by C. J. Archer
"Charlie?" Lincoln said softly. "Are you all right?"
I forced a smile. "It's only for a few hours. I can manage until then, and when the inspector hears our story, he'll let us go." I hoped he understood that I was asking him not to make a scene, that I had faith in other, legal, methods.
"Let her go," he said again to the sergeant now steering Dr. Bell to one of the desks. "She's a young lady who doesn't belong in a place like this."
The sergeant sighed. "I agree, but I can't let her go until the inspector has spoken to her. I am sorry, miss." He offered me a smile. "Just a few hours."
It was a good sign that he was treating me gently. It meant he believed our story. I just hoped the detective inspector was as gullible.
Lincoln and I were separated, searched and placed in holding cells next to one another. They might as well have been on opposite sides of the city. We couldn't communicate in any way.
Lincoln had probably disposed of the paperwork in the coach before getting out, so I wasn't concerned about the police finding it. I was more concerned with staying warm in the freezing cell.
My two fellow prisoners were both whores going by their painted faces and low-cut bodices. One, a scrawny figure whose age I couldn't determine in the poor light, sat with her chin resting on drawn-up knees. The other's snores were in danger of waking all of London. She did not rouse when the door slammed shut behind me.
The sleeping prisoner occupied the only bed so I sat on the floor nearby because it was as far from the other woman as possible. It soon became apparent why she'd moved to the opposite side of the cell. The sleeping princess on the bed reeked of gin and vomit.
"I don't smell much better," she said, as if she could read my thoughts. "But I don't have lice." She nodded at the woman scratching her head in her sleep.
I shuffled away from her and closer to the scrawny woman on the floor. She looked to be about my age. Her oily black hair hung around a face marked by the pox, and her shawl was so thin I could see through it in patches.
"You in for stealing too?" she asked.
"Yes, but there's been a mistake."
She snorted. "I tried tellin' 'em that too, but it didn't work."
I hugged my knees as she was doing, but didn't dare close my eyes. I needed to keep my wits about me in case she wanted to attack me and steal my coat. The policemen had left it with me after they'd searched it.
"What'll happen to us, you fink?" she asked after a while.
"I don't know."
"I knew a bloke what was hanged once. A cove in my bruvver's gang, he were. Stole a gold watch off a toff, but he weren't quick enough and got caught. They said his body twitched and jumped 'round in the noose afore it went still. I reckon that's the spirit leavin', goin' up to heaven. What d'you reckon?"
"I think you're right."
She looked satisfied with my response. "My bruvver tried tellin' me there ain't no such thing as spirits and heaven. He says that bein' dead's just like bein' asleep, but I don't fink he's right. He's an idiot. Can't even write his name. I can write me letters, see. I got educated more 'an him."
"Tell your brother when you see him again that I know for a fact that spirits are real."
She raised her head. "How?"
"I've seen them and spoken to them."
She sat up straight. "You one of them mediums?"
I nodded. "Tell your brother there is a heaven, and good people go there in their afterlife. I know it for certain." I don't know why I felt compelled to tell her. Perhaps because she had nothing to look forward to in life, and I wanted her to know something else awaited her after death.
"What's it like?" she asked softly. "Heaven?"
I shrugged. "I don't know."
She scooted across the floor and clasped my arm in both hands. She looked so young and vulnerable with her hollow cheeks, scrawny frame and big eyes, full of wonder. "Tell me about the spirits you seen. What do they look like?"
I described the mists, the lack of color, and some of the conversations I'd had, without giving away too much. I didn't tell her about raising the dead, or the murderers I'd encountered. The more I spoke, the more she curled into my side, clinging to my arm as if she was afraid I'd float away if she let go. After a good while, her eyes began to droop heavily and her yawns grew more frequent.
"Go to sleep," I said quietly. "It'll be morning soon and you'll need your strength for the day ahead." I removed my coat and wrapped it around us both.
She snuggled into me, and her body relaxed into sleep.
