From The Ashes (Ministry of Curiosities Book 6)

by C. J. Archer

  "A circus strongman were murdered," Cook said with a shake of his bald head. "Death investigated, but I don't recall him getting injured." He looked to Doyle.

  Doyle spent a long time reading the wine bottle label.

  "Doyle?" I prompted. "What is it? What happened?"

  The butler cleared his throat. "It would be ill-advised for me to mention something that Mr. Fitzroy wouldn't want you to know." He didn't look entirely convinced by his own words, however, and I didn't think it would take much to get him to tell me.

  "He won't punish you." I glared at Cook when he opened his mouth to protest. "Come now, Doyle, I only have Mr. Fitzroy's interests at heart. Does he need to see a doctor?"

  Doyle sighed and plopped down on a stool positioned at the table. "I don't know. He hasn't confided in me, but I suspect his feet need tending to. There was a lot of blood."

  "Blood!"

  "On the carpet in his sitting room. He'd tried to clean it up, but it's a devil to get blood out."

  "Amen," Cook muttered.

  Doyle's lips parted and a small wheeze escaped.

  Cook plucked at his apron. "Not human blood." He turned to me, his back to Doyle, and winked.

  "I found bloodied glass too," Doyle went on. "He'd thrown it out, but I saw it hidden amongst the other rubbish. I didn't go specifically looking, mind," he protested, despite no one accusing him of doing so.

  "What sort of glass?" Cook asked.

  "Again, I wasn't trying to pry into Mr. Fitzroy's business."

  "But?"

  Doyle sighed. "But it looked to be a tumbler. It smelled of brandy."

  "He cut his foot on glass," I said, numbly. That must have been painful. No wonder he was limping. "How did he break a tumbler? And which foot?"

  "Both, I'd say, and on the soles, going by the distance between the stains and their shape," he added.

  "He walked over broken glass!" But Lincoln could avoid shards easily enough by stepping across furniture instead of the floor to his bedroom to get shoes. Was he drunk? "Did he go mad in my absence?"

  Doyle and Cook didn't say anything, and neither met my gaze.

  I set aside my teacup and leaned forward. "Tell me," I urged. "Tell me everything."

  "There you are!" The powerful voice filled the kitchen as thoroughly as the speaker's tall, solid frame filled the doorway. A handsome woman with thick hair tumbling down over her shoulders stood in the doorway, hands on hips. The hair was the same color as Seth's with only a little gray here and there. "Briggs said I would find you here. What are you talking to the servants for? Come, Charlotte. I need to speak with you." She turned and strode away, not stopping to look back when I didn't follow. Clearly she expected me to catch up.

  "Go on, Charlie," Cook said, thrusting his chin in the direction Lady Vickers had gone. "You go and tell her you won't be spoken to like that. You be the lady of the house, not her."

  "You're right." I stood and tugged on my sleeves.

  It wasn't until I had almost reached the drawing room that I wondered if Cook was over-stating my role. Was I still the lady of the house? Or had I lost that title after my engagement to Lincoln ended?

  Chapter 5

  From afar, it was difficult to reconcile the woman with the lovely fair tresses as having a grown son. Even dressed in deep mourning black, Lady Vickers was attractive, albeit with a rather forbidding air. Perhaps if she smiled, she would appear softer, more approachable, but the stern set of her brow and stiff shoulders served as a reminder that she considered herself far above me. It wasn't until I drew closer to her, seated on the sofa, that I saw the whiteness of her knuckles and the worry in her eyes.

  "Good afternoon, Lady Vickers," I said with a bob of my head. "I'm pleased to finally meet you."

  "And I you, Miss Holloway."

  "Please, call me Charlie."

  "And you must refer to me as madam. Ma'am is acceptable too. Not my lady. You're not a servant."

  I sighed and wished I'd stayed in the kitchen. She patted the sofa cushion and I sat beside her, biting back a retort that I wasn't a dog. I didn't want to offend Seth's mother, particularly if we had to muddle along in one another's company. Lichfield Towers was large, but not large enough that we could avoid the other. Just like I wouldn't be able to avoid Lincoln.

