by C. J. Archer
No matter how much I pressed her, she would not tell me more. We rejoined the others at the door then walked with them down the front steps to their waiting hackney cab.
"Are your nursing studies going well, Eva?" Seth asked.
"Fine. Thank you."
"Excellent. What a grand profession you're entering into. The medical field is an exciting one these days. Lincoln has a subscription to a medical journal, and I flip through the pages from time to time. I'm amazed by all the developments. You must be clever to keep up with them all."
"You sound surprised that a woman can be clever."
"Do I?"
"Eva is studying to be a nurse, not a doctor," David said. "A noble profession, of course, and far more demanding in many ways. She's required to be nurturing as well as resilient and as proficient as any doctor."
"Not quite," Eva said tightly.
"When do your studies finish?" Lincoln asked. His question took me by surprise. He'd once said that Eva couldn't have been studying to become a nurse because nurses required no formal education before taking on a position within a hospital. I thought he might be wrong, but I wasn't sure. It did seem odd that Eva would keep the truth from us if she were actually studying to become a doctor. Why would she hide it? Anyway, her family also seemed to think she was going to be a nurse.
"Before the end of the year is out," Eva said.
"Or more," Leisl said. "If she marry. Her husband will not wish for her to work. He will want a wife at home, a proper lady."
"That's enough, Mama," Eva whispered.
David bundled both ladies into the coach and climbed in himself. It would appear he didn't want them to air their dirty laundry in front of us. Whether Eva was training to be a nurse or doctor, it was as if it didn't matter to her mother. She seemed to think Eva would marry and that would be an end to her career. Leisl could only know that if she'd had a vision about her daughter's future husband.
But why would Eva marry at all if it meant the end to her career before it even began? A career she seemed intent on having. Giving in to a man's demands on that score didn't seem like something she would do.
I watched the hackney until it left the grounds through the front gate. I was about to return inside with Alice, Seth and Gus, but Lincoln remained on the drive. He too had watched the coach until it was no longer in sight.
"What is it?" I asked, taking his arm.
"We have another visitor."
He'd hardly finished speaking before another coach raced down the drive toward us, dust billowing behind the hooves of two black horses. The coach gleamed in the sunshine, as did the gold embroidery on the coachman's crimson livery.
"What do the palace want now?" I muttered.
"I don't know, but it saves me from asking for an audience," Lincoln said.
I gasped. "You're not going to ask them if they are Salter's source, are you?"
"I am, among other things."
"You can't accuse the prince and duke of that!"
"Not accuse, merely ask."
I groaned. Sometimes Lincoln's interrogation technique didn't differentiate between accusing and asking. I wished I could drag him back inside and pretend we weren't home, but it was too late.
Chapter 5
The royal coach merely brought a note from the Prince of Wales requesting our presence at two PM at the palace. Lady Vickers insisted I change into my most fashionable outfit, an off-white day dress with two rows of black bows on the bodice that came together in a V at my waist.
"The queen may prefer dark clothes herself," Lady Vickers told me, "but she likes to see young people in lighter colors." She indicated I should twirl and I obliged. "Excellent. Now, pinch your cheeks." She pinched them for me. "Lift your chin." She lifted it for me. "And smile demurely."
I attempted a demure smile. She wrinkled her nose. "That will have to do. Remind me to have Seth teach you the art of smiling. He's quite good at it. It's why women adore him."
Perhaps too many women, but I didn't remind her of that.
"Are you an expert?" I asked her. "Does Cook like your demure smiles?"
She blushed fiercely and looked away. "We were going to have that talk about your wedding night."
"Not now." I picked up my skirts and hurried from the room. "We have to go."
* * *
The palace footmen led us through grand and ornate rooms where the royals conducted formal business. We were met by the Prince of Wales in an office.
I curtseyed and Lincoln offered a shallow bow as his father welcomed us. The prince didn't take his gaze off Lincoln. He seemed fascinated by his illegitimate son. I wondered if, like me, he saw the similarity in their regal bearing and strong brow. They shared few other characteristics that I could see.
