From The Ashes (Ministry of Curiosities Book 6)

by C. J. Archer

  "What is it?"

  "Mrs. Denk found herself locked in the dungeon overnight before one of the teachers realized and let her out. Apparently the spirit of Sir Geoffrey lured her in there. I shouldn't laugh. That dungeon was an awful place. A few hours down there feels like days."

  He leaned forward, his eyes hooded. "How do you know?"

  I folded up the letter and tucked it back into my reticule.

  "Charlie?"

  Chapter 10

  "Mrs. Denk put me down there."

  A muscle in his jaw tensed. He held my gaze until I could no longer stand it and looked away.

  He touched my knee. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  I shifted my knees away. "There was no point since you came for me."

  He leaned back and turned to the window. Rain splattered the glass, blurring the cityscape outside. It was difficult to tell where we were precisely, thanks to the monotony of grayness.

  "Did you buy wigs too?" I asked to fill the silence.

  "Just mustaches. I thought I might cut my hair to—"

  "Don't do that.

  He blinked. My vehemence surprised me too.

  "Your hair suits you," I said with a shrug.

  We arrived at the Gower Street hospital and headed inside to see the governor. We only got as far as his assistant in the outer office, a needle-faced man who peered at us over his spectacles. Lincoln must have decided he would do. He asked to see the head of the hematology research facility to interview him about his latest discoveries.

  "For the article my editor asked me to write," he finished, indicating me holding my pencil and notepad.

  "You've made a mistake," the assistant said with a frown. "We don't have any doctors specializing in hematology here."

  "Oh." Lincoln sounded disappointed, if somewhat wooden. "Do you know which hospital I should try?"

  "Why do you want to know?"

  "My editor got wind of great strides being made in that area of medical science and wanted our paper to be the first to report on it."

  The assistant clasped his hands on the top of his desk in front of him. "I don't know of any laboratories making great strides in hematology. Are you sure you don't mean infectious diseases?"

  "The two are linked, are they not?"

  "I suppose."

  When the assistant said nothing further, Lincoln leaned forward. I held my breath and waited for the interrogation to begin. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone this," he said, "but the editor informed me that the paper's owner is considering donating a large sum to further the research." Then he did the oddest thing. He winked.

  "Oh!" The assistant beamed. "How exciting!" He winked back. "I won't tell a soul."

  "Thank you. The name of the hospital involved in hematology research?"

  "I wish it were us now, but alas it's not. You need to speak to Dr. Bell from St. Bart's."

  Lincoln thanked him and we returned to the coach. "Barts," Lincoln directed Gus before closing the door.

  "Well done," I said, settling on the seat. "You played your part well. My skepticism was misplaced."

  He stroked his mustache. "I could get used to one of these if it means I'm taken more seriously."

  "Believe me, people usually take you very seriously. You only have to give them one of your looks and they cower."

  "Perhaps I don't want people to cower."

  It was impossible to know if he was merely spouting what he thought I wanted to hear, or whether he meant it. "Lincoln, you are who you are. You shouldn't try to change for other people."

  He turned to the window.

  "That goes doubly for growing a mustache and cutting your hair."

  One corner of his mouth lifted. "Noted."

  St. Bartholomew's Hospital had the grand distinction of being London's oldest hospital still operating on its original site. It was made up of a cluster of buildings accessed via the Henry VIII gate where a heavy-lidded porter eyed us.

  "If it ain't an emergency," he said, "general admission day is Thursdays at eleven."

  "We're here on another matter." Lincoln introduced himself as William Humphrey, journalist from The Times, and repeated his story about interviewing Dr. Bell for the newspaper."

  The heavy lids briefly lifted before plunging to half-mast again. "Bell's laboratory can be found on the second floor in the north wing. He's always there." He waved at the multi-level building behind him. "Go through the archway. Staircase is on the right."

  Lincoln thanked him and we headed from the gatehouse to the north wing, but not before a stiff wind almost ripped Lincoln's mustache off. He flipped up his collar as if to ward off the cold and pressed the false hair against his upper lip.

