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

by C. J. Archer

"Atrocious," she agreed. "I comfort myself that it must be even worse at March Hall. It's always colder in Yorkshire than London."

  Charlie was in Yorkshire. Lincoln hadn't seen the School for Wayward Girls in person, but he knew the building had once been home to a noble family who'd sold it to the headmistress. There would be fireplaces—dozens of them—so the rooms must be warm. Even if there were only one, the school would be infinitely better than the abandoned buildings Charlie had lived in the last few winters.

  His stomach knotted as it always did when he thought about her struggling to survive on the streets. This time of year must have been hell. He'd spent days in the cold of winter, sometimes in the city and other times in the countryside, both as a child and an adult, but never more than that, and he'd known a warm fire, bed and food waited for him at the end of the ordeal.

  He tore his thoughts back to the present. "Do you spend much time at March Hall?" he asked as they twirled past another couple.

  "Very little. Ewan prefers London. Business, you know." Her smile implied something, but Lincoln didn't know what.

  Lincoln wasn't sure how to proceed next. Short of asking her directly if she knew her husband was behind the murders of the supernaturals, he was at a loss. "Nasty business, the death of the circus strongman," he tried.

  "It is. Ewan is very distressed by it, and the other recent murders."

  He almost propelled her into a passing couple in his surprise, but just managed to steer her clear of a collision. She must know about the connection between the deaths. "You've spoken about it with your husband?"

  "Of course. I am aware of the ministry, Mr. Fitzroy, and the work you do there." Her smile reached her blue eyes then turned grim. "I hope you find the person responsible before another life is taken."

  "I'm trying my best."

  "I don't doubt it." Her silence felt weighty as they twirled again. "When you do catch the murderer, will you bring Miss Holloway back here to London?"

  "I sent her away permanently."

  "That is not what I asked."

  The music ended, saving him from replying. He bowed to her. She curtsied in response and allowed him to lead her off the dance floor.

  "Ewan is worried about you, you know," she said before he deposited her with her husband.

  "He shouldn't be," Lincoln said. "I have no distractions now. My sole focus is my work."

  "Is that so? Then why haven't you caught the killer yet?"

  He blinked and concentrated on keeping his breathing even, despite the tightening of his chest. "It's not that easy."

  "Very well, I'll grant you that. Let me put it another way. Why did you ask me to dance then not question me about the people here tonight?"

  He stared at her. Was she a seer? Or simply clever?

  "That is why you asked me to dance, isn't it?" she pressed.

  "I…perhaps I simply wished to dance with you."

  "I would believe that of some gentlemen, but not of you, Mr. Fitzroy. It took me a few moments to think it through, but when I realized your true motive, it began to make sense. You think someone here tonight is guilty of the murders?"

  "I'm not sure."

  "I understand the need for secrecy, but if you want to know anything about anyone in this room, you only have to ask. Julia would be more than happy to help too, of course. She will probably know more than me. I don't attend as many social events as she does."

  Lincoln presented Lady Marchbank to her husband, bowed again, and thanked her for the dance. As he walked away, he couldn't help but be relieved that he hadn't asked her directly about Marchbank. She would have become suspicious, and Lincoln couldn't risk her alerting her husband, or anyone on the committee, to his concerns.

  He spent the remainder of the evening avoiding Julia and Mrs. Overton, who must have decided, once again, that he was worth pursuing for her daughter. He couldn't think why. He was hardly good husband material for any woman, let alone Miss Overton. The evening was quickly turning into a waste of time, and he was contemplating leaving early when Seth approached. Two females and one whey-faced gentleman stepped doubly fast behind him to match his long strides.

  "Gilly and his wife are acting suspiciously," Seth whispered in Lincoln's ear.

  "How so?"

  "They're heading for a private assignation in the music room."

  Lincoln looked at him.

  Seth rolled his eyes. "No gentleman has a private assignation with his own wife. They must be up to something. I think you ought to sneak up on them and listen."

  He left before Lincoln could question him further, his three friends following him like a tail.

