by C. J. Archer
"Tell me what happened to endanger you," he said in a rumbling, rich voice.
"No," I said to my reflection. "I don't feel like talking to you."
That ended any discussion between us all the way to York. I even managed not to meet his gaze again. If he was looking at me, I couldn't tell. The only time we acknowledged one another was when he drew out a blanket from the storage compartment beneath his seat. He handed it to me and I laid it across my lap, politely thanking him.
He'd taken rooms in a hotel near a railway station. My room had its own small sitting room where I informed him I would eat supper. He didn't ask to join me and I didn't invite him.
"Goodnight, Charlie," he said stiffly at the door. The porter had gone inside with my luggage. "If there's anything you need, my room is next to yours."
"There is something, as it happens." I opened my reticule and felt inside. "I need to give this back to you."
I held out the ring. He kept his hands behind his back but his shoulders stiffened. "Keep it."
"No." When he didn't move, I went to slip the ring into his coat pocket.
His hand whipped out and caught my wrist. His grip was firm but not bruising. I could have pulled free, but didn't. His gaze pinned me. "It's yours," he said quietly.
The porter emerged from my room. He cleared his throat and skirted around us. Lincoln let me go.
"I don't want the bloody ring," I said through gritted teeth, loud enough for the retreating porter to hear. "I don't even want to look it at. It was a symbol of our engagement and we are no longer engaged." I slipped the ring into Lincoln's pocket. He didn't try to stop me. "Goodnight."
I stepped into my room and kicked the door closed. The fire in the sitting room burned low. I added more coals and stoked it up before flopping onto a chair with an enormous sigh. It had been a long, trying afternoon, and I felt exhausted. Keeping my emotions in check had been tiring, but now that I was alone, I let my tears out. When that didn't make me feel better, I threw a cushion at the wall. It did nothing to relieve my anger. I thought I'd set the hurt and anger behind me, but seeing him again had brought it all back to the surface again.
Yet overriding all that was sheer relief at the thought of going to London again, and Lichfield in particular. I couldn't wait to see Seth, Gus and Cook. I wanted to ride my horse, sleep in my own bed, roam the estate and see what changes appeared in the winter garden. Being near Lincoln once again was a large part of it, but not all. I doubted I could ever feel the blind adoration I'd felt for him before. His actions had cured me of that.
I was still a little exhausted from my dungeon ordeal, so I went to bed early. I slept better than I had in days. A porter came in the morning to help me with my luggage. Lincoln waited in the foyer, a small brown suitcase at his feet. He picked it up and took mine from the porter.
"Good morning," he said, eyeing me closely. I looked away. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes."
We didn't speak as we headed to the station across the road. I carried my hat box, which he stored for me above my head in our train compartment. Our private compartment. It seemed I had to endure his presence for the entire journey.
"How long before we reach London?" I asked as the train rolled away from the station in a cloud of steam and soot.
"We'll be there early afternoon. Are you warm?"
"Warm enough."
Lincoln set his case on the seat beside him and opened it. Sitting atop his spare shirt was a fur muff that he handed to me. Beneath the muff was a book. I recognized it as the one I'd been reading before I left Lichfield. A blue ribbon marked my page. He gave me the muff then held out the book. A small crease appeared between his brows as he realized I couldn't turn pages with my hands inside a muff.
"I'll turn the pages for you," he said.
"That won't be necessary." I handed back the muff and took the book. "My gloves are adequate, thank you." I settled near the window and opened the book to the marked page. I read it twice and still didn't take in a single word.
I gave up after my third attempt at the same page. There would be no concentrating on this task, or any other. I felt much too aware of Lincoln, and my own reaction to him. My heart hadn't ceased its hammering all morning.
I hazarded a glance at him, only to find him looking at me.
"May I ask a question about the threat on your life?" he said.
"You may."
"Was it a result of something the headmistress did to you?"
I shook my head. "It was the Queen of Hearts' fault."
