by C. J. Archer
"What's done is done." Marchbank eased back as if Lady Harcourt was a feral cat he'd caught and wanted to release, but wasn't sure if she'd attack again. "Membership in the committee is not up for negotiation."
I watched the scene in wide-eyed wonder. Growing up, toffs had always been people to look up to and admire with their lovely clothes, sparkling jewels, and regal bearing. They seemed to be above the sorts of things that I worried about, like where the next meal came from, or how I would change clothes without the boys seeing my breasts. Since meeting the committee, I'd learned that they were no different from anyone else. They could be just as petty and cruel as the lowest villain who walked the streets and preyed on the desperate. Watching the committee implode was a humbling experience, and yet satisfying too. With the exception of Marchbank, I didn't like any of them.
Lady Harcourt sniffed. Tears streaked down her cheeks, leaving tracks in the powder she wore on her face. Marchbank handed her his handkerchief, but she didn't take her eyes off Lincoln.
I glanced at him too. He stood with his hands at his back, his feet a little apart, his attention on the gentlemen. All three of them now stood.
"There is a point to this meeting," he said with bored indifference. "Will someone please get to it?"
Gillingham continued to dab at his cheek as if he hadn't heard the demand. Eastbrooke and Marchbank exchanged glances.
Eastbrooke shook his head ever so slightly. "It's a mistake," he said quietly.
"You were outvoted, General." To Lincoln, Lord Marchbank said, "At our meeting today, we discussed the immediate future of the ministry, and in particular, your role in it, Fitzroy. We decided that you will be stood down as leader, effectively immediately."
"What?" I exploded. "You can't do that! The prophecy says he is the leader."
"For once, we're in agreement," the general said. "However, the other three voted for your dismissal, Lincoln."
"I can't believe you would do this! I respected you," I said to Marchbank. "But you're as foolish and arrogant as the others."
"The ministry has been exposed." Lord Marchbank sounded tired, older. "We no longer know where many supernaturals are, and Fitzroy refuses to keep us informed on important matters. He gave us no choice."
"There's no place for a rogue in the ministry," Gillingham said, refilling his glass from the decanter. "Particularly in the role of leader. He has to go."
"You can't do this!" How could I make them see? They couldn't do this to Lincoln. The ministry meant everything to him. Surely they hadn't thought it through. "You don't have the authority. No one does."
"Stop it," Lady Harcourt hissed. "Your puppy-like devotion is sickening. I'm surprised at you, Lincoln. You never did like overt displays of emotion, yet you stand there and listen to her."
"I listen to her because she has something to say that I want to hear. Or need to." He spoke with utter calmness, as if he hadn't just been dismissed from the job he was destined to do.
"You've become blind to reason, ever since she came here."
"Not blind," he said while I was still gasping at her audacity to speak to him like that. "Stupid on occasion, but not blind. I should never have sent Charlie away. She belongs here." To Marchbank, he said, "I will willingly resign if my two demands are met. Lichfield remains mine, and Charlie is left alone."
I gasped again. "Don't you wish to think about it first?"
"I have thought about it. That is my decision."
"The house is yours," Marchbank said with a dismissive wave. "It always has been."
"As to the girl, she'll be treated as every other supernatural will be treated." I heard the smirk in Gillingham's voice, but I was too busy staring at Lincoln to see his expression.
"Lincoln…what are you saying?" I whispered.
"I agree to step down from the ministry," he said.
Gillingham snorted. "As if you ever had a choice."
Chapter 15
I blinked at Lincoln and shook my head, but he wasn't looking at me. Indeed, he seemed to be staring hard into the distance, purposely not looking at anyone.
"It goes against the prophecy," Eastbrooke said with a shake of his head. "Who else is qualified? He was raised to do it. No one else could be as effective."
"I agree." I touched Lincoln's elbow. "You don't have to accept their decision."
He turned slowly to me. His face seemed different and it took me a moment to realize that it had softened. "Yes, I do."