  The music room adjoined the ballroom, but Lincoln didn't find Lord and Lady Gillingham there. What he did find was a curtain billowing from a cold breeze. The doors leading to the balcony beyond were open. The rain must have stopped, but it would be icy outside, particularly for a lady dressed in eveningwear without her coat. Lincoln stood at the side of the curtain and listened to the couple arguing in low tones.

  "This is absurd," Gillingham snapped. "You're making fools of us both."

  "Nobody saw us." Lincoln recognized the voice as belonging to Lady Gillingham. He'd seen her earlier in a pale pink gown, her blonde hair arranged in the latest fashion. She was quite pretty, and several years younger than her husband. Lincoln wondered if theirs had been an arranged marriage.

  "But it's freezing!" Gillingham whined.

  "Then be quick."

  "No. I absolutely refuse to do it here. It's degrading."

  "I thought that's what you liked." Lady Gillingham's voice grated like nails down slate. "I thought the problem between us was that I wasn't debauched enough."

  Lincoln silently cursed Seth. Had he known the Gillinghams really were leaving the ballroom for an assignation? It wouldn't surprise Lincoln to learn that Seth had sent him to watch them as a joke.

  "You know what the problem between us is," Gillingham hissed, "and it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with your…true form."

  True form?

  "I know you find me ugly underneath this skin."

  "I find you abhorrent. Disgusting. Ever since I discovered what you are back in the summer, I can't bring myself to look at you. You duped me, Harriet. You and your father. I don't like being tricked and I certainly don't like you."

  Lincoln had to strain to hear her response. "You used to."

  "That was before, when I thought you were…human."

  "I am!"

  Gillingham snorted. "Look at you. You're not even shivering."

  "We are married in the eyes of the law, Gilly, and you have no grounds to divorce me, not without raising awkward questions I know you don't want asked. We might as well make the best of it for now."

  "What do you want from me, Harriet? Why are you pestering me?"

  "I want children. I want to bear your heir."

  Gillingham made a choking sound. "Is this a joke?"

  "I'm willing to do anything, Gilly. I'll retain this form during intimacy, I promise. I'll wear whatever you want me to wear and say what you want me to say. Please, husband. Please. I want to be a mother so desperately."

  "My god," he sneered. "You think a vile creature like you ought to breed? Are you mad?"

  Her sharp intake of breath pierced the cold night air. "You would deny me motherhood? Do you hate me that much?"

  "I'm repulsed by you, and I certainly don't want my children to be anything like you. I'd rather the Gillingham line die out than be tainted by whatever flows through your veins. I'm making it my life's work to see that unnaturals like you become extinct. Do you understand, Harriet?"

  Lady Gillingham sobbed loudly.

  The curtain was suddenly thrust aside, into Lincoln's face, so that he didn't immediately see who came into the room from the balcony. He stood still as the heavy velvet resettled in time for him to watch Gillingham march out of the room, his walking stick not even touching the floor. A moment later, Lady Gillingham fol
lowed, a handkerchief dabbing at her nose. Her gown was of a style that revealed her bare shoulders, yet she didn't shiver or look at all cold.

  Like her husband, she didn't notice Lincoln standing silently in the shadows at the edge of the curtain. After a deep sigh, she too left the room, as poised and elegant as a lady of her station ought to be. Yet according to her husband, she was disgusting, unnatural—inhuman, even.

  So if Lady Gillingham wasn't human, what was she?

  "Her name isn't in the ministry files." Lincoln threw his jacket on the bed and loosened his tie. The damn thing had felt like a noose for at least the last hour as he'd warred between leaving the ball and staying longer to learn more. In the end, he'd left when Lady Vickers announced she wanted to retire. Apparently she'd won far too much at cards and nobody wanted to play against her anymore. She had also overheard a thing or two about her son that she hadn't liked.

  When she'd confronted Seth, he'd simply shrugged broad shoulders and said, "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

  "Want us to check again, sir?" Gus asked. "Per'aps she's under her maiden name."

  "She isn't." Lincoln tossed his shirt onto the clothes piling up on the bed.

  With a sigh, Seth straightened them like a fussy valet. "How do you know?"

