Her Majesty's Necromancer (11 page)

No wife or children? But if that were the case, then which family had Lady Harcourt been referring to? I'd heard her tell Lincoln that he was protective of his family, yet it seemed he'd been brought up in General Eastbrooke's house, alone except for tutors. Surely there'd been someone there whom she called his family, even though they may not have been his natural ones. Could she mean the general's household staff? Lincoln certainly didn't treat us the way a gentleman ought to treat his servants, so perhaps that habit had begun in his childhood when he was close to the only people he saw regularly, the maids and footmen.

I wondered if he would tell me. So far he'd been close-lipped about Gurry, and only given me the bare facts about his upbringing when I asked. Perhaps I was asking the wrong questions. Lincoln had been brought up to be the ministry's leader, so his childhood was inextricably linked to the ministry itself. Perhaps if I asked about its history, I would learn something about his. If nothing else, I would gain an insight into the organization I now worked for—
if
he gave me answers.

"Fetch Gus to retrieve cloaks," Lincoln said to me. "Take the rest of the cake with you."

"I want another slice," Gillingham protested, holding out his empty plate to me.

Lincoln picked up the tray with the rest of the cake on it and handed it to me.

"I think it would be wise to leave now," Lady Harcourt warned Gillingham.

I left with the tray and walked quickly to the kitchen. The sponge—
my
sponge—was half eaten, but at least I would get some. I smiled as I recalled the look on Gillingham's face when Lincoln refused him another slice.

"What're you smiling about?" Gus asked when I reached the kitchen.

"Nothing." I set the tray down. "This is for us, but first we have to get coats for the guests. They're all leaving."

"'Bout bloody time."

"I'll make tea," Cook said as Gus and I left. "It be ready in five minutes."

We were about to enter the entrance hall when Lady Harcourt's lyrical voice carried to us. I put my arm out to stop Gus and shook my head. I didn't want to disturb them.

"He didn't mean that, Lincoln," she cooed.

"Who didn't mean what, Julia?"

"The general. You are his child, as much as any natural one could have been."

There was a slight pause after which he said, "You couldn't be more wrong."

I heard a carriage roll away outside, its wheels crunching on the gravel. Lord Marchbank, I assumed, hurrying home to his wife and dinner guests. He must have fetched his own coat. Lady Harcourt and Lincoln seemed to be alone. Gus moved past me to join them and I followed.

He retrieved the cloaks from the hooks and handed Lady Harcourt's to me. Lincoln held out his hand for it and I passed it along.

"Why did you call the meeting, Julia?" he asked her in an idle voice as he helped her into the coat.

Her gaze flicked to me and Gus and she gave a slight shake of her head.

"Answer me," Lincoln said. The idleness had vanished, replaced with iciness.

"They needed to know what you've been up to. We all do. The sketchy details you gave me this morning weren't enough, and I doubted you would elaborate if I asked."

He strode past her and held open the door. "Don't go behind my back again. Is that understood?"

The black choker at her throat moved with her heavy swallow. "I didn't go behind your back, Lincoln. I called a meeting. As a member, I am allowed to do so." Her hands shook as she pulled on her gloves, but her chin remained at a defiant angle.

The general and Gillingham entered from the parlor. "Is all well?" the general asked, eyeing each of them.

Gillingham didn't seem to notice the tension in the hall and strode up to Gus. He snatched his cloak and marched to the door.

"Perfectly," Lady Harcourt said with a smile for Eastbrooke. "Walk me out, please, Gilly."

Gillingham stopped in the doorway, sighed, and put out his elbow for her to take. They left together. Lincoln followed them out with General Eastbrooke, and Gus and I returned to the kitchen.

I sank onto a chair and accepted a cup of tea from Cook. The steaming liquid helped settle my nerves, but I suspected a slice of cake would do more.

"Glad that's over with." Gus sat opposite me and stretched his legs out under the table. "So what happened after I left the parlor?" His thick brow bunched into a frown as I recounted the meeting to him and Cook.