  "Seth told me all about you." It sounded like a warning, and I expected her to list the numerous reasons why I wasn't fit to be friends with her son. "He admires you." My surprise must have shown on my face because she smiled. I was right; it did soften her appearance. "He tells me you're the only one who can handle Mr. Fitzroy. If it's true, that is quite a feat indeed."

  "If it were true, he wouldn't have sent me away."

  "He fetched you back, didn't he?"

  "Even so, he's not someone who can be handled. Not by anyone."

  "No need to be snippy with me, Charlie. It was Seth's observation, not mine."

  I sucked air between my teeth and let it out slowly. "How long do you plan on staying at Lichfield, madam?"

  "As long as necessary." Her gaze shifted to her hands in her lap. "My friends cannot accommodate me at the moment. I'm sure they will soon, however."

  I felt horrible. The poor woman had created a scandal by running off to America with her footman, and now that he'd died and she'd returned to England, she would have found doors closed and the invitations non-existent. The calling cards would indicate otherwise, however. "You're most welcome to stay here as long as you like," I said.

  "Mr. Fitzroy has already made that clear to me. I must say, I like it here, despite the house's size."

  "It's too large for you?"

  She laughed. "My dear girl, this drawing room is a quarter the size of my old one."

  She must mean her grand estate in England, not her American house. From what Seth told me, her accommodations in New York had been unfortunate to say the least. Her second husband hadn't been able to keep his new wife in the style she'd been accustomed to as Lady Vickers. She may have retained her title, but she'd lost her home, friends and reputation when she wed the footman. A heavy price for love. I hoped he'd made her happy.

  "I hope you won't be too uncomfortable," I told her with as much sweetness as I could muster. "Or find our company too dull. I'm afraid we rarely have callers."

  "That has already changed since my arrival. As much as I would like to say they've come to call upon me, it's my Seth and Mr. Fitzroy they've come to see. Since the ball, the young ladies are rather taken with them both."

  "Ball? Lincoln went to a ball?" And here I thought he'd been busy chasing murderers. He'd been to a ball!

  "Lady Harcourt's annual Christmas event last week. It was quite the sensation when we three turned up."

  "I can imagine."

  She patted my hand. "Now, my dear, I know you and Mr. Fitzroy were once engaged, so I do hope I haven't upset you by telling you about the ball and the callers, but I felt you ought to know. If I were in your position, I would appreciate the knowledge."

  I nodded. It might seem odd, but I did appreciate her telling me, and hearing her put it like that, her gossiping didn't come across as malicious.

  "I also want to assure you that Mr. Fitzroy behaved very properly and hasn't encouraged any particular girl," she went on. "He seems like the sort of man who respects your feelings and will try his utmost to protect your reputation. I'm sure he'll put it about that you ended the engagement, and he'll then wait a suitable period before pursuing another."

  I laughed. "Madam, my reputation is hardly worth protecting. As to pursuing another, I'm quite sure he has no interest in marriage, either to me or anyone else "

  "That may be so, but as to your reputation, I beg to differ."

  I arched my brow. "Seth has told you that I lived on the streets for several years, dressed as a boy, has he not?"

  She didn't bat an eyelid at my bluntness. "He did, but few know your past. If we put it about that you are my friend, or ward, and brush over the particulars, no one
will think you're anything but a gently bred girl."

  "You wish to lie to your friends? To what purpose?"

  "To catch you a suitable husband, of course." She blinked at me as if she thought my question utterly idiotic.

  I blinked back, thinking she was the idiotic one.

  "I'm sure I can snare you a gentleman far superior to Mr. Fitzroy. You're pretty and have a neat figure. You have spirit, too, which some men like. And those eyes! If you play your cards right, you'll have them falling to their knees in no time."

  I held my hands up and shook my head. "Thank you for your kind words, but I'm not interested in finding a husband."

  She took my hand in both of hers. Her gaze turned sympathetic. "Dear girl, I know you're feeling hurt right now, but you mustn't wait too long. You're almost nineteen."

  And yet I'd hardly lived. Perhaps in her world, girls over the age of twenty were no better than the scraps left after a meal, but not in mine. I'd seen very little of the countryside, and only just learned to ride a horse. There suddenly seemed like a lot to do before I settled down and became a wife. It was odd how I'd only begun to feel that way now, and not before going north. I'd certainly been eager to be Lincoln's wife a mere two weeks ago.

