by C. J. Archer
We four sat in his study as dusk darkened the room. I'd spotted the bloodstained rug as I entered and tended to agree with Doyle. The stains were a stride's length apart.
"But if it were Harcourt," I said, "why would he want to kill supernaturals who may or may not be used to reanimate the dead?"
"Why would anyone?" Gus muttered.
No one had an answer to that.
"So what now?" I asked with a shrug. "What will you do tomorrow?"
"Celebrate your birthday, of course!" Seth grinned. "Nineteen, eh? I remember that age. So young, so innocent."
Gus snorted. "You were not innocent at nineteen."
"Nor were you."
Lincoln seemed not to hear their banter. He sat at his desk, his focus on his hand resting on the papers there. Just beyond the papers sat a small ring box with my engagement ring nestled in the deep blue velvet. Why would he keep it on his desk and open like that?
"Is something wrong?" I asked him.
He glanced up. Blinked. "No."
"If there's nothing more," Seth said, rising, "I'm going to the kitchen to see what Cook's preparing for dinner."
"And to avoid your mother."
"The kitchen is no longer a safe haven for me," Seth said on a sigh. "Nowhere is."
They nodded at Lincoln then left. I followed. "I'll have Doyle order a new rug," I said to him when I reached the doorway. "This one is ruined."
"Charlie! Wait!" Gus bounded down the stairs the following morning, one hand behind his back. When he reached the bottom, he thrust out a large parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. "Happy birthday."
"You got me something?" I said, accepting it.
"Of course."
"Should I open it now?"
"If you don't, I'll open it for you."
I laughed and untied the string. "You're so sweet. I wasn't expecting gifts. I've hardly been home long enough for you to shop."
"I got it before you left. If I knew you were goin' to be sent away and might not come back, I would've given it to you. Your leavin' caught me unawares."
"It caught everyone unawares." I handed him the string and opened the paper to reveal a black velvet hat sporting a frothy blue feather at the front and a matching ribbon around the crown. "It's lovely, Gus. Thank you." I pecked his cheek. "Are you heading in for breakfast?"
He offered me his elbow and we entered the dining room together. Lincoln and Seth were already seated, but both stood upon seeing me."
"Happy birthday, Charlie!" Seth drew me into a hug without a care for the new hat which I managed to thrust out of the way before it was crushed.
"Thank you," I said.
"Happy birthday," Lincoln said, and sat down again. He resumed eating his bacon and reading the newspaper spread out on the table beside him.
Seth took my hand. "You can eat after you've unwrapped my gift."
"I'm so fortunate," I said, accepting the package. Tears quickly welled as I opened the wrapping to reveal a new pair of black leather gloves. I'd not celebrated my birthday since my mother died. I'd never told the boys in my gang the date of my birthday for fear it would lead to questions about my age. No one had wished me a happy birthday for five years, or given me a gift. Now I had two.
"Thank you," I said to Seth. "They'll go marvelously with the hat."
"You mean the hat will go with the gloves. They're made from the best kid leather." He picked them up and stroked them against my cheek. "See how soft they are?"
Gus snorted and headed to the sideboard where Doyle had laid out the usual breakfast of toast, eggs and bacon. A separate covered dish occupied the center with one of Lincoln's cards leaning against. The card had been reversed to show the blank side with my name scrawled on it in a hand I recognized from Cook's marketing lists. I lifted the lid and gasped. Three pastries, all different shapes and sizes, were arranged on a white plate. The thick triangular one with the lattice top appeared to be filled with fruit, a flatter rectangle had creamy custard spilling from the ends, and the square one dusted in sugar hid its secrets beneath golden flakey pastry.
I smiled. They were Cook's gift to me. I'd told him all about the delicious French pastries I'd tried on my journey to Paris with Lincoln, giving him as many details as I could remember. He must have recreated these based on my descriptions.
Gus dropped a piece of bacon onto his toast. "He never cooked me nothin' like that for my birthday."
