Ashes To Ashes: A Ministry of Curiosities Novella (The Ministry of Curiosities Book 5)

by C. J. Archer

  They both took a moment to digest this, then Seth said, "If a jealous lover didn't kill O'Neill, could there be another motive?"

  "I haven't found one."

  "Excepting the fact that he was a supernatural, and perhaps killed because of his powers."

  "Excepting that." Lincoln waited while the men considered this. "Billy the Bolter's information is my—our—only link to the man who is hiring killers to assassinate supernaturals."

  "But he didn't tell us much," Gus said. "Nothing we can use, anyway."

  "Only that the fellow is a toff," Seth said.

  "We can be almost sure that the person has access to our archives, or has records of their own." Lincoln waited as both men staggered under the weight of this news. He held out the glasses of brandy to them.

  They both drank the contents in one gulp. Gus slammed the empty glass down on the desk and swore. "The committee."

  "Will you confront them?" Seth asked.

  "Not yet," Lincoln said. "Not until I'm sure."

  "How will you be sure?"

  "Through observation and investigation, beginning with attending Julia's Christmas ball tonight."

  "You hate balls," Gus said.

  "I didn't say I wanted to enjoy myself." Lincoln nodded at Seth. "You're coming. Bring your mother."

  Seth's face fell. "Do I have to?" he whined.

  "Yes."

  "You want her to interrogate the committee members too?" Gus asked.

  "I thought she could use the event as a way of announcing her return to London. She can reacquaint herself with her old friends."

  Seth's face fell even more. "Has she been invited?"

  "Tell her she has been. Julia won't mind. She and scandal like to flirt with one another, after all."

  That almost earned a smile from Seth. Gus chuckled. "Wish I could go to watch."

  "You will drive us, then keep warm in the mews. The servants know you and might offer some gossip. If you speak to the inside servants, ask them who has accessed the attic archives in recent times."

  "Right, sir."

  They both looked enthused by the prospect of being involved in the investigation. Good. Perhaps this was a turning point. Perhaps they'd given up on Charlie ever coming home.

  "You're both dismissed." Lincoln turned away.

  Even though he couldn't see them, he knew they were gesturing to one another and urging the other to speak. In the end, it was Seth who cleared his throat. Lincoln braced himself. He didn't need to have a seer's powers to know what the conversation would be about.

  "Her birthday is only days away," Seth said.

  Charlie's nineteenth birthday had been on his mind too lately, among other things. "And?"

  "And we wish to send her a gift. We can't do so without knowing where she is."

  "I won't be giving you her location."

  "You have to!" Gus snapped. "She's our friend."

  "She's like a sister," Seth added in a rough voice. He sounded like he was barely holding in his temper.

  Lincoln leaned his knuckles on the desk and bowed his head. "I cannot risk anyone finding her."

  Silence. He resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder to see if they were looking at him or gesturing to each other again.

  "So you do still care for her wellbeing," Seth finally said in quiet tones.

  "I knew it." Gus sounded pleased.

  Lincoln straightened and turned to face them. "Sending her a gift would only give her false hope that she will return."

  Gus gave him a blank look. He shrugged. "But she will return. After you've caught the killer, you'll fetch her and bring her home."

  Lincoln gripped the desk behind him and shook his head. "She's a distraction to me. I cannot afford distractions."

  Seth's fist shot out, but Lincoln deflected it. He grabbed Seth's arm, twisted it, and forced him to the ground. The maneuver would have caused pain, but to Seth's credit, he merely winced. He didn't try to resist.

  Gus, however, decided to fight on his friend's behalf. He wrapped one muscular arm around Lincoln's throat and squeezed. With his knee still in Seth's back, Lincoln let go and grasped onto Gus's hair. Lincoln could break his neck, but he chose to pull out a fistful of hair instead.

  Gus let go and clutched his scalp. He reeled backward, out of reach. "I'm bleeding!"

  Lincoln stood and held out his hand to Seth. Seth ignored it and got to his feet on his own. He stepped up to Lincoln, his fists at his sides, a murderous scowl on his face.