  A nurse dressed all in white greeted us on the second floor. "Dr. Bell is very busy," she hedged with a glance along the corridor. "Would you care to wait?"

  "Not particularly." Lincoln repeated his story about a financial grant. "Where can we find him?"

  A gentleman walked past and the nurse hailed him. "Dr. Fawkner will assist you. He's Dr. Bell's assistant."

  Dr. Fawkner looked far too young to be given any authority, let alone be a doctor. His curly blond hair ended high up his forehead and his childlike face sported rosy cheeks and cherubic lips. The cheeks grew even rosier as Lincoln repeated his story.

  "Marvelous!" Dr. Fawkner declared. "It's about time Dr. Bell's work was taken seriously. He's a genius. His research is ahead of its time, but so few in the medical profession will acknowledge it. All the money's in infectious diseases, you know, and surgical equipment. Hematology is very much the beggar's specialty around here. Come with me. I'll introduce you."

  He led us down a long corridor, past dozens of doors, one of which was open to reveal two long tables against the side walls. Two gentlemen in white coats peered through microscopes and another took notes.

  Dr. Fawkner knocked on the next door along and a voice ordered us to enter. A bald gentleman with a neatly trimmed white beard looked up from the paperwork covering most of his expansive desk. His blue-gray eyes pierced his assistant, pinning him to the spot so that he didn't enter beyond the doorway.

  "What is it, Fawkner?" Dr. Bell snapped. "I'm busy."

  Fawkner cleared his throat. "Dr. Bell, this is Mr. Humphrey and his assistant. They're from The Times and have some rather exciting news for you." He was so enthusiastic that I felt a little sorry to be misleading him.

  "I'll be the judge of that." Dr. Bell turned his sharp gaze onto Lincoln. I did not receive an acknowledgement of any kind. It was probably best that Dr. Bell not really see me. Even with the veil covering much of my face, it was safer to remain somewhat invisible.

  Lincoln held out his hand, but Dr. Bell didn't take it. "I don't shake hands when I'm not wearing gloves," he said.

  Dr. Fawkner shifted behind us. "My apologies," he muttered. "I failed to mention that."

  Lincoln held a chair out for me and I went to sit.

  "I didn't offer you a seat." Dr. Bell flicked his fingers and Fawkner left us. "What is it you want?"

  "My editor wants me to interview you," Lincoln said.

  "I fail to see how that is of benefit to me. Bloody typical of Fawkner to get excited over something as banal as an interview. I don't read the papers, Mr. Humphrey. I'd rather spend my valuable time perusing medical journals."

  "The article will coincide with an announcement of a grant awarded to your department, and funded by the paper's owner."

  "How much is the grant worth?"

  "Two thousand pounds."

  Bell's white brows shot up. He leaned forward and steepled his hands on his desk. "Why my department?"

  "Personal reasons, so I'm told."

  Bell leaned back again. "I see."

  Lincoln signaled to me to begin my note taking. I hoped my handwriting was up to the task if Mr. Bell asked to inspect my notes. My education had been stunted when my father threw me out at thirteen, and although I'd read a great deal since going to live at Lichfield, my w
riting lacked speed and grace.

  "What developments are you currently working on?" Lincoln asked.

  "I won't be answering any of your questions until I've spoken to your editor. What did you say his name was?"

  "Mr. Marshall," Lincoln said without missing a beat. "I wish you luck getting an appointment with him. He's a busy man."

  "Aren't we all? Nevertheless, I will speak with him first. Come back next week."

  "It's a simple question, Dr. Bell. I'm not asking for any secrets, just some information about your current work. Do you have any private commissions, for example?"

  Dr. Bell stood. "Please see yourselves out."

  "The grant may be awarded to another if you don't cooperate."

  "Fawkner!" Bell bellowed. His assistant appeared at the door. "See that Mr. Humphrey and his assistant find the exit. We wouldn't want them getting lost and stumbling into the laboratory by mistake."

  Lincoln tensed. "We'll tell Mr. Marshall to expect you."