The pastries were a delight. The square one turned out to be filled with chocolate that oozed into my mouth when I bit into it. It took me back to the wonderful, peaceful mornings Lincoln and I spent in Paris, sampling the most delicious food and enjoying one another's company. No one tried to kill or kidnap me there, and he'd treated me with respect and kindness. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
I thanked Cook after breakfast in the kitchen.
"My pleasure," he said. "It were a challenge to make them, and they not be exact, most like, but I liked doing it." He chucked me under the chin. "Have a good birthday, Charlie."
"It's off to a wonderful start so far."
Doyle shyly handed me something he'd been holding behind his back. Like the other gifts, it was wrapped in brown paper but was tied with a green ribbon, not string. "Oh, Doyle, you didn't have to," I said, unwrapping the book of short stories. "Thank you. I love reading."
His cheeks pinked but his chin didn't drop from its lofty height. "Since you have to remain at Lichfield for the next little while, I thought you might like something to occupy your time."
"I certainly will."
Lincoln suddenly appeared in the doorway. "Charlie, may I see you in my study for a moment." He didn't wait for me, but strode off.
"Has he given you anything yet?" Cook whispered.
"No, but I don't expect him to. I'd be surprised if he even remembered it was my birthday."
Cook snorted. "You'd best go."
I hurried up the stairs, but slowed down as I passed my door and headed toward his. I suspected he was going to give me a gift, and I didn't know if I wanted to accept anything from him. Not only that, but being alone with Lincoln played havoc with my nerves.
The door was open and he stood waiting for me, the knuckles of one hand resting on the desk. "Happy birthday," he said again.
"Thank you." I swallowed. Should I sit? Remain standing?
Light from the window caught the diamond in my engagement ring, still sitting in its box on his desk. If that was my gift… No, it couldn't be. He hadn't wrapped it. Indeed, there were no parcels on his desk. I blew out a breath.
"I wanted to give you your gift in private." He opened his desk drawer.
I closed my eyes and willed my heart to cease its hammering.
"Charlie?"
I opened my eyes and blinked. He stood holding a document several pages thick. "What's this?" I said, accepting it.
"The deeds to a house in—"
"You're giving me a house!" I shook my head and shoved the document into his chest. "Don't be absurd."
He swallowed heavily and stared down at the papers. "It's in Harringay, not far from here. The area is close enough to the city for commuting yet retains much of its rural nature."
"Are you not listening, Lincoln? I don't want it. It's too much."
"It's not very large."
A bubble of laughter escaped. I threw my hands in the air. "It's a bloody house! Even a stinking rat-infested room in Whitechapel is too much to give your ex-fiancée on her birthday. I won't accept it."
"It's already yours. I paid for it yesterday and had your name put on the deed." He pointed to a spot on the top-most page. My name was clearly written in the space.
I fell back and placed a hand to my throbbing heart. "You're throwing me out of Lichfield again, aren't you?"
His eyes widened. "No!"
"Why else would you give me a house, for God's sake? You want me to leave Lichfield but you don't want to feel guilt for forcing me to live on the streets or for sending
me to a school, so you bought me a bloody house to move into."
He stepped toward me. "Charlie—"
I stepped back. "I'm glad you're able to put a price on your guilt, Lincoln. Glad you can buy your way to feeling better about yourself." I picked up my skirts, and spun around.
He caught me before I'd taken a single step. I tried to pull free, but his grip was too strong. "That's not why I bought it for you." His voice shook, but whether from rage or another emotion, I couldn't tell. He turned me to face him, but I refused to look at him and instead focused on his shoulder. "I wanted to give you something special for your birthday. Something that will make a difference to your life."
"Forcing me to leave Lichfield made a rather large difference to my life. What else am I to think when you buy me a house except that you want me to live there, away from my—" I suddenly choked and tears welled again. "Away from my home," I managed to finish on a whisper.