  "If I am to assist with your launch into society, then I want you to promise me one thing." Lady Vickers had become stiff and formal again, her chin thrust out in queenly arrogance.

  It was more interesting to discover what her single condition was than argue with her over my 'launch'. "Go on."

  "I want your assurance that you will not chase after my Seth."

  "Pardon?" I spluttered.

  "If I am to champion you to the right people, you must promise not to try to snare my son. It's nothing personal, my dear. While I'm sure you would be a fine wife for him, he cannot wed a poor girl. He requires a wealthy heiress to help restore us to our rightful position."

  I burst into laughter, only to stop abruptly when she looked offended. "You have my word, madam. I will leave Seth for the heiresses to fight over. I'm sure he'll be very popular."

  That seemed to appease her somewhat. She puffed out her considerable chest and a small smile lifted her face. "He already is. His attendance at the ball signaled his readiness to take a wife, hence all the callers of late."

  That probably meant Lincoln's attendance had been taken the same way. It would explain Lady Vickers thinking he wanted to marry, in time. I wondered if he knew that his presence at the ball had been a signal of his availability to the better part of London.

  "That's the problem, you see," Lady Vickers went on. "Seth's not here to receive his callers. It's becoming increasingly difficult to make excuses for his absence."

  "Lincoln suggested that he and Gus might return now that I'm back."

  "He did leave in something of a lather over Mr. Fitzroy's treatment of you." Her lips flattened, but I couldn't discern what she thought of that.

  "It's settled then. Will you send word to Seth tonight or wait for tomorrow?"

  She frowned. "Charlie, you don't seem to understand. I don't know where he is."

  "He didn't tell you? His own mother?"

  "He doesn't think our relationship requires me to know where he is all of the time," she said tightly.

  "He ought to at least tell you where he's living."

  "Quite." She sighed. "I was hoping you could find him for me. Perhaps the cook knows."

  "You didn't ask him?"

  She wrinkled her nose. "I thought you could."

  "I've already asked, and he doesn't know, but I have an inkling. Gus is close to his great aunt. He probably told her his movements. I suspect if we find Gus, we'll find Seth. I'll send word to her in the morning."

  "No, no, no. We must fetch him back tonight. Goodness knows where he's living. I hate to think of him spending a freezing night out there alone. He ought to be here."

  I doubted Seth was either cold or alone. Most likely he was in the warm bed of one of his mistresses. I just hoped it wasn't Lady Harcourt. While he'd finally seen what a viper she could be, he was still vulnerable when a pretty face and lush figure were thrust in his face.

  "You wish me to send word tonight? I suppose Doyle can take a message."

  She shook her head. "Let's go in person. It'll be faster."

  "You wish us both to go?" It wasn't safe out there for me with the murderer on the loose.

  But no one knew I was back. The murderer wouldn't be waiting for me at the gate. Even Lincoln had given me permission to leave, in a way.

  "I'll gather my coat and gloves," I said, rising. "And I'd best tell Cook to pass on a message to Lincoln in case he returns and we're not here." It wouldn't be wise to pull the dragon's tail by failing to keep him informed of my movements.

  I made sure to lie as flat as I could across the coach's seat so that only Lady Vickers, sitting opposite, would be visible to anyone watching. I added 'hiding in conveyances' to my list of reasons for not wearing corsets and waited for her to declare it safe to rise before sitting up. Dusk muted what little color the city could muster—the red and green of a holly bush, the blue of a woman's hat ribbon—but at least it wasn't raining. The versatile Doyle wouldn't get wet driving us to Gus's great-aunt's home on Broker Row near the Seven Dials district.

  Bella Briggs had fixed Lady Vickers' hair and fastened a perky black hat on top, but the hat had already begun to slip and the hairstyle resembled sagging sails around her ears. Clearly hair wasn't one of Bella's talents. Lady Vickers remained vigilant, having taken it upon herself to keep watch for ne'er do wells as we approached the bleaker areas of the city. I wasn't sure if she was protecting me from the murderer or simply looking out for thieves. I didn't tell her that I used to live near Broker Row with a gang of boys when I'd been about fifteen. She looked horrified enough by the grimy faces and ragged children.