I leaned my head against the wall and closed my eyes too. I didn't feel as if I slept a wink, but when I reopened my eyes it was lighter. A lackluster beam of sunlight struggled through the barred window, brightening more of the cell than the gas lamp. I remained still for a long time so as not to wake the sleeping girl. I could make out scratch marks on the walls, made by bored or scared prisoners. Some of them even formed names. I read as many as I could decipher to pass the time and to keep my mind off our investigation, off Lincoln, and off the memories of the last time I'd been locked in a holding cell. I wasn't very successful on any count.
The woman on the bed rolled over and broke wind. She then proceeded to snort and hawk up snot at regular intervals. When I'd lived with boys' gangs, I'd learned to ignore their disgusting habits. After a few months of living a mannered and clean life, my tolerance for bodily noises had diminished.
The scraping of the lock drawing back and the door opening acted like an alarm bell. The woman on the bed sat bolt upright, mumbling something into her chins that I couldn't make out. The girl leaning against me also sat up and rubbed her eyes. Upon sight of the constable, she once again curled into me, clinging to my arm.
"Miss Charlotte Holloway, come with me, please," he said. "Inspector will speak to you now."
The girl's fingers gripped harder. She blinked back at me.
"My name's Charlie," I told her.
"Betty."
"It's been a pleasure meeting you, Betty. Here." I removed the coat from my shoulders and wrapped it around her. "Keep this. I have another." And she was going to need it more than me.
"You're released too, Betty," the constable said. "Since this is your first time and the goods weren't found on you, you've been let off with a warning. Come with me, both of you."
Betty choked back a cry. "Thank God," she muttered. "Thank God." She hugged me and I hugged her back. "You're my lucky charm, Miss Charlie."
I smiled with genuine happiness. Not only for her, but also for me. The constable had said she was being released 'too.' Did that mean I wasn't being charged? "Take care, Betty."
"What about me?" cried the woman on the bed with an indignant scowl.
"You get to enjoy the peace and quiet in here a while longer, Jenny," the constable said with a chuckle.
She lay down again with the loudest snort yet. "Pigs."
Betty and I followed the constable down the corridor to the front of the station. Betty was handed over to another constable who led her to one office while I was led to another. Lincoln met me at the door. His seer's senses must have anticipated my approach.
His burning gaze washed over my face, twice. "Charlie." He cupped my jaw in his hands and stroked my cheeks with his thumbs. He opened his mouth, but said nothing. He didn't have to. It was all there in his eyes and touch. He'd been worried all night, and now sheer relief rendered him speechless.
He still cared. I was sure of it now.
I placed my hands over his and gently pulled them away. "You look tired."
"Miss Holloway, sit," the inspector said, indicating a chair. He was a middle-aged fellow with a sagging face and unhurried movements. His eyes, however, darted over me. I got the feeling he missed nothing. "I just have a few questions and then you may go."
Lincoln squeezed my hand. I hoped my answers matched his. I sat at the desk with the little wooden name plate telling me that the saggy faced policeman was Detective Inspector Donald.
&
nbsp; "Tell me about that fellow you met, Mannering," the inspector said.
"Is that his name?" I asked in my most innocent voice. "Dr. Bell said it was, but he didn't introduce himself to me. Mr. Fitzroy and I were minding our own business walking past Barts and that ghastly fellow approached us. He said he'd harm us if we didn't go to Dr. Bell's office and question him about his work. We did, but Dr. Bell told us nothing. That man was furious and demanded we help him break in during the night. Very reluctantly, Mr. Fitzroy hired a coach and drivers, then we returned to the hospital. He made us wait for him." The story was so weak, it barely held together. I hoped Inspector Donald was a dull-witted fellow easily intimidated by Lincoln's scowls.
"Can you describe him to me?"
I did, but in vague terms so that the description would most likely match Bell's but could be attributed to many men.
"The thing is," Inspector Donald said, "Mannering's dead."
"Then it couldn't have been him, could it? Dr. Bell must have been mistaken."
"The other thing is, I don't believe you." He turned to Lincoln. "Either of you."