"And she is?"
"A figment of Alice's imagination. Or, rather, her dreams. They come alive sometimes."
His brows lifted. It was the most movement the hard planes of his face had done since greeting me. The old, stony-faced Lincoln Fitzroy certainly hadn't been set aside, even though he had changed his mind and collected me. "She's a supernatural," he said. It wasn't a question.
"She and some others at the school. Aside from Alice, there's a medium, two who can move objects with their minds, a fire starter, and two who change form. I gathered as much information as I could from them last night, about themselves, their families, and their abilities. The report is in my belongings. I was going to send it to you, but I can transfer the information to the Ministry files myself when we get…back to Lichfield." I'd been about to say 'home', but I couldn't allow myself to feel that way about the house yet. Not until I knew what my future held. "That's if we're going there."
"We are. You never have to leave again."
A weight I didn't know had been there, lifted from my shoulders. Home. I was going home, forever if I wished. Or until he changed his mind again. "Nevertheless, I won't allow my hopes to rise this time," I muttered.
He went very still. Only his fingers moved, curling into the fur of the muff. "I won't send you away again, Charlie. You have my word."
I spluttered a harsh laugh as my temper rose. It hadn't been far from the surface since he'd walked back into my life and I could no longer contain it. "Your word! And what is that worth? You promised that I would have a home at Lichfield, yet you sent me away. You promised to marry me, and yet you ended the engagement. Your word holds no weight with me."
I turned my shoulder to him and stared out the window. Hot tears burned my eyes but didn't shed. Part of me wished I was back at the school, getting to know my new friends further. It wasn't lost on me that one of the reasons he'd given for sending me there had been so I could have a normal life and make friends, and I had done exactly that, in a way.
Our compartment door opened and I turned just in time to see him walk out. He shut the door. Despite wanting to go after him, I remained seated. What I wanted and what I should do were two very different things. From this moment on, I would listen to my head more than my heart. Listening to my heart led to it breaking.
It was easier to concentrate on my book without him there and I almost finished it by the time we reached London. Lincoln didn't rejoin me until the train slowed as it chugged into the station. He did not meet my gaze.
He took down my luggage and indicated that I should go ahead of him. The platform was crowded and he remained close, his alert gaze darting around, looking for signs of danger. I would have to remain aware too now that I was back in London. I would also have to remain at Lichfield until the murderer was caught. One prison had been swapped for another, but at least Lichfield housed the people I loved. And there were no deportment lessons.
The road outside King's Cross Station was just as busy as the platforms and concourse inside, despite the horrid weather. London had turned on sleeting rain for my arrival. It pelted from the sky and soaked through my clothing in the seconds it took to race from the station exit to the nearest waiting hack.
I climbed inside while Lincoln spoke to the driver and secured our luggage. He joined me moments later. Drips of water trickled down from his hairline into his collar. His hand left a wet patch on the seat when he lifted it to wipe his fore
head.
"Sorry," he said, out of the blue.
"The weather is hardly your fault." I peered out the window because I liked looking at him too much, and looking at him played havoc with my emotions. "Are Seth and Gus too busy to collect us?"
"They left."
My head whipped round to face him. "Pardon?"
"They no longer wished to work for me."
I blinked. "Oh," was all I could manage.
"They might come back when they learn you're home."
Seth and Gus gone. Surely they had too much at stake simply to walk away. They both needed the work, and they both believed that unmasking the killer was important. Lincoln must be wrong. No doubt they'd expressed their anger with him over sending me away, so perhaps he'd interpreted that anger as something more.
"Or they might decide to stay away," he went on. "If that's so, I'm sure they'll visit you."
I removed my soggy hat and set it on my lap. "What about Cook?"
"He's still at Lichfield, as far as I know." He pulled his watch out of his pocket and flipped open the case. "I have to go out again after we get back. The supernaturals listed in the archives need to be warned that their life is in danger."
