by C. J. Archer
"And you with him." Lincoln thought she'd got the rougher end of the bargain.
Her face fell. She thrust out her lower lip in a pout. "If he would get me with child, I would be quite happy."
Lincoln didn't want to hear about her domestic situation. He already knew more than he cared to know. "There are no records of you in the ministry archives, or of anyone who can become an animal like you."
"So Gilly didn't tell a soul. That's something, at least."
"I will record you in our files, but I will not announce it, if you prefer. The other committee members don't need to know, only my employees. Nor will I tell your husband about this conversation, and I ask that you don't inform him either. It's best if he doesn't know."
"Of course. He wouldn't understand. Thank you for your consideration, Mr. Fitzroy. I don't mind you creating a file about me. I quite like the idea of being recorded for posterity. I'm unique, you say?"
"As far as I am aware, but I'm beginning to think our records are woefully incomplete." He indicated the space on the bed beside her and she nodded. He sat. "May I ask you some questions about yourself?"
"Of course." Her smile was a little wobbly. "It'll be nice to talk to someone about it. Someone who isn't afraid of me, or disgusted, that is."
After half an hour, he'd learned that she could shift between her human and animal states with ease and at will; that she had animal-like hearing, vision and smell. She was a female in her other form too, and her father had told her that she should be capable of bearing children, and they would likely have some of her characteristics, although to a lesser degree. Her father had been faster and stronger than her, and his senses more acute. He had never told her why he'd been born like that, or which parent he'd inherited it from. His parents had died when he was young, so it was possible they'd never told him.
"Thank you," Lincoln said, rising. "I appreciate your honesty. And not choking me to death."
She laughed softly. "I must learn to control that urge. I forget my own strength. I'd hate to throttle a burglar."
He put his boots back on and climbed onto the sill. "Goodnight, madam."
"Would you prefer to go out through the front door?" she asked.
"This is quieter."
"It's a long way down. You'll die if you fall."
"Then I won't fall."
She laughed again. "Are you sure you're not part animal too? Perhaps a monkey?"
"Not that I am aware." He swung his legs through the window and scrambled up the pipe running along the wall.
"Goodnight," she whispered.
He glanced down when he reached the roofline. She waved up at him from the window, then went inside and drew down the sash. He swung himself up onto the roof and headed back across the city. He paused in Clerkenwell and climbed down to street level. Charlie's gang had lived in one of the dilapidated houses, the entrance to their den almost hidden from view. Lincoln had asked his contacts where to find it, back when he'd been searching for her in the summer. It had cost him a considerable sum to the right people. Few had known where the "boy" who'd escaped from Highgate Police Station lived.
He shucked off his coat, folded it, and placed it beside the boarded up hole in the wall. He knocked on the boards then leaped onto the crate and used the eaves to propel himself up to the neighboring roof. A head poked through the entrance, looked left then right, but not up. A hand darted out, grabbed the coat and disappeared back inside.
Lincoln headed home.
There were no records of Lady Gillingham's father's birth in the General Registry Office. That didn't mean one didn't exist in another parish outside London, but since she hadn't known where he'd come from, it would be impossible to learn more about him.
Right now, it didn't matter. It wouldn't help Lincoln locate the killer. What he needed to know was whether Gillingham was outraged enough by his wife's true form that he would kill other supernaturals. He had already sent Gus out to track the baron's movements, and Seth would relieve him later. They weren't to let him out of their sights.
Seth deposited Lincoln at the front of the house and continued on to the coach house. Doyle took Lincoln's hat and coat.
"There's a fellow to see you, sir." The look of disgust on Doyle's face told Lincoln he'd likely find this fellow in the service area, not the parlor. "He refused to give his name, but he's rather scruffy and thinks he's a lark. Cook almost chased him off with his meat cleaver and one of his frightening glares, but I convinced him to stay."
It sounded like Billy the Bolter. "Thank you. Send him into the library."
Lincoln headed there himself and poured a brandy. Billy swaggered to the doorway then stopped, cap in hand. His jaw dropped as he took in the rich velvet curtains, the walls of books and the heavy furniture that Doyle had polished to a high sheen.
"Nice digs." Billy continued into the room, his swagger not quite as pronounced.
Lincoln handed him the glass. "Well?"
"Right to it, then, eh?" Billy sniffed the brandy then drank the lot. He wiped his sleeve across his mouth and held the glass out for a refill. Lincoln obliged, and Billy drank that too. "Got me money?"
"I'll pay you if your information is worthwhile."
Billy considered this. With a nod, he said, "I heard something 'round the traps about the gunman. I think I know who he is."
"Go on."
"After you and me spoke last time, I got it in my head to ask around here and there. All quiet, like. Just some as I could trust." He held up his finger and smiled a yellow-toothed smile. "I ain't stupid."
Did the man expect affirmation? "Go on."
"My sister told me 'bout a bloke who's been hangin' round Osborne Street, where some doxies do business. She ain't a street worker, but she got some friends who are. Well, one of 'em said a fellow's been splashing the ready 'round to all the girls in the last week. He's been there before, but never had no money until now. My sister's friend asked him where he got the ready from, and he said it were a secret but it involved his barker. She didn't believe he had one, so he showed it to her."
