From The Ashes (Ministry of Curiosities Book 6)

by C. J. Archer

  I stood, wanting to cut off questions before they uttered them. "Goodnight, everyone."

  "We go out for one evenin' and look what happens," Gus mumbled, helping Seth out of the chair. "We come home to a mess."

  Seth nodded, but the action caused him to sway. Gus caught him before he fell back into the chair. "They shouldn't be left on their own with only the servants to keep an eye on them. We can't trust them."

  I smiled as I headed out, feeling content for the first time in weeks.

  "Finally!" Lady Vickers declared when I told her there was no need to keep my return a secret anymore.

  "Finally?" I asked. We sat in the sitting room by the fire. Lincoln had taken Dr. Fawkner with him to Barts to find out what he could about Lord Harcourt's investments. He'd promised the doctor he'd take him to see his mother and sisters afterward, as long as he did as he was told. A bleary-eyed Seth was visiting The Honorable Jane Stebney-Green's maid. Meanwhile, Gus kept watch over me, a job he took very seriously. He'd already ordered me back from the window when I went to sit there to soak up the morning sunshine. He remained alert while Lady Vickers and I sewed.

  "Yes, finally," Lady Vickers repeated. "There is already interest surrounding you, thanks to my edited account of your intriguing past. Once I put out the word that you're available to attend parties, I expect the invitations to pour in. I'll begin today."

  "So soon?"

  She patted my knee. "Of course, my dear. There's no time to waste. You're not getting any younger."

  I sighed and appealed to Gus for help.

  "It might be fun," he said with a shrug. "You need a little fun. Ain't good for you to be cooped up in here."

  "How did Seth fare?" I asked, eager to change the subject. "Did he meet any agreeable young ladies last night?"

  "Several," his mother said with a preening smile. "He was very popular."

  "Any in particular catch his eye?"

  "Miss Yardly seemed to, and I know he caught her eye. She told me after dinner that he was utterly charming, and he amused her greatly."

  Gus and I exchanged glances and suppressed smiles. Miss Yardly had been the debutant with the roving hands.

  "He must like her," Gus said with a serious air. "He mentioned her last night, didn't he, Charlie?"

  I glared at him until Lady Vickers looked my way, an expectant smile on her face. "Did he? I wasn't sure he took to her. She's not the prettiest girl or the wittieset, but her father's business is doing well, by all accounts, so she's popular. Very much so." She lowered her sewing to her lap and frowned at the fire. "Although, her popularity is quite out of proportion to his wealth. All the gentlemen seemed to be trying to catch her eye last night. Indeed, they couldn't stop looking at her." She sighed. "That's what happens when a girl with such a feminine shape wears a low cut gown. At least you won't have that problem, Charlie."

  My cheeks heated, but I couldn't protest. She was right.

  Lady Vickers picked up her sewing again and attacked it with vigor. "Mrs. Yardly ought to point to Lady Harcourt as an example to teach her daughter some modesty. That woman doesn't know the meaning of covering up."

  Gus's cheeks flamed and he kept his gaze firmly on the window, pretending not to be listening. Lady Vickers seemed to have forgotten he was there.

  "To be fair," I said, "Lady Harcourt has fallen prey to the gossips over her past as a dancer, not her clothing."

  "Ah, there you are," Seth said, strolling in with a swagger. His eyes were brighter than when he'd left and the color had returned to his face.

  "You look better," I said.

  He grinned and pecked his mother on her cheek. "I feel better. The Honorable Jane Debney-Green's maid knows a wonderful tonic for curing the aftereffects of excessive drinking."

  Lady Vickers clicked her tongue. "That's quite enough of that talk."

  "I heard you discussing Julia just now. I forgot to ask last night, Charlie, but how did she seem when she was here?"

  "Shaken, but whether that was from their earlier meeting, which I gather was quite heated, or from the gossip about her past, I don't know."

  "She's only got herself to blame," Lady Vickers said.

  Seth threw himself into one of the chairs. "You can't talk, Mother! You should have heard some of the things said about you after you left London."

