by C. J. Archer
Seth simply rolled his eyes.
"Stop it, Andrew." Lady Harcourt pressed her fingers to her temple. "This is trying enough without you making it worse."
"That's what happens when several of your paramours happen to be in the one room together. It becomes trying." He held his glass out to Doyle to refill. "Hurry up, man. I need the fortification if I'm to survive."
"Enough!" Eastbrooke bellowed. "Or I'll throw you out myself."
"I'd like to see you try, Old Man."
"Andrew!" Harcourt snapped at his brother. "Don't!"
Buchanan snapped his heels together and saluted, first at his brother then the general.
"Arse," Seth muttered.
The company broke up into small groups, although Lincoln remained no more than an arm's length from me as he conversed with Lords Harcourt and Marchbank. Seth remained on my other side, so close that I felt him bristle when Lady Harcourt sidled up to me.
She wore deep black with her usual plunging neckline that displayed her bosom and jewelry in all their perfection. She never ceased to dazzle me with her beauty and wealth, although nothing could hide the tiredness in her eyes, and the worry lines around her mouth. The gossip was taking its toll.
"That necklace is unusual," she said, reaching out to touch the orb. I pulled back, out of instinct, and she laughed. "I'm not going to steal it, Charlie. I simply wanted to admire it. It's interesting. Where did you get it?"
"It belonged to my mother."
"Oh? And the bracelet too? Are they a set?"
"Lincoln gave that to me."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Seth's gaze shift from me to Lincoln. Lincoln didn't appear to be listening.
"And you didn't give it back when your engagement ended?" Lady Harcourt asked. "My dear, what sort of signal are you sending him? I know you don't have a mother to guide you through the proper etiquette, but I expect more from Lady Vickers. She ought to tell you that when a woman breaks an engagement, she returns all gifts."
"I didn't break the engagement, he did. And this bracelet was given to me only this evening. It was a gift from a friend, not a fiancé."
The odd little smile on her face froze. "I see," was all she said before moving away to speak to General Eastbrooke.
"I don't think it's her," Seth said to me from behind his glass. "She's too preoccupied with her own problems to orchestrate the murders."
"What about the others?" I muttered. "Buchanan seems too drunk. If he were going to attempt to murder me tonight, wouldn't he want to be sober?"
"Definitely. Have you noticed how the general keeps glancing at the door?"
"Perhaps he's hungry."
Seth chuckled. "Gillingham has a firm grip on his walking stick too. It could house a sword or some other kind of weapon."
"By the same token, Lord Harcourt might have a weapon in his jacket pocket. He pats it every now and again, as if checking for something. There! He did it again."
I continued to watch the guests while attempting to make light conversation. It wasn't easy with Buchanan growing louder and continuing to wink at me, Lady Harcourt, General Eastbrooke and Lord Gillingham ignoring me, and Lord Harcourt and Marchbank keeping to themselves.
It was a relief when the dinner gong sounded. Lincoln offered me his arm, even though he should have escorted the highest ranked female, Lady Harcourt. She reacted to the snub with a flare of her nostrils and a hardening of features. The others noticed too, but most kept their opinions to themselves. Only Lady Harcourt's stepsons glanced at one another. To my surprise, it was the elder brother, Lord Harcourt who smirked. Buchanan's lips flattened.
We filed out of the drawing room, but due to a misunderstanding, Lord Harcourt went one way and I the other and we bumped elbows. "Apologies," he muttered. "Didn't see you there."
"I'll join you all shortly," Buchanan said just before we sat down.
I watched him go, unease settling into my stomach. Lincoln gave a slight nod, which I guessed meant he was suspicious too. He glanced at Seth who slipped quietly out. His departure was noticed by most of the guests.
Seth and Buchanan returned some minutes later ahead of Doyle pushing the dinner trolley into the dining room. He'd been given strict instructions not to let any food out of his sight between the kitchen and dining table, but even so, I waited for everyone else to try their soup before I dipped my spoon in.
"Delicious," Gillingham said from the other side of the table. "Always did say you had an excellent cook."
I had to tilt my head a little to the right to see him past the large central candelabra. He appeared to be sincere. The fool had forgotten that he'd once employed Cook himself.