  "I know every name in our files by heart."

  Seth grunted. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

  "Are you sure you overheard Gillingham refuse his wife's advances?" Gus asked. "Seems strange to me. She's a pretty little thing. Can't imagine any fellow not wantin' her in his bed."

  Lincoln glared at him. "You doubt me?"

  "Er, no."

  "So what do you think she is?" Seth asked.

  Lincoln pulled his black shirt over his head. "I don't know, but I intend to find out."

  "You're going out?" Seth nodded at Lincoln's black shirt and the black woolen waistcoat. "Now? But it's miserable out there."

  "I'm going to see what I can learn about her."

  "By watching her sleep? That's not normal."

  "My methods have never worried you before." Lincoln needed to know if she was the reason Gillingham hated supernaturals, perhaps enough to kill them. Something Gillingham had said to his wife on the balcony haunted Lincoln—he'd discovered her secret back in the summer. Charlie's existence had come to their attention in the summer. Could the two facts be linked? Could the discovery of Lady Gillingham's "true form" have led to him wanting to rid the world of all supernaturals?

  "I've never voiced my opinion before." Seth crossed his arms. "I no longer feel like holding back. Is that a problem for you, sir?"

  "Not as long as you don't have a problem with me ignoring you."

  Gus gave a grudging laugh but it quickly died when Seth glared at him.

  Lincoln pulled on his leather gloves with reinforced knuckles and slipped into his jacket and boots. He slid a knife down each boot and another into the waistband of his pants. He gave his men a nod and moved past them to the door.

  "Her bedroom is the third window from the right, third level," Seth said.

  Lincoln stopped. "You've been intimate with her?"

  Seth shrugged one shoulder. "She's pretty and her husband wasn't paying her any attention. She needed…relief."

  Gus scratched his neck. It was still damp from driving through the rain. "Did you notice anything about her? Did she…you know…act like a human woman does when she's…um…?"

  "You mean did she cry out my name in ecstasy, bunch the sheets in her fists, and arch her back as her body shuddered?" Seth gave him a smug look. "Yes, she did all of that, and more. She acted as every other normal woman acts when I'm with her."

  Gus rolled his eyes. "Want me to drive you, sir?"

  "I'll walk," Lincoln said.

  "But it'll take an age to get back to Mayfair."

  "Not if I take the short route."

  "What short route?"

  "Over the roofs." His rooftop escape from O'Neill's place had been exhilarating. Tonight would be slipperier, but that would serve to keep Lincoln alert and his mind focused. He needed to focus.

  Lincoln slid up the window sash and listened to the even breathing of a slumbering person. She was loud for a young woman, and the dark lump in the bed was larger than he expected. Perhaps this wasn't Lady Gillingham's room after all, but that of her husband.

  He removed his boots before climbing down from the sill and stepping silently on the floor. The breathing stopped. The lump moved. As silent as he'd been, she'd heard him—or sensed him.

  She sat up. Turned toward him.

  Fuck!

  He stepped backward, smacking into the wall with a thump, like an amateur. His heartbeat quickened. The light may be low, but there was enough to see that the…thing sitting up in bed didn't have a woman's shape. It was large, thick, and covered with hair or fur.

  "Who is it?" said a voice that matched Lady Gillingham's. "Who's there?"

  For all his speed and agility, Lincoln wasn't fast enough. The creature—woman—leapt out of bed and wrapped its massive paws around his throat before he could move or utter a sound.

  He struggled, kicked out, and batted the wolf-like chest with his fists. He tried to shove off the paws, but they were too tight, the grip too strong. His throat felt like it was being crushed. Blackness rimmed his vision. He felt himself slipping away into oblivion, a pair of yellow inhuman eyes watching as the last breath left his body.

  Chapter 6

  Eyes. Gouge the eyes.

  The thought flittered through Lincoln's mind. He reached up and dug his fingers into the creature's face.

  It let him go and stepped back, out of reach. He should have gone after it, but all he could manage was great gasps of air. Every breath burned his raw throat, but the first swallow hurt more. It felt like he was trying to get a football down.

