by C. J. Archer
"So what now?" Seth asked. "Are we taking the day off to celebrate Charlie's birthday?"
I laughed. "I'm sure you can find something better to do than spend the day here with me. What about the other names from the Brooks's ledger? Did you write them down, Lincoln?"
He nodded. "I'd like to start with Andrew Buchanan and his brother, Lord Harcourt. Considering our prior associations with them, their knowledge of the supernatural, and access to our archives, they're our most likely suspects."
"Want us to travel to Harcourt's estate?" Gus asked. "A bit o' fresh air will do us all good."
Lincoln shook his head. "Not yet. See what Buchanan has to say first."
"I know you prefer the direct approach," I said, "but I think we should tread softly."
"I can tread softly." Was he offended? It was difficult to tell.
"Is there some way you can question him about his movements without raising his suspicions?"
"I could interrogate his valet."
I winced. Lincoln's interrogation methods were not at all soft.
Seth shook his head. "Valets are usually loyal to their masters."
"I'll pay him for his silence," Lincoln said.
"There's always the risk he'll tell Buchanan."
"I think this would be better left to Seth," I said. "He's very good at casual conversation."
Seth nodded thoughtfully. "I am, aren't I?"
"And not quite as threatening as you, Lincoln."
Lincoln bristled. I don't think I'd ever seen his spine straighten like that or his lips purse quite so much. I'd not thought it possible to offend him, but perhaps I had. "I'm not always threatening."
The loaded silence was broken by approaching footsteps on the tiles outside the library. Doyle must be returning to see if we required anything.
"We need to learn Buchanan's movements," I said, "then make it seem as if Seth just happens to be in the same place at the same time by coincidence. They can strike up a conversation and Seth can casually weave in questions about Buchanan's whereabouts on the dates we know Rampling met with his mysterious employer."
"Right," Gus said. "So how do we know where Buchanan's going to be so Seth can come across him?"
"I can arrange it," announced Lady Vickers, sweeping into the room in a cloud of black. Oh no. Doyle had left the door open.
"Mother!" Seth shot to his feet. "How much of that did you hear?"
"Only enough to know that you wish to speak with Mr. Buchanan."
"Nothing before that?"
She waved a hand. "I assume Mr. Fitzroy conducts…private business. It's all far too vulgar for my liking, although I understand the necessity of these secret meetings and discussions." She gave Lincoln a firm nod, as if she knew precisely what he was up to, and had decided it was a little underhanded but not enough to be concerned. I wondered how she'd react if she knew the truth.
"You know where Mr. Buchanan will be?" Lincoln prompted.
"I know where he'll be tomorrow night." She turned a triumphant smile onto her son. "At the dinner party I asked you to attend."
Seth fell onto the chair with a groan. "I'll dust off my dinner suit."
I returned to the attic to resume adding to the ministry records, and took the opportunity to check for hypnotists. There was only the one whom Lincoln mentioned, but he'd died over a hundred years ago.
The attic was a pleasant room with its grand views over the estate, and neatly arranged files stored in a cabinet of small wooden drawers. There was little dust, despite our lack of maids, and part of it was arranged like a small study with a desk and chair in a nook by the window. Old furniture and boxes containing pieces left behind by the previous owner were stored in the deeper recesses at the back. I had little need to venture down there.
"You don't have to do this." Lincoln's voice startled me. I swallowed my gasp but couldn't hide my jump. "It's your birthday."
I returned to the files I'd been flicking through, but took in none of the information. "Do you stop working on your birthday?"
"You're not me." His voice sounded closer.
I slammed the drawer shut, drew in a fortifying breath, and turned to face him. He stood only a few feet away, his collar undone and white shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing strong, tanned forearms. His eyes seemed blacker, but that could have been due to the poor light in the attic. His face, with its noble cheekbones and hard planes, gave nothing away. The pointer finger on his right hand stroked the thumbnail, but he was otherwise still. He simply watched me with that unreadable expression, as if he expected me to guess what he wanted.
