by C. J. Archer
"You didn't climb trees, did you?" Gus asked, humor brightening his eyes.
"I may have, but so would you if you had to sit in a room and sew all day. I was more in danger from the boredom than anything Alice could dream up."
Doyle wiped his bowl with his bread. "Was it wise to leave her there?"
"I don't know. I hope so. Now that she knows what makes her dreams come to life, she should be able to control it."
They fell silent. Perhaps, like me, they were considering the horrors that could befall Alice and the others if she didn't keep calm. I was beginning to wish I'd brought her back to Lichfield, but it was much too dangerous for her at the moment with the killer not yet caught.
"So Fitzroy collected you, even though you weren't in danger by the time he arrived," Seth said. "That's quite a change of heart. Last time I saw him, he was as bloody-minded as ever. I was ready to thump him when he wouldn't tell us where you went."
"Why didn't you?" Gus growled. "Because he would have pummeled you into the ground, may be?"
Seth merely grunted.
"So you don't know why he changed his mind?" I asked.
"He missed you," Cook said with shrug.
"Or needed you," Gus added.
"Same thing," Seth said.
"No, it ain't," both Gus and Cook said.
"Whatever his reasons, thank God you're back." Doyle's conviction surprised me. I thought that he would have cared the least for my return, not knowing me particularly well. "He was…difficult in your absence. Perhaps that will change now."
"Difficult how?"
"He was volatile, erratic. He acted dangerously, on occasion, without a care for his own wellbeing."
He must have been referring to Lincoln's cut feet. Did he think Lincoln had broken the glass himself, then walked over the shards on purpose?
"He were like he used to be," Gus added. "Before you came to live here, Charlie."
I swallowed heavily. Lincoln never cared much for the lives of others, hence the moniker of Death the men had given him. I liked to think he'd changed, that his feelings for me had helped re-shape him, but perhaps I'd been a fool to hope. The more I thought about it, the more I suspected that was the case. Lincoln had stopped pretending in my absence, and reverted back to his true self without the blinkers of love keeping him on the straight path. The blinkers had come off me too, so I shouldn't judge him too harshly.
I stood and collected the bowls. When I reached Seth, he caught my wrist and inspected my hand. "Where's your engagement ring?"
"I gave it back to him."
Someone sucked in a breath. Seth let me go with a frown. "Are you mad? Why would you end it? Don't you want to be mistress of all this? Don't you want to be his wife anymore?"
"I…I no longer know what I want. My future is uncertain. I do know that things are different between Lincoln and me now. They have to be. We cannot go on as we were. I'd be a fool to pretend all is well again."
"You don't have to pretend, but you can talk to him, tell him how you feel."
"I told him on the journey back. Believe me, Seth, if he didn't understand how I felt after that, then he truly does lack empathy."
His frown deepened. "He didn't try to talk you around?"
"Why would he?"
"He fetched you back, Charlie. Doesn't that say something? Doesn't that imply he missed you and still loves you?"
"If he wanted to resume our relationship, he would have said as much when I tried to hand back the ring. He has been cool to me."
"Cool or wary? Perhaps he's trying to gauge your feelings first before he recommits."
I picked up his bowl and headed into the scullery. Seth may be right, but it didn't matter. Lincoln had betrayed me and I would not forgive him for it. Without forgiveness there could be no returning to what we had.
"You should have sold the ring," Gus called out. "A stone like that would fetch a pretty sum. Ow! What was that for?" he snapped.
"For being an fool," Seth growled.
"I'll do the dishes," Doyle said. I hadn't realized he'd followed me into the scullery. "You should take care of your hand."
I curled my fingers up into a fist to hide the welt still visible there. "You saw."
"A good butler sees everything. Including how tired his mistress looks."
I gave him a weak smile. "I'd rather be your friend. But thank you, Doyle. I think I'll retire early. It's been a long day. A good day, but a long one."
He picked up an empty pail by the door. "Everyone is glad you're back, Charlie. Everyone."