"Not all of them, surely. Only the ones whose magic could be used to bring back the dead."
"I'll start with them."
"You've made a list?"
"I don't need to."
Of course. Everything was safely stored in his perfect memory.
"You need Seth and Gus to come back and assist you. Fetch them first then split the list by three."
"It'll be faster if I work alone."
I doubted that but I was in no mood to argue with him over his stubbornness again. I wouldn't win.
It wasn't a long drive to Lichfield Towers, thank goodness. I couldn't decide what was worse—the tense silence or my wet clothes. The familiar high fences and hedges of the beautiful properties at the edge of Hampstead Heath made me forget both, however. Glimpses of the lovely homes through the gates shed my dreary mood, and quickened my heart. Despite the awkwardness between Lincoln and me, despite the grim weather, and the prospect of Seth and Gus not returning, I didn't want to be anywhere else.
My breath caught in my throat as we drove through the heavy iron gates and along the winding drive. Lichfield loomed ahead, its wings spread in a welcome. I used to think it gloomy, its central tower forbidding, but no longer. There was nothing more homely than its gray stone walls and the smoke drifting from three of its chimneys. If Seth and Gus no longer lived there, why were there three fires? Had Lincoln told Doyle when to expect us?
The butler greeted us at the doorway with two umbrellas. He opened the carriage door and gasped upon seeing me. "Miss Holloway!"
"Good afternoon, Doyle. You weren't expecting us?"
He looked quite foolish with his mouth ajar and his eyes wide. "No. I, er, was given no warning." He glanced past my shoulder to Lincoln then handed me an umbrella. "Welcome home."
"Thank you, Doyle. It's wonderful to see you again. But I insist you call me Charlie."
He held out the other umbrella to Lincoln, emerging behind me, but he refused it, and once again got thoroughly wet as he took down the luggage. I hurried up the steps and glanced at my surroundings. Little had changed. The only difference was the calling cards in the salver on the table by the door. Visitors had called in Lincoln's absence. Five, in fact, all women, and very well to-do going by the thickness of the cards and the toff sounding names. I stamped down on the pang of jealousy screwing into my chest. His callers were none of my affair anymore.
I continued to the kitchen, stepping lightly so as not to alert Cook to my presence. He stood at the central table, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, his hands buried in dough. He did not look up.
"God, I missed these delicious smells," I said with a smile.
He glanced up. Without so much as a dusting off of his hands, he rounded the table and scooped me up. He was warm and soft, like one of his soufflés, and smelled like flour and butter and spices.
"It's so good to see you again," I said, pulling back to look at him. His eyes sparkled and a grin split his moon-like face.
"And you!" He glanced past me. "You escaped? Does he know?"
I laughed. "He fetched me. I don't know why."
"He missed you," he said with typical bluntness. "He ain't a machine; he just want folk to think he is." He laughed and hugged me again. "Thank God you be back. It be hell here since you left. Seth and Gus be gone."
"I heard. Do you think they'll come back?"
He nodded. "Once they hear of your return. Only I'm not sure where to find them."
"Then how will we inform them?"
"Seth will be in touch with his mother."
"His mother?"
He grinned. "The hoity toity Lady Vickers be living here now. You'll meet her soon enough." He told me to wait and fetched something wrapped in a cloth from the pantry. He handed it to me. "I were saving this for Lady V, but you have it." I unwrapped three slices of cold beef and ate one while Cook watched. "Take it with you upstairs. Go have a bath. You be wet and cold." He nudged me with his elbow and returned to his dough. "These biscuits be ready by the time you get out."
I took the service stairs to the second floor and kept an eye open for Lady Vickers as I hurried to my old rooms. I wasn't ready to meet her yet. A warm bath was called for to fortify my nerves first.
Lincoln emerged from his rooms, already changed into dry clothes. His damp hair hung in tangled waves to the nape of his neck. He carried his jacket and tie and the top button of his shirt was undone. My heart skipped at the sight.
