Her Majesty's Necromancer

by C. J. Archer

"Still bloody hurts," he muttered, holding it to his chest.

  "Stop your whinin'," Gus growled. "It's still attached, ain't it? Most cooks I know are missing a finger or two. Goes with the territory."

  Cook scowled at him. I patted his shoulder. "I'm sure it throbs terribly," I said gently. "You just rest for a while and we'll take care of everything in here."

  Gus shot me a withering glare. "What do you think I been doing while you were out having adventures?"

  "I threw up in the bushes outside the St. George of the East mortuary. I don't call that an adventure."

  He pulled a face and returned to his chopping, only to be told by Cook that he wasn't doing it right. I thought it best to leave them to their bickering.

  I retrieved my apron from its hook and set to work in the scullery, then cleaned bedrooms and the bathroom. I paused only for a light lunch and to inspect Lincoln's collar when the laundress delivered it mid-afternoon. I took it upstairs along with the pressed shirt and mended jacket and knocked on his door.

  He was writing at his desk but set his pen aside when I entered and flipped the lid of the silver inkwell closed. "Thank you, Charlie, I can take them from here," he said, rising.

  "I'll lay them on the bed. You'll be the most dashing man there tonight." It wasn't easy to keep the sigh out of my voice, but I managed it.

  "Every gentleman will be dressed as finely. I'll blend in."

  I rejoined him in the sitting room. "That's not what I meant."

  He sat on the edge of his desk, his hands gripping the desktop on either side of him. He didn't say anything further, so I took that as my dismissal.

  "Is there anything I can get you?" I asked.

  "No."

  "Will we continue with our training this afternoon, or do you require time to prepare for the ball?"

  "I think I can manage after training concludes." The dryness of his tone made me smile.

  "Your hair might take longer than you think," I teased.

  "Should I cut it?"

  "No!"

  Both his brows rose.

  "I…think it suits you at that length." It more than suited him. It set him apart from the other gentleman, marked him as a little wild and uncontrollable, which he certainly was. While I ordinarily preferred a man with short hair, I couldn't imagine Lincoln's any other way. "Do you have a black ribbon to tie it? That leather strip won't do."

  "There's one in a drawer somewhere. I'll look for it later."

  "Very well. Come fetch me when you're ready for training." I smiled somewhat awkwardly and turned to go.

  "Charlie. Wait." He knuckles whitened and his gaze didn't quite meet mine.

  "Yes?" I murmured. "Is there something you need?"

  "Your help."

  "To tie the ribbon?"

  He shook his head. "With…conversing."

  "Oh? You mean you want to know how to engage someone in a conversation that has nothing to do with the paranormal, fighting, or grave robbing?"

  "Don't tease me."

  "Being teased and knowing how to tease is part of the art of conversing and flirting. Not that I think you ought to flirt just yet," I added quickly. "Leave that for when you're more comfortable with small talk."

  "So how does one begin?"

  "That depends. You need to adjust what you say according to the people you're with. Perhaps observe and listen for a few minutes before joining in. See what topics interest the group and gauge their general mood, then offer an opinion on something they're talking about. The gentlemen will no doubt discuss politics, and I've seen you read the newspapers. You must be able to say something appropriate."

  "And if politics isn't the topic?"

  I shrugged. "You're a clever man and very knowledgeable about a wide range of subjects. I'm sure you'll be able to offer something interesting to a conversation."

  "Whenever I try, the conversations usually stop dead."

  "Perhaps you try too hard. It's best to keep your strongest opinions to yourself until you're fully comfortable with someone. Say something witty—" I cleared my throat. "Say something clever, but be sure it's nothing too gruesome, inappropriate or dull."

  "Therein lies the problem. How do I know if what I want to say is any of those before I get a reaction?"

  I sighed. This was proving tougher than I thought. "I'm not sure I'm the best person to give advice. The art of conversing in ballrooms is beyond my experience. I'm far more familiar with juvenile jokes that amuse boys than mature banter. And as for flirting, I've never practiced it, I'm afraid. I've never had the opportunity."