  "This way, if you please," said Dr. Fawkner with forced cheerfulness.

  Lincoln followed me out. Even though he showed no outward signs, I knew he was quietly seething, and probably wishing he hadn't gone to the trouble of disguises and stories. I wished the same, but as Dr. Fawkner led us down the staircase, I realized not all was yet lost.

  "I am sorry for Dr. Bell," he said quietly when we reached the ground floor. He glanced back up the stairs and leaned toward Lincoln. "He's a meticulous man, very thorough, and doesn't take people at face value. Once he's verified that you are who you are, he'll be keen to speak to you. About most of his work, anyway." He laughed nervously and glanced once again up the staircase.

  Most? "That's quite all right," I said. "We understand completely. Mr. Humphrey is very much like your Dr. Bell in that regard."

  Lincoln gave a short, sharp nod. Dr. Fawkner smiled at me. "How charming to see a woman in a man's role. I'm all for women's rights. I have sisters," he said with a hearty smile. "One even wishes to become a doctor, but will probably have to settle for nursing."

  "An equally marvelous profession." His smile widened at my enthusiastic response. Beside me, Lincoln shifted his weight. I ignored him. Dr. Fawkner was ripe for picking. "Your work here is fascinating," I said, injecting a hint of awe into my voice, "and so important."

  "Life saving, you might say." He chuckled. "Life giving too, in a way."

  Giving? Could he mean resurrection? "How intriguing," I said, breathily. "Whatever do you mean?"

  "Just something Bell once said, Miss…"

  "Filmott." I smiled and held out my hand.

  "Miss Filmott." He took my hand and smiled back when I gently squeezed. "Charming."

  "You were saying?"

  "Ah, yes." He frowned as he gathered his thoughts again. "You'd be amazed at the types of things we're working on in our laboratories, but unfortunately I'm not privy to everything Dr. Bell does. Some of his work is very private. So much so that he won't even divulge its nature to me. Can't have rival doctors stealing our research, can we?" He laughed. "That's Dr. Bell's greatest fear. That and germs."

  "Of course. It explains his reluctance to accept us without checking our authenticity first. I, for one, don't blame him at all. We have no problem with returning another day."

  "You're very understanding." He chuckled and once again looked up the stairs. "You wouldn't believe it, but Dr. Bell has been sleeping in the laboratory lately. He's worried someone will attempt to steal his work if he's not there."

  "Is that so?" That would make it difficult to peek at his paperwork. "It would help Mr. Humphrey if he has something to go on with while we wait for Dr. Bell to speak with Mr. Marshall. We'd like to interview the benefactors, and learn their reasons for funding such important work. Are you funded entirely by the hospital or do you also take on private work?"

  "Both," he said.

  "And the secret experiments are for the hospital or those private benefactors?"

  "Private, but that's all I can tell you. They won't want to talk to the newspapers, but I'm sure the hospital will. The administrators are always looking for ways to increase funding and a grant will get them very excited. Your article would also go a long way in advertising our research to more private benefactors, not to mention the fame, of course. Imagine being mentioned in a feature article in The Times!"

  "We'll be sure to spell your name correctly," I assured him. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Fawkner. It's been a pleasure to meet you."

  He sketched a bow. "The pleasure is all mine, Miss Filmott. Mr. Humphrey."

  Lincoln and I walked back through the Henry VIII gate and out to Gus, waiting nearby with the carriage. "Home," Lincoln told him, and we climbed in.

  "That was enlightening," I said.

  He grunted. "If any of my employees blabbed like Fawkner did, I'd dismiss them."

  "Good to know."

  "You're not an employee."

  "It's a pity Bell wouldn't talk," I said before I found myself sinking into his warm gaze, unable to get out.

  He ripped off his mustache and stuffed it into his pocket. "Perhaps next time you should do all the talking. You're better at it. You and Seth."

  "Don't be disheartened. You were very good. I don't think the soft, subtle approach would ever work on Bell, no matter who spoke with him. Fortunately we had Fawkner. The question now is, was he implying that their research was the same as the serum Captain Jasper had been working on?"