"I've been thinking about the murderer," I said to fill the awkward silence.
He looked away. His right hand curled into a fist.
"I feel as if we're examining this case in pieces, but not seeing the whole. No, that's not quite right either." I drew in a steadying breath and let it out slowly. His presence addled my brain.
"Go on," he said, drawing the chair out for me.
I sat and he perched on the desk, his hands holding onto the edge. "We need to go back to the beginning, back to the basic elements. We've been trying to find out who hired Rampling and Daley, but there's another path we can take. We were going down that path before…" I swallowed. "Before I went away."
"The link between Frankenstein, Jasper, Brumley and Drinkwater. I've been thinking about that too, but I fail to see how we can progress without investigating Rampling's story. It's not impossible," he added quickly. "I don't doubt you. You have a way of seeing things differently to me. It's…good. We work well together because of it."
I had never known Lincoln to ramble, and I wasn't sure if his rushed speech could be considered as such. It was out of character, however. "I assume you came to that conclusion in my absence." And fetched me home because of it. If there was one thing that would make Lincoln retrieve me, it would be that. The ministry was, after all, everything to him.
He simply nodded and continued to watch me.
"We know that someone hired Captain Jasper to produce a serum to bring the dead back to life," I said. "Jasper never did make the serum. The man who commissioned him most likely killed him in the holding cell to keep him from talking to us."
He lowered his head, breaking off his unnerving stare. "Agreed."
"The same man contacted both Frankenstein and Drinkwater after hearing they were also trying to reanimate bodies, although his information was incorrect in Drinkwater's case as that wasn't what he was attempting to do. Once he learned that they used magical means, he ended his correspondence. In Frankenstein's case, he left him in peace, presumably because he's not magical, yet he killed Drinkwater, presumably because he is. He also killed Joan Brumley because he heard through Frankenstein that she was a necromancer. He's been trying to kill me too, almost from the moment I revealed myself to be Charlotte Holloway, necromancer."
"He doesn't want to use magic to reanimate the dead," Lincoln went on, looking up again but not with the same intensity in his gaze. "But he does want to reanimate them in some other way."
"And he doesn't want anyone to use supernatural methods to do the same. Because he's afraid of us, perhaps, or dislikes us intensely and is simply murdering out of spite."
"The former reason is more likely than the last," he said. "The fact that the murders only happened after Frankenstein used you would indicate as such."
"My thoughts exactly. He's afraid because he knows what we can do, yet it's the same thing he wants to do. He's afraid we'll do it first and reap the rewards of such a discovery." I extended my hands, palms up, presenting my theory to him. "What do you think?"
"It's possible." He crossed his arms and ankles. "Or he's afraid of not being able to control the reanimations if someone else develops a way of doing it. A magical way."
I nodded slowly, warming to the idea. "That's clever, Lincoln. I think you may be right."
"Financial gain is a very real possibility too."
"Perhaps it's
a combination of both." I smiled and his face lifted.
"Charlie," he said quietly.
I held up my hand. I did not want to take the conversation into unchartered and treacherous waters. "The reasons why don't matter yet. What does matter is the who. And that brings us to my next point, and something I've been considering. What if the murderer succeeded in commissioning another doctor after Jasper's death? Perhaps even another military doctor? The military component throws suspicion onto General Eastbrooke."
Lincoln's fingers tapped. "Jasper was dismissed from the army's medical corps by the time he was commissioned, but I agree that a link to Eastbrooke exists there. However, we shouldn't limit ourselves to medical corps doctors."
It would seem he'd followed my train of thought without me having to voice it. Because of his seer's link to me or a more personal one? "So you think we ought to investigate other doctors."
He nodded. "One specializing in hematology and serums, as Jasper went on to do. We'll start at the major hospitals."
"We? Are you suggesting I join you?"
He opened his mouth but paused before saying, "If you'd like."