He couldn't mean that. He couldn't simply step aside and let them take his life's purpose away from him. "Lincoln, you need time to consider what it means."
"I know what it means. It's what I want."
"But—"
"He's made his decision," Lady Harcourt bit off. "It's final." She put out her hand for one of the gentlemen to assist her to her feet. After a moment, Marchbank took it.
"I don't like it," Eastbrooke said with a shake of his head.
"Your opposition was noted earlier." Gillingham stamped his walking stick onto the floor. "As March stated, you were outvoted. It's time to consider the future."
"This is madness." I included Lincoln in that assessment and let him know it with a glare. "Who'll be leader now?"
"That's none of your concern," Gillingham said.
I appealed to Marchbank. "I thought you were on his side!"
"I'm not on any side. I do what I think is right for the ministry. In this instance, I believe Fitzroy has acted rashly in sending the supernaturals away and not informing us of their whereabouts, and yours." He extended his hand. Lincoln shook it. "Hopefully it's only temporary. If you bring the supernaturals back, all will be forgiven."
"Hardly," Gillingham muttered.
"I won't be accepting the position," Lincoln said.
I shook my head. I no longer understood him.
Gillingham was the first to leave, followed by Lady Harcourt, her head high. Even so, her stride lacked its usual grace and her back wasn't quite as stiff.
General Eastbrooke heaved a sigh and shook his head. "I would never have believed it, but you've gone soft, Lincoln." His glance at me left no doubt as to where he laid blame.
"Goodbye, General," Lincoln intoned.
Eastbrooke sighed again then left too. I followed, a little ahead of Lord Marchbank and Lincoln.
"It's not too late," Marchbank said quietly. "Bring back the supernaturals, or tell us where they are, and you can resume your position as leader."
"I won't be bringing them back while their lives are in danger. When you catch the murderer, which I sincerely hope you do, and they return to London, I won't be rejoining the ministry. It's time I moved on to other things."
"Very well. I accept your decision, even if I don't agree with it." We headed down the stairs to where Doyle stood handing out coats and hats. "I'll oversee the removal of your copies of the ministry files in the morning, as well as any notes on the search for the murderer."
"I'll write a report tonight. There isn't much to tell, I'm afraid. Be assured," he said, louder, so that the others could hear, "if anyone tries to harm Charlie, I will kill them."
Everyone looked to me. I wished I could hide behind the urn again, but I endured their scowls and disdainful sneers with what I hoped was a measure of dignity. None reacted with fear. Did that mean none of them was the killer? Or, if they were, did they no longer intend to kill me? Or did they think Lincoln wouldn't follow through on his threat?
"Your acceptance of our decision does you credit, Fitzroy," Marchbank said as he drew on his gloves. "To be honest, I expected you to fight it. Your reaction has been entirely selfless."
Selfless.
My god. Now I understood. I'd called Lincoln selfish only a few hours ago, so in an effort to prove that he could think of others, he'd set aside his own wishes and done what he thought was right. He'd agreed to step down as leader because he thought it was what I wanted, or perhaps what I needed. He had turned his entire life upside down, gone against everything
he'd been raised to do, and given up his life's purpose for me. It was the most selfless thing he could have done.
But it was utterly wrong.
"Where is Seth?" Lady Harcourt asked, looking past Doyle to the shadows at he back of the entrance hall.
"At a dinner party with his mother," Lincoln said.
"Oh? Whose?"
"The Murrays. I believe Buchanan is there too."
"Ah, yes," Gillingham said with a slick smile. "I was invited, but declined. I believe all the young, popular set will be there, though. Didn't you get an invite, Julia?" His voice dripped with sugary cruelty.
She buried her chin in the gray fur of her coat collar. "Walk me out, General."
I waited until they were all gone and Doyle retreated before turning on Lincoln. "You didn't have to do that. You shouldn't have done that."
"I wanted to."
I smacked him in the shoulder. It was as effective as hitting rock. "Don't do this because you think it's what I want. It's not."