"She saw his gun?"
"Aye, she swears she did. He reckons he stole it from some toff, and ever since then, he put word out he'd use it for the right price."
"Do you know this fellow?"
"I know of him. Name's Jack Daley, and he's a mean blighter. He'd kill a man, sure enough, if he wronged him."
"Or was paid?"
"Aye."
"Do you know where I can find him?" Lincoln asked.
"He lives in a lodging house on Flower and Dean Street. Don't know which one."
"Anything else?"
"Aye. When you get 'im, don't tell 'im how you found 'im."
"That goes without saying."
"No, it don't." Billy turned serious. "He'd hurt me sister and her friend bad if he knew they ratted. He don't need more reason than that to slash their throats."
Lincoln fetched Billy some money and told him to pass some on to his sister and her friend. He almost fetched some clothes that Charlie had left behind, but decided against it. That would require him to enter her room.
"Thank you, sir. Been good doin' business with you again." Billy tugged on his forelock and left through the front door as Doyle looked on disapprovingly.
"Would you like luncheon, sir?" Doyle asked after shutting the door.
"Bring something to my rooms. And send Seth in when he's finished outside."
Lincoln made his way upstairs only to be accosted by Lady Vickers on the landing. She blocked his path when he tried to move around her. He should have taken the service stairs.
"I would like to know if I'm available to callers this afternoon," she said with an incline of her chin. She looked like a taller version of the queen today, dressed in deep black with a black lace cap over her hair. He suspected that was to hide the poor job her new maid did of arranging it. Some of the strands had already come loose.
"I don't care if you receive callers or not," Linc
oln said.
He tried to move but once again, she blocked his way. "And you, Mr. Fitzroy? Will you be home to callers?"
"I don't have any. Those who do visit are used to me rarely being home."
"I think today will be different."
"I doubt it."
She gave him a small smile that seemed to indicate she knew something that he did not. "Did you not notice the sensation your presence caused last night?"
He noticed Julia's attentions, and the gazes of Miss Overton and her mother, but that hardly constituted a sensation. "I think you're mistaken."
"Oh no, Mr. Fitzroy. I am never mistaken when it comes to sensations. And you, sir, are one. Apparently you rarely go to balls or parties, and that makes you a curious figure. An air of mystery is very desirable in a gentleman, particularly a wealthy one. Your unknown lineage will not hold you back when it comes to the ladies, but some of their fathers are more cautious."
He held up his hands. "I'm not on the market."
She made a scoffing noise through her nose. "Nonsense. All unwed gentlemen are on the market. We can use this new intrigue to our advantage."
"We?"
She clicked her tongue. "Must I spell it out to you?"
"Yes."
She sighed. "Honestly, for a clever man, you're very stupid. Let me explain it in simple terms. Now that you have made an appearance in society, the eligible girls have gone wild. This goes doubly for my son, of course, since he's tilted. Ordinarily, two handsome, interesting bachelors would cause a problem. I'm not sure how Marjory Wadsworth did it. She has twin sons, you know."
"And?"
"Don't talk, just listen. Usually, the best candidate will win the best girl, and of course, that would be Seth since he's so agreeable. I am sorry to be blunt, Mr. Fitzroy, but I'm sure it won't shock you to learn that some girls are as afraid of you as they are intrigued by you."
"I'm not shocked."
"But since Seth's reputation is a little…tarnished, your star has risen somewhat, and I would consider you both even in the race. The girls only need to choose between a wealthy gentleman—yourself—or a titled one. That separates the girls into two camps quite neatly—those who need to marry money and those who can afford to fish around for an agreeable titled gentleman. Forget that simpering Miss Overton. I don't know what Julia is thinking. She would be more appropriate for my Seth, although I can think of better. You, on the other hand, would be suited to the Chester girl. Her father's a viscount, no less, and the estate is in ruin. He's desperate to marry her off. She tends to squint, and I suspect she needs glasses, but you shouldn't let that bother you. She's quite spirited and has a strong will, which Seth tells me is your sort—"
"Enough! I do not want a wife."
"But you need one. Besides, you had a fiancée…"
"And now I don't." He must have looked quite fierce because Lady Vickers swayed backward, away from him, and she didn't seem like the sort of woman to intimidate easily. "I am not home to callers today or any other day."
"I see. What about my son?"
"He can marry whomever he wants, but this afternoon, he has work to do for me." He tried to move around her again, but she once more blocked his path. It wouldn't be easy to pick her up and forcibly move her, as he did with Charlie when she stood in his way, but he would try if it became necessary.
"Seth is not your servant," she said stiffly.
"I beg to differ. Excuse me, madam."
She puffed out her chest, as if trying to make herself larger. "He is Lord Vickers, thank you very much."
"You and your son are here under my roof because I allow it. I can throw you out, if I wish."
Her hand fluttered at her chest and tears pooled in her eyes. It was Lincoln, however, who took a step back. Perhaps he'd gone too far. Sometimes he forgot that female sensibilities were more delicate. It occurred to him that Charlie would have picked up her skirts and marched right past him if he'd spoken to her like that. She probably would have left Lichfield then and there to prove a point.
