying King to impersonate the prince consort did it," Lincoln went on. "Or possibly Gillingham. It wouldn't surprise me if he ordered King's murder out of revenge."

  "It wouldn't surprise me either. Gillingham doesn't like to lose. He's a fool if he did order it, though. We needed to follow King to learn about the man paying him."

  "Yes," Lincoln said with a measure of frustration unlike I'd heard in his voice before. No doubt he regretted not taking care of the situation himself. "I'll have a word with him later and see what I can learn."

  "I do hope Harriet's all right and he hasn't locked her away again."

  "We can visit her after we leave the palace, if you like."

  I shook my head. "I don't wish to be turned away. I'll write to her."

  We fell into silence, and my mind wandered to the task at hand, and to my recent conversation with the prince. I plucked at my skirts as I considered how best to broach the subject with Lincoln.

  "Something's on your mind," he began. When I nodded but didn't go on, he moved to sit beside me. He gripped the edge of the seat. "Tell me, Charlie. Please, just get it over with."