  She sniffed. "I bore it all with my head high and my dignity in tact."

  "You weren't even here!"

  "The stigma followed me to America. The point is, I didn't let it upset me too much. I knew what would be said about me when George and I decided to make our relationship known, but I did it anyway. Besides, my situation is different. I did what I did for love. Her motives are entirely avaricious, and everyone knows it. People are more forgiving when romance is involved, and I am being quite sure to tell them that George was the most romantic of men and that our life in New York was a fairytale."

  "You cannot be serious," Seth said. "They believe you?"

  She looked down her nose at him. "Where do you think you got your charm from? It's not your father, believe me. He had as much charm as a starving rat."

  Seth looked like he was about to defend his father's honor then thought better of it.

  "I'm sure Lady Harcourt would like a visit from a friend," I said to him.

  He shook his head. "We're not friends, and she would try to manipulate me to her side. You shouldn't worry about her, Charlie. Julia is a survivor. She'll find a way back from this."

  "Perhaps," his mother said.

  Lincoln entered, carrying a tray with tea things. He poured while I served.

  "I'll take mine to my room," Lady Vickers said, returning her sewing to her basket. "I have letters to dispatch. If all goes well, you'll be coming out to dinner with us tonight, Charlie."

  "Tonight!" I looked to Lincoln. He set the teapot down with a clunk, but said nothing. "So soon?"

  "Of course," she said. "Why wait?"

  "Does this dinner include me?" Seth asked.

  "Yes, and I told you so last night on the way home and you agreed to attend."

  "I was drunk! You can't hold me to something I agreed to under the influence."

  "You're going," she said with a stern glare. "As Charlie will be."

  "If she goes, I go," Lincoln said.

  Lady Vickers nodded stiffly. "I expected as much. Fortunately, Mrs. Overton is quite keen for you to attend too."

  I heaved a sigh. The Overton girl only had eyes for Lincoln. Not that I cared, but I knew he would dislike being the object of her affections. Besides, she was wasting her time with him. He did not want to marry. I sighed again. It was going to be a long dinner.

  Lady Vickers accepted a teacup and left us. Once she was out of earshot, Lincoln reported on his morning's work. "Fawkner introduced me to other doctors in the hospital. A microbiologist confirmed that Harcourt invests in his work on tropical diseases."

  "That doesn't necessarily rule him out as a suspect," I said. "He might have secretly invested in Bell's work too."

  "He may have."

  "So now what do we do?"

  "Marchbank will visit soon to collect the files and my report. I want to question him about his father."

  "Won't he be suspicious?"

  "I'll be subtle."

  Seth, Gus and I exchanged glances. Lincoln sipped his tea.

  Marchbank arrived later that morning with two of his footmen. Gus and Seth led the servants up the stairs to assist them with moving the files. None of us were particularly concerned with the files leaving the house. Lincoln had memorized their contents, and could easily reproduce them. Marchbank mustn't know that Lincoln's mind acted as a trap for information or he wouldn't have bothered.

  Lincoln led Marchbank into the sitting room. "I'm glad you're both here," Marchbank said. "I wanted to tell you how much I didn't enjoy yesterday. It's not what I wanted."

  "You voted for his dismissal," I pointed out.

  "I had no choice. You'll be reinstated once
you bring those people back, Fitzroy."

  "Gillingham won't agree," Lincoln said.

  "Gilly is a fool, but he's only one and we're three. Julia can be talked around, particularly if you speak to her. Eastbrooke is already on your side, of course." He crossed his legs and tapped his finger on the chair arm. "You know, he does see you like a son, in his own way."

  I watched Lincoln closely, but he gave no sign that Marchbank's words affected him. "He never treated me as a father treats a child."

  "Do you mean affection? Not all men are that way inclined."

  "I mean with respect, as a person with an opinion, as an equal. He gave me little guidance and hardly any of his time. I didn't want his affection, I wanted—" His voice grew increasingly louder, tighter, and he must have heard it. "I wanted his friendship," he added quietly.

