Her Majesty's Necromancer

by C. J. Archer

  "I don't mind the extra work."

  "Seth and Gus will suffice."

  "Clearly they don't want to do it. Let me clean for you, Linc—Mr. Fitzroy."

  "No. Thank you for the tea. Send up Gus, when you see him."

  I set the breakfast tray down again. "Why don't you want me in here? What are you afraid I'll find?"

  His lips flattened. He crossed back to the exit and stood with his hand on the doorknob, waiting for me to leave.

  I walked over to him and laid my hand over his. His nostrils flared then he quickly withdrew his hand, allowing me to shut the door. I stood in front of it, hands on hips, and regarded him. He stared levelly back.

  "Why have you been ignoring me these last two months?" I asked.

  "Ignoring you? Hardly."

  "You've been pushing me away."

  "I didn't want to overwhelm you. I thought it best if the men show you what needs to be done and you make the position your own. Your service has been admirable, Charlie."

  His praise caught me off guard. "Thank you. Admirable is much better than adequate."

  His eyes narrowed.

  "Don't change the subject," I said. "You've been avoiding me for two months except during training, and even then we hardly talk."

  "There's nothing to talk about."

  "There is! And not only that, you don't join the men after dinner to play cards anymore."

  "I rarely did before."

  "Now you don't at all. Nor do you join them for tea, or breakfast, as you used to do on occasion. You're avoiding me, Mr. Fitzroy, and I want to know why."

  I thought his jaw couldn't harden any more, but it seemed it could. The muscle bunched tight. I resisted the urge to stroke it until he relaxed again.

  He suddenly turned away and strode to the window. He leaned against the frame, crossed his arms again and stared up at the sky. He didn't ask me to leave, and after a moment, his jaw relaxed. I waited until he was ready, even though it stretched my nerves.

  "I thought you wouldn't want to be near me after what I did."

  I was about to ask him what he meant when it clicked into place. He was referring to paying that man to scare me beneath the bridge. The brute had almost raped me, and Lincoln had saved me by killing him, but that didn't change the fact that he'd set him on me in the first place. I'd been furious with him at the time, but my anger hadn't lasted. Perhaps a scare had been the only way to make me stay at Lichfield Towers. Nothing short of a severe fright would have succeeded. Now, I couldn't imagine living anywhere else, but then, I'd been scared of exposing my necromancy and unsure if I could trust Lincoln or the ministry.

  "That doesn't make sense," I said, approaching. "I asked you to teach me to defend myself. Why would I do that if I wanted to get away from you?"

  "Outside of those times," he said without looking at me. "I thought it best to give you space and time while you settle in, without my interference."

  "Perhaps I want your interference." I touched his shoulder but withdrew my hand when he flinched.

  The fingers on his right hand curled into the left shirt sleeve at his bicep. "You should hate me."

  "I can't."

  "You should!" He pushed off from the window frame and stalked past me, bumping my arm as he did so.

  "I know I should," I snapped. "But I don't. You're not all bad, Lincoln, no matter what everyone thinks. Or what you think, for that matter."

  He pulled open the door. "Is that all?"

  "Actually, no. I came up here to tell you what I learned at the cemetery about the grave robbers."

  Some of the tension left his shoulders. He blinked at me. "You told me you were visiting your mother's grave."

  "I did. I just happened upon a helpful groundskeeper afterward. He was in the vicinity when the grave was robbed."

  "The one with a birthmark on his face?"

  I nodded.

  "I spoke to him. He claimed not to have seen anything."

  "Did you ask him if he heard something?"

  "I thought that was implied in my first question."

  "For most people, yes, but he was terribly shy and loathe to speak up. I had to be delicate with him. I expect you interrogated him in your usual brutal way."

  "I didn't hit him."

  "I meant your intimidating brusqueness."

  "I find that method works well. As does using my fists."

  "On some, but not this man. He was extremely anxious. I can only imagine how overwhelming it must have been for him to be confronted by you."

  "You think speaking to you is less overwhelming?"

