by C. J. Archer
"We'll both attend today," Lincoln said. "Gus will drive us."
"How will we find this fellow? It's a needle in a haystack situation."
"By sifting through the hay. Prepare the horses," Lincoln said to Gus. "We'll leave shortly."
Gus left with Seth behind him. I stood to go too.
"A moment, Charlie." Lincoln waited until the men were out of sight before suddenly taking my hand. He turned it palm up, revealing the welt from Mrs. Denk's cane. So he'd noticed.
His thumb gently stroked alongside the wound. A lump welled in my throat at the unexpected tenderness. Damnation. Why couldn't I remain indifferent?
I snatched my hand away.
Chapter 7
"How did you get that?" Lincoln asked with a nod at my hand.
"From a run-in with the headmistress. Don't concern yourself."
"And if I want to concern myself with your wellbeing?" he asked quietly.
"Why now?" I bit back. "You didn't two weeks ago."
"I thought you'd be well cared for at the school. If I'd known the headmistress did that to you, I would have collected you sooner."
"Forgive me for not writing, then. I didn't think my letters would be welcome." I picked up my skirts and marched for the door.
I didn't realize Lincoln had followed until he grasped my arm. He spun me round and pulled me close. Not so close that our bodies touched, but near enough that I felt his warmth and saw his pupils dilate.
I steeled myself for a confrontation, but he quickly let me go and stepped back. "You're right. Letters wouldn't have been welcome. I wouldn't have read them."
His honesty stung, even though I appreciated it. Lincoln had never been one for spouting sweet yet false words to get his way with me. It was one of the things I'd liked about him.
"I didn't want to be reminded of you," he said. "I avoided everything here that I associate with you."
I crossed my arms, determined to ward off his words and any kindness he might show me now. I refused to be affected by them. "How unfortunate that your seer's sense didn't sever when I left, or you might have succeeded in never thinking about me again."
"I didn't succeed before I sensed your life was in danger either. It seems I don't need to be near the things I associate with you to think of you."
I swallowed heavily again. This conversation wasn't going at all as I expected. "That passes in time, so I'm told."
"I was told the same thing."
I huffed out a bitter laugh. "Since we are speaking to one another about injuries incurred during my absence, tell me about your feet."
His features settled into a blank expression. "There is nothing to tell. You saw me at a weak moment."
"A moment when you forgot to walk without a limp." Speaking with him was a battle in itself where neither of us got the upper hand. I felt like I had to be on my guard the entire time, and yet I neither advanced nor retreated. "I know about the broken glass and the blood on your floor. Before you get angry with Doyle for telling me, you should know that he's only concerned for your welfare."
A beat passed. Two. His eyelids lowered and he watched me through his lashes. "Does your asking mean that you are concerned too?"
I bristled. "I'm curious as to why you broke a glass then deliberately walked over it."
He watched me. I bore it with what I hoped was a defiant stance and a lack of emotion, but it wasn't easy. His scrutiny made it difficult to maintain a façade of indifference.
After a few moments, he stepped around me. He waited, a hand on the door handle. It would seem I was dismissed. With my chin tilted up and my gaze on the door, not him, I strode out of the library.
"I'm glad you're home," he said while I was still within earshot. "I know you think I'm not, but I am. Immeasurably."
"Is that so?" I tossed over my shoulder without stopping. "I suppose my return will help assuage some of your guilt."
When I reached the landing on the main staircase, out of sight of him downstairs, I ran the rest of the way to my rooms. Once inside, I sat on the floor, my head on my knees, and cried. Not from sorrow, but from sheer, utter relief at being home and for the frustration of being so near Lincoln again. I thought I'd be able to bear seeing him every day, but I was no longer sure that I could. He wasn't someone I could remain indifferent to.
I was never very good at waiting. It felt like an eternity watching for Lincoln, Seth and Gus to return from Brooks's Club through the parlor window. Surely it shouldn't take long, but two hours after their departure, they still hadn't returned.