I got the distinct impression he'd been referring to himself, Seth and Gus in the "we", but I wasn't about to admit that. "I'll be careful, of course," I said, anticipating his response. "I won't allow myself to be seen leaving Lichfield. At the hospitals, you can pretend to be a doctor and I'll be your assistant. Or a journalist, perhaps. Yes, I think that's a better disguise. Blood research is most likely a small field. All the doctors would know one another. They're unlikely to know any journalists."
He inclined his head in an unconvincing nod.
"I can't be cooped up in here forever," I said. "At least this way I'm not being exposed to any of our suspects."
Another incline of his head.
"Shall we start this afternoon?" I asked.
"We'll visit one or two hospitals after lunch." I waited for him to leave, but he merely sat on the edge of the desk as if he were waiting for me to say something. About the case? His birthday gift? Or about his banishment of me?
I got to my feet and he quickly stood too. "I'm finished in here. I'll speak with you after lunch." I turned to go, but his long strides meant he easily beat me to the door.
"I came up here to talk to you," he said, his voice as smoky as his eyes. His hair was pulled back at the nape, but a few strands escaped and dripped over his forehead in black twists.
"We are talking."
"Not about work."
My pulse quickened. "I need more time to think about your gift."
"Not about that either."
"As far as I'm concerned, there's nothing else to talk about." I went to move around him, but he blocked my exit. "Don't," I growled, low and harsh.
He swallowed hard then stepped aside.
"Let's make one thing clear." I heard the steel in my voice, felt the fervent beat of my blood through my veins. It felt good to square up to him, to show him that I wasn't the same girl who'd fallen blindly in love with him. "What's happened between us is in the past. It's in both our interests not to dwell on it. I know you must have had reasons for sending me away, but…" I closed my eyes so that I didn't have to see his handsome face. "But I'm not ready to hear them. I'm not ready to forgive you."
I opened my eyes and turned away, my heart sore. It felt as if the wound he'd inflicted on it was still fresh, raw. Perhaps it would never heal. It was certainly going to take much longer than a few days.
"Will you ever be?" he asked quietly.
"It's too soon to know." I marched out, and headed to my room without looking back. I ate luncheon in there, seated in the deep armchair by the fire, a book in my lap.
The soft knock on my door roused me some time later. I opened it to a scowling Seth. "I was sent to tell you that you're leaving soon. Gus will pick you up at the front of the house in fifteen minutes. It's raining. Take a coat and umbrella."
"You sound upset." I stepped aside and beckoned him in.
He hesitated, then with a sigh, entered. "I'm not at all happy that you're heading out this afternoon. It's too dangerous. What if you're recognized? I said as much to Fitzroy, but he simply responded with 'I know'. Either he's lost his mind or you coerced him into taking you."
"I didn't coerce him. Will you tell him he's lost his mind or shall I?"
He grunted. "I don't like it."
"So you noted. Are you coming?"
"Apparently I'm not needed. I have to follow up some of Brooks's members."
"You're disappointed."
"I'm bloody annoyed, Charlie. For one thing, you shouldn't be out for all the world to see you. You gave us a week, remember?" He threw his hands in the hair. "I can't believe he's allowing this! After going to all that trouble to send you away to keep you safe, too. He might as well parade you in front of the committee members."
I folded my arms over my chest. "First of all, I'll be careful. Secondly, are you sure that's why he sent me away? To keep me safe? Is that what he told you?"
"Not in so many words, but I'll wager my life savings that it is."
"You don't have any life savings."
"That's beside the point."
I sighed. "Seth, if that was his reason, he wouldn't have fetched me back after discovering I was perfectly all right at the school. He would have turned around and left me there."
His lips puckered in thought. "I see your point."
"I've had time to think about his reasons, and now I believe he saw me as a distraction. Perhaps I simply took up too much of his time, or he couldn't concentrate when I was around. Or perhaps he felt himself changing into a person who couldn't be the ruthless leader he'd always been. Perhaps he didn't like that change."
He sagged against the wall near the doorframe. "You may be right. Yet it still beggars the question, why did he fetch you back if that were the case? If you were a distraction then, aren't you still a distraction now?"