Next came the oysters and shrimp, after which I made my excuses.
"Are you all right?" Lincoln asked with convincing concern.
"Just a little stomach ache," I said, heading out. "I'm sure it's nothing."
I made my way upstairs, pausing on the landing. I glanced down and stifled a gasp. Andrew Buchanan followed me. He lumbered up the stairs, stumbling once, a leering grin on his face.
I clutched my amber orb. "What do you want?"
"A little kiss from a pretty wench," he slurred.
The words hadn't even left his mouth when Lincoln appeared behind him. "Touch her and I'll hurt you."
Buchanan raised his hands in surrender. "I thought you two were no longer together. If you still want her for yourself, Fitzroy, you should have said earlier."
Lincoln moved up to the same step as Buchanan.
Buchanan swallowed. "I wasn't going to ravish her. Not unless she wanted me to, that is. Sometimes they do, but I suppose you're aware of that."
If he didn't shut up soon, he might find his mouth shut for him by Lincoln's fist.
"What's going on here?" the general called from the foot of the staircase. "Lincoln?"
"Buchanan was just returning to the dining room," Lincoln said.
Buchanan backed away, and would have fallen down the stairs if Lincoln hadn't caught his arm. He did not let go and escorted him the entire way down. All three men returned to the dining room, and I continued up.
I remained in my room for a few minutes then returned to the dining room. Everyone looked up as I re-entered.
"Feeling better?" Marchbank asked.
"I am, thank you."
Gillingham picked up my wine glass and passed it to me. "I find a glass of red does wonders for the constitution."
Why was he so eager for me to drink? Not only had I been out of the room, but so had Lincoln. While Doyle hovered nearby, I couldn't expect him to watch every guest during our absence. I accepted the glass and waited until the attention was no longer on me then set it down without drinking.
Gillingham, however, noticed.
"Are you any closer to finding the circus murderer?" Buchanan asked Lincoln in what was a surprisingly sober manner.
His brother slammed the knife and fork down on his plate. I'd be surprised if the plate didn't chip. "For God's sake, Andrew, not at the dinner table."
"Why not? I think everyone here is well versed in blood, gore and the supernatural."
"There are ladies present."
"They're hardly delicate flowers, Donald."
"Even so," the general said. "Not appropriate."
"Very well." Buchanan concentrated on the three different roasted meats and poultry on his plate, but I got the feeling he wasn't finished with the topic. "Tell me," he said, when no other conversation began, "what will you do now that you're no longer part of the ministry, Fitzroy?"
"Travel," Lincoln said simply.
"No," the general cut in. Everyone looked at him. His gaze, which had been watching the door behind me, settled on Lincoln. "Stay here in London. You will be recalled."
"He isn't needed, General," Gillingham said. "We can investigate without him. We have the resources and means."
"I disagree."
Lady Harcourt dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. "Gentl
emen, please, my nerves—"
"Are fine," the general cut in. "Stop exaggerating, Julia."
Lady Harcourt's eyes widened. I'd wager she hadn't been addressed so disrespectfully in a long time.
"I say," Buchanan said, "that wasn't called for."
"Again, I disagree." The general turned to Lincoln, but did not get a chance to speak.
"There's no need to be so abrupt," Lord Harcourt said. "For once, I agree with my brother. Whatever your differences with Julia, she is a lady and deserves your respect."
Abrupt.
I blinked at Harcourt. He was right. The general did have an abrupt and to-the-point way of speaking. Just like the letters written to Dr. Bell. Not only that, but he looked to the door frequently. Why? Who was he expecting to walk in?
I tried to catch Lincoln's attention, but it was focused on the general too. Had he also made the connection?
I pressed my hand to my stomach and rose. "Excuse me," I murmured with what I hoped was a pained expression.
Several gazes burned into my back as I walked out, and once again, I reached the stair landing before a guest caught up to me. It wasn't the general, as I'd expected, but Lady Harcourt with Lincoln not far behind. She hurried up the stairs and paused beneath the chandelier. The dozens of little gas lights picked out the gems in her hair and the cruel gleam in her eyes.