  I held my hands out from my sides. "My physique is considerably less threatening than yours, wouldn't you say?"

  "That depends on what you mean by threatening."

  I rolled my eyes. "It would seem my technique worked better than yours, anyway."

  "On this occasion."

  "Do you want to find out what I learned or not?"

  "Go on."

  "It may not be much, but the robbers spoke about playing dice at The Red Lion. I only know of one Red Lion tavern. It's in Kentish Town."

  He tapped his finger on the doorknob. "I know it."

  "One of the robbers was named Jimmy. Unfortunately that was all the groundskeeper learned."

  "It's more than I discovered."

  I waited but he said nothing more. "A simple thank you will suffice. There's no need for any grand praise this time."

  "Thank you, Charlie. But next time you plan on interrogating someone, take me with you."

  "Since I don't plan on interrogating anyone, that won't be necessary."

  The corner of his mouth twitched.

  "Will you go to The Red Lion and look for Jimmy and his friend?"

  He nodded. "I'll go tonight. I need to know for certain whether they're robbing the graves for medical reasons or…something else."

  I supposed he would use his usual method of interrogation on the boozers. I doubted my methods would work in a tavern full of men anyway.

  I crossed over the threshold into the corridor. I decided it was best not to ask him why he'd killed the man named Gurry, or about his family. Things were tense enough between us as it was.

  "I'll see you soon for training," I said.

  "Not today. I have too much work."

  "Oh." I tried not to sound disappointed, but I wasn't successful. "Tomorrow, then."

  He nodded. "Thank you, Charlie," he said as I turned to go.

  "You've already thanked me."

  "Once wasn't enough."

  ***

  "Go to bed, Charlie," Gus said when I yawned into my hand of cards for the fourth time. "You've lost the last five rounds."

  I tossed the eight of diamonds onto the table. "I'm not tired."

  Cook snorted. "Are you waitin' up for Seth or Death?"

  "Neither!" I threw another card down.

  Gus slid it back to me. "It ain't your turn."

  "Might not be back hours yet," Cook said as he added another card to the small pile.

  "Do you know who he's seeing?" I asked. "Seth, not Fitzroy." Lincoln had gone to The Red Lion to see if he could learn something about Jimmy and his friend. Seth was visiting the same widow he'd called upon several times over the last few weeks. All he'd told me was that she was wealthy, attractive and restless. I wasn't entirely sure what restless meant, but from the smile he sported every morning after he visited her, I had an inkling.

  Gus shrugged. "Lady Harcourt?"

  I stared at him. "Surely not."

  He shrugged again. "Maybe. Maybe not." He poked the back of my hand of cards, pushing them upright. "You ain't too good at gambling."

  "I thought she was still in love with Fitzroy," I muttered.

  Cook snorted. "Love ain't got nothin' to do with fu—"

  Gus thumped the burly cook on the arm. "None of that talk around the girl."

  "She be the one who mentioned love." Cook winked at me.

  Gus's face flushed. "I wasn'
t talking about love. I meant the other…"

  "Do you think she expected to marry Fitzroy?" I asked them.

  "Fitzroy, marry?" Cook threw down a card and scooped up the pile. "Not him. He ain't the marryin' kind."

  "All gentlemen must marry," Gus said in a falsetto toff voice as he shuffled the deck. "It's their duty."

  "Does Fitzroy have a family line to continue?" Cook asked. "We don't know who his father be."

  Gus shrugged. "Lady H wouldn't marry him anyway. He ain't important enough for the likes of her."

  "But she can afford to do what she wants," I said. "She has money and position enough for both of them, surely."

  "Those that got much always want more, Charlie." Cook got up and placed the kettle on the cooking range. "There ain't no such thing as enough."

  "Aye," Gus said. "Toffs only want one thing. Power. The more, the better."

  "I think that's a little unfair," I said. "Fitzroy's a toff and I wouldn't say he desires power above all else."

  "He ain't a real toff. Not like them committee members. He's different."

  "He be that," Cook muttered.