Lady Vickers tried to convince me to join her on the sofa and sew, but even that mundane task proved a trial. I started at every creak of the house, every breath of wind rattling the window panes. Doyle's arrival with tea provided some relief, not because of the tea or his presence, but because he brought the newspaper with him. He passed it to Lady Vickers and then left. She flipped to the society pages. I scanned the front page for some news, but it was mostly of a political nature and not interesting to me.
Lady Vickers gasped. "Good lord. My my. She'll be upset at seeing this."
I knew she was goading me into asking her, but I didn't care. I needed the distraction. "What is it?"
"Listen to this." She snapped the paper open and cleared her throat. "'This newspaper has learned of the scandalous past of one of London's most illustrious dames. Never one to shy away from a party, H's low birth did not hinder her rise after marrying a peer, but this as-yet un-verified information may well do so. It has come to our attention that the celebrated beauty danced at The Alhambra in her youth. The proprietor of that establishment, Mr. Golightly, refrained from commenting, but our source tells us that H was a popular performer with the audience.'"
An audience that consisted mostly of gentlemen eager to associate with the dancers during the long interval and afterward. I'd been there and learned of Lady Harcourt's past as a dancer from Golightly's assistant, Miss Redding, a dancer herself. Lady Harcourt met her future husband at The Al and had managed to keep her past a secret. Until now, it seemed. Her reputation had been clinging to respectability by the barest margin in recent times. Miss Redding seemed to want to reveal the secret, and another former dancer, Mrs. Drinkwater, had threatened to do so too. Only by divulging information about me to her blackmailer had Lady Harcourt avoided her scandalous past being aired. I'd been tempted to air it myself on occasion.
Lady Vickers couldn't possibly know any of that, however. "H?" I asked innocently.
"Julia, Lady Harcourt, of course. All the clues are right here." She pointed to the article, the first and most prominent on the tattler page. "'Low birth,' 'marrying a peer,' 'beauty.' The extra clue of 'H' is hardly even needed." She smiled at me. "Oh, how the mighty fall."
"You don't like her?"
She sniffed. "She was among the first to snub me after my husband's debts became known. She pretended to be sympathetic, of course, but I saw through her act."
"Why would she snub you?"
"Nobody likes to be on the lower rungs, and at the time, she was still firmly attempting to climb out of the mire of her birth. By being the first to ostracize me, she made herself more popular with that waspish set. They simply love to dip their forked tongues into malicious gossip. She proved to have the cruelest tongue of all and quickly became their leader. I have no sympathy for women of that ilk. None at all. Sadly, society is riddled with them, from top to bottom."
"Does Seth know how she treated you?" Surely not, considering Lady Harcourt had been one of his mistresses up until very recently. He even seemed fond of her, before he'd learned how cruel she'd been to me.
"I doubt it. He's a man and men have no use for gossip. Their world doesn't revolve around it like ours, my dear." She gave me a severe look over the newspaper. "Society madams are like sharks in the water, just waiting for their pray to swim past. They can smell vulnerability, and when they do, they attack. You must remember that, Charlie. Remember to never show fear or weakness
to them, even if you feel like curling into a ball in the corner of the room." She suddenly patted my knee and grinned. "That's why Julia hates me still. She loathes my defiance, my unwillingness to play her games. If you follow my guidance, I'll steer you through the treacherous waters safely. I don't particularly care for myself. My dash is done and I will lie in the bed I made for myself, but I still know which way the sharks are swimming and I can help you."
"I don't particularly care for swimming in their ocean," I said. "But thank you."
"You may not care for it, but you will find yourself there."
"Why would I?"
"You want a good husband, don't you? Your first marriage is very important, and has nothing at all do with love. Set yourself up first, and worry about finding love elsewhere later."
I stared at her, not quite able to believe what I was hearing. Her thoughts on marriage couldn't be further from mine. "I have no interest in marriage at the moment."
She scoffed. "You will."