  "You are the most selfish, cold-hearted prick I've ever met," he snarled through his teeth. "When the killer is caught, I'm leaving Lichfield. I no longer want to work for someone who can banish the only person who cares about him without batting an eye."

  Lincoln was too far away from the desk to use it as support, so he had to stand there and concentrate very hard on being still, on not blinking or showing these men that he felt sick to his core every time he thought about Charlie being far away.

  Fortunately he didn't need to order them to get out. They left of their own accord, although Gus couldn't resist a parting shot. "I hope your shriveled heart keeps you warm at night."

  "Close the door," Lincoln told him.

  Gus's top lip curled up, but he did as ordered.

  Alone again, Lincoln sank onto the chair at his desk and dragged both hands through his hair and down his face. With shaking fingers, he removed the key to Charlie's room from his pocket and placed it in his top drawer. Then he locked it.

  Chapter 5

  "Your hair looks fine," Seth said yet again, as his mother patted her hair for the hundredth time. He had to shout to be heard above the rain attempting to smash through the carriage roof. The weather had turned vicious.

  "Fine?" Lady Vickers continued to pat. "It needs to be better than fine."

  "It is. It's lovely. Elegant." At his mother's continuing frown, Seth added, "Magnificent! Divine! Your new lady's maid is a marvel."

  "She'll do. There appears to be a shortage of quality servants in the city."

  "Bella was the only one I could find available to begin immediately." Seth tried to move his legs but found his mother's voluminous ink-black skirts in the way. He gave up and tucked his feet closer to his seat.

  "How did you find her, I wonder?"

  Lincoln watched mother and son exchange hard glares and wished he was somewhere else. Anywhere else. He knew how Seth had found Bella—she was one of his many mistresses—and it seemed his mother had guessed.

  "Luck," was all Seth said.

  Lady Vickers tucked her hand back into her fur muff. It seemed she wasn't so destitute that she'd sold off the evening gown, only the jewels. Her ears, throat and fingers were quite bare. "I do hope she won't be a distraction to the other servants. She is, after all, very young and pretty." Was she speaking to Seth or Lincoln? Lincoln decided not to answer.

  "Not that young." Seth's mutter was barely audible above the rain. "She's twenty, at least."

  His mother's lips pinched. Her gaze turned sharp. "You're not to look at her, Seth. I know what you're like, and she's not for you."

  "So it's perfectly acceptable for you to fraternize with the staff but not me."

  The baroness thrust out her noble chin as far as it would go. "I did my duty. I married well the first time and didn't fraternize with anyone until after my husband died."

  "'The first time?'" Seth paled. "Mother…tell me you didn't marry the footman."

  Lady Vickers turned to the window, her chin somewhat lower. Seth had his answer. He sat back in the leather seat, deflated.

  Lincoln might hate balls, but Harcourt House couldn't come fast enough. The air in the carriage was frostier than outside. One of Julia's footmen opened the door, handed Seth an umbrella, and stepped aside as Seth climbed out. He assisted his mother and they walked up the steps arm in arm, as if they hadn’t just argued. Lincoln didn't want to miss Julia's reaction upon seeing them, but he needed to have a quick word with Gus first. He accep
ted the second umbrella from the footman and handed his flask up to Gus.

  Gus took a moment before he shook his head. "Got me own, sir." He patted the chest of his coat. Despite the weatherproof coat with its multiple capes and the wide-brimmed hat, Gus was thoroughly wet.

  "You might need another," Lincoln told him, holding the flask higher.

  Gus took it with a nod. "Thank you, sir."

  Another coach pulled up behind, and Gus drove off. Millard took Lincoln's umbrella, coat and hat in the hall, then Lincoln headed upstairs. He joined Seth and Lady Vickers in the ballroom, where they had stopped to speak with Julia at the entrance. Lady Vickers was regaling their hostess with the tale of her sea voyage. Julia appeared to be listening with polite interest.

  "Thank you for the invitation, Julia," Lady Vickers said. "It's most unexpected but very considerate indeed." Like her son, Lady Vickers could turn on the charm when she wanted to. Her superior manner seemed to come naturally, as if she believed she had a right to be there. It would take a socially confident woman to turn her away. "My return to London must be quite the sensation if you heard about it," Lady Vickers finished.