  I yawned again and Gus gently ordered me to go to bed. "Will you take up a jug of water for Death? Saves me doin' it later."

  I waited as he filled a jug from the large pot that sat at the back of the range. It was warm now, but would likely cool by the time Lincoln returned. It was still early, and I doubted he would be back for hours.

  With jug in one hand and candlestick in the other, I made my way upstairs. My rooms consisted of a bedroom and small sitting room down the hall from Lincoln's. He hadn't moved me into the servants' quarters in the attic, perhaps because the men slept there and I'd have little privacy. The informality of Lichfield's arrangements was one of the reasons I liked living there.

  The door was unlocked so I entered. I was familiar with the layout of Lincoln's rooms, having been held prisoner in them for a few days. I set the jug beside the empty bowl on the washstand in his bedroom. I should cover it with a lid to keep the water as warm as possible. A book wouldn't do—the steam would damage the cover.

  I looked over the surface of his desk for something to use, but could only find papers and writing materials. The top drawer contained a blotter, spare ink and quills, but the second drawer was more promising. Beneath some papers was a slate of the kind children used in school. It was just the right size to cover the jug. My fingers touched a thin chain at the back from which the slate could be hung. I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to hang a slab of slate on the wall, but I flipped it over to make sure it wasn't something that could be damaged by steam.

  It wasn't a chain for hanging the slate, but a necklace that had been nailed to either side of the wooden frame. A flat, oval pendant dangled from the center. Something had been carved into the pendant and I held the candle closer to see. It was a blue eye, rather crudely rendered.

  How curious. Why was it nailed to the back of the slate? Had Lincoln done it or someone else?

  The soft click of the door made my heart leap into my throat. I dropped the slate back into the drawer and shut it with my hip, but it was too late. Lincoln stood in the doorway. He held no light and I couldn't see anything more than his silhouette, but I felt the force of his glare nevertheless.

  "What are you doing in here?" he growled. "I haven't given you permission to enter."

  CHAPTER 3

  "I'm not stealing anything!"

  "I asked what you were doing." His sharp voice cut through me as savagely as a blade.

  "I brought up a jug of warm water, and I didn't want it to cool before you returned so I came out here looking for something to cover it. The steam would damage a book or papers, so I searched through the drawers." I sounded like a rambling simpleton, but he was making me nervous. I swallowed heavily. "I know it looks like I was stealing or sneaking around your rooms, but I wasn't. Well, I was looking around, but not for valuables. Gus asked me to bring up the jug. Ask him if you don't believe me! The water will be still warm too, if you want to check."

  He left the door open and strode toward me. I backed away and stumbled into a table, causing the lamp on it to wobble. His hand lashed out, reaching past me. He caught the lamp, but the action brought him closer. We were a mere inch apart. His breath fanned my hair. His pitch black eyes searched mine and instead of anger, I saw something else in their depths. Desire. I was certain of it. Almost.

  My heart stopped dead in my chest. It didn't dare beat for fear that any movement might frighten him away. I waited for his kiss.

  It never came. He drew in a slow, deep breath then turned away. He pressed his hands to the surface of the desk and lowered his head. My eyes fluttered closed and I tried to will my chest to stop aching. I should have encouraged him instead of remaining still. If only I'd had enough courage to instigate a kiss instead of hoping.

  "Lincoln—"

  "Next time Gus asks you to do his chores, tell him no."

  "Your knuckles," I muttered. "They're cut and bruised."

  He crossed his arms, hiding his hands. "I had to interrogate some of the patrons."

  I smiled a little, but my heart wasn't in it. "And did your interrogation reveal anything useful?"

  "That people don't like to lose at dice," he said, not quite meeting my gaze.

  "Let me see your knuckles."

  "They're fine."

  "You ought to rub a salve onto them. Let me fetch—"

  "There's no need," he growled. "Goodnight, Charlie."

  Well. So be it. I turned to go, but he called my name softly before I reached the door. I expected him to approach, but he remained near the desk, his arms still folded. He didn't look quite so fierce, however.

