Vow of Deception: Ministry of Curiosities, Book #9

by C. J. Archer

  Gus and Seth exchanged smiles.

  "Not quite," Lincoln said. "Although a dog or two running about would liven the place up."

  "I've never had a pet," I said, warming to the idea.

  "Where's Julia?" Gillingham snapped. "Let's get this over with. I have things to do."

  "Like discuss the pending birth of your baby," Lincoln said.

  Gillingham, his back to us, drank the contents of his glass and refilled it.

  "The birth is months away," Marchbank said.

  Lincoln shook his head and waited for Gillingham to say something. He did not. He merely pressed a hand to the sideboard and hung his head. I couldn't feel sorry for the weasel. He was revolting to his core.

  "Harriet is wolf-like, in a way," Lincoln told Marchbank. "The gestation period for a wolf is much shorter than a human."

  Marchbank absently stroked one of the scars marking his cheek. "Then how long has she got?"

  "I cannot guess."

  "Intriguing. Did you know about this beforehand, Fitzroy? Was this information in any of your books or files?"

  "No."

  "Then I hope you're studying her and taking notes. We can learn a lot from her pregnancy, eh, Gillingham. Harriet won't mind, will she?"

  "I mind," Gillingham growled.

  "But if your wife doesn't then you should not." Marchbank lifted his glass in salute. "Should you?"

  Gillingham groaned and turned back to the sideboard and his glass. He downed his third brandy in one gulp. Seth got up and removed the glass from Gillingham's hand before he refilled it.

  "We need you sober for this meeting," Seth said.

  Gillingham shoved him off. Two blotchy red patches stained his cheeks and his mouth twisted. He'd never looked more ugly. "Where the hell is that whore?

  "Julia won't be coming," Seth said, sitting down again. "Not today or ever again. I'm the fourth committee member now. She named me as her heir for the position."

  "Julia has been removed from the committee," Lincoln finished.

  "What?" Gillingham exploded.

  "Removed?" Marchbank echoed. "By whose authority?"

  "Mine," Lincoln said.

  "You can't do that!" Gillingham slammed his hand down on the sideboard, rattling the decanter stopper. "You have no authority to remove anyone, Fitzroy! Only we as a group can do that. God, man, has taking over General Eastbrooke's position gone to your head already? You are not superior to any of us. You are not in charge here."

  "She left me no choice," Lincoln said icily. "Immediate action had to be taken and there was no time to consult you. If you prefer a vote, then let’s do so now, after you hear her crime."

  Marchbank put up a finger to stop Gillingham's spluttering protest. Surprisingly, it worked and Gillingham quieted. "What did she do?" Marchbank asked.

  "Gave our secrets to Swinburn in exchange for marriage."

  Marchbank scrubbed a roughened hand over his face and swore. The elderly gentleman never swore. He must be deeply troubled by the news to do so now.

  Gillingham stood very still, his mouth ajar. The two blotches on his cheeks had disappeared and he looked very pale. "The fool," he said. "The stupid fool. I cannot believe she'd do such a thing."

  "Can't you?" Seth grunted. "I can. It's entirely in her nature to stomp over other people to get what she wants. Since you are not someone she has ever stomped on, I suppose I can forgive you for not believing us now."

  Gillingham sat on the nearest chair and blinked stupidly at Seth.

  "What secrets did she divulge?" Marchbank asked Lincoln. "Is there reason to worry?"

  "I don't think so. She told him who my father is."

  "Is that all?" Gillingham blurted out. "You removed her from the committee for that?"

  "Where will it end?" Seth said. "What secret will be next?"

  "Do be quiet, Vickers. Your opinion doesn't count since everyone knows you'd like to see her punished for her rejection of you."

  Seth rose, but Gus's hand clamped around his arm. Seth looked as if he were considering shoving Gus off and attacking Gillingham when the door burst open.

  Andrew Buchanan strolled in, his step cock-sure, his smile oily. "Good afternoon, my fellow members. I'm here. The meeting can get underway now that all committee members are present."

  Both Gus and Seth rose. "Get out, Buchanan," Seth said, approaching him.