"And when I am interested, I won't be hiding my past from my husband, or from those around me." I could have said more but there seemed no point explaining it to her. Her opinion was unlikely to change.
She lowered the newspaper altogether, and took my hands in both of hers. Her look of sympathy forced me to sway back and dread what she might say. "If you're waiting for Mr. Fitzroy, then I must warn you not to get your hopes up. He will be quickly snapped up now, mark my words."
"I'm sure he will be," I said tightly. "If he makes it known that he wants a wife, they'll beat down his door to be first in line. He's handsome and rich." But not at all good marriage material. I'd known that all along, and yet I'd wanted to marry him anyway.
Before.
"Good." She let my hands go. "I'm pleased to see you accepting the situation. You're an understanding girl with a good head on your shoulders. You'll make an excellent wife one day. When you're ready," she added with a wink. "But it doesn't mean we can't scope out potential candidates in the mean time."
I groaned.
"You'll thank me, one day," she said. "This is my gift to you, Charlie, for your birthday tomorrow. I cannot afford more."
"Oh. I don't expect anything from you."
"Nevertheless, I'm offering it. Please, accept it."
I nodded, not at all sure what I had just accepted.
She picked up the newspaper again but did not read. Her jaw set hard. "Now, just to remind you again, Seth is not an option for you."
I laughed. "So you've stated several times already. To repeat my answer—I'm not interested in your son."
"So you say, but I've seen the two of you together. You get along well."
"Like a brother and sister, not paramours."
She considered this a moment. "Seth always wanted siblings. I suppose you and Gus have taken on that role for him in a way." She returned to her newspaper and I headed back to the chair by the window. "The interesting question is," she said from behind the paper, "who informed the newspaper of Julia's past at The Alhambra?"
I'd wager it was Miss Redding. Her jealousy of Lady Harcourt had been obvious.
The crunch of wheels on gravel had me leaping off the chair. "They're back!"
"Good. I need to speak with Seth. There are a number of invitations to consider. I must write a list of the ones he and Mr. Fitzroy plan to attend."
It was going to be a very short list.
I left her in the parlor and made my way to the kitchen to greet them and have a discussion out of Lady Vickers' hearing. Lincoln and Seth came in through the door that led to the courtyard. Gus must have remained in the coach house to tend to the carriage and horses, but with Seth wearing clean, well-cut gentleman's suit, he didn't have to help.
"Well?" I said, stretching my fingers over the warm stove. Cook and Doyle were enjoying their own cup of tea at the table. Upon seeing his master, Doyle scrambled to his feet and stood awkwardly. Cook slurped his tea. "What did you learn?" I pressed.
"Marchbank was the only one of the three male committee members not at the club that day," Lincoln said. "Buchanan was also there, as was his brother."
"His brother! Lord Harcourt!" We'd met Lady Harcourt's eldest stepson when his brother, Andrew, disappeared. I thought he and his wife were living peacefully in the country. "The staff remembered?"
"The manager's memory is good, but not infallible. I asked to see the wagers' ledger for that day. Every day, wagers between members are recorded by the club manager. Between questioning him, the footmen and reviewing the ledger, we ascertained who was there and who was not. Both Buchanans like to gamble, and General Eastbrooke and Lord Gillingham are well known at the club."
"So it seems Marchbank is not a suspect."
"It would seem so."
"What if the killer be someone else?" Cook asked. "Someone we don't know."
"That's a possibility," Lincoln said. "I have the names of everyone recorded in the wagers' ledger."
"Can we see the list?" I asked.
Lincoln tapped his temple. "It's in here. I'll write them down for you."
Seth poured two cups of tea from the teapot on the stove and handed one to Lincoln. Lincoln hesitated then took it.
"Sit," he ordered Doyle as he himself sat.
Doyle expelled a breath and resumed his seat, albeit with a rigid back and shoulders. An awkward silence simmered among our little group. It was inevitable, I suppose, but I didn't like it. I knew just the way to break it, although I didn't expect the situation to explode the way it did.
