by C. J. Archer
We heard the voices of Seth, Dr. Bell and Dr. Fawkner before we reached the top step. "You don't understand." Seth sounded exasperated. "You have to come with me."
"Don't be absurd," Dr. Bell shouted.
"Calm down, sir," Dr. Fawkner said. "Tell us why you think he's in danger."
"It's none of your bloody business," Seth growled.
"Unhand me!" Dr. Bell cried.
Lincoln and I raced along the corridor as other doctors and nurses emerged from offices and laboratories to see what the commotion was about. "Seth," Lincoln barked. "Let him go."
Seth looked like he wanted to faint with relief at seeing us. He let Bell go and moved away, hands in the air, only to step on Dr. Fawkner's foot. Poor Dr. Fawkner yelped.
"Sir!" Dr. Bell rushed up to us. He looked as if he were about to grasp Lincoln's jacket but thought better of it. "Where is he?" he blurted out. "Where's Mannering?"
"I don't know. Dr. Bell, may we speak with you in your office?"
"This way."
"Go back to work," Lincoln told the onlookers, including Dr. Fawkner.
We followed Dr. Bell into his office and shut the door. Seth remained near it, his arms crossed, scowling at Bell.
"Why didn't you tell me you worked for Mr. Fitzroy," Bell said to Seth.
"I didn't think that mattered," Seth said with a shrug.
"Of course it matters! My God, man, he knows how Mannering came back." Bell turned his wild gaze onto Lincoln. "Don't you? You know why a dead man broke into my laboratory last night and stole my papers."
"We work for a secret government organization that monitors threats to our national security," Lincoln said. "You and your research came to our attention recently through another investigation. We're concerned that you may be creating a serum or medicine for an unscrupulous person or persons who are operating against the interests of crown and country."
"Firstly, I know of no such government organization."
"Hence the secret part," Seth said with a shake of his head.
"Secondly, my patron has only England's best interests in mind. I wouldn't have accepted the commission otherwise."
"How can you be sure?"
"From the letter he wrote me. He swore that my medicine would be used only by the government to keep the nation safe."
"It's true," Seth said. "I read them."
"You said 'he' just now," Lincoln said. "Are you certain it's a man? Have you met him?"
"No. I'm not certain of anything regarding my benefactor's identity."
"Is there anything else you can tell us about him or her? Anything that may identify them? Think very hard, Dr. Bell."
Bell shrugged. "Nothing. You've seen the papers. There is no name, no monogram, no letterhead, and the signature cannot be made out. Money was left in a bag in here for me. I don't know who put it there. No one does."
"And you didn't ask for proof of his identity considering the medicine would be dangerous if it was used by an unscrupulous person?" I asked. "That's very unwise."
"It must have been a lot of money," Seth muttered.
"It wasn't the money!" Bell snapped. "It was the challenge. Only a genius could succeed in creating such a medicine."
"Shame you couldn't do it," Seth sneered.
Bell ignored him. "I have questions for you, Mr. Fitzroy. How did Mannering come back to life? Was it a serum based on the analysis of his own blood, or something else entirely? Is my research into hematology important at all? Please, I've been floundering without getting close and now—"
"Enough," Lincoln ordered. "We have to leave. Now."
"Don't be ridiculous. I can't leave like this. I have work to do."
"It's not negotiable."
"Dr. Bell, please," I said. "You have to leave London and go into hiding until we catch this man. He's incredibly dangerous. He lied to you. He doesn't want the serum for good."
"How do you know?"
"He's murdering people to keep them quiet. Do you know any murderers out to do good for the nation?"
Bell fell back into his chair. He looked like an old man, worn down by years of hard physical labor, not scientific work in a laboratory. He lifted a shaky hand to stroke his beard. "Then what does he want it for if not for national security?"
Lincoln rounded the desk and pulled Bell to his feet. "We have to go. Now. Do you have family?"
Bell shook his head.
"I'll give you money to buy new clothes at your destination. Are there any personal effects from here that you wish to take?"
Bell simply stared at him as if he couldn't quite see or hear him.
Lincoln gripped his shoulders and shook him. "Move."
"But you managed to raise Mannering."