His deep breath rustled my hair. I was very aware that he still held me and that we stood very close. "It's not a house for you to live in, unless you wish to, but a house for you to have. The area is a growing one, and rents will rise. The property is a good size for a couple or small family."
I blinked away my tears, but still could not look at him. He let me go. I shook my head, unable to speak for fear of choking on my emotions again. It was all too much, too confusing. Why was he doing this for me when he'd been so cruel only weeks before? Out of guilt?
Or was it because he knew I would one day be on my own again, gone from Lichfield, and in need of shelter?
I couldn't think through my tumultuous thoughts. I felt like I was floating adrift, unable to steer my boat. I turned and ran from the room. He didn't follow.
I ran outside and across the lawn. The wind nipped at my face and teased my hair from its pins. It whipped my cheeks and stung my eyes. By the time I reached the bare trees in the orchard, I was out of breath, yet my mind was a little clearer. I climbed my favorite apple tree, even though it gave me no shelter, barren as it was. When I reached the topmost limbs, I sat in the fork of two branches and wiped away my tears.
The estate of Lichfield spread before me, draped in what remained of the morning frost. Smoke from four of the chimneys curled up to the insipid blue sky, but otherwise, the house was quiet, dormant. Lincoln hadn't followed me out. I shivered, suddenly cold. This was my home. If Lincoln was telling the truth, and he didn't plan on sending me away again, why give me a house that I wasn't going to live in?
'I wanted to give you something that will make a difference to your life,' he'd said.
I suddenly understood. Aside from a home, which I already had in Lichfield, the one thing I desired most of all was freedom to do as I pleased, to not be a victim of others' whims, even his. As an unmarried woman with no money and no experience working in a trade, I was entirely at his mercy, something that had been driven home to me all too well. By giving me the house, Lincoln was giving me a means to earn money through the rental income, or to keep the capital if I chose to sell it. The house gave me freedom and independence that few women possessed, and even fewer unwed ones.
It certainly would make a difference to my life, and not merely in a financial way. It bought me time to choose my own future. I didn't need to rush into marriage, but could wait. It meant I would never have to rely on Lincoln—or anyone—rescuing me, as I'd had to do at the school. If I ever found myself in that situation again, I could just leave and live off the money from the rent. I would never again be homeless.
I laid my cheek against the cool, rough branch and breathed. Just breathed. My thudding heartbeats were loud in the stillness, echoing through my body, between my ears. Was this real? Was I now truly safe and in command of my own life?
Or would my security be once again ripped from me when I least expected it?
The rumble of wheels on the drive made me sit up straight and peer over the treetops toward the gate. Two carriages approached. If the occupants looked toward the orchard at the side of the house, I would be seen in the bare tree.
I climbed down, snagging my hem on a twig. "Damn." I picked up my skirts and ran toward the back of the house. I peeked round the wall, just as the carriages stopped at the front steps. General Eastbrooke alighted from the foremost coach, followed by Lord Gillingham. Lady Harcourt and Lord Marchbank stepped out of the second one. Hell. The committee had arrived.
Chapter 8
"Have you gone mad?" Lord Gillingham's voice could be heard from where I stood in the depths of the service area at the back of the house.
I bit my lip and slipped past Bella, arranging tea things on a tray to join Gus and Cook in the corridor just outside the kitchen. "He sounds angry," I whispered. There was no need to whisper. The committee members wouldn't have heard us speaking in our normal voices, but it came naturally.
"Bloody furious," Gus said. "Sounds like they just learned Fitzroy's been warnin' the supernaturals. That were quick."
They all had spies, some in government organizations where they even set triggers on certain files to alert them of anyone requesting the records. It wouldn't surprise me if they also had people watching the supernaturals here in the city too.
"You haven't thought this through," came General Eastbrooke's booming voice in response to something someone, probably Lincoln, had said.
"What will it take for Death to hit one of 'em?" Gus asked with a snicker.
"Or kill 'em," Cook added. "My money's on Gilly going first."
"Is Seth with him?" I asked.