"You're being deliberately difficult," Lady Vickers said quietly. "I don't like it."
He drew in a breath to quell his rising temper. This woman didn't deserve his ire. "I am merely pointing out that this is my house and your son is employed by me. He is not at liberty to do as he pleases." He held up his hand again. "If he wants to be paid, that is."
She pulled a face. "There is no need to rub it in. I am well aware of our reduced circumstances."
"Then kindly see to your visitors yourself. Seth and I will not be home."
"Very well." She thrust out that very determined chin again and Lincoln braced himself. She hadn't given up yet. "But I should warn you that you are not as in command here as you think you are."
"I pay everyone's wages. I am in complete control."
She waved a hand. "Tosh. You may pay them, but that doesn't give you control. When I look at you, all I see is a man running hither and thither, and treating his friends like they're staff."
"They are staff," he growled.
"Seth is not." She stated it as if it were a fact, without malice or pomposity. "He's your friend, and he's trying to help you, but you're making it impossible for him and that other fellow. You're too busy dashing off chasing shadows and trying not to look in at yourself."
He stiffened. If he simply used brute strength, he could barrel past her. He doubted that would silence her, however. She'd probably shout her opinion at him until she was hoarse.
Her face softened and her eyes turned gentle. He didn't know her well, but the change in her worried him. He preferred her vitriol to her pity. "You're scared of what you'll see," she said. "That's why you don't want to look."
The blood chugged sluggishly through his veins. His extremities turned cold and he curled his fingers into fists to warm them. "I know what I'll see," he told her. A cold, dead heart. Gus had told him so.
"It doesn't have to be like this. Seth said you changed with her."
"This is how I am and how I must be." His jaw hurt to speak. Everything hurt. "People depend upon me. The country depends on me. I have ministry affairs to see to, and introspection is a waste of time and energy that could be spent working."
Most people would back away from him now, seeing the signs of his temper rising. But not Lady Vickers, damn her. She was like Charlie in that respect. "Introspection is how we become better people, and how we learn from our mistakes," she said.
"I don't make mistakes."
"From what I've seen and heard, you've made a very big one, and you know it. That's why you don't like to be introspective. Looking inward will show you that you failed."
"I have not failed."
To his surprise, she lowered her gaze and stepped aside. Not quickly or with shaking hands, but because she had no more to say to him. He stalked past her and tried to dampen his temper, but he hadn't succeeded by the time he slammed his door. He shed his day clothes and put on the ones he used for when he wanted to walk through the slums unnoticed.
By the time he tied the gray cloth around his neck, he'd decided Lady Vickers was a crackpot and meddler. She wasn't worth wasting his time on. He had more important business to tend do. Ministry business.
Seth and Lincoln stopped at the mews behind Gillingham's house to pick up Gus. "Nothing to report," he told Lincoln as he settled on the seat opposite. "He ain't been out yet today. So where we goin'?"
"Flower and Dean Street."
Gus stroked the scar stretching from his cheek to the corner of his eye. "Last time we went to them parts, the brougham almost got stolen."
"We'll leave it at the Pig and Whistle's stables. The ostler knows me. It's not much of a walk from there." Lincoln told him everything Billy the Bolter had reported and then outlined his plan.
"Thank you, sir," Gus said at the end.
"For what?"
"For tellin' me. Time was, you wouldn't have said nothin' about the whole plan, just my part."
Lincol
n turned to the window and tried to think back, but it felt like another life, another century. He wasn't that same man anymore. The revelation was like a bolt of lightning, shocking him to his core.
He'd barely recovered by the time they arrived at the Pig and Whistle. He paid the hunchbacked ostler to mind the horses and coach, then headed to Flower and Dean Street with Gus and Seth. This part of Whitechapel was infamous for the violent Ripper murders, and a sense of unease and mistrust flowed from the passersby, hitting his senses with force.
Lincoln felt conspicuous, even though he'd gone to some trouble to blend in with the working class men. Perhaps it was because most of those men were at work in the early afternoon, not wandering around the streets in a pack of three. Lincoln regretted not waiting for darkness, when the men were heading home from their jobs at the factories. He worked better in the dark too.
But he'd been too impatient to wait. If Billy's information proved true, then Lincoln could be close to catching the gunman as well the man who hired him. Waiting would allow the gunman to escape.
"I hate this place," Gus hissed. He hunched into his great coat, but still shivered. "Feels like I'm bein' sized for me boots."
"Not even the poorest will want your stinking footwear." Seth's teasing was half-hearted, as he too kept a wary eye on the hollow-eyed children and their gin-soaked mothers.
They passed a group of thick-set men huddled around a low fire burning in a brazier. One man drank from a bottle while his friends rubbed gloveless hands together and laughed over something. Others stood a little further away, gazing enviously at the fire but not approaching.
"Should we ask them?" Seth said.
"No." Lincoln knew a group of thugs when he saw it. There were easier targets who would be more deserving of a few coins.
Gus tripped over the feet of an elderly man sitting on a doorstep. His head remained resting against the door, his mouth ajar. Lincoln couldn't be certain if he was asleep or dead.