"Tell me once and for all, are you and Lincoln together?" she said.
Lincoln slowed. His footsteps were so light, she hadn't heard him. I clutched my imp's necklace.
"That is not your affair," I told her.
"It is very much my affair, you little sewer rat." She raised her hand but I deflected her slap with ease. I may not have resumed my training since returning to Lichfield, but I hadn't forgotten some of the defensive moves Lincoln taught me.
I put out a hand to stay Lincoln. I wanted to deal with her without his interference. "Sewer rat? Have you nothing more original?"
"He's mine," she hissed, baring her teeth. I'd never seen her so wild. Despite the jewels and elegant clothes, she looked as desperate and vicious as a slum whore defending her territory. "You cannot possibly be interesting enough for a man like him."
"He's not yours, Lady Harcourt, no more than he is mine. He's never going to belong to any woman. If you knew him well, you'd know that." I glanced past her to Lincoln. His gaze flicked to mine then back to her, but I saw the brief flare in it. A flare of hope.
Buchanan stood a few steps down from Lincoln, an ominous scowl on his face. He stared at Lady Harcourt's back, pressed his lips together, then spun on his heel. "Doyle!" he shouted as he trudged down the stairs. "My coat! I'm leaving."
Lady Harcourt turned and gasped upon seeing Lincoln there. She staggered a little until she caught the stair rail. "You can't take the carriage," she said to Buchanan.
"I'll walk. Doyle!"
The butler appeared, as did all the other guests, jostling one another in the dining room doorway to get a better view. Lady Harcourt descended the stairs like a queen, her head high and an air of unattainable aloofness about her. Sometimes I wished I could be as outwardly calm. I followed her and rejoined the guests.
"Why are you leaving?" Lord Harcourt asked his brother.
"I've had a viper spit in my face one too many times." He snatched his coat and hat off Doyle and shot a vicious glare at Lady Harcourt. "I've had enough."
"It's freezing out there! You can't walk all the way home."
"Let him go." Lady Harcourt presented Buchanan with her shoulder. "Allow him his dramatic exit."
"God, how I hate you," Buchanan spat. "I wish you'd crawl back under the rock you came from."
"Enough," Marchbank ordered.
Buchanan jerked the door open just as a gunshot resonated from deep within the house.
"Fuck!" came Gus's distant cry from the same direction.
Oh God.
"What's going on?" Gillingham asked, edging toward the front door. "Fitzroy, is this some kind of sick joke?"
Lincoln pulled out a gun from the waistband of his trousers at his back where his jacket had hidden it. Lady Harcourt gasped and sidled up to the others. I moved toward Lincoln and Seth.
"Everyone stay here." Lincoln's order may have been directed at all of us, but he looked at Seth as he spoke then at me. "Don't follow, no matter what you hear."
"You cannot go back there!" the general bellowed. But Lincoln was already striding away.
Seth put his arm around me. He stared at the door that led to the service rooms at the back of the house. It swung closed behind Lincoln. "It'll be all right," he muttered. "Gus is fine. That ugly prick is always fine. Nothing keeps him down. He'll be fine." He passed a shaky hand over his mouth.
I put my arm around his waist and squeezed, but it didn't ease my own concerns. My heart hammered in my throat, and I suddenly felt so cold, even though the front door was shut again. Buchanan hadn't left. No one moved. It was like time stopped as we waited to hear from Lincoln.
"Back into the dining room." The general's bark startled me. "Everyone! Now!" With large sweeps of his arms, he herded the others. "You too," he said to Seth and me.
"I hate not knowing," I said, ignoring him. "Perhaps we should check."
"He's capable of dealing with whatever is happening back there." The general didn't sound entirely convinced by his own words. "He'll want you to be safe, Charlie. Go with the others."
"He's right," Seth said. "I've got a bad feeling about this."
I allowed Seth to steer me into the dining room, but clutched my orb to ease my anxiety. All the others, including Doyle, waited inside, their gazes focused on the door. I joined them, Seth and Doyle flanking me.
Then the candles went out.
"I say!" Gillingham cried, louder than the other protests.
"Who blew them out?" the general demanded.
