Grave Expectations (The Ministry of Curiosities Book 4)

by C. J. Archer

  "I raised Drinkwater's spirit and was then gagged so I couldn't send him back. He re-entered his body and killed his murderer before returning to the house."

  He stroked his thumb across my lower lip. His steely façade slipped, revealing a flicker of raw emotion before schooling it again. "He knew his killer?"

  "He'd never seen him before, but the fellow mentioned going to The Feathers to celebrate a successful commission, so Drinkwater waited for him there. He must have been a hired gunman, but he didn't divulge who he worked for before Drinkwater killed him."

  Most people wouldn't have noticed the effect this news had on Lincoln, but I spotted the telltale tightening of his lips.

  "His wife wanted to send him back to his afterlife again," I went on, "but he decided to stay. There was a fight, and while he was distracted, I spoke the words to return his spirit. Mrs. Drinkwater took care of his body."

  "You overpowered him alone or did Gus help?"

  "Gus was locked in the storeroom at the time, and I'll never have enough training to teach me to overpower a reanimated body. We had help from Gordon Thackery."

  His brows shot up.

  "I summoned him as soon as I woke up in the cellar. He found himself a body and returned to assist us in that guise."

  He gave a firm nod. "Thackery was a good choice."

  It was as much praise as I would get. It was enough.

  "Lincoln, she knew so much about me. Somebody must have helped her. I suspected Doyle, since he knew we needed a housekeeper, but it couldn't have been him. He isn't aware of my necromancy. Or is he?"

  "Seth wouldn't have told him."

  "I hate to say this, but it must be someone on the committee."

  He dragged his hand through his hair and stared at the fireplace. After a moment, he stoked the coals. Each thrust of the fire iron was more vigorous than the last until I stopped him by placing my hand over his.

  "Sit with me by the fire," I said gently.

  "I can't." He returned the iron to the stand. "I have to go out."

  "But it's late." After midnight, according to the clock on the mantel.

  "Go to bed, Charlie."

  "I'd rather sit by the hearth and fall asleep in your arms."

  He pecked the top of my head. "Goodnight."

  "Goodnight!" I threw my hands in the air. "How is it a good night when you're going out and I'll probably have night terrors."

  "I'll look in on you when I return if I hear you."

  I thrust my hands on my hips. I'd been looking forward to sitting with him, being held and comforted by him, and he was heading out again! "Are you going to question the committee members?"

  He turned and strode to the door. I raced past him and stood in front of it.

  "Do not shut me out, Lincoln. Tell me where you're going."

  "You won't approve."

  He mustn't be going to see the committee members then. "Mrs. Drinkwater?"

  His gaze shifted away.

  "Lincoln! Don't harm her. She isn't the villain here."

  "I beg to differ."

  "You should speak to her to find out who helped her, granted, but do it gently, and in daylight. I'm sure she'll tell you if you ask nicely."

  "I have to do this now," he ground out through a clenched jaw. "And I certainly can't be nice."

  "You need to calm down first."

  "I need to do this now." He stretched out his fingers then bunched them into fists. "Move aside."

  I folded my arms. "The Drinkwaters are victims. The poor woman just lost her husband."

  "She kidnapped you and held you captive for hours, and you feel sympathy for her?"

  "She didn't hurt me, or Gus, and she could have." I wasn't sure when my feelings toward her changed from anger to sympathy. Perhaps when I realized she'd only tried to bring back the man she loved and had never planned to kill anyone. Perhaps I would have acted just as irrationally in her position.

  He thumped his palms flat on the door, either side of my head. He leaned in, but I was under no illusion that he would kiss me. His temper was written in every hard plane of his face. "She is the reason I was sick with worry all day. I don't like worrying. It prevents me from thinking clearly, and that makes me useless." He stepped back. "Move."

  I lifted my chin.

  He grasped my arms, picked me up and set me down again, out of the way. He jerked the door open.

  "Don't kill her!" I called after him.

  "I'll do as I see fit."

  I watched him stride along the corridor to the stairs and listened until I could no longer hear his light steps. He wouldn't kill her. He simply wanted answers.