Lincoln went very still. I wanted to reach for his hand again, but I dared not move. The inspector might see it as a sign of guilt.
Inspector Donald stood and buttoned up his waistcoat. "However, I've been ordered by my superiors to release you. I don't really care why. It's one less thing on my plate. Good day to you both. You may collect your things from the constable on your way out."
I was too stunned to move until Lincoln stood. "Good day, Inspector. Thank you for your time."
Inspector Donald's face sagged even further, but he didn't say another word as we left. Neither of us spoke as the constable handed over my reticule, gloves and Lincoln's belongings. I didn't want to say something that might have the inspector revoking his decision.
Lincoln stopped at the door and wordlessly handed me his coat. He didn't ask where mine had gone.
"Miss Charlie! Miss Charlie!" Betty waved at me as we exited the police station. She stood in my coat, clutching a dirty hessian sack to her chest as if she were afraid someone would snatch it. "Ain't it grand to be free," she said, smiling.
"It is," I said, smiling back. "I hope we both manage to stay that way."
Her smile faded. She nodded and went to walk off.
"Betty, wait." I opened my reticule, then thought better of it, and handed her the entire thing. There was nothing in it of personal value, only some coins, a handkerchief and the bag itself. "Take this, and do be careful."
Her eyes brightened. "Are you sure?"
I nodded.
"Thank you, Miss Charlie. Thank you, thank you." She grasped my hand and kissed the back of it. Her fingers were freezing. I gave her my gloves and was about to tell her of a place to go when Lincoln got in before me.
"There's a woman on Broker Row near Seven Dials named Mrs. Sullivan," he said. "If you need a place to stay or some food, find her and tell her Charlie sent you. She'll take care of you."
Betty nodded eagerly. "Thank you, sir. I'll go there now. I don't want to go back to me old digs. The only thing waiting for me is my pa and he'll just have me doing more of the same as got me in here."
I fared her well then fell into step beside Lincoln. Despite the cold morning and his lack of coat, he didn't shiver. "We need to send more money Mrs. Sullivan's way," I said. "Her house must be full to bursting."
"I plan to talk to her about getting bigger lodgings," he said. "If she's amenable to the idea, she can take in more girls and get some help too, if she wants it."
Sometimes, he surprised me into utter speechlessness.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yes. You?"
"Fine."
"Good."
We headed away from the station and into the swell of morning traffic. Lincoln walked very close to me, our arms touching, his face a picture of sharp concentration.
That's when it finally sank in. We'd been released because Inspector Donald's superiors had ordered him to do so. But who'd ordered them?
"The committee members knew we were in there, didn't they?" I said, scanning the vicinity. If the committee knew, and one of the members was our murderer, then my life was once again in danger.
"It would seem so."
I pulled out my necklace with the imp enclosed inside the amber orb and clasped it hard.
"I'll keep you safe," Lincoln said, without looking at me. His little finger touched mine. He wasn't wearing gloves and I no longer had mine so the feel of skin on skin came as a shock. I moved my hand away.
"It's not just me, is it? Dr. Bell is also in danger now. Our killer doesn't like loose ends. Loose ends tend to talk."
Lincoln said nothing. No doubt he'd already come to the same conclusion.
"We'll go to the hospital now and warn him," I said.
He shook his head. "I'm taking you home first."
"That'll waste valuable time. No, Lincoln, we'll go to Barts. Besides," I said when he began to protest, "I'm safer with you. If the killer is someone on the committee, they'll be expecting me to return to Lichfield now while you continue to investigate. Won't they?"
I took his grunt as agreement. "Keep close to the buildings," he said. "Stay on my left away from the road, and stay alert."
A moment later, a man with his hat pulled low walked toward us. Lincoln steered me to the wall of the bank building. With my back pressed to the bricks and Lincoln's body so close that I could feel his warmth, we waited until the man passed.