  I'd never seen him discuss his childhood or the general with such vehemence before. It was always with indifference, as if he didn't care, until now.

  I curled my hand into a fist on my lap to stop myself reaching for him.

  "He was a better father-figure when you were very small," Marchbank said. "You wouldn't remember, but he liked spending time with you in the garden, exploring, playing hiding games."

  "Why did he stop?" I asked.

  Marchbank shrugged. "I don't know."

  "You never asked?"

  "You don't ask a man like the general why he no longer treats his ward like a son."

  "I suppose not." I couldn't imagine how such a conversation would even begin.

  "Since we're discussing the past," Lincoln said, "there's something I've always wondered about your father."

  I had to applaud him on his rather seamless transition. Nicely done.

  "Ah. I was wondering when you'd ask." At Lincoln's raised brows, Marchbank added, "I knew you'd find out about it sooner or later."

  "I've known for some time," Lincoln said, lying through his teeth and not looking even a little bit guilty.

  "Have you now?" Marchbank didn't look like he believed him. "I suppose you want to know if my father's death at the hands of a hypnotist means I now hate all supernaturals enough to kill them."

  He'd caught us, and after such a good attempt at lying, too. "Well?" Lincoln prompted. "Do you?"

  "It was a long time ago, Fitzroy. Why would I wait until now for vengeance?"

  Lincoln didn't speak.

  "There is no reason," Marchbank answered for him. "Besides, why would I get my revenge on people who had nothing to do with that incident?"

  "Vengeance against their kind," I said with a shrug. "Because you couldn't kill the hypnotist himself."

  "That's the flaw in your theory. I did kill the hypnotist."

  Chapter 16

  I gasped. It was the only sound in the heavy silence.

  Marchbank cast me a flat smile. "It's true. I killed him soon after he directed my father to throw himself off the bridge. So there you have it. I meted out justice all those years ago, so I have no need to do so now. Not that you're still investigating the case, however. Are you?"

  Lincoln met Marchbank's steely glare with one of his own. "You knew the killer?"

  "My father wrote about a fellow in his diary. A fellow so convincing and compelling that he could talk my father into doing the strangest things. Things that went against his character. My father guessed that he was a hypnotist, although he'd never met one before and not known they were real. He wrote that the hypnotist didn't want his details recorded in our files, but Father had done so anyway, believing it for the greater good. He would tell the hypnotist that day, as was fair. That was the last entry. I came across the diary in his things after his death, and knew what must have happened as soon as I read it. So I killed the hypnotist, accidentally, of course. I confronted him over my father's death, but he began his hypnotizing chant, so I hit him with a fire iron to stop him. He collapsed and didn't wake."

  "Did you question him first?"

  "No."

  "Make inquiries of independent witnesses?"

  "No."

  Lincoln sat back and I could swear I heard him draw a sharp breath.

  Shock rippled through me, too. Lord Marchbank had killed a man based on very thin evidence. Accident or not, he'd committed a violent act. I wasn't sure how to take the news. Marchbank may not be the upstanding gentleman I thought him to be.

  "There was no doubt in my mind, Fitzroy," Marchbank said. "Not after reading the diary. You would do the same."

  "I would have got answers out of him first."

  "That part I don't dispute. I wish I'd spoken to him about his hypnotism, and how it worked, why he was like that. His name was Christopher Eckhart, if you'd like to research his family."

  "You should have given it to me earlier. It should have been recorded in the files, his family connections investigated and noted."

  Marchbank acknowledged this with a nod of his head, but offered no reason for leaving it until now to inform Lincoln. "The thing is, Fitzroy, you assumed that I had a motive for killing those supernaturals, and Charlie, but I'm not the only one who worries about what people like her can do. Ever since Frankenstein showed us the possibilities of magic, and summoning Estelle Pearson proved how badly things can go wrong, the entire ministry has been on tenterhooks. We all distrust those who hold such great power over us. Charlie may be an honorable person, but not everyone is like her, and she's not incorruptible."

  "I'm quite sure I am, thank you," I snapped.