I hadn't seen. My attention had been on the door.
"Doyle!" Lady Harcourt's screech grated like nails down a chalkboard. "Doyle, re-light them!"
"Yes, ma'am." I felt him move away, the sudden absence of his solidness turning my blood cold. I couldn't see a thing in the dark, not even outlines. The scent of candle smoke filled the room.
"I release you," I muttered, but my imp didn't emerge from its cocoon.
Seth's arms circled me. "Stay close," he murmured in my ear.
I had every intention of doing so. But my arms were suddenly grabbed from behind and I was wrenched away and flung face down on the floor, my hands clasped at my back by large, strong fingers.
"Charlie!" Seth shouted. "Charlie! Where are you?"
"Here!" I managed to call back before a fist slammed into my mouth. My head hit the floor, dazing me.
Noise. So much noise filled my head. Screaming. Shouted orders. The pounding of my blood.
Then a knife pressed into my side, it's cold, sharp point pricking my skin through the layers of clothing.
I struggled, kicking out, but a heavy body weighed me down. My pathetic efforts achieved nothing. It was definitely a man, and not Gillingham either. He wasn't big enough.
The knife cut me.
I screamed but it was drowned out by an explosion. The floor trembled beneath me. Glasses and plates rattled. The shouts suddenly stopped and an eerie silence followed.
"No," gasped the man on top of me. "Not yet." The pressure eased enough for me to flip over and punch upward, in one single movement. My fist connected with a satisfying but bruising crunch.
"Charlie!" Seth cried.
"Down here!" I shouted, lashing out again.
I must have stunned my attacker because he fell back but did not get off me altogether. I wriggled and shoved at him, managing to free myself. Doyle relit a candle, and in the wan light, I realized I'd only wriggled free because Seth had pulled the attacker off me.
"You!" both Seth and I snapped at General Eastbrooke.
He breathed heavily and sweat dampened his brow, but he did not look at us. He stared at the d
oor. "Lincoln," he muttered, eyes wide. "It wasn't supposed to go off yet. Lincoln…my son."
I scrambled to my feet, picked up my skirts, and sprinted out the door. "Lincoln!"
Chapter 19
A wall of heat and smoke slammed into me when I reached the kitchen. It was impossible to see how much of the room was on fire through the dark, billowing smoke. "Lincoln!" I screamed.
No answer. Only shouts behind me and the crackle of flames in front. Tears burned my eyes, blurred my vision. I buried my mouth and nose in my arm and pressed on. I had to find him. He must be safe, somewhere, alive. He had to be.
Otherwise…
I choked, as much from the suffocating fear and tears as from the smoke itself. I squinted into the gray pall, tried to make out human shapes, but could only identify the table and stove, no people.
Someone coughed and spluttered. Lincoln! Or Gus or Cook, perhaps. I had to get in there, but the air squeezed out of my lungs and smoke rushed in. I coughed into my arm and inched forward.
The amber in my necklace pulsed. The imp! It wouldn't save the others, but it would save me.
Voices sounded behind me, a jumble of incomprehensible shouts. Then the general suddenly emerged from the dark. With a snarl, he lunged at me.
I plunged into the smoky haze filling the kitchen. Searing heat smacked into my face and stole the remaining breath from my lungs. Smoke clogged my throat. I couldn't breathe. Dizziness swamped me. I fell to my knees, but managed to wrap my hand around the rapidly beating orb.
"I release you," I choked out.
Light flashed, and the imp rose large and real before me. It's hairless body reared up and its slanted green eyes pinned on a point behind me, as if daring the general to attack.
"Devil!" Gillingham cried in a high-pitched voice. "She's a witch!"
"Get back!" the general ordered. "All of you, stay back!"
My chest hurt. My throat ached. Heat swirled around me, more intense near the pantry door, engulfed in flames. I put my hands out like a blind person and shuffled forward. Trust the imp.
The imp suddenly changed shape. The cat-like creature whirled around and around until it became a blur. Smoke swirled around it, caught in the force like dust in a whirlwind. The imp spun out of the kitchen, scattering the panicked onlookers, drawing the smoke along in its wake.