"I'll take you to Her Majesty directly," the prince said. "I simply wanted to take these few minutes to speak with you alone." He nodded at the footman who fell well behind as we walked.
"Is something the matter?" Lincoln asked, his hands at his back as we strolled through a room of intimate proportions compared to the state reception rooms.
"Not at all. Miss Holloway, I hope you're well."
"I am, thank you, sir. And you?"
"In excellent health." The prince placed his hands at his back the same as Lincoln. Lincoln immediately moved his hands to his sides. He caught me smirking at him and his eyes narrowed.
"And your moth— the queen?" I asked. "Is she well?"
"Well enough for her age. Her Majesty will be heading up to Balmoral soon for the rest of the summer. She prefers it there. The city gets far too stifling. My sister and her family will travel with her, of course, and I'll go up later in the summer."
"And His Royal Highness, the Duke of Edinburgh?" Lincoln asked.
"One never knows what my brother is doing from one week to the next." The Prince of Wales gave us a flat-lipped smile. "He's waiting with Her Majesty now. I must warn you, they both have a bee in their bonnet over some recent events that I'm sure I don't need to detail for you."
"Thank you for the warning," I said. "We're glad you called this meeting as we have some points of discussion to raise with you too."
"Oh?"
A stiff footman opened a door to the queen's private sitting room, cutting off our conversation. We'd been in this room before. I'd spoken to the spirit of the queen's late husband here. She'd been welcoming then, but she now looked unhappy to see us, her thick brow and pendulous jowls forming a severe frown. The Duke of Edinburgh greeted us with a flaring of his nostrils. We didn't even warrant a nod.
I curtseyed and Lincoln bowed. The queen indicated we should sit at the round table where both her sons now sat. She occupied the sofa, her black skirts spread around her like a storm cloud.
"You will have read the papers," Her Majesty began.
"Yes, ma'am," Lincoln said. "We've confronted the journalist who wrote the article for The Star."
"The one who mentioned werewolves? What an irresponsible thing to do! I hope you told him so."
"We certainly did," I said. "We asked him why he concluded that the attacks had been carried out by werewolves, but he wouldn't give a clear answer. He seemed to be guessing."
"An accurate guess?" the duke asked.
"In my opinion, yes," Lincoln said.
The prince sat back in the chair and rubbed his hand over his mouth and beard. "Good God," he muttered.
"And how will you stop them, Mr. Fitzroy?" the queen asked.
"When I find out who it is—"
"It's obvious," the duke said. "There's a pack of shape shifting wolves in the East End. Look there for your murderer, Fitzroy."
"How do you know about this pack?" the prince asked his brother.
"You know how."
And so did we—Swinburn or Ballantine had told him.
"I am not convinced it's them," Lincoln said. "We have—"
"Not convinced!" The duke scoffed. "It must be them. Slum dwellers are a lawless rabble, always m
aking trouble, and the mauling deaths occurred in their very neighborhood. I knew you'd try to defend them, Fitzroy, but where's the evidence? Do you have any?"
"Only my instincts. The pack leader is not violent, and a member of their pack is known to us. We trust her."
"A friend, eh?" The duke snorted. "That explains it."
Lincoln stiffened. "We need more time to—"
"More time! And how many more murders will occur while you take time?"
The queen put up her hand, saving us from a prickly stand-off. "Enough, Affie. I'm sure Mr. Fitzroy and Miss Holloway are doing their best."
"I am not quite as convinced."
"Why?" Lincoln asked. Oh lord. This had the potential to deteriorate very quickly.
The duke blanched. "I beg your pardon?"
"Are you suggesting I am not impartial?"
"No one is suggesting that," the prince said with a sharp glare for his brother.
"I am merely playing devil's advocate," the duke said, sounding miffed. "There are some who would shut down the ministry."
"Who?" Lincoln said, his tone steely.
The duke straightened. "People."