  If I repeated that over and over perhaps I might eventually convince myself.

  * * *

  Lincoln hadn't returned by the time I awoke in the morning. According to Doyle, his bed hadn't been slept in, although that didn't mean Lincoln hadn't returned, merely that he hadn't been to bed.

  I felt too restless to sit in the parlor alone and present a show of being a lady for the butler's sake, so I ignored Doyle's disapproving frown and ate breakfast in the kitchen. Afterward, I joined Seth in the stables, only to be summoned back inside when Doyle announced we had a caller.

  "Mr. Andrew Buchanan to see you, miss."

  "Buchanan!" Seth and I exchanged glances. "Is he here to see me or Mr. Fitzroy?"

  "You, miss."

  Seth followed me inside, and we were joined by Gus and Doyle. It would seem I wasn't to be left alone, even with someone we knew. Not that I trusted Buchanan. Not in the least. I mentally added him to my list of people who may have helped Mrs. Drinkwater kidnap me, although I couldn't think why he'd do it.

  "Miss Holloway." He stood with his hands behind his back and bowed upon my entry. When he straightened, I saw that he appeared fully recovered from his ordeal in Bedlam's insane asylum. The color had returned to his cheeks, and the shadows had been erased from his eyes. He gave me a lazy smile that would have melted most female hearts, but not mine. I knew him well enough to dislike him.

  "Good morning, Mr. Buchanan. You're looking in fine spirits."

  "Thanks to you." He cleared his throat and glanced pointedly at each of my chaperones.

  "You know Seth and Gus, and you've just met our new butler, Doyle."

  Doyle dutifully bowed.

  Buchanan acknowledged only Seth with a curt nod. "Good to see this old place getting some staff finally. If you're in need of maids, please allow me to direct you to several I know. All good girls, I assure you."

  Behind me, either Seth or Gus snorted. I, however, was intrigued with how much he knew of our domestic situation.

  "Do you know someone who will make a suitable housekeeper?" I asked.

  "Maids only. You'll want someone staid for a housekeeper, and I don't know any women who'd fit that description." He smirked. "None from the serving classes, anyway."

  I believed him. I couldn't see him even knowing a woman like Mrs. Drinkwater, let alone collaborating with her. Helping her was of no benefit to him.

  "I have something for you." Buchanan produced a small package that he'd been holding behind his back. It was tied with a red bow.

  "What's this?"

  "Open it and see."

  I didn't take it. "Is this a gift, Mr. Buchanan?"

  His smile became strained. "Yes. Hence the bow."

  "I can't accept it."

  "You must. I owe you."

  "You don't. Besides, you've already thanked us."

  "I wanted to give you something that truly showed my appreciation for your efforts. I might still be in Bedlam, if it weren't for you."

  "Then perhaps you ought to give Mr. Fitzroy a gift too, as well as Seth and Gus. We all worked together to free you."

  He shifted his weight and the color rose in his cheeks. He cleared his throat. "You see, the thing is, I never treated them the way I treated you. Once I realized that I ignored you upon our first meeting, I…I felt terrible. I wanted to make up for it and
show you that I've turned over a new leaf."

  "Have you?"

  "Most assuredly." He puffed out his chest. "I'm a new man. No more gambling for me."

  There was another snort from the men, and this time I was sure it was Gus. Buchanan's nostrils flared.

  "I'm glad to hear it," I said quickly.

  He held out the package again. "I know you're engaged to Fitzroy, but I don't think he'll mind. Please take it, Miss Holloway."

  I accepted the gift, not because I wanted to appease him, but because I wanted him to stay and talk to me. At least until I managed to get some answers out of him.

  I sat and asked Doyle to bring tea. Gus and Seth craned their necks to watch as I untied the ribbon and unwrapped the gift. It was a book of poems by Wordsworth. "Thank you."

  "Julia said you like to read."

  "I do. And it's a very handsome book." The pages were thick and edged with gold, the cover a deep red leather stamped with the title, also in gold.