  He pushed off from the table and came to stand in front of me. "You're wrong. Your skills are equal to any woman I've met. Perhaps it simply comes naturally to you."

  My stomach tied itself in knots as I blinked up at him. He wouldn't think it came naturally to me if he knew how his attentions affected me, and how his praise made me want to earn more. "Perhaps," was all I said.

  "Your childhood was spent in polite society, and the habits of good manners and conversation were drilled into you by your adopted parents. I grew up isolated from society for much of my life. It's a limitation of my training that the general didn't identify until it was too late."

  "Training," not upbringing. Did he see his childhood as one long training session to be endured? How awful and sad; cruel, even. "Oh, Lincoln."

  His eyes flared then, and he backed away. He turned to his desk and shuffled a stack of papers. "Thank you, Charlie. You may go."

  I opened my mouth to apologize but shut it again. I wasn't sorry for pitying him, only for letting him see and hear my pity. I needed to be more careful in the future.

  "Sometimes all that's required is silence and a smile," I said, in a lame attempt to return to our topic. "Indeed, a smile can achieve much, particularly with women." I regretted saying it immediately. I didn't want him to bestow a smile on another woman. I wanted him to bestow one on me. Yet he'd never done more than twitch the corners of his mouth, and I doubted he ever would; for me or anyone else.

  "I'll keep that in mind. You may go."

  One day I would get him to shed a little bit of his pride, just for me. But I suspected that day was a long way off.

  ***

  Lincoln disappeared into his rooms after our training session. I hovered in the library, a duster in one hand and a book in the other, and waited for him to come down. I didn't want to miss him before he went out. Training hadn't eased the awkwardness between us—it had only amplified it—and I hated to part like that. I hoped he did too and would come looking for me.

  It was growing quite late, however, and I was about to go in search of him to see if he'd changed his mind and wasn't going after all, when the crunch of gravel beneath hooves and wheels announced the arrival of a coach. I peered through the window just as Lady Harcourt's footman opened the door for her and she stepped out of the large carriage.

  What was she doing here?

  I set down the book and duster and went to open the door for her. She seemed surprised to see me and not Gus or Seth. I bobbed a curtsy.

  "Good evening, my lady," I said. "Are you expected?"

  "I'm not." She smiled as she swanned inside, the hem of her deep blue gown skimming over the floor tiles. It was the first time I'd seen her out of mourning, although it was a dark enough color to keep most sticklers for propriety happy, even with the silver thread embroidered into it. She stood beneath the chandelier and every diamond on her person sparkled. She wore them at her earlobes, over the gloves on her fingers and wrists, and those were merely the ones I could see. The high collar of the gray fur coat probably hid even more at her throat and décolletage. She even had them in her hair and I had to admit her dark tresses set them off beautifully. She was breathtaking.

  "I thought I'd collect Lincoln in case he changed his mind," she said.

  How odd. She must know that if Lincoln didn't want to go to the ball, she wouldn't be able to sway him. No one would. "He's getting ready."

/>   She smiled. "And men say we females take too long. Never mind. I'll wait here with you." She glanced at the stairs and lowered her voice. "There's something I'd like to speak to you about anyway."

  I glanced at the stairs too, willing Lincoln to come down before she could say anything further. A terrible foreboding had settled into my stomach. "Oh?"

  She smiled again, but this time it was like the diamonds she wore—beautiful yet hard and cold. I swallowed heavily.

  "You need to raise the spirit of Mr. Gurry for me," she said.

  "Lincoln's tutor? No!"

  She placed a gloved finger to her lips. "I suspected that would be your first reaction, but listen to what I have to say before you refuse. After we spoke on this matter recently, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I need to know why Lincoln killed him. You could speak to him for me. His spirit, that is."

  "I won't go behind Mr. Fitzroy's back."

  "You mustn't tell him!" She glanced at the stairs again. Then she took my arm and patted my hand. "I know you're curious too, Charlie. Lincoln never has to find out. It's just to ease our consciences on the matter."

  "My conscience is eased. I don't care why he did it. He must have had a reason."