"Affie," the prince warned.
"Would this be the same people who informed The Star's journalist about the ministry?" Lincoln pressed. "The same people who suggested to the reporter that a werewolf may be responsible for these recent deaths?"
"I wouldn't know about that." The duke stood and headed for the door.
"Affie," the queen bit off. "Sit down. We haven't finished."
The duke did as his mother bade. She was clearly still in command, despite her advanced years. Her sons dared not oppose her.
"The Ministry of Curiosities is a necessary organization," the prince said. "They will not be shut down."
"You would say that," the duke grumbled.
The prince gave his head a slight shake then his gaze flicked to the queen. So she still didn't know that he'd fathered Lincoln. If he hadn't informed her by now, he probably never would.
"If you attempt to abolish the ministry," Lincoln said, "then it will simply go underground. It has existed for centuries and will continue to exist, long after we're all gone."
"You think you're above authority?" the duke demanded. "Above the monarch, parliament, the will of the people? God, man, that is arrogant."
Lincoln didn't bother to answer him, which only made the duke's nostrils flare more. He looked as if he would storm off again and this time not heed his mother's summons to return.
"You mentioned that you were going to request an audience with us," the prince said quickly. "Why?"
"Have you spoken to my husband's spirit again, Miss Holloway?" The queen's voice sounded young, hopeful, and not at all like it belonged to the dour woman planted on the sofa.
"No, ma'am," I said.
"Oh." Her shoulders slumped and she fell into silence.
I appealed to Lincoln to get to the point before she requested I summon the prince consort's ghost now.
"Have you met with Sir Ignatius Swinburn since we foiled his plot to marry Lord Ballantine's daughter to His Royal Highness Prince Albert Victor?" Lincoln asked.
"That is none of your affair," the duke said.
"We have," the prince said, ignoring his brother's glare. "He is our friend and confidant. We trust him. He was not involved in Ballantine's plot."
"He was," Lincoln pressed.
"Look here," the duke said, sitting up straighter. "How dare you suggest our friends are conspiring against us!"
"He denied involvement," the queen said. "My sons chose to believe him and therefore so do I. They are very good judges of character."
"He's a shape shifting wolf."
"So you've already told us," the prince said. "That changes nothing. Even if he is, he's not involved in these latest deaths."
"He has far too much sense to wander into the Old Nichol, for goodness’ sake," the duke scoffed.
I sighed and didn't bother to correct him. Neither did Lincoln. We had no evidence of Swinburn's wrongdoing, and until we did, there was no point accusing him in the presence of people who defended him. Swinburn was a trusted adviser to the royal family and until that trust was broken, they would choose his side.
The clock on the mantel chimed and the queen put out her hand. "Help me up, Affie."
The duke assisted his mother. Lincoln and I both rose and bowed as she exited the room. The duke followed her. I let out a breath once they'd gone, glad that the queen had not asked me to speak to her dead husband again.
"Forgive my brother," the prince said, walking with us out of the room. "He's a loyal friend to Sir Ignatius."
"Too loyal?" I suggested.
"Sir Ignatius isn't the sort of person you think he is. He may enjoy the odd party or two, but he's not a murderer, swindler or liar. He gives generously to a number of charities and is fiercely loyal. He has defended us in private and in public when others we called friends did not. He wouldn't harm a soul, nor condone anyone who does. I believe he has shed Ballantine as a friend and distances himself from the other members of his pack who were involved in the Hyde Park death."
"He may have distanced himself socially," I said, "but he still runs with them when in wolf form."
"How do you know? Has he told you that?"
I bit the inside of my lip. I didn't have an answer and I suspected any further attempt to tell him the truth about Swinburn would only raise his ire.
"We have a different experience of Swinburn," Lincoln said. At the prince's protest, Lincoln raised a hand for silence. To my utter shock, the prince closed his mouth. "But I see you'll need proof, sir. Hopefully I can give you that proof soon."