He spotted me before I could duck into my old rooms and pretend I hadn't seen him. His pace slowed, as if he was surprised to see me. Or perhaps he didn't want to get too close. "I know this is awkward for you," he said, as he drew near, "but I hope you can bear it."
I squared my shoulders. "It's not awkward for you?"
His hand settled on the door handle, blocking my exit. "I…don't know."
"What do you mean, you don't know?"
His Adam's apple bobbed and his knuckles went white. "I feel a lot of things right now, but I can't separate them. They're jumbled together. Like the mixture for one of Cook's cakes." His gaze dipped, as if he could no longer meet mine. He opened the door. "I'll be scarce in the near future as I warn the supernaturals and continue with the investigation."
I wondered how hard it had been for him to tell me about his feelings. He wasn't a man who liked to discuss emotions. Sometimes, I wasn't sure he had the same emotional range as the rest of us. I was beginning to think that his regimented and lonely childhood didn't completely explain his lack of empathy, and it was more probably that he lacked a piece in his heart that the rest of us possessed.
"The committee won't be told of your return," he said. "Nor anyone else. That should give you some freedom for the time being."
"You're not ordering me to remain here?"
"Ordering you hasn't worked before, I see no reason why it'll work this time."
"If I do go out, I'll be careful."
He inclined his head in a nod and walked off.
"You're limping," I said before he'd gone too far.
His step changed to his normal one. "You're mistaken."
Liar. He'd definitely been limping. I resisted the urge to go after him and retreated to my rooms instead. I didn't care if he limped. I didn't care if his entire leg fell off. He could go to hell and stay there for all I cared. I would never again worry about his wellbeing. He certainly didn't worry about mine.
I returned to the kitchen via the service stairs again. It was easier to avoid Lady Vickers that way. I had not, however, anticipated running into her maid.
"Who are you?" I blurted upon seeing the pretty woman carrying a tray up the stairs.
"Bella Briggs, miss." She bobbed an awkward curtsey that almost saw the covered plate slide off the tray. She caught it just in time, only t
o over correct the tray. "Bloody hell!"
I grasped the tray's edge and helped her right everything on it before a disaster occurred.
She giggled. "Sorry, miss. Forgot myself there. You won't tell her ladyship, will you?"
"I won't if you won't. You're Lady Vickers' maid?"
"At your service."
"Don't curtsey!"
She giggled again. There appeared to be no malice in her, but I was still wary. We'd been duped before. The last woman we'd employed had ended up kidnapping me. While Bella seemed utterly guileless, it was best to be cautious.
"Mr. Fitzroy oversaw your employment himself, did he?" I asked.
"Seth did." She thrust out a hip and her full lips curved into a seductive smile. No need to ask how she'd got the position. It was unlikely to be for her skill at balancing a full tray, and more likely to be her skill at pleasing Seth in bed. I wondered if his mother knew. "D'you know when he'll be back?"
"Hopefully soon." I nodded at the tray. "Can you manage that up the stairs?"
"Course." She headed past me without a backward glance, which was probably just as well.
I continued to the kitchen and tucked into the biscuits Cook had made. They were still warm. Doyle poured me a cup of tea from the pot by the stove.
"You still got your pet?" Cook whispered when Doyle went to fetch a bottle of wine from the cellar.
I touched the amber orb beneath my clothing. "Still got it and I didn't have to use it once. Well, almost that one time when the Queen of Hearts' soldiers attacked."
If he'd had eyebrows they would have shot up his forehead. Doyle returned before I had a chance to explain. I wasn't yet sure what the butler knew, and since Cook didn't ask any questions about the soldiers, I assumed Doyle was still in the dark about the ministry's true purpose. I couldn't imagine his ignorance would last much longer with the oddities we frequently encountered.
"Mr. Fitzroy is limping," I said to them both. "Did something happen to him while I was away?"