  "I'm sure he did too, and that's precisely why it's important to get to the bottom of the mystery. Lincoln deserves nothing less than our full support."

  "He has my full support already."

  "Does he? Come now, Charlie, we both know this matter will bother us until it's resolved. It will always color our perceptions of him. That's why we need to remove it from our minds. You're a better woman than me, if you can do that without knowing the truth."

  While she had a point, and I was wildly curious, I couldn't bring myself to go behind Lincoln's back again. He'd forgiven me once, but I wasn't sure he'd do so a second time. Yet I hated to offend Lady Harcourt. I needed her on my side.

  "I couldn't even if I wanted to," I told her. "I need a full name to summon spirits that have crossed. Unfortunately we only know the tutor as Mr. Gurry."

  "It's Nelson Hampton Gurry." At my startled gasp, she added, "Lincoln isn't the only one capable of looking through ministry archives."

  "Oh."

  "Come into the library. We don't want him walking in on us." She took my hand and tugged me toward the library, but I wouldn't budge.

  I slipped my hand out of hers. "I'm sorry, my lady, but I won't raise Mr. Gurry's spirit. Not for you, or for me."

  Her lips pinched together, deepening the tiny lines at the corners of her mouth. "Those are quite strong morals you have now. What a pity you didn't employ them when you went to the General Registry Office."

  I fell back a step and my stomach plunged to my toes. "How do you know about that?"

  "That's not your concern." She lifted her chin. "Your concern is whether I will inform Lincoln of your betrayal or not. I don't think he'll be too happy if he discovers you've gone behind his back to investigate him."

  "But that's what you want me to do now!"

  She smiled, and it wasn't at all beautiful. For the first time, I saw the cunning, ruthless woman who'd pulled herself up from being a mere teacher's daughter to a grand lady. I didn't like her. "It's a sticky situation, isn't it? So what will it be, Charlie? Raise Gurry's spirit, and Lincoln is none the wiser, or don't raise it and Lincoln learns of your treachery?"

  CHAPTER 13

  "H—how do you know?" I whispered. Had she followed me? Was it her man who'd caught the same omnibus as me and followed me through the city? No…that was a different day. But…my God, I'd trusted her.

  Lady Harcourt's nostrils flared. "That's irrelevant."

  "I don't think it is."

  "It's ministry business."

  "And I'm not a ministry employee," I finished for her. "Only a Lichfield one."

  Movement on the stairs had us both turning toward Lincoln. "Julia, what are you doing here?" He looked like a prince, dressed in his tailcoat, white gloves and waistcoat, his hat in hand. His hair, tied at the nape of his neck, gleamed like polished jet with the Macassar oil he'd used in it. He cut a fine, handsome figure that made my heart ache even more. No woman could resist such a handsome man if he gave her his full attention. I envied the ladies at the ball, and one in particular. He couldn't take his eyes off Lady Harcourt as he joined her at the base of the stairs.

  "I wanted to make sure you arrived at the ball." She beamed at him and held out her hands. He took them and kissed both her cheeks.

  I sank into the shadows near the library door, wishing I was anywhere but there, witnessing their friendly greeting. My heart hammered like an anvil; my blood thudded through my veins. I felt like I was caught in a spider's web, unable to run off like I wanted to and forced to watch the exchange.

  Caught too by my own actions at the General Registry Office. I was a fool to have gone there. A damned fool.

  "Your gown is lovely," he said with stiff formality.

  "You haven't even seen it yet." She shrugged a shoulder and her fur coat slipped off. She caught it and twirled for him. Her smile increased when she spotted me watching.

  She did indeed look lovely. The slender fit of the dress accentuated her tiny waist and the low cut revealed the swell of her bosom. Her neck seemed even longer, with her hair piled on her head and the off-the-shoulder sleeves. Many men would want to plant a kiss on the smooth skin of her shoulders tonight. It made me feel ill to think that Lincoln might be one of them.

  It made me feel worse when I thought of his reaction when he learned I'd betrayed him. Oh God. What had I done?