"Part of me hopes you do, if only so that I will have the pleasure of your company again. Yours too, Miss Holloway. Perhaps you'll be Mrs. Fitzroy the next time we meet." He smiled, and I forgave him his defense of Swinburn. There was no fault in being loyal to a friend, and it was only fair that he required proof before casting him out. I would agree to nothing less if I were in his position.
"His Royal Highness the duke seems intent on closing the ministry," Lincoln hedged.
The prince waved off the suggestion. "It was just a passing comment, said in the heat of the moment. My brother wouldn't do it."
"He can't anyway," I said. "He has no authority. Has he?"
"We may not sit in parliament, Miss Holloway, but we have influence with the nation's decision makers. If we wanted to shut down the ministry it would be within our power to do so."
I swallowed heavily and took Lincoln's offered arm. I suddenly needed something solid to hold on to.
* * *
"I expected better from two princes," Lincoln said as we drove home from the palace. I wouldn't quite say he seethed, but he certainly wasn't in a good mood. "I expected them to be more particular in their choice of friends. They ought to be, in their position."
"Politics and diplomacy are messy affairs," I said. "I suppose it's not easy to find true friends, so when one displays loyalty, they like to keep him close."
"They're naive."
"They merely want proof before they condemn a friend. What really concerns me is the duke's suggestion that the ministry could be shut down. If Swinburn is in his ear, he might just do it."
"Swinburn is definitely in his ear. Make no mistake about that."
I nibbled my lower lip and studied Lincoln's severe brow and the hard planes of his jaw.
"You're angry with the duke," I said.
He considered this a moment then shook his head. "Getting angry with an ill-informed fool is pointless. He'll change his tune when he learns the truth."
Perhaps I ought to take a leaf out of Lincoln's book. The duke made my blood boil. I couldn't wait to see him eat his words. "You said we'd go into hiding if anyone tried to shut down the ministry. Will I need to pass myself off as a boy again?"
"This isn't a joke, Charlie."
"I'm not joking. Not really. What d
oes it mean to go underground? Will we lose Lichfield Towers?" A lump formed in my throat and tears burned my eyes. The old fear of losing my home, my friends, came unbidden and unexpectedly.
Lincoln leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He took my hands in both of his and kissed my gloved fingers. "Lichfield belongs to me, not the ministry. If the authorities closed the ministry, we'll be forced to destroy our records and publicly state that we will no longer pursue paranormal matters. That's all. Nothing will happen to us or our home. This is the nineteenth century, not thirteenth."
I blinked back my tears and smiled to show him that I appreciated the reassurance. "But of course we won't actually destroy the files, will we?"
He merely smiled against my fingers.
* * *
Lincoln spent the rest of the day and into the night talking to his contacts in the Old Nichol. He had a strong spy network consisting of people from various walks of life who gathered information for him. He paid them handsomely and got good results. This time, however, he insisted on staying in the East End himself to keep watch on Gawler's pack's movements. He returned before breakfast with Seth and Gus.
I'd woken at dawn and waited up for them. At the sound of footsteps outside my door, I threw a wrap around my shoulders and joined them in the corridor.
"Well?" I prompted. "How did it go?"
Seth dragged his hand through his hair. He looked ragged and disheveled, partly to blend in with the other East Enders, and partly because he'd spent all night outdoors. Of course he still looked handsome, perhaps even more so. I ought to wake Alice…
"I'm getting too old for this," he said. "Staying out all night is for young men."
"Lincoln looks fine," I teased.
"And I stink." Seth sniffed his armpit and pulled a face. "I don't know how you can stand it, Gus."
"I'm used to you," Gus said around a yawn. "I'm going to get an hour or two sleep." He trudged up the corridor, Seth not far behind.
I appealed to Lincoln. "You didn't see any wolves, did you?"
He shook his head and his hair fell across his eyes making him look devilishly broody. "We did learn that Gawler's pack are doing some spying of their own. Gus followed one of the pack members to Swinburn's house. He did nothing, just watched for a few hours before being relieved by another."