Lincoln should have stepped back to release me but he did not. He moved even closer and I felt a small tremble ripple through him. It echoed through my body. I hadn't been this close to him in so long. Every night as I lay in my bed in the castle I'd been assaulted with memories of him kissing me. I'd wanted him near me with every fiber of my being, wanted his kisses, his touches, his heated looks.
Yet I'd shoved them away just as hard when I regained my wits. I'd told myself it would never happen again, and that if it did, I would not be swept up and sucked into his whirlwind again. I would resist.
Yet now…now I felt too confused to do anything but stand there and watch, looking for any small sign of how he truly felt.
He swallowed. His lips parted. He leaned in and the breath left my body, taking all common sense with it. Lincoln's lips skimmed lightly across mine. "Charlie," he whispered so softly that the breeze almost took it.
And then he clasped my face in both his hands and kissed me.
Chapter 13
I placed my palms against Lincoln's chest and shoved. He stopped kissing me. "Don't," I growled, punching him in the shoulder. "Don't do that. Don't, don't, don't." I punctuated each word with a punch and ended with another shove.
He stepped back. I strode past him and continued toward Barts.
He fell into step beside me. "Sorry. I…" He dragged his hand through his hair. "I'm sorry."
"I don't want your apology," I spat. "I want…" What did I want? I didn't have a clue so merely shook my head.
"I couldn't help myself." Oh, wonderful. He chose now to be talkative. "I was relieved to see you unscathed this morning and couldn't control the urge."
"Ha! You are the most disciplined, self-controlled person I know. You could have resisted."
"Perhaps I didn't want to." He stopped suddenly and caught my arm, pulling me to a halt. The hospital gate with the statue of Henry VIII above it loomed ahead.
I followed his gaze to see Gus sitting on the driver's seat of one of Lincoln's coach's. Lincoln scanned the vicinity then headed over.
"Charlie! Fitzroy!" Gus beamed upon seeing us. "Thank Christ you got out. But how?"
"The committee have spies everywhere," Lincoln said, eyeing the porter at the gate from beneath his thick lashes. "I believe the hospital is being watched. Whether our visit to Bell yesterday triggered the spy to alert their master or mistress, or whether last night's scuffle did, remains to be seen. Either way, Bell is being commissione
d to find a way to bring the dead back to life. He admitted as much."
"Thought so," Gus said. "Found the papers you left behind. They don't say much, and there ain't no names or signatures we can read, but it's as clear as a bell that he's got a secret commission that he ain't allowed to talk about." He chuckled. "Clear as a Bell. Get it?"
I rolled my eyes. "So where's Seth?"
"Inside, tryin' to convince Bell to get out of the city. It ain't safe for him."
Lincoln took my hand and placed it on his arm. "Come with me. Hold onto your orb and keep watch. Gus, wait here."
"I was doin' that anyway," he muttered as we walked off.
"Clutch your stomach as if you're in pain," Lincoln muttered as we approached the porter.
I did and moaned for effect. The porter was a different fellow to the one from yesterday, fortunately. It didn't mean he hadn't been given our descriptions by Dr. Bell or the other porter. He could well be one of many spies watching the hospital.
Lincoln strode straight up to him. "My wife needs a doctor," he said. "Where do I go?"
The porter inspected me with a keen eye. He probably saw dozens of ill people a day, many of them ragged and poor, unable to afford a doctor to visit them at home. While we wouldn't look that desperate, perhaps having only one coat between us might convince him we needed to come to Barts. He was taking far too long, however, and scrutinizing us much too closely.
I moaned louder and doubled over.
"Hurry up, man!" Lincoln snapped. "She needs help now or she'll lose the baby."
"Through there, cross the courtyard," the porter said, pointing. "Follow the signs."
Lincoln circled his arm around my waist and I leaned against him. "Come, my dear. We'll be there soon."
"Is he still watching?" I asked once we'd gone several feet.
"Yes," he said without turning around.
"Your seer's senses know that much?"
"Yes."
We passed the north wing then doubled back on the other side, out of sight from the main gate and the porter. We hurried up the stairs, although I suspected Lincoln slowed his pace for me.