Lincoln requested my presence for a meeting in the library after breakfast, along with Seth and Gus. I had expected him to be out, but he claimed that all the London-based supernaturals had now been warned and it was up to them whether they heeded his warning or not.
"It's time to set our minds to catching the murderer," he said.
Our minds, not his alone. It was a good sign that he wanted all of us involved in the endeavor. I think.
"How?" Seth asked. His cuts didn't look so bad after cleaning away the blood, but his mother had still fussed over his "roughened" appearance at breakfast. She'd made him wrap bandages soaked in a foul-smelling liquid around his bruised knuckles. The bandages were now steaming in the fireplace where he'd thrown them. "The only way I can see to move forward is to question Thomas Rampling." Seth gave me a dark look.
"Who is Thomas Rampling?" I asked.
"A dead man who may know the identity of the killer. Didn't you tell her, Fitzroy?"
"There hasn't been time." Lincoln stood by the fire while Seth, Gus and I sat in the armchairs ranged around the hearth. He looked tired. It didn't detract from his handsomeness.
I studied my clasped hands in my lap to keep my gaze averted from the distraction, and to hide my sore palm.
"You had the entire journey from York!"
"Seth," Gus hissed. "Shut it."
I could feel their gazes on me so I looked up and mustered some defiance. "Our compartment was full," I lied. "We had no opportunity to talk at length about the murders. And when we did…we had other things to discuss."
Lincoln shifted his stance from one foot to the other. I glanced at his face and caught him looking at me. A small crease connected his brows.
"Then you best get comfortable, Charlie," Gus said. "We've got quite a tale."
They told me about the circus strongman's murder, and how Lincoln's informant led them to a gunman named Jack Daley who'd pulled the trigger. Somehow they managed to get Daley to divulge the name of the man who'd hired him—Thomas James Rampling. I suspected Lincoln had employed his usual method of coercion to force Daley to talk, since he avoided answering my question about it. Unfortunately, Rampling had drowned before they could speak with him and it was his spirit they wished me to raise. Hopefully he could identify the mysterious man who'd hired him. All they knew was that he was a toff and had sent Rampling to pay gunmen to kill supernaturals whose powers could potentially be developed to bring the dead back to life, something that Victor Frankenstein had tried, and failed, to do with my necromancy.
Seth leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Rampling's spirit is our only hope of finding the truth."
"What about Gillingham?" Gus said with a shrug. "You goin' to investigate him, sir?"
"It's unlikely that he's guilty," Lincoln said.
"What about Gillingham?" I asked. "Is he a suspect for any particular reason or simply because he's a turd not fit to grace the bottom of anyone's shoe?"
Seth smirked and Gus chuckled. I could swear the corners of Lincoln's lips twitched too. "Lady Gillingham is a shape-shifter," he said.
I sat back in the chair, the breath knocked out of me. "Bloody hell. You mean like the two girls I met at the school?"
"I suspect so. She turns into a…creature."
"Did she tell you this? Or her husband?"
"I overheard them talking and became suspicious enough to investigate. I climbed in through her b
edroom window and watched her sleeping."
My fingers curled into the leather armrest. "I see."
"She was covered in fur and resembled a wolf, of sorts. Her heightened senses allowed her to hear and smell me. She attacked, stopping only when she recognized me. We talked and she told me that she was born with the ability to change at will between her human form and this other, but she's mostly the other creature during sleep. Her husband discovered this fact last summer." Around the time Lincoln kidnapped me because of my necromancy. It was soon after that the killings began.
I let the armrest go. Small half-circles from my fingernails dented the brown leather. "You said you don't consider him to be a suspect. Why not?"
"His wife disgusts him, yet he hasn't killed her."
"She can't bring the dead back to life though, or in any way reanimate body parts or raise spirits. If he's only killing those types of supernaturals, then he might still be the murderer."
Lincoln nodded and I suspected he had kept that fact in mind, but still didn't think Gillingham was the murderer.
Gus snorted. "He hates his wife."