  Lincoln helped Lady Harcourt with her coat then escorted her out of the house. "Goodnight, Charlie," he called back to me.

  That's all the attention I received—a hastily tossed out goodnight. It was pitiful, but not as pathetic as my own heartache.

  ***

  My guilty conscience kept me awake. When the longcase clock in the entrance hall chimed three times, I gave up trying to sleep and padded downstairs in my nightdress with a coat over the top. I curled up in a library armchair but couldn't concentrate on my book, so I took my candlestick and headed to the kitchen instead. Hot chocolate would soothe my nerves and perhaps help me sleep. By the time I reached it, I'd come to a conclusion—I would tell Lincoln what I'd done at the General Registry Office. It would be better coming from me than Lady Harcourt.

  The alternative, to raise Gurry's spirit and keep both betrayals from Lincoln, was tempting, but I suspected I would be found out, sooner or later. He was much too clever to remain in the dark for long.

  I had just located a small saucepan when the back door unlocked. My heart lurched into my throat. It would be either Lincoln or Seth; neither had yet returned. I found myself hoping it was Seth.

  Lincoln strode into the kitchen. His hair was still neatly tied back, but he'd removed his tie and undone the collar so that it flapped open. Thick brows crashed above eyes as black as midnight. Eyes that bored into me with a ferocity that chilled me.

  She'd told him already.

  "I'm sorry," I whispered. It came out pathetic, small, and I was afraid it didn't carry to him.

  "What are you talking about?" he snapped. "What have you done?"

  I frowned then shrugged. I had a feeling it was better to act stupid.

  He shook his head. "Whatever it is, tell me in the morning. I'm in no mood tonight." Instead of leaving, however, he strode into the pantry. He opened the cupboard where the cooking sherry was kept and poured himself a glass. He downed it in one gulp then poured another.

  "How was your evening?" I ventured.

  He raised his full glass. "You can't tell?" He drained the glass then slammed it down on the kitchen table. Thankfully it didn't shatter. "What're you doing up?"

  "Waiting for you."

  He set the sherry bottle down too and came over to me, slowly, like a sleek cat stalking its prey. Heavy lids shielded his eyes, but I didn't need to see them to know he was in a black mood. It was written i
n the bitter twist of his mouth, the severe set of his jaw, the rigidity of his shoulders.

  I gulped and backed up into the range. If he didn't know about my visit to the General Registry Office; why was he mad? "Lincoln, are you all right?"

  "It's Mr. Fitzroy. Do you hear me? I am your employer, and you should treat me as such." His hands bunched into fists at his sides, and it took all my courage to remain there and not slink away. He needed to know I wasn't afraid of him when he was like this. He wouldn't hurt me. Telling myself that was one thing, but getting my nerves to believe it was another.

  "Tell me what happened at the ball," I said in a calm voice. "Something must have—"

  "Stop acting as if you can fix things, fix me." With a growl that emerged from the depths of his chest, he wrenched around, presenting me with his back. It rose and fell with his heavy, ragged breathing. "I don't need…you. I don't need anyone!"

  I stepped closer and lifted my hand to press it against his back, but I curled it into a fist before touching him. "I don't care whether you need me or not. I will be here regardless."

  He wheeled around and loomed over me. Hot anger had given away to cool control and he no longer looked as if he would throw things around the kitchen. But in some ways, the change was worse, because now he looked like he wanted to wound intentionally. "Your affection for me is misguided, naive and childish." The chilly tone sent shivers down my spine. "Me telling you this now is a kindness. When you're older, you'll understand why."

  Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to give in to them. I couldn't stop shaking, however. It felt like ice slid through my veins to every part of my body.

  "Me, childish?" I snapped. "You're the one throwing a tantrum." I stepped past him and marched out of the kitchen. When I reached my bedroom, I threw myself on the bed and cried into the pillow.

  ***

  Gus teased me about sleeping in the next morning, when I came down late for breakfast. Cook, however, slapped him in the chest and told him to "Shut it" when he saw my face. All three of them spent the rest of the morning treating me as if I would break. If they knew I was feeling fragile because of Lincoln, they didn't let on.