  Julia's smile broadened. She never smiled that much. Not sincerely anyway. "I'm delighted that you accepted my invitation. And you too, Seth."

  Seth bowed over her hand, but he didn't hide his distaste. Ever since witnessing Julia's cruel behavior toward Charlie, Seth had gone cold toward his occasional lover. The only indication that she noticed was a slight tightening of her lips as he straightened.

  "I do hope you'll spare a dance or two for my son," Lady Vickers went on with a gleam in her eye. "He tells me that he finds you to be a rare gem in this city, and that he hopes to get to know you better."

  Julia flushed ever so slightly but her smile remained.

  Seth's smile held a darkly wicked edge. "You are correct, Mother. Julia is rare, indeed. I can honestly say that I've never met anyone like her before."

  Lady Vickers beamed. "Isn't he charming?"

  "But I assure you, Mother, Julia and I are already acquainted as deeply as we both would like to be." He bowed again to Julia, so deeply as to be mocking. "It's kind of you to take pity on we poor unfortunate outcasts. We'll try not to embarrass you, but I can't make any promises. You know what I'm like."

  Lady Vickers was left staring open-mouthed at Seth as he strode off. She followed him without a word, and they disappeared into the crowd. Julia stood stony-faced and immobile.

  Lincoln stepped into their place. "Good evening, Julia." There were several bland pleasantries he could have uttered about her dress, the house, or the weather, but he didn't feel like making the effort.

  "I'll be a laughing stock for inviting her," she whispered. She turned hard, glittering eyes onto Lincoln. "I suppose she's my punishment."

  "No, she's not." He turned and walked off, hoping she assumed a worse punishment was yet to come.

  He nodded at a group of gentlemen as he moved farther into the room. Julia had decorated the ballroom with hothouse flowers blooming out of season, and clusters of silver and blue ribbons adorned the walls, connected by swathes of more ribbons. The facets of the lead crystal candelabras and chandeliers provided a dazzling example of light dispersion and refraction. Julia didn't do anything in half measures.

  He spotted Seth surrounded by people of both sexes, most of them young and already on their way to being drunk. A mature woman standing a little to one side tried to catch his attention with a rapid flutter of her fan. Seth extracted himself from the girls clinging to each of his arms and went to speak to the woman, much to her delight. If the diamonds dripping from her person were any indication, she was wealthy indeed. Lady Vickers was nowhere to be seen.

  Lincoln scanned the faces and saw Andrew Buchanan talking with three gentlemen, their gazes all on the doorway leading to an adjoining room. Buchanan shrugged then nodded. One of the fellows slapped him on the back, shoving him toward the door. Buchanan moved off, and the three men grinned then followed.

  Lincoln went to listen in. He'd spent much of the afternoon listening to conversations in pubs and speaking with his contacts again, but he'd come home with no new information. By the end of the day, he was quite sure the killer hadn't made further contact with anyone else. It would seem he was satisfied with the gunman he'd hired to kill O'Neill.

  It only remained to be seen who was next on his list, unless Lincoln could stop him first.

  The room adjoining the ballroom was quieter and smoky. Card players in deep concentration clustered around the tables. Buchanan sauntered up to one lady, her back to the door. Her fair hair had slipped a little from its arrangement and she wore no jewels at her ears or neck. So Lady Vickers was a card player. Lincoln wondered what she wagered with. Perhaps Seth had given her some money. Lincoln watched as Buchanan touched the back of her bare neck and skimmed his thumb along her shoulder. He bent down to whisper something in his ear.

  "Why, sir, you're disturbing my concentration." Lady Vickers fluttered her hand of cards at her face, and leaned away from him. It was such a slight shifting of her weight that most would not have noticed it, but Lincoln saw, as did Buchanan.

  He looked as if he were about to walk off when one of his friends cleared his throat. Buchanan appeared to make up his mind about something. "My apologies," he drawled, hand on his heart. Behind him, his three friends snickered. "It's Lady Vickers, is it not?"

  She held out her hand and he kissed it. "Are we acquainted, sir?"