  He smiled that lazy, charming smile of his again. I could well believe he'd turned over a new leaf. Gone was the sneering lift of his lip, the half-closed eyes, as if he couldn't be bothered to open them fully. He sat straight and tall in the chair opposite, whereas I expected him to sprawl. He seemed so changed that I hated to tell him that, while I liked to read novels, I didn't particularly like poetry.

  I set the book on the table and tried to think of something to say. I couldn't. The way he stared at me unnerved me. The book was most likely a ruse, but why this sudden interest? Was he interested in me or my necromancy?

  "Forgive me for being a little flustered this morning," I said, "I've recently returned from my own ordeal."

  "Oh? Nothing too awful, I hope."

  I decided to tell him the truth, or some of it. If I wanted to know if he was involved, then I needed to be direct. "I was kidnapped, as it happens."

  "Good lord. Were you harmed?" He did seem quite surprised; concerned, too.

  "I'm all right now, thank you. Lady Harcourt didn't mention it?"

  "She did not. Was this related to your ministry?"

  "Most likely, but it's difficult to know for sure," I lied. "I'm surprised she didn't speak about it."

  "She doesn't see fit to keep me up to date with everything in her life. I suspect she sees the ministry as something of her own. I have, after all, only just learned of its existence. I don't expect her to inform me of everything. Yet."

  "You want to become more involved in ministry affairs?"

  He lifted one shoulder. "Why not? It's my birthright."

  "Actually, it's your older brother's birthright."

  "He has no interest. I do. I find the occult business fascinating. Your magic, for example…what's it called again?"

  I eyed the door to make sure Doyle hadn't returned. "Necromancy."

  "Necromancy. Fascinating stuff."

  This was a new development that I hadn't anticipated. Andrew Buchanan hadn't been considered for the committee position vacated upon his father's death because Lord Harcourt didn't think his second son responsible enough. Based on previous encounters, I tended to agree.

  "The committee is merely an advisory body, with no real power," I told him in an attempt to discourage him. "Mr. Fitzroy is the leader and makes all the decisions."

  "The committee placed him in the position of leader."

  "No. An old prophecy saw to that." I waylaid further discussion on the matter by steering the conversation toward his stepmother. "How is Lady Harcourt? I ought to visit her and thank her for her concern. She called upon Mr. Fitzroy when she learned of my disappearance yesterday, you see."

  "She did?" His sly smile reminded me of the Buchanan of old. "Be careful with my dear step-mama. She has sharp claws and likes to dig them into things she believes belong to her. My father found himself thoroughly hooked."

  "Are you warning me because you think I have something of hers?"

  He stroked his lips with the side of his finger. I hadn't forgotten that this man had been in love with Lady Harcourt before she became his stepmother, when she'd been a dancer at The Alhambra. Was that what this visit was about? His attempt to find out if Lincoln and I were in fact engaged and Buchanan was safe to pursue a dalliance with her again? That family's affairs were dirtier than a pigsty.

  "I expected her to come to your fiancé for help, as it happens," he said.

  "Is she in trouble?"

  "She's troubled, if that's what you mean, and I've noticed that she likes to involve your fiancé in her little problems whenever possible."

  "Go on," I said tightly. He clearly wanted to tattle. I was beginning to think he hadn't changed much at all.

  "Someone is blackmailing her about her past."

  "As a dancer?"

  He nodded. "She received a letter threatening to reveal her secret."

  "That's awful," I said, with utmost sincerity. Lady Harcourt had tried so hard to pull herself free from her middle class roots, and it certainly appeared as if she'd succeeded. But it had become clear to me when I visited The Alhambra that some resentment still existed from other dancers who'd not been so fortunate or ruthless. "And she has no notion of who might have penned the letter?"

  "None, so she tells me, although I'm not entirely convinced. She refused to show me the letter itself."

  "Then how can you be certain of the threat?"

  "Because of her anxiety. Nothing but a threat of that nature would cause so much fear on her part. She's deeply worried about her past coming out in the gossip columns, you see."

  "And you're worried about her becoming too anxious."

  "I am."

  "That's very sweet of you, Mr. Buchanan. I'm sure she appreciates the concern. Everybody needs someone trustworthy to lean on in difficult times."