Lincoln let him go. Then he punched him. Lincoln caught the unconscious man before he hit the floor.
"Now how do we get him out without anyone seeing?" Seth asked on a sigh.
The door opened, knocking Seth in the back and pushing him forward. Dr. Fawkner stood there, gun in hand. It shook. "Stand all together over there," he ordered, pointing the gun at the far wall. He noticed Dr. Bell on the floor. "What did you do to him?" he cried in a squeaky voice.
"He wouldn't do as he was told," Lincoln said. "And if you don't do as you're told, the same thing will happen. Put the gun down."
Dr. Fawkner shook his head. "N, no," he stuttered. "I'm just following orders."
Orders! My God, he was the spy.
"Miss, go stand with him. You too," he said to Seth.
"Whose orders?" Lincoln asked as we joined him.
"I don't know. All I know is I have to make sure no one gets near Dr. Bell and his research. I didn't suspect you two at first, but then after I heard about last night…" He pursed his lips and expelled a breath. "Hopefully I can make up for my mistake now."
"You don't look like you want to use that thing," I said, wishing I felt as calm as I sounded.
Dr. Fawkner wiped the side of his face on his shoulder. It left a wet, sweaty streak on his jacket. "I will if I have to."
"Why?"
"Money. You know, that stuff that helps you put a roof over your dying mother's head and that young research assistants don't get much of."
"You're in danger too," Lincoln said. "Just as much as Dr. Bell. The man who gave you that money doesn't want any loose ends. He has killed everyone he ever employed on this project, and others, and you'll both be next."
"Why, if I haven't met him?"
"There'll be something that I could use to identify him. It won't be anything you suspect right now, but it could be enough for us if we put it together with other pieces of the puzzle."
"Only if I talk."
Lincoln merely stared at him. Fawkner sucked in his lower lip to stop it wobbling.
At that moment, Bell stirred. He got to his hands and knees, groaning.
"Dr. Bell?" I knelt beside him. "Are you all right?"
"Stand up!" Fawkner shouted. He held the gun in both hands, yet it shook uncontrollably. His gaze darted between the four of us, and he licked his sweaty upper lip.
Lincoln crouched beside me and assisted me to stand. God knows why. I was perfectly capable of rising on my own. Even so, I was grateful for his steadying presence.
Even more grateful when I realized why he'd helped me. I registered the click of his knife blade locking into place the moment before it hurtled across the room. It must have been strapped to his leg or in his boot, somewhere the police hadn't checked.
The blade dug into Fawkner's shoulder. He cried out and fell back at the same time that Lincoln jerked me behind him. Almost as an afterthought, Fawkner pulled the trigger, but by then, the gun pointed harmlessly at the ceiling. A hail of plaster dust rained over Seth as he ripped the gun from Fawkner's grip.
Fawkner rolled around on the ground, clutching his shoulder and crying.
"That was bloody dangerous," Dr. Bell said, getting to his feet. "He could have shot one of us before the knife got him. Or what i
f you'd missed?"
Seth grunted. "He never misses."
"He was agitated and unused to firearms," Lincoln said. "I judged him to be an inaccurate marksman."
"He's also never wrong," Seth added as he checked Fawkner for hidden weapons. "Almost," he added with a glance at me.
Someone pounded on the door. "Dr. Bell! Dr. Fawkner, are you all right?"
Bell rubbed his jaw and gave Lincoln a dazed look. "You hit me."
"And I'll hit you again if you don't come with me. Or I could leave you here to die." He nodded at Fawkner. "He won't be the only one trying to stop you escaping."
Bell nodded and answered the door. "We're all right, but…we have to go away for awhile," he said to the wide-eyed man standing there. "Penwick, you're in charge until further notice."
"But Dr.—"
"Just do as I say!"
Penwick nodded meekly and scuttled away. Bell rejoined me, looking rather forlorn.
"It'll all be over soon," I said.
Bell packed some things from his drawer into a medical bag then nodded at Lincoln. "Let's go. What'll you do with him?" He looked to Fawkner, whimpering on the floor.
"Take him with us," Lincoln said. "If we leave him, he'll be dead by nightfall."