Gus nodded just as Doyle appeared up ahead. His brisk footsteps were at odds with his usual steady pace. "Tea! And quickly!"
"Bella be doing it now," Cook told him.
"Which room are they going into?" I asked, following Doyle into the kitchen.
"Library," he said, shooing Bella out of the way. She clicked her tongue and thrust her hands on her hips. He ignored her. "Out of Lady Vickers' hearing."
"But not out of mine."
"You're going to listen at the door?" Cook said.
"Of course."
He grunted. "Don't get caught."
"I'll go in now," Gus told me. "I'll stand by the door and tap it if someone is about to leave."
"You're a marvel," I said.
He walked in front of me and signaled with a nod when he reached the end of the service corridor that it was clear to move forward. Muffled voices grew louder as I approached the library, but I couldn't make out their words. Gus opened the library door enough to slip through and I heard Lord Marchbank chastise Lincoln for taking matters into his own hands. I wished I could see Lincoln's reaction.
Gus winked at me then closed the door. I crept across the tiles and put my ear to it. Not for the first time, I wished the house had secret passages and rooms to make sneaking about easier.
"You're a fool," said Gillingham. "You overreacted, as usual."
"Lincoln never overreacts," Lady Harcourt snapped. How curious that she was now defending Lincoln. The last time I'd seen her, they'd argued. Perhaps my departure from Lichfield had rekindled her hopes of renewing a romantic liaison with him.
"In this case, he has," Gillingham went on. "We won't know where to find them now. What's the point of the ministry at all if we don't know where the curiosities we're supposed to be monitoring are located?"
"Agreed," Eastbrooke intoned.
Doyle joined me and I stepped to the side, out of sight. With the tea tray balanced on one hand, he opened the door with the other. All chatter ceased.
"I'll serve, thank you, Doyle," Lady Harcourt said.
A moment later Doyle reappeared and returned to the service area. I resumed my position by the door.
"It was a foolish move, Lincoln," Eastbrooke went on. "Particularly when they could have acted as bait to draw the killer out."
"No one will be used as bait," Lincoln growled. "They're not pieces of meat."
"Don't pretend they're normal humans either," Gillingham shot b
ack.
For a man whose wife was 'inhuman' too, his words were cruel indeed. I, however, felt quite unaffected by them. I'd ceased to care what Gillingham thought of me very soon after meeting him.
"While I don't blame you for taking such drastic action, you should have consulted us," Lady Harcourt said. "We are the committee, after all."
"And I am the ministry's leader," Lincoln said with perfect calm. "I don't work for the committee."
"You don't have to be alone either."
I rolled my eyes. Could she be any more overt? He was discussing work, and she was making suggestive remarks about his private life. That wasn't the way to Lincoln's heart. Not that I knew the way either—or even if he had one—but innuendo certainly wasn't the answer.
"I don't work alone," he countered. "I work with Seth and Gus."
"Thank you," Seth said. "And I want it known that I agree with your decision. Those people have a right to know their lives are in danger."
"No one cares what you think, Vickers." Gillingham sounded bored. "You're not on the committee and you're not the leader. You and your gorilla shouldn't even be involved, if you ask my opinion."
"I didn't ask it," Seth said with a laconic airiness. "No one did."
"Gentlemen," Marchbank intoned. "Let's keep to the facts. And the main fact is, we don't know where these people are now."
"They could wreak all sorts of havoc," Eastbrooke said.
"They haven't done so to date," Lincoln said.
"They may not have caused us trouble in the past, but you shouldn't have divulged the situation to them. It's ministry business. Highly confidential."
"Now they know we exist," Marchbank added. "You gave away our secret."
"They think I work for the police," Lincoln said.
"It doesn't matter what they think," Gillingham shot back. "They're aware they're being monitored."
"I fail to see how that is a problem."
Gillingham's snort came clear through the closed door. "Then you're a fool."
"Enough, Gilly," Lord Marchbank said. "There's no need for name calling."