  "We are now. Shall I assist you to win this round? I'm an excellent player."

  "Are you? Then, by all means, join in." She indicated a vacant seat to her right. "I do love a challenge."

  She threw in her hand and pushed her waged coins to the player opposite. A new round was dealt, which she won. She also won the next two, and Buchanan declared that he was out. He got up from the table amid protests from Lady Vickers, who claimed to have enjoyed playing against him.

  "Of course you did," Buchanan muttered. "You fleeced me."

  She laughed, as did her companions.

  Buchanan rejoined his friends, who were also laughing. As they walked off, he handed them each a bank note. Lady Vickers watched them go with a satisfied curve to her lips. She caught sight of Lincoln, nodded, and turned back to her game.

  Lincoln returned to the ballroom where the band struck up a waltz. He spotted each of the committee members, conversing in separate groups. If he wanted to investigate them, he needed to join them. It was going to be a long night.

  Julia approached and he allowed her to intercept him. "Why did you come, Lincoln?" she said, toying with the diamond and sapphire necklace at her throat.

  "I've been told I need to socialize more." He watched Lord Marchbank over the top of her head. The nobleman appeared to be listening intently to the fellow on his right, a Liberal politician. "Apparently all the important decisions are made at parties."

  "Dinner parties, mostly. Why this sudden interest in politics? You never used to care about the government, and I admit that I rather saw you as above all that."

  "I wasn't referring to politics. If you'll excuse me, I need to mingle."

  "You are mingling. With me." She sipped her champagne and watched him over the rim of the glass with a practiced flutter of her eyelashes.

  "You and I are through mingling, Julia."

  She lowered the glass. "So you keep saying."

  He couldn't tell if she believed they were over or not. She seemed to think he would change his mind again. Sending Charlie away and breaking off their engagement had probably reignited Julia's hopes.

  "Miss Overton hasn't been able to take her eyes off you." She nodded at the Overton girl, standing in her mother's shadow with a gaggle of ladies. "Why don't you ask her to dance?"

  "I don't dance."

  "If you want to mingle, you must learn to dance."

  "I didn't say I can't dance."

  "Then you have no excuses."

  "Except that
I don't want to dance. The girl needs no encouragement." It would be cruel to dance with her if he had no intentions toward her. But it was in Julia's nature to be cruel to others if it benefitted her. Marrying him off to the guileless and obedient Miss Overton would clear the path for a woman who wanted to be his mistress but not his wife.

  "I don't know why you resist her." She smiled at Miss Overton who glanced behind her, thinking someone else had caught Julia's interest. "She would make the perfect wife. Her family is well connected and wealthy; she's healthy, pretty and young, just the way you like them."

  "Don't," he growled.

  "And she's a far more agreeable girl than…others. You could manage her very well, and I dare say, after a year, you would have molded her into whatever shape you desire. As long as you use a delicate touch and don't frighten her, that is." The eyes she turned on him were as cold and hard as the gems at her throat.

  He turned his back on her and wove his way through the crowd. He joined Lord Marchbank and the politician but quickly realized their discussion wouldn't tell him anything important.

  After ten minutes, Marchbank accepted a drink from his wife with a "Thank you, m'dear." She nodded at Lincoln and smiled tentatively.

  Lincoln extended his hand before he changed his mind. "Dance with me, madam." He winced. It sounded like he was commanding her, not asking.

  The conversation around them stopped. Lincoln watched Lord Marchbank in his peripheral vision, but he didn't seem to mind another man asking his wife to dance.

  Lady Marchbank took Lincoln's hand. "I would be delighted, Mr. Fitzroy. Thank you."

  They waited on the edge of the dance floor for the set to end and another to strike up. Lady Marchbank was the eldest dancer to take the floor. Some onlookers stared and whispered, but she either didn't notice or ignored them. She was a little younger than her husband and still a beauty, with high cheekbones, delicate features, and silver hair. She was an excellent dancer and all but floated in Lincoln's arms. Her small smile lifted Lincoln's mood a little, until he remembered he had to think of something to talk about.

  "The weather is terrible tonight," he began.