"Why do you care? He tried to kill you."
Lincoln's hooded gaze flicked to me. "I don't care. But I care about the opinion of someone who does."
I took hold of Dr. Bell's offered arm, more to steady myself than from propriety. I felt quite unbalanced by Lincoln's pronouncement. His intense gaze didn't help either.
Lincoln removed my knife from Fawkner's shoulder, much to the injured man's horror, and tucked it up his sleeve. Fawkner almost fainted, but Seth pulled him to his feet and shook him. He put his coat around Fawkner, hiding the blood, and they followed us into the corridor.
Dr. Bell made excuses, telling his colleagues he needed to go away for a few days on a private matter. I don't think anyone believed him, but they could see he wasn't being coerced and they must respect and fear him enough that they didn't want to pry.
We took them to the coach. Lincoln climbed in with Bell, Fawkner, and me, and ordered Seth to remain on the footman's perch at the rear and watch for anyone following. "King's Cross," he told Gus.
"Tell me how you did it," Bell once again asked Lincoln. "How did you make Mannering come alive?"
Fawkner spluttered a mocking laugh. "Have you finally lost your mind?"
"I must know!" Bell reached forward and grasped Lincoln's forearms.
Lincoln's stone-cold glare forced the doctor to let go and sit back again. "No medicine can bring the dead back to life, Dr. Bell. It's impossible."
"But I saw—"
"You saw someone who looks like Mannering. It wasn't him."
Bell's lips moved in silent discussion with himself as he considered this possibility. Perhaps he really was mad.
"It hurts like the devil," Fawkner whined, inspecting his bloodied sleeve.
"Do be quiet," I spat. "You made your bed and now you must lie in it."
"I wouldn't really have shot anyone." He sniffed and slumped into the seat beside Bell. "Where are you taking me?"
"Home," Lincoln said.
"Where is that?" When Lincoln didn't answer, he asked again. "Where do you live?"
"In a mansion with an imposing central tower used for my prisoners. You'll like it there."
"No need for sarcasm," Fawkner said with a petulant sneer.
Bell didn't speak again until we reached the railway station. He sat in the corner, reluctant to move. The shadows around his eyes appeared deeper, darker, but that could have been because his face was paler. To look at him, one would think he'd lost a loved one. Perhaps, to him, his work was his closest and constant companion, and now that work lay ruined.
"Where will I go?" he muttered. "What will I do?"
"You'll go wherever the first train out of London takes you," Lincoln said, opening the door.
He got out and helped a doddery Bell descend the step. The doctor seemed to have aged ten years. Lincoln gave him a pouch full of money and spoke with him quietly then jerked his head at Seth. Seth jumped down from the footman's post and escorted Bell through the throng of passengers milling about the station.
Lincoln remained outside, watching, until Seth rejoined us ten minutes later. It felt like an interminably long time. Fawkner wouldn't stop asking me questions about our destination and about his fate. He wouldn't shut up no matter how many times I asked him to, until Lincoln finally rejoined us.
We drove home in blessed silence. Lincoln and Seth escorted both Dr. Fawkner and me to the house via the service entrance. "Take him to the tower room," Lincoln ordered.
"Not the dungeon?" Seth pouted. "Pity."
Lichfield didn't have a dungeon, just a cellar, although it did feel like a dungeon down there once the door was locked. "I'll see to his wound in a moment," Lincoln said.
"You will not," Fawkner declared. "You're not a doctor. I'll do it myself."
"As you wish. Seth, once he's settled, fetch the medical kit and stay with him until he finishes then remove everything that could be used as a weapon."
Doyle and Cook watched Seth direct Fawkner past the kitchen. Fawkner walked meekly, his head bowed.
"How will we explain this to Lady Vickers?" I asked.
"She requires no explanation," Lincoln said, indicating I should walk ahead of him into the kitchen.
"That doesn't mean she won't demand one. I suppose we'll have to lie."
He asked Cook to make us something for a late breakfast then turned to Doyle. "See that Charlie's rooms are warm. Do you require a bath?" he asked me.
"God, yes. The sooner I get the stink of that cell off me, the better." I moved to the stove and helped Cook fry some bacon and eggs. Lincoln prepared two trays on the table.