"He's terrified of her," Seth added. "He doesn't like to be near her. He doesn't want their children tainted."
"Some people would consider a supernatural trait to be an enhancement," I said huffily.
"Not Gillingham." Seth sat back, crossed his legs, and flashed his white teeth in a smile. "That's why there's no fear that he'll want to marry you, if his own marriage ends. My apologies if that disappoints you, Charlie."
I rolled my eyes, catching Lincoln once again watching me intently. "I'll cope with the disappointment."
"I still reckon Gilly's guilty," Gus said. "I don't like him."
"If we killed everyone we didn't like, there'd be no one left on the committee," Seth said.
"I weren't talkin' about killin' him."
"How naive you are."
"No one will kill anyone without good reason," Lincoln cut in. "Not even Gillingham, if he proves guilty."
"Spoil sport."
It would seem there was only one option available to us then. Raise the spirit of Thomas Rampling. At least now I knew why Lincoln had fetched me back. He did need me, but not for his own happiness. He needed me to use my necromancy, just like he'd needed me in the beginning of our acquaintance. I wasn't surprised. Lincoln had very few needs for himself, either emotional or physical.
I may not have been surprised, but disappointment pierced my chest like a needle.
"Does Rampling have a middle name?" I asked.
"James." Lincoln once again shifted his stance, this time drawing a little closer. "Charlie, if you don't want to do it, you don't have to."
"Of course I want to," I snapped. "It's what I'm here for, isn't it?"
Seth and Gus looked to Lincoln. He shook his head, but said nothing. I blew out a breath and began. "Thomas James Rampling, I summon you here to me. Thomas James Rampling, please come to me in spirit form for…a conversation."
White mist coalesced in the corner of the library in the form of a man. Like a charcoal sketch, he didn't look real or alive, but he did nevertheless have form that drifted through the room toward me. His face was bloated from his drowning, and I found it difficult to look at him. After surveying his surroundings, taking in each of the men in turn, he settled near Lincoln on the other side of the enormous mantelpiece.
"Mr. Thomas Rampling?" I asked.
"Who're you?"
"My name is Charlie. I've summoned you here to ask you some questions."
"How'd you do that?"
"It's an inherited skill. Will you willingly answer some questions for me about the man who hired you to hire Jack Daley?"
The mist dispersed as if a strong breeze had caught it, then quickly reformed into the shape of Thomas Rampling again. "What d'you want to know?" he asked, looking to Lincoln.
"Only I can hear you," I told him. "We are the Ministry of Curiosities, a group formed to keep account of all supernaturals, such as myself. Daley killed a supernatural and we'd like to know why and who ordered the murder. He told us you hired him. Did you?"
The mist shimmered. "What are the consequences if I did? Not confessing, mind, just asking."
"There are no consequences. Since you're already dead, there is nothing anyone in this realm can do to you and we're not interested in laying blame posthumously. In the realm where you exist now, they already know your earthly deeds and have judged you. Confessing to us makes no difference."
His eyes narrowed. "Why should I tell you anything?"
I sighed. "Because I'm asking you nicely, and because I believe you are not a cruel man, but one forced to do cruelty because of your circumstances."
"I have no craft, no skill, and I couldn't find work," the ghost explained. "I needed the money."
"Your cousin believed you to be a good man," Lincoln said. He must have guessed that Rampling was being obstinate. "Honor his memory of you by helping us catch the man behind these murders."
"Very well." Rampling passed a hand across his swollen face. "I was paid to hire Daley, sure enough. I gave him the directions to the victims, and passed on his fee. But I didn't see the face of the man who hired me. I can't tell you his name or describe him."
"Bollocks," I muttered before I could stop myself.
Rampling's eyes widened and I apologized for my language and repeated what the spirit had said for the benefit of the others. Gus and Seth both swore too. Lincoln's chest rose with his deep breath.
"He must know something that can identify the man," Lincoln said. "Otherwise why was he killed?"