  "I'm sorry for my temper," he said. "I mean no offence."

  I sighed. "I know. I'm used to it now."

  The corner of his mouth quirked to the side. "Take the day off tomorrow."

  "Your apology was sufficient."

  "You've been working hard and haven't had an entire day to yourself since you started."

  "That's because I don't know what to do with all that spare time." Although Lincoln paid me a wage every month, I had nothing to spend it on. There was no need for clothing, since I wore a maid's uniform, and the Lichfield library housed enough books to keep me occupied for another year or so.

  "Go to the theater," he said. "Or the museum."

  "Alone?"

  He lifted one shoulder. "You don't like to be alone?"

  I'd spent five years feeling utterly alone in the world, despite always being in the company of boys, and ought to be used to it. But I disliked solitude now that I'd found friends. I craved company more than ever. "Not particularly."

  He leaned back against the desk and clutched the edge with his hands. He looked down at the rug. "You'd better go."

  I slipped out and shut the door. The conversation had been odd, but at least he hadn't remained angry with me. Nor did he seem to assume I was stealing. I would have hated for him to think that I was.

  I undressed for bed and drew on my nightgown quickly, as it was a little chilly in my room. By the time I snuggled under the covers, I had three ideas for occupying myself on my day off, none of which involved museums or theaters. First thing in the morning, I would find out where Lady Harcourt lived.

  ***

  Lady Harcourt's late husband had left her their London residence in his will, while his eldest son from his first marriage inherited the "crumbling country pile," as Seth called it. Seth seemed to know quite a lot about Lady Harcourt, but perhaps that was because he was from a noble family too. I still couldn't imagine she would risk losing Lincoln's respect by secretly dallying with his employee.

  I caught an omnibus to Mayfair, where most of England's nobility lived when in London. The streets were lined with five story townhouses, strung together like pale jewels on a necklace. Their tall windows and smooth façades commanded attention. The view from the top floor of Lady Harcourt's residence
must take in much of the city.

  I wasn't sure whether to knock at the service entrance below street level or the main front door. In the end, I decided I was calling on the mistress of the house and had every right to use the same door as her other callers. It was answered by a smooth faced butler of indeterminate age. He took in my drab housemaid's attire—minus the apron—and wrinkled his beaky nose.

  "Go downstairs. Someone will let you in." He went to close the door, but I stuck my foot through the gap. Unfortunately he didn't notice and the door came down rather hard on it.

  "Ow!" I cried. "Bloody hell."

  "There'll be none of that language here," he whispered hoarsely. "Be off with you."

  "I'm here to see Lady Harcourt and I won't be leaving until I do."

  "She's not home."

  I sighed. "We both know it's too early for her to be paying calls. Tell her that Miss Charlotte Holloway is here to speak with her about Mr. Fitzroy. She'll agree to see me."

  Lincoln's name must have meant something to him. He let me in and indicated I should wait in the entrance hall. While the hall wasn't as grand as that at Lichfield, it was very impressive, with a white marble staircase sweeping up to a balconied second floor where Lady Harcourt appeared a few minutes later. She glanced down at me then dismissed her butler with a small nod.

  "Good morning, Charlie," she said as she glided down the stairs. Her black hair hung loose around her shoulders, softening her features and making her look far lovelier than any of her fancy arrangements did. She clutched the edges of a lavender over-gown at her bosom. It was more like a feminine version of a smoking jacket than a dress, and a long white chemise was visible where it remained open below her hand.

  "Good morning, my lady." I bobbed a curtsy as she'd shown me to do soon after joining the Lichfield household as a maid. "I'm sorry to have woken you."

  "I wasn't asleep, although it is rather early. Is everything all right? Lincoln…?"

  "He's well, my lady. I saw him last night." I was about to tell her that his knuckles were a little bruised, but decided that she didn't need to know every detail of ministry business. If she did, she could get the answers from Lincoln himself.

  She smiled in relief. "I did think it odd that you would be sent if something was wrong."