He crossed his arms over his chest and leveled his gaze with mine. "It's what I want." If he was lying, it was a bloody good act.
"You can't step away now. There's a murderer on the loose, and you're the best person to uncover the truth."
"They'll work it out."
"Eventually, perhaps, but in the meantime, the murderer is going to try again."
He gripped my shoulders. "I won't let anyone harm you. They wouldn't dare try."
"Oh, Lincoln, you can't be sure of that. And it's not just me. What about the evacuated supernaturals? They can't return to their homes until the killer is caught. You made them a promise that you'd help them."
His gaze shifted away.
I took his hands in both of mine. "Don't abandon them. Don't let the killer win."
"It's not a matter of winning or losing." He sounded so convincing, and yet he didn't look at me. I knew him. Lincoln would look me in the eye if he were telling the truth and needed me to believe it.
"It is, Lincoln. It is about those things. What it isn't about, is me or us. This is something else entirely. Don't abandon the ministry and those people because you think doing so will win my favor. It won't. You aren't the sort of man who steps back from his responsibilities. It's not in your nature, and I wouldn't want your nature to change." I could have gone on to tell him that I'd fallen in love with him exactly the way he was, but that would lead to an exploration of whether I loved him still. I wasn't ready to test that slippery path.
His fingers tightened and his gaze flicked to mine then away. "I gave my decision. My decisions are always final." Even a stranger could have heard the uncertainty in his voice that time.
My eyes fluttered closed in relief. I was so glad that I hadn't been wrong, and that he still wanted to be ministry leader. I didn't want to be the cause of him giving it all up. "Let them think you've resigned. That way, you can continue to search for the killer without the committee's interference."
"They'll learn what I'm doing sooner or later."
"Let's hope it's later, after you've uncovered the murderer."
He looked down at our hands. I'd forgotten they were still linked, and quickly pulled away. His formed fists at his sides. "Resigning may be the right thing to do," he said. "I've never considered what life would be like outside the ministry. I might like it."
More likely he'd go mad from boredom. There couldn't possibly be another job in the world that would keep him active, both in mind and body.
"I'll follow through on this case then decide," he said.
"Very well. If it's what you want." I folded my arms against a shiver. It was cold in the entrance hall. I longed for the fireplace again.
"You should ask Doyle to get the fire going in the library," he said. "I assume you'll stay up to hear Seth's account of the evening?"
I nodded. "What will you do?"
"I have a very vague report to write."
Lincoln, Seth and Gus joined me in the library upon their return. Gus crouched by the fire, his hands outstretched to the warmth, and sighed contentedly. The poor man had spent a lot of time out of doors lately, driving us around. The cold must be getting to him.
"Julia is upset that she wasn't invited, according to Buchanan," Seth told us. He cradled a brandy glass in his hand, although I wasn't sure if he needed it. His eyes were glazed enough and he sported an air of devil-may-care mischief.
Lincoln didn't mention that we'd seen Lady Harcourt and the other committee members, so I kept quiet too.
"It's begun, you know," Seth went on. "This will be the first of many events that she'll not be invited to. The rumor mill is churning out all sorts of things about her, much of it bandied around tonight, despite Buchanan's presence. He probably started most of it. He certainly seemed to enjoy hearing the more salacious tidbits about his step-mother."
"I almost feel sorry for her," I said.
"Don't," Seth said. "She doesn't deserve sympathy, least of all from you. Besides, part of what was said tonight is true. I ought to know; I've participated in some of it." He held up his glass in salute. "But no longer. Particularly when there are so many other ripe little peaches ready for the—"
"Seth!" Lincoln's bark cut Seth off.
Seth chuckled into his glass.
"I thought your mother wanted you to marry one of those little peaches," I said wryly.
"She does. Doesn't mean I'm going to." He shrugged. "If I have to endure parties and silly conversation, I might as well enjoy myself. Spoils of war, and all that."
"You're a prick," Gus told him.
"Confine your dalliances to the widows," I said. "Don't go ruining any poor debutants."