  His mouth twitched to the side. "Indeed."

  "I'm surprised that she would even bother Mr. Fitzroy with it if you're there to help her."

  "She seems to consider him highly competent. More so than me, I'm sure. Do you know if she has spoken to him about this letter?"

  "He's been somewhat busy lately."

  "Rescuing you from kidnappers?"

  I squared my shoulders. "I rescued myself, thank you." In a way.

  "She did," Gus chimed in. "And me too."

  Buchanan ignored him. "I'm glad I was able to discuss this with you, Miss Holloway. While I adore my stepmother, and would do anything for her, I am aware that she has her faults, and one of those is the enjoyment she gets out of manipulating things to her benefit. I would hate for you to be unaware of Julia's machinations until too late."

  I couldn't decide if he was jealous of Lincoln and worried about the two of them because he was in love with her, or if he despised her and wanted to ruin her machinations, as he called it. Perhaps both. Love and hate were two sides of the one coin, so my adopted mother used to tell me.

  "Thank you," I said. "There's no need to concern yourself on that score. If Lincoln wishes to help Lady Harcourt, he will, but that is all. Just help." What else could I say? It seemed absurd to be having such a discussion with him. If Lincoln were here, he would have thrown Buchanan out.

  "I'm glad I was able speak with you, Miss Holloway." He stood and assured me he had to leave when I politely protested the briefness of his stay. "Things to do and all that."

  I saw him out just as Doyle arrived in the entrance hall carrying a tray laden with tea things. He sighed, turned, and left again.

  Seth, Gus and I followed him to the kitchen and enjoyed tea and cake with Cook. Doyle ate too, although he refused to sit in my presence and remained standing.

  "What do you think that was all about?" Seth asked.

  "Don't ask me." Gus didn't bother to finish his mouthful of cake before speaking, earning him an eye-roll from Seth. "Toffs are a strange lot. I don't understand 'em."

  "Amen," I muttered into my cup.

  Doyle finished his tea and went in search of some silver to polish. I signaled for Seth to fo
llow me into the scullery.

  "Want me to fetch water?" he asked, picking up the pail.

  "In a moment." I kept my voice low and my gaze on the door to the kitchen. "I hate to ask this, but are you sure Doyle wouldn't betray us to Mrs. Drinkwater?"

  "Quite sure. Why would he?"

  "Money."

  "The man is exceedingly grateful for his position here. He's very proud and wants to work. He wouldn't jeopardize this opportunity for a little extra ready."

  "Oh. Poor man. You're right, but I needed to ask. He knew we were looking for a housekeeper, for one thing."

  "It was hardly a secret. You placed an ad in The Times."

  "Yes, but Mrs. Drinkwater didn't know to look there until someone informed her."

  "True. But Mrs. Drinkwater knew about your necromancy, and Doyle doesn't."

  "You haven't told him?" At his head shake, I sighed. "Then it couldn't have been him. I'm very relieved, because he's awfully efficient. Although I don't like the way he looks at me when I want to sit in the kitchen."

  "He'll get used to the way things are done at Lichfield soon enough."

  "Do you think he'll get used to the strange goings on?"

  "You mean the odd kidnapping here and there?" He grinned. "We'll have to tell him about the ministry eventually."

  He carried the pail outside, and I assembled the dirty dishes. By the time he'd returned with the water, my thoughts had steered toward Lincoln. He mustn't have found Mrs. Drinkwater yet or he'd be back. I didn't feel as relieved about that as I thought I would. Despite my earlier misgivings, I knew Lincoln wouldn't harm her. He might scare her or threaten her to get answers, but that was all.

  But he had to find her first.

  If he'd told me what he'd learned about the Drinkwaters so far, perhaps I could have been of assistance in narrowing the search, but he'd refused to discuss the matter at all.

  "Seth," I said before he could walk out of the scullery. "Tell me everything you know about the Drinkwaters."

  He shrugged. "You must know more than me, since you were in their house and have met them."

  "What did Lincoln learn from the police who investigated Reginald's death? Who were their friends and relatives? Do they holiday at the seaside? That sort of thing."