A good point. I looked to the spirit whose brow had crinkled into a frown in thought.
"Is there something other than his appearance you would know him by?" I asked. "Something on or in his coach perhaps? A monogramed letter? A distinctive ring?" I had a thought that made my breath hitch. "A distinctive walking stick?" Like the one Lord Gillingham used.
Rampling shook his head. "Not that I can recall."
"Think!"
The mist drifted around me, leaving a chill in its wake. I watched him float to the ceiling then dip under the table and sweep up the ladder to the highest bookshelves. Finally, he resettled in the same spot, his frown cleared.
"I think I know why," he said. "I followed him that first night I met him. My cousin drives for a lord and lady and he happened to pass me by soon after I met the man who hired me. My cousin was just filling in time driving around, waiting for his mistress to finish her shopping. I asked him to follow the toff's growler at a distance with me as his passenger. Thought I could squeeze some money out of him later, to keep his identity quiet, if I knew where he lived. But he didn't go home, so it was pointless. We followed him all the way to Brooks's on St. James. His growler was just pulling away from the curb when we drew closer, and a footman greeted someone at the front door. I didn't see his face," he added before I could ask. "He had his back to me. The footman knew him, though, so I'd wager he was a member of the club. If you want to find him, try there."
It wasn't much, but it was something. I relayed the information to the others. "What about his build?" Seth asked. "Tall, short, fat, thin?"
"Taller than most, but his build was impossible to determine beneath all the capes on his great coat. His collar was turned up and with his hat on, I couldn't see his hair."
"Did he walk like an old man?" I asked. "Or a young one?"
Rampling shrugged. "Can't recall. Nothing so as I noticed."
Damnation. It wasn't much at all.
"If he had his back to Ramplin'," Gus said, frowning in thought, "then the toff wouldn't have seen him and wouldn't know he was bein' followed. So why kill him?"
"He was tying up loose ends," Lincoln said. "Just in case. Once we found Daley, he must have been worried that we'd find a thread linking Daley to him."
"Is Daley still alive?" I asked. Others who'd been linked to the murders had died in police custody after we discovered their
guilt.
"As far as I am aware," Lincoln said, "but I haven't been near the police station recently."
"No great loss if he's dead," Gus muttered. "The man were a monster, Charlie. You don't want to meet the likes of him in a dark alley."
I'd met men who prayed on the vulnerable in my time living on the streets. They were capable of the utmost cruelties, although thankfully I'd been spared the worst. I quickly learned to identify the type and kept well away from them. Nevertheless, Gus's words sent a shiver down my spine.
"Rampling," Lincoln said to the spirit, "when did you follow your employer's conveyance?"
"A month or more ago."
"Can you be more specific?" I pressed.
Rampling's spirit shimmered. "I don't recall the date, but it were two days before Daley made his first kill."
"Two days before Drinkwater's death," I told Lincoln.
"The sixteenth of November," Lincoln said.
"Can I go?" Rampling asked.
"He wants to leave," I said to Lincoln. "Do you have any more questions for him?"
"Just one," Lincoln said. "Tell me about your murder."
"He sent me a note to meet him at the river," Rampling said. "I recognized his handwriting. I waited but he didn't come. I was about to leave when something hit the back of my head. I remember falling into the water. After that, nothing."
I repeated this for Lincoln. He gave a single nod. "That's all. He may leave."
"Thank you," I said to the spirit. "You've been most helpful. I wish you peace in your afterlife. You may go."
The mist dispersed and floated away. I leaned back in the chair and rubbed my forehead. While it didn't tax me to speak with spirits, I nevertheless found it upsetting if they'd died before reaching old age. They were so real to me and yet they were gone from this world. Sometimes, it was hard to fathom.
"Does Gillingham belong to that club?" Gus asked.
Lincoln nodded. "As does Eastbrooke, Marchbank, Andrew Buchanan and almost every aristocrat in London. I'm a member."
"I used to be," Seth said, "when I could afford the fee. It was a terribly dull place without women."