"Poor debutants! You should have seen Miss Yardly. Practically had to break her fingers to pry them off me. She accosted me in the hallway when I went to use the privy and touched me in places that offended my delicate sensibilities. There's nothing innocent about her."
Gus snorted a laugh.
"Did you manage to speak to Buchanan about his movements on the day in question?" Lincoln asked. "Or were you too busy gossiping and fighting off ardent admirers?"
Seth smirked. "I did, as it happens, when we retreated to the billiards room. Through charm and the liberal application of alcohol, I managed to get out of him that he'd risen late from his mistress's bed, then gone home to freshen up, only to find his brother visiting. If Harcourt hadn't arrived in London that day, I doubt Buchanan would have recalled where he'd been or what he'd been doing. Apparently they fought over the younger brother's dissolute habits, then went their separate ways. Harcourt stormed out of the house, but Buchanan doesn't know where he went. Buchanan, meanwhile, made himself agreeable to The Honorable Jane Stebney-Green. He's in need of a wealthy wife and she happens to be an heiress and available, albeit a quiet girl, not at all his type."
"How did he make himself agreeable to her?" I asked.
"By following her about as she shopped, made calls, and so on. Apparently he happened to bump into her and her mother on no less than three occasions that day."
"Don't sound so agreeable to me," Gus muttered. "More like a cough that can't be shook off."
"Someone ought to warn her about him," I said.
"No need," Seth said. "His methods didn't work. She has since told him in no uncertain terms what she thought of him and is now being courted by a far more upstanding gentleman."
"Good for her."
"Amen. Fortunately for me, too, or Mother would see that I make myself agreeable to her."
"His story will be easy enough to verify with her maid," Lincoln said.
Seth pressed his hand to his heart. "It will be an honor to be assigned the task of interrogating the maid."
Lincoln nodded.
Gus stretched out on the rug in front of the fire and rolled his eyes. "You're a toss pot."
"But a toss pot who finds out things, like Harcourt's involvement with St. Bartholomew's Hospital." Seth downed the contents of his glass and set it on the t
able. "I mentioned Barts in a passing comment about Gus's aunt's health, and asked Buchanan if he knew any good doctors there. He claimed to know nothing about the institution, but said his brother does. Apparently Harcourt donates to research there."
"Which department?"
"Buchanan didn't know. The latest medical breakthroughs, is how he put it. He followed it up with a snide comment about his brother's excessive spending on strangers when he had family practically starving on his doorstep."
I laughed. "Buchanan's likening himself to a starving waif, now? The man is incorrigible."
"I'll look into it," Lincoln said.
"Right." Seth pushed himself out of the chair, wobbled a little, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm going to bed."
"Not yet," Lincoln said, and Seth plopped back down into the armchair. "There's been a development that you both need to be aware of."
"We know the committee were here," Gus said. "Cook already told us."
"That's not all of it." I glanced at Lincoln. He nodded at me to go on.
"You two have patched things up?" Seth asked us with a hopeful smile.
I cleared my throat. "Lincoln has resigned from the ministry."
"Um…what?"
Gus sat up. "Bloody hell! What'd you go and do that for?"
"They were dismissing him anyway," I said. "He simply agreed to it."
"Huh?" Seth rubbed his fingers in his eyes then blinked back at us. " You two really shouldn't be left alone with the committee."
We told them how the committee had met that day and voted to oust Lincoln as leader, and why, mentioning that Eastbrooke had been the only one against the decision. We went on to tell them what Lincoln and I had subsequently decided to do.
"Then, when all this is over, they'll happily reinstate you as leader," Seth said with a knowing tap of his finger on the side of his nose.
"Aye." Gus nodded. "They'll be bowin' and scrapin' and beggin' you to come back. Make sure I'm there. I want to see it."
"I'll reassess how I feel about the ministry after the murderer is caught," Lincoln said. "I might not return."
Two sets of eyes bulged. Then they both turned to me, as if I held the answer to why Lincoln had suddenly lost his mind.