"So what happened?" Cook asked.
I described our evening to him, and something occurred to me as I spoke. "No one has followed us this morning, or tried to attack," I said to Lincoln. "Does that mean Fawkner was the only spy at the hospital, and since we caught him, the killer cannot be alerted?"
"To rely solely on someone like Fawkner would be an amateurish mistake," he said, leaning back against the wall near the pantry, his arms crossed over his chest. "Our killer isn't an amateur. It probably means they aren't willing to attack yet, so as not to show their hand too early. That's what I would do."
"Or perhaps it's not a committee member, after all. Perhaps whoever it is hasn't yet heard about our encounter with Bell last night."
"It's a possibility."
"Are you going to question Fawkner?"
"After breakfast. I can wait until after you bathe if you want to join me."
Why was he asking me to interrogate Fawkner with him? To involve me in the investigation? Or because he was afraid of the methods he'd use if I wasn't there to temper his violent streak?
"No, thank you. I'm tired. I think I'll rest."
"There you both are!" Lady Vickers stood in the kitchen doorway, the invisible barrier keeping her out of Cook's domain. "Who is our new guest? Seth wouldn't tell me. He suggested I speak to you about it."
"His name is Dr. Fawkner," Lincoln said.
"A doctor?" She pursed her lips in thought. "While I think you can do better, my dear girl, a doctor might suit if there are no other candidates. How fortunate that we can study his manner at close quarters. Do you know his connections, Mr. Fitzroy?"
It was so absurd that I couldn't help the bubble of laughter escaping. "Madam, I dislike Dr. Fawkner intensely."
She sighed. "Well, I suppose it's my own fault for telling you to set your sights high."
I rolled my eyes.
"I do expect you to be civil to him, Charlie," she snipped. "You must take tea with him and such. You may not like him, but you might like his friends. It's important to present yourself in the most agreeable manner to everyone. You never know how a connection will be made."
"Charlie won't be taking tea with him," Lincoln said. "No one will. He's not to be disturbed."
"Why not?"
"He's ill."
Her hand fluttered to her chest. "Nothing catching, I hope."
"It's highly contagious."
She gasped. "Good lord. Why isn't he in hospital?"
"It's a long story, and one I don't wish to go into right now."
That seemed to satisfy Lady Vickers. I expect the fact that Lincoln was the one to tell her had much to do with her believing the story. If I or someone else did, I doubt she'd be so trusting. Lincoln did have a rather straight way of delivering his lies so that I, too, found him utterly believable at times.
Lady Vickers left, muttering under her breath about diseases and cleanliness. Bella entered a moment later and I suspected she'd been waiting for her mistress to depart. Lincoln told her about our new guest and repeated his warning about staying away. She, too, believed every word, so much so that when Seth returned, she screwed up her face and told him to scrub himself clean before he came near her.
"What have I done now?" he asked, throwing up his hands.
I left Lincoln to inform him and took my breakfast tray upstairs to eat in my room. After a warm bath and a quiet sit by the fire to dry my hair, I could no longer keep my eyes open. I fell asleep, only to wake up a few hours later from a nightmare. I'd dreamed that the Queen of Hearts' soldiers chased me into a prison cell where the disgusting Jenny, dressed in the queen's livery, belched in my face then drove a sword through my heart.
I went downstairs and found Seth and Gus in the sitting room with Cook and Doyle. Doyle jumped to his feet upon seeing me and flushed red to his hairline.
"It's all right," I told him. "Please, sit down. You're welcome to use the sitting room. Mr. Fitzroy won't mind."
"Thank you, but I have to speak to him anyway." He skirted around me as if I were a wild animal and slipped out.
"How's the prisoner?" I asked, touching the sides of the teapot on the table to test its warmth.
"Still alive, unfortunately." Seth lay stretched out on the sofa, his long legs dangling over the armrest, one arm under his head. "He's an annoying little turd."
"Did Lincoln question him?"
"Aye," Gus said. He sat on an armchair and wiggled his bare toes at the fire. "Fawkner told him nothin' about the person who employed him. Prob'ly because he knew nothin'."