  "My first proposal is to stipulate that only committee members may be present in meetings. What say you, Gillingham?"

  "It seems you've heard that Julia is no longer a member," Seth said. "But what you haven't heard is that you're not her heir. I am."

  Buchanan plucked off his gloves and slapped them into Seth's chest. "Pour me a drink, Vickers, there's a good man. Make it a large one. I'm gasping, and it seems I have some catching up to do."

  "Clearly you have quite a bit of catching up to do," I said. "Seth is right, and you are not Lady Harcourt's heir for the committee position. He is."

  Lincoln finally rose and blocked Buchanan's path. He did not order Buchanan out, however. "You spoke to her today?" Lincoln asked.

  Buchanan smiled. "I've just come from Harcourt House. She informed me of your decision and then told me I was her replacement." He stretched his arms out wide. "So here I am. Shall we begin?"

  Chapter 4

  "You'd better explain yourself, Buchanan," Marchbank said. "Julia told us that Vickers is her heir."

  "As Fitzroy seems to have guessed, there's been a change of plans," Andrew Buchanan said. "Julia never did get around to making Vickers her heir on the committee. Ask her, if you like. She'll even show you her last will and testament. Her unchanged will and testament." He threw himself into an armchair and snapped his fingers. "Make yourself useful, Vickers, and pour me a drink. It's all you seem to be good for, these days."

  Gillingham snorted a laugh. Seth stepped up to Buchanan, but Lincoln caught his wrist. He shook his head in warning.

  I poured a glass of brandy for Buchanan instead. Then I marched up to him and threw the contents in his face. "There's your drink."

  Buchanan spluttered as brandy dripped off his chin and nose, soaking his clothes. His lips peeled back from his teeth in a grimace and he went to get up. Lincoln stepped in front of him and a glare was enough to force Buchanan to sit again.

  He plucked at his damp clothes. "Waste of good stuff."

  I took Seth's hand and hauled him out of the library. "There's no point listening to what he has to say," I said when we were out of earshot. "It won't be interesting." I shut the door and drew in a deep breath, gathering my wits.

  Beside me, Seth shook with anger. Perhaps Lincoln should have let him strike Buchanan. It wasn't as if he didn't deserve it, and it would make Seth feel better.

  "Miss Holloway," Doyle said, joining us. "I tried to stop Mr. Buchanan but he marched right past me."

  "It's all right," I told the butler. "Come on, Seth. Let's find Alice."

  I hoped being with Alice would calm his nerves a little, but it did not. For one thing, his mother was with her in the music room, and for another, he seemed to hardly notice Alice as she played the piano. His charm was nowhere in evidence as he brooded by the window.

  A brooding Seth was not something I was used to, and I found I couldn't settle into the conversations that Lady Vickers and Alice attempted to draw me into.

  "Charlie?" Alice prompted, her hands stilling on the keys. "Are you listening?"

  "No. Sorry. I'm distracted." I regretted leaving the meeting now. I ought to be in there, contributing and supporting Lincoln. Not that he needed my support with the committee members, but surely it was the thought that counted.

  "The mail is being delivered," Seth announced, pushing off from the window frame he'd been leaning against.

  "Where are you going?" I asked.

  "To see if there are any letters for me. A newspaper was on the hall stand too. I need something to distract me."

  "Are we not distraction enough?" Ali
ce asked, her fingers racing along the keys.

  "Not at the moment." He stormed out, leaving a deafening silence in his wake.

  "He didn't mean it quite the way it sounds," I assured Alice.

  "I think he did," she said.

  "My son is a man of action," Lady Vickers said. "He doesn't like being cooped up in music rooms and libraries for long."

  Except when there are pretty women in those music rooms and libraries, I could have said. But I bit my tongue and followed Seth out. The hall stand was very close to the library, and I didn't want him to succumb to the temptation to rejoin the committee meeting.

  His longs legs and purposeful stride meant I didn't catch up to him until the entrance hall. He flicked through the mail, tossing each letter back into the salver after a cursory glance.

  "Are you even reading the names?" I asked.