  "You!" The voice was Lady Gillingham's feminine one. He glanced up to see her standing rigid before him, hands on hips, her nightgown barely covering womanly curves. She was pretty, young, and the only visible hair was that on her head, tied into a neat braid that drooped over her shoulder. "What are you doing here, Mr. Fitzroy?" She sounded outraged, appalled, and not at all scared. An ordinary woman would be terrified to wake up to a man in her room. "Well? Answer me."

  He swallowed again. A little better this time. The ball had shrunk to cricket size. "I came to see what you are." There was no point pretending otherwise. Civility wasn't in his nature, and they were beyond that anyway. "You're not human."

  Her hands slipped off her hips to her sides, but he couldn't see her expression in the dark. "You already know what I am."

  "No, I do not."

  "I don't understand. Gilly told me all about the ministry when he discovered me in…that form. He said that I have been recorded along with other supernaturals in your files. I assume he was trying to intimidate me, but I didn't mind. I think what you do is a fine thing, and quite necessary."

  He indicated a candlestick on her bedside table. "May I?"

  "Oh, yes, of course. You cannot see me too well." She handed him a box of matches and he lit the candle.

  "You can see me?" he asked.

  "My vision is excellent, even in the dark."

  "As is your hearing." He held up the candle. Light flickered across the smooth skin of her face, and showed her to be frowning. "Or was it another sense by which you detected me?"

  "Hearing at first, and then smell." The frown deepened. "Didn't Gilly give you all the details?"

  "He has told me nothing about you. Your…alternate form has come as a surprise to me." More like a shock. He must have hidden it well if she couldn't see it.

  She sat on the bed suddenly and folded her hands in her lap. She hadn't reached for a wrap or other garment to cover her thin nightgown. As with earlier on the balcony, it appeared the cold didn't affect her. "I don't understand. Why would Gilly tell me he told you when he hadn't?"

  Shame. Pride. Lincoln could think of a number of reason
s, but he wasn't sure which would be the driving force behind Gillingham's lie. Nor did he care. "You will have to ask him."

  She snorted softly. "He won't tell me." Her shoulders slumped and she studied her hands in her lap. "He rarely talks to me at all, these days."

  He didn't come near her for intimacy, either, it seemed. "What are you, madam?"

  She glanced up. "You don't know? Even with all your experience?"

  "I've never come across anyone like you before."

  "Oh. I was hoping you could tell me. I have no name for what I am. My father never told me, you see, and now he's gone."

  "Did you inherit this…magic from him?"

  She nodded. "My father could change form too. When I was young, he told me to always use my human shape and not tell a soul about the other. Apparently he never told my mother, but I don't know how she reacted when first saw me change. She died when I was quite young, so I'll never know. Lately, I've wondered if seeing me become a monster killed her."

  "You're not a monster."

  Her head snapped up. Her eyes filled with tears. What had he said? Why did she want to cry? "You don't think so?" she whispered.

  "As soon as you recognized me, you let me go. A monster would have killed me, especially after I witnessed you in that form. You haven't killed your husband either." Although she must have wanted to, on occasion. God knew Lincoln wanted to—frequently.

  "I suppose."

  "Did he find out by accident?"

  She nodded. "He came in here one night to…see me. I was asleep. When I sleep, I can't control which form I take." Her fingers twisted and locked together. "He was horrified and screamed the place down."

  Lincoln didn't doubt it.

  "I shifted shape to this one immediately, but it took quite some time to calm him. His screaming woke the servants, and I had to send them away before I could explain to him. He hasn't been the same since. He won't even look at me and he refuses to…visit me now."

  "When did this happen?"

  "Late summer. He'd been out drinking at his club. I hoped he would wake up in the morning and forget what he'd seen, or perhaps attribute it to his inebriated state. Unfortunately, he did not." She sighed and gave him a flat smile. "I have come to accept his disgust and fear of me. He won't divorce me because he has no grounds, unless he tells everyone what I truly am. He's too proud to do that. Besides, no one would believe him. So he's stuck with me."