"We need to draw the killer out," I said.
Lincoln looked up sharply. "No."
"How?" Seth asked.
"No," Lincoln said again, louder.
"I agree with him," Cook said. "It ain't a good idea."
"How?" Seth repeated. "Will someone answer me?"
"We'll announce my return to Lichfield and draw the killer to me," I said.
"NO!" the three of them shouted.
"I agree." Doyle surprised me by voicing his opinion too. He seemed a little embarrassed to have contributed to the conversation, and quickly sipped his tea, his gaze averted once again.
"It's too dangerous," Seth added.
Cook crossed his arms and glared at me. "It be a foolish idea, Charlie."
I crossed my arms too and matched his glare. "But—"
"No," Lincoln cut in with cold, calm finality. "And that's final."
I blew out a breath. "Overbearing men," I muttered. "Very well. We'll keep my return to ourselves for now, but I refuse to cower in here for more than a week. If the murderer hasn't been exposed in that time, I'll make my return known. Surely that will draw him out."
"We'll renegotiate in a week," Lincoln said. It wasn't an agreement, but I doubted I'd ever get one from him, or the others. I hoped a week would be long enough, if only to avoid a confrontation between us. I was still exhausted from the last one.
"One more thing," I said when he got up to leave. "You should know that Lady Harcourt's past has been exposed in the newspapers. We read the article just now. She'll be upset."
"Bloody hell." Seth dragged a hand over his face and down his chin. "How did they find out?"
"Through an anonymous source."
"She's going to be more than upset. She'll be on a rampage to find out who did it. Let's hope she has no reason to come here in the next little while. I, for one, don't wish to face her."
Lincoln simply nodded and went to leave, but Lady Vickers blocked his exit.
"It seems I have to come to the kitchen every time I wish to speak to one of the men in this household, including my own son," she said with a pointed glare at Seth.
He lowered his head and sipped his tea with great concentration.
"I've asked you both, time and again, to review the invitations received in your absences, but neither of you told me which events you will be attending."
"I won't attend any," Lincoln said. "Excuse me, madam, I have work to do."
Lady
Vickers did not move. I held my breath. If I had blocked his exit, he would have simply picked me up and moved me out of the way. I couldn't imagine him doing that to her, but it would have been amusing to watch. My lips curved into a small smile as I waited to see what he'd do.
"You ought to attend something," she said. "Dinner at the Mosely's will be a lively affair. It's tomorrow night so I must reply today."
"Send my apologies."
"And mine," Seth said cheerfully.
His mother entered the kitchen, allowing Lincoln to slip past. She marched over to stand by her son, drawing herself up to her full height and peering at him down her nose. "Mr. Fitzroy is making a mistake. I won't allow you to make it too, Seth. I'll accept the invitation on your behalf."
He stood. He was taller than his mother, but she somehow seemed the more formidable of the two. "If Fitzroy's not going, then neither am I." He walked out.
She picked up her skirts and stormed after him. "You will go! Do you wish to make your mother a laughing stock?"
"You're quite capable of doing that without my help," he shot back.
Her shocked gasp echoed along the corridor. Cook chuckled. "I'll wager a shilling she'll win."
I spent the afternoon in the attic, adding new files for each of the supernatural girls from the school. From the attic window I could see the drive and the three callers Lady Vickers received. None stayed long and I suspected they'd come to see either Seth or Lincoln, perhaps both, rather than the baroness herself. Considering she did not leave the house all day to make her own calls, I'd wager she was still somewhat excluded from society. Going by her cheerful mood when I rejoined her in the drawing room after the third visitor left, I suspected she was telling the truth when she said she didn't care for the society set. She was going through the motions of receiving them entirely for Seth's benefit.
Not that he cared. He hardly spoke to his mother upon his return with Gus and Lincoln. They reported that Lord Harcourt had indeed been in London recently but had since returned to his country estate.
"He was here about the time Rampling was contacted by the mysterious man," Lincoln said, "as well as when Rampling was killed."