  "Everyone should be wary of supernaturals, even other supernaturals. Even you. Both of you."

  "I am fully aware of what people who possess magic can do," I said. "As is Lincoln. No one is more aware. But that doesn't mean we can murder all of them. Just because a person holds a knife, it doesn't mean they're going to stab someone."

  Marchbank held up his hands. "I agree. That wasn't the point I was trying to make."

  "Someone, however, disagrees."

  "They do," he added quietly with a frown at Lincoln. I half expected Marchbank to tell us his own suspicions, perhaps even mention his thoughts about the other committee members, but he did not.

  "I will be bringing the supernaturals back to London," Lincoln assured him. "After the killer is caught."

  "A task that has now fallen to me. Unless…"

  Lincoln handed him a single page document from his pocket. "My report."

  Marchbank hesitated then unfolded it. After a quick read, he flipped it over, but the back was blank. "Is this it?"

  Lincoln nodded. I'd read the report and agreed with him that much had to be left out. Marchbank was a suspect and we couldn't let on how much we knew, even if he promised not to tell the others.

  "What have you been doing all this time?" Marchbank asked.

  "I've been pre-occupied with other matters."

  Marchbank's gaze slid to me. "I see."

  Seth peered around the door. "The last box is being loaded now, sir."

  Marchbank rose and we walked him to the front door where Doyle stood waiting with the earl's coat over his arm.

  So what will you do with yourself now?" Marchbank asked, a hint of mockery in his gruff voice. Clearly he still didn't believe Lincoln would step aside completely from the investigation.

  "I may take a holiday at the seaside," Lincoln said.

  "But it's December!"

  "The country is beautiful at any time of the year."

  "I didn't peg you as an aesthete," Marchbank said as Doyle helped him into his coat.

  "I wasn't, until recently. I believe I became a lover of the countryside on my recent visit to Harcourt's estate in Oxfordshire."

  Those few days out of London had been lovely and I held fond memories of them. Lincoln had once told me that he'd not truly noticed how beautiful the countryside was until then.

  "Grand place," Marchbank agreed. "You ought to come and visit Lady Marchbank and me at March Hall. You too, Charlie. Not in winter, though. Bitterly cold place is Yorkshire at this time of year
."

  Didn't I know it.

  "That's why Elsa and I prefer to stay here until Easter." He tipped his hat and Seth saw him to his carriage.

  "Well?" Seth said when he re-entered. "What did you learn?"

  "He killed the hypnotist who killed his father," I said.

  He whistled. "And I thought him the sane one."

  Lincoln walked off without a word, and took the stairs two at a time.

  "Something got into his bonnet," Seth said, watching him go.

  We headed to the kitchen and waited for Bella to leave before I repeated what we'd learned about Marchbank to the others. Lincoln still hadn't come downstairs and my curiosity eventually got the better of me.

  I knocked on his door and he bade me to enter. He sat in an armchair in his sitting room, a paper in hand and others on his lap and on the table nearby. He looked up and seemed surprised to see me. He quickly stood and set down the paper.

  After a moment, he said, "Is everything all right?"

  "I was wondering what you were doing. You left in rather a hurry without explanation. Is everything all right with you?"

  He indicated I should sit then he too sat. He picked up the paper again. "These are the documents Mannering stole from Bell. I decided to take another look at them."

  "Any reason in particular?"

  "Frustration at getting nowhere. I don't think Marchbank is our killer."

  "Eliminating him is progress."

  "Not enough. Not nearly enough." He rested his elbow on the chair arm and skimmed his top lip with the side of his finger. "Tell me what you think of these. A fresh set of eyes might reveal something I missed."

  "I doubt it. You don't miss much." I accepted them anyway. They were mostly brief letters, asking for progress reports on the 'assignment' with the occasional mention of payment. I read each one, some twice. I held the paper to the light, but saw no watermark or other special markings. "There's nothing to identify the killer in these."

  "True," he said, although I got the feeling he was holding something back.

  I looked again. "I suppose they tell us a little of the sort of person he is. Or she."