  "It's impossible to know without seeing the experiments and results."

  "How would you know what you were looking at? Oh, wait, don't tell me. Your scientific knowledge is as thorough as every other aspect of your education. Of course you can read blood test results."

  His eyes narrowed. "My education wasn't thorough in all aspects. Science and medicine were particular interests of mine. If I hadn't been destined to be the ministry leader I would have liked to become a doctor."

  "Is that so?"

  "What about you? What would you have become if things had been different?"

  "You mean if I hadn't been a necromancer, abandoned at thirteen, and oh, a woman, what vocation would I have chosen?"

  "Yes."

  I thought about it a moment. "Medicine certainly seems like a noble profession, but I did enjoy myself today, asking Dr. Fawkner those questions. So perhaps a journalist."

  "Or a detective inspector?"

  I shrugged. "Is being the ministry's leader such a terrible thing?"

  "Not always. Not in the last few months."

  I felt my face heat and looked away. I wished he wouldn't be so…nice. "Being a necromancer isn't all that awful, either. Now that I'm used to it, I like speaking to the dead, on the whole. I've met some interesting characters. It would be even better if I didn't have to hide what I am, or if someone wasn't trying to kill me."

  He suddenly leaned forward and captured my hand in his. With gloves on, it should have lacked intimacy, but it did not. It felt very real and earnest. A lump clogged my throat. "It will be over soon. I promise you, Charlie. We'll capture the killer and you'll be free to do as you please."

  I smiled weakly and nodded. It was all I could manage. Then I pulled my hand away.

  His hands hovered in mid-air for a moment before he settled back in the seat. "I'll return tonight and see what paperwork I can find linking Bell to a serum to reanimate bodies."

  "You're going to break in?"

  He nodded.

  "But you can't! Dr. Fawkner said Dr. Bell sleeps in the laboratory."

  "I can handle Bell."

  "I know that," I snapped. "The point is, you'll risk exposure and arrest, or worse, if he keeps a gun in his drawer like Dr. Merton at the Lying In hospital."

  He was silent a moment, his face impassive. "You sound worried."

  "Of course I am! If you die…" I swallowed. "What will happen to me?" I regretted it as soon as I said it. It wasn't at all what had been on my mind, but I couldn't tell him that I cared about his
wellbeing. I just couldn't. It was painful enough admitting it to myself.

  "You'll have the cottage in Harringay," he said to the window. "There'll also be provisions for you in my will."

  "Stop, Lincoln, please. Stop all of the kindness, the sympathetic looks, and the life changing gifts." I fanned out my fingers on my lap, but the stretch did nothing to ease the tension coursing through me. "It's impossible to remain angry with you when you're like that, and I need to remain angry with you. It's easier than… It's just easier." I turned to the window, yet I couldn't get his wide-eyed stare out of my mind or the twitch of his lips. Something in my outburst had amused him. I couldn't think what. I'd sounded childishly petulant.

  He didn't respond, and neither of us spoke the rest of the way home.

  Chapter 11

  "No success," Seth said as we sat in the drawing room after dinner. His mother sat with us, reading the newspaper, apparently oblivious to our conversation. We still had to be careful, however, although sometimes I wasn't sure why. If anyone could withstand the shock of learning about magic and supernaturals, it would be Lady Vickers. "The first five gentlemen on the list can all be accounted for on November sixteenth. Three weren't even in London, one had a business meeting, and the fifth was with his mistress all day."

  "Did he tell you that?" I asked.

  "His mistress did. The mistresses of the other men informed me of their whereabouts too."

  "They all have mistresses?"

  "It's entirely normal," Lady Vickers said from behind her newspaper. "And all the ladies have affairs de coeur too, albeit discreetly and after they've finished breeding, of course. Everyone does it. If one doesn't do it, one feels left out."

  "That's not true, Mother."

  She lowered the corner of her newspaper. "It is true, and Charlie needs to know. If she sets her sights on a good marriage, she ought to go in with her eyes open."