  "Wait here," I said as Doyle slowed the coach. "I'll see what I can learn from Mrs. Sullivan."

  "You can't go out there alone!" Lady Vickers said.

  I thrust my arm across the door, blocking her exit. "I'll be fine. It's best if you stay here and keep an eye on the coach."

  She clasped her coat closed at her throat. "You're right. Doyle can't manage on his own. But will you be all right, my dear?"

  "Of course. I'm used to places like this. Besides, it's not yet dark." Darkness brought out the real dangers. Few respectable people ventured outside on a cold night near Seven Dials, but many disreputable ones went in search of mischief.

  The frosty air nipped at my nose and cheeks as I stepped down onto the pavement. I nodded at Doyle but he was too busy surveying the street for dangers to notice. Mrs. Sullivan lived in a narrow tenement lit by a hissing lamp that would fail to penetrate the darkness in another hour. I quickly knocked and was glad when the door was just as quickly opened by the broad-faced charwoman herself. She greeted me eagerly and asked me to join her and the girls—young, homeless women she took in from time to time—but I politely refused.

  Moments later I recited an address to Doyle and climbed back into the coach. We lurched forward before I'd completely shut the door.

  "Did she say if Seth is there too?" Lady Vickers asked.

  "No. If he's not, Gus will know where to find him."

  Gus had taken a room in an old house in Clerkenwell that must have once been home to gentry but now looked out of place among the modern tenements on either side of it. Where they stood strong and upright, the house leaned to the right and seemed to be clinging to its patch through sheer luck. It took some moments for the door to be opened, and by Gus himself, no less.

  "Charlie!" He blinked rapidly, as if he assumed his eyes were playing tricks, then drew me into a warm hug. "Bloody hell! You escaped! Blimey, you'd better come in. Once word gets out, he'll be after you."

  I laughed. "I didn't escape. Lincoln fetched me. Apparently he changed his mind."

  His eyes narrowed. The one with the scar became a mere slit among the muscular bulges of his fa
ce. It wasn't a handsome face, but it was wonderful to see it. I hugged him again. He chuckled and circled his big arms around me.

  "So does Death have a heart?" he said, pulling away. "Or does he work better when you're here?"

  I hadn't thought of it like that. I'd been wondering why Lincoln collected me when he didn't show any emotion toward me. It seemed unlikely that he wanted to resume our relationship…and yet he'd been worried about me. "Did he not work well while I was away?"

  His thin lips thinned even more. "He was more reckless, careless and arrogant, but he talked to me and Seth more too. Told us what his plans were, and such, like we was his equals, not his servants. He never used to do that."

  "No," I said quietly, "he did not."

  "Come in. Meet Miss Parkin, my landlady. She's a bit soft in the head and will prob'ly forget you in five minutes, but she brews good tea."

  I glanced over my shoulder at the waiting carriage. Doyle touched the brim of his hat and Gus greeted him heartily. Then he spotted Lady Vickers inside. She did not acknowledge him, but stared straight ahead.

  "What'd you bring Lady Muck for?" he said with a sour twist of his mouth.

  "I couldn't help it. She's looking for Seth. Is he here?"

  "No."

  "Do you know where he is?"

  "Aye."

  "Then we'd best go to him straight away. She's anxious to have him home again."

  He grunted. "She'll be even more anxious when she sees what he's been doin' since he left Lichfield."

  "Oh?"

  The corner of his mouth lifted as if it had been hooked. "You'll find him at the Brickmaker's Arms about now. It ain't a place for ladies."

  "Are you suggesting Lady Vickers doesn't come? We could try and take her back to Lichfield, but I doubt she'll like it. What happens at the Brickmaker's Arms that isn't fit for ladies to see?"

  His grin widened, revealing jagged teeth. I used to think it a menacing smile, but now it made me grin in response. "Bare-knuckle fights."

  My heart sank. "Seth's fighting again? But why? He's paid off his family debts."

  He lifted one bulky shoulder. "Might be he just likes getting beat up."