"I don't know. I suppose, except now we are not a couple. We're back to the way we were before everything became complicated."
He huffed out a breath. "Are you? I don't see it that way, Charlie. It's not the same at all."
I merely shrugged. He was right in that Lincoln and I could never return to how we'd been with one another. "You've remained friends with many of your paramours. Do you think Lincoln and I can one day be friends, of sorts?"
He shrugged. "The thing is, my lovers know from the outset that I'm not going to marry them. They understand our arrangement, and most want the same thing I do without the complications of courting. Your situation is entirely different."
I hugged my arms, feeling a little cold despite the warmth of the room.
He kissed the top of my head. "Now get ready. I want you to wear the largest hat you have, preferably with a veil, and something with a high collar."
"Would you like to choose something from my wardrobe yourself?"
"A capital idea."
Fifteen minutes later, I lowered the veil I'd hurriedly sewn to my hat brim. It only fell to my nose but it was dark enough to hide my eye color. I changed into my dark gray dress with the high lace collar that skimmed the underside of my chin. If I angled my face just so, very little of me could be seen.
I met Lincoln in the entrance hall. A hat covered most of his hair so that its length wasn't obvious, and he sported a false black mustache. I pressed my lips together to stifle my laugh.
"This arrived for you earlier." He handed me a letter from Alice.
"Wonderful! I've been worried about her." I tucked it into my reticule to read later.
Gus pulled up in the coach near the steps and Doyle saw us out. He handed Lincoln two umbrellas, one of which Lincoln held over my head and the other over his own. We climbed into the cabin. The space suddenly felt very tight, his knees too close to mine.
"Don't ever grow a mustache," I said as the coach drove off.
He stroked it. "I thought I looked distinguished."
<
br /> I smiled. "If by distinguished you mean older, then yes. It ages you by ten years, at least."
"That's what I hoped. If I had one with gray in it, I would have worn that."
"You keep false mustaches in your room?"
"I purchased some from a wigmaker recently. I decided that if I am to do less…interrogating, I'll need more disguises."
"Sometimes interrogating is necessary. It's also something you do very well."
A gleam appeared in his eyes that I hadn't seen since my return to Lichfield. "You sound as if you doubt my ability to act."
Good acting required a certain degree of empathy. I didn't believe Lincoln had sufficient, but I wouldn't tell him that. I didn't want to destroy his lighter mood. "I'll assess you based on today's performance. Are you to be a journalist, then, and I your assistant?"
He nodded and reached into his inside coat pocket. "You'll need these." He handed me a pencil and notepad. "We'll try University College Hospital. It's closest and they have a strong medical research department."
"I hope this garners results," I said quietly. "Otherwise we must rely on Seth's efforts today and his questioning of Andrew Buchanan. Speaking of Buchanan, how did Lady Harcourt seem to you earlier?"
"It's difficult to tell. She's good at keeping her feelings to herself."
Unlike me. I tended to wear my heart on my sleeve where it was exposed for the world to see. "It must be a difficult time for her."
"She has Buchanan for comfort."
"I doubt he'd be very comforting. That man has a nasty streak."
"That makes them a good match." He eyed me closely. "It's kind of you to worry about Julia, Charlie. It's not necessary, however. She's capable of looking after herself."
"I know. I was simply curious." I fished out Alice's letter from my reticule. "Do you mind if I read it now? I'm desperate to know how she fares."
"Go ahead. I admit that I'm curious too. Leaving her behind may not have been wise. Her power is too unpredictable for my liking."
I nodded and opened the letter, careful not to tear the flimsy paper. Her small, neat writing covered the entire page, leaving only the narrowest gap between the lines. I scanned it quickly then re-read it from the beginning. "All is well," I said on a breath. "There have been no further 'incidents', as she calls them, although she still has the dreams. She has become good friends with the other supernaturals, too, and they all have a better understanding of one another." I laughed softly at the next paragraph.