  With a sigh, he dropped the rest of the letters into the salver. "I'm going back in."

  "Very well."

  He narrowed his gaze. "You won't try to stop me?"

  "No. I'm going to join you."

  The corner of his mouth lifted and he held out his hand toward the library door. "After you."

  "Miss Holloway! Lord Vickers!" Doyle rushed up to us, out of breath, and held out a newspaper. "This just arrived. I think you'll want to read it."

  "Oh no," I murmured as I read the front page headline.

  "'Is the Ripper back?'" Seth read.

  "There's been another mauling death in the East End. We have to tell Lincoln."

  Seth grabbed the newspaper as I went to move off. "Wait." He pointed to a spot near the end of the article. "That's an interesting development."

  "'Werewolf,'" I read, my stomach sinking. "The reporter has made the connection."

  Seth and I exchanged glances then we both headed to the library and pushed open the door together. All heads swiveled to face us.

  "Do I need to remind you again," Buchanan said with a smirk. "You're not part of these meetings, Vickers, unless you're serving or taking notes."

  "Shut your mouth, Buchanan, or I'll shut it for you," I said sweetly. I handed the newspaper to Lincoln. "It happened again."

  He quickly read the article and passed it to Gus.

  "What's happened?" Gillingham said. "What's in the papers?"

  "Hand it to me." Buchanan clicked his fingers at Gus. "Come on, man, you're taking too long."

  "Aye," Gus said, absently. "On account of my low education."

  "And stupidity," Gillingham muttered. "Honestly, you shouldn't even be in here." He snatched the paper from Gus's hand. Buchanan and Marchbank joined him and read over his shoulder.

  Gus looked at Lincoln. "Werewolf."

  "The reporter's use of the word is interesting," Lincoln said.

  "And concerning," Seth added. "To have come to that conclusion based on only two mauling deaths is a large leap. Do you think he has some sort of connection with the shape changing community?"

  "Perhaps we need to speak with that reporter."

  Gillingham slapped the paper with the back of his gloved hand. "It's a poorly written piece. Clearly sensationalist to sell more copies. The headline speaks to the Ripper crimes but the article itself concludes that a werewolf is responsible for this death and the last one. The reporter doesn't actually link these two latest deaths to the Whitechapel murders of two years ago. The headline is purely to catch the attention of passersby. Look at the size of it!"

  "It's what newspapers do to sell more papers," Buchanan said. "Sensationalist news stories, scaremongering and gossip are their trade."

  "You would know all about that," Gillingham muttered. "You're quite the expert on feeding gossip to journalists."

  Buchanan swallowed and looked away. So he still felt guilty for informing the papers about Lady Harcourt's past as a dancer. It never ceased to amaze me to be reminded that he had a conscience.

  "This meeting is adjourned," Lord Marchbank said with a nod for Lincoln. "Fitzroy has work to do."

  Work that would begin with finding out why the reporter mentioned werewolves in his article.

  * * *

  A frenzy of activity at the office of The Star in Stonecutter Street near Ludgate Circus was a testament to the daily's popularity. It was one of the few newspapers that circulated widely in the poorer parts of London. When I slept in derelict houses, there were always a few pages of The Star that could be found to stuff down the front of my shirt for warmth.

  Lincoln and I met Mr. Salter in the front reception room. I guessed the tall slender man with the crooked teeth was a good ten years older than Lincoln, but it wasn't easy to tell. He had a receding hairline but smooth skin and no gray in his beard.

  "My name is Lincoln Fitzroy and this is—"

  "Fitzroy!" Mr. Salter rubbed his hands together. "Well then, this must be Miss Holloway."

  "You know of us?" I asked.

  "I do."

  "How?" Lincoln growled. He would not like it that this man knew about him when Lincoln knew nothing in return.

  "I'll tell you that when you tell me why you're here." Mr. Salter sniffed the air, as if he could sense a good story. "We'll talk in private. Come this way." He led us down a corridor, past several rooms, some occupied, to a small office containing a desk and bookshelves. A mechanical typing machine took pride of place on the desk, an open notebook beside it. Mr. Salter closed the notebook and placed it in a drawer.

  "How do you know us?" Lincoln asked again.

  Mr. Salter wagged his finger. "Uh-uh. You agreed. You answer me first. Do you have information about the murders I reported on? Or something else entirely?" His accent was almost East End but not quite. In fact, it sounded like my own speech pattern in the years when I tried to blend in with the other urchins but hadn't quite shed my middle class roots. I suspected Mr. Salter had gone in the other direction to me—he'd been born an East Ender but earned a good education at some point.

  "Your article mentioned a werewolf." It would seem Lincoln refused to agree to terms. "Why?"

  Mr. Salter sighed. "I can see you have nothing for me, only questions. Pity."

  "Answer my question."

  "Please," I added.

  Mr. Salter smiled knowingly, almost as if he expected Lincoln to be abrupt and me to be conciliatory. Someone had told him all about us.

  "I wondered if you would come here to speak with me," Mr. Salter went on. "I admit to using the word werewolf specifically to draw you out."

  "How do you know about shape changers?" Lincoln asked.

  "I heard rumors after that fellow was found in Hyde Park two months ago. When these latest murders happened, I couldn't help thinking of that one. So I entered into my own investigation. I came to the conclusion that the wild dog story put about by the police was just that—a story."

  "And a werewolf attack seemed more plausible?" Lincoln asked.

  Mr. Salter lifted one shoulder. "It does when you know they exist right under our noses."

  "And what makes you think that?"

  Mr. Salter sat forward and linked his hands on his desk. "Come now, Mr. Fitzroy. I am not a fool. I observe, listen and investigate, much as you do. The existence of the supernatural is nothing new to me. I belonged to an organization known as the Society for Supernatural Activity. It's disbanded now, but was quite prominent in the field of supernatural research."

  "I've heard of them," Lincoln said.

  "I haven't." I appealed to the journalist. "What did they do?"

  "They investigated the supernatural," Mr. Salter went on. "Anything unexplained, they dug deeper to find answers. Their library containing supernatural texts was extensive, I believe. A private buyer bought the contents. Anyway, the society is no longer, yet I am still investigating rumors of the inexplicable whenever something inexplicable comes across my desk."

  "And do many come across your desk?" I asked.

  "Very few, I admit."

  "So the term werewolf simply occurred to you in the case of this lat
est mauling?" Lincoln said.

  "It did."

  "Even though a more obvious answer is the wild dog theory?"

  "I question whether a wild dog attacking people in an urban area is more obvious, Mr. Fitzroy."

  "Something else led you to the werewolf conclusion. What is it?"

  Mr. Salter smiled amiably. "I assure you, I am not privy to any other information. Scotland Yard have not been forthcoming, which implies they know very little. They've already admitted there were no witnesses to either murder. My conclusion of werewolf was simply a guess, based on my interest in the supernatural."

  A good guess. Too good perhaps?

  "You say you've heard about us," Lincoln went on. "What have you heard?"

  "That you are the leader of an organization called the Ministry of Curiosities."

  I sucked air between my teeth. I hadn't been expecting him to say that. Lincoln gave nothing away. If he was surprised by Mr. Salter's answer, he didn't show it.

  "Go on," Lincoln said, as calmly as can be.

  "There's little more to tell. I am aware that the ministry keeps records of supernatural families through the ages, and that you investigate paranormal phenomena from time to time. I am not aware of very many of the particulars, however, just generalizations."

  "Is that why you haven't written an article mentioning the ministry?"

  Mr. Salter merely smiled.

  "Don't believe everything you hear, Mr. Salter."

  "If you are trying to convince me that the ministry doesn't exist, you are wasting your breath. I trust my source."

  "Who is your source?"

  Mr. Salter chuckled as he leaned back in his chair. He seemed quite unconcerned. Clearly his source hadn't told him how dangerous Lincoln could be. "Come now, Mr. Fitzroy. You're smarter than that."

  "It doesn't matter if you tell us or not," I said with more confidence than I felt. "We can discover who told you on our own." I stood and Lincoln followed suit.