When I finished, I proceeded to cut the rest of the cake into four slices. I was about to take my first bite when Lincoln entered.

"That was supposed to be all for you," he said with a nod at the cake.

"There's enough left for the four of us." I pushed a plate toward a spare chair while he poured himself a cup of tea at the stove. "Seth will have to miss out."

He joined us but didn't eat the cake. Cook, Gus and I gobbled ours up then Lincoln pushed the plate in front of me. I ate his slice too.

"You be dining here, sir?" Cook asked.

"Just something quick before I go out. I'm returning to Lee's, and I'll investigate some other establishments during the night."

I dabbed my mouth to catch all the crumbs. "It was clever of you to suggest the captain is a medical officer in the army."

"It's a possibility."

"A likely one, I think. I wonder if the general will learn more. It can't be difficult to find details of doctors dismissed from the medical corps for misconduct."

"That's if he was dismissed," he said. "He could still be practicing. His army record could be an exemplary one."

"True, but wouldn't he be stationed overseas? He wouldn't have been able to visit the men here regularly over the last few months if that were the case."

"He might have been stationed here, or on long leave for an illness." He shrugged. "But hopefully you're right. A dismissed officer will be more conspicuous in the records than an active one." He continued to watch me, but I couldn't begin to fathom why.

After a moment, unable to stand it any longer, I got up and collected the dishes.

"Charlie," he called after me before I disappeared into the scullery. "Will you go to another orphanage tomorrow?"

"I…are you giving me time off to do so?"

He nodded.

"Then yes, I will. Thank you." I disappeared into the scullery and stacked the dishes in the tub. I couldn't stop my smile as I went to fetch water. He'd not only given me time off, but he'd actually trusted me to leave the house when he knew someone was searching for my mother, and potentially me. It meant he trusted me enough to protect myself.

One day, he would hopefully trust me enough to take care of myself alone at night in the streets, but for now it was enough that he accepted that I could do so in broad daylight with lots of people milling about.

He probably wouldn't have let me go if he had known someone had followed me the other day, however.

Lincoln was out all night and hadn't returned by the time I left the house in the morning. I paused as I passed through the Lichfield gate, looked left and right, then continued on when I saw no one about. I caught an omnibus into the city, then another over the bridge. I felt terribly conspicuous in my new cloak, among the women wearing practical woolen ones, but by the time I alighted in The Borough, I no longer cared. Indeed, I felt rather grand and important. A gentleman even gave up his seat for me and another doffed his hat.

Although I kept alert, I was quite sure I hadn't been followed when I arrived in Bermondsey. The orphanage was small compared to those I'd visited in the north of the city, and unhappy faces peered down at me from second floor windows. They must think me a well-to-do lady in my cloak, and I regretted wearing it again. I wasn't a lady; I was just like them. Or I had been once, as a baby, and then again at thirteen when Anselm Holloway had thrown me out of his home. While I'd chosen to live on the street instead of taking myself to an orphanage or workhouse, I'd been friendless in the city too.

I pulled the edges of the cloak together and knocked. Thinking of past choices was never a good idea. From now on, I wanted to only look to the future.

After shouting at the elderly administrator with poor hearing, I was able to cross the Bermondsey orphanage off my list. Thanks to his excellent memory, he hadn't needed to check his records. No one by the name of Holloway had adopted a little girl eighteen years ago, nor had anyone been asking the same question in recent days.

I visited another two orphanages on the south side of London and received the same answers. Only the Brixton one had received a letter asking about my adoption. As with Mr. Hogan from the Kentish Town orphanage, the administrator couldn't recall the address he'd sent a reply to and he hadn't kept a copy of the letter. He'd claimed it had been written on plain paper bearing no monogram, and the signature had been illegible. Another dead end.

I caught a train back to the city and was about to search for an omnibus heading toward Highgate when I had another idea. I knew my father's name was Frankenstein, so perhaps my mother had listed it on my birth record. I enquired at the post office in St. Martin's Le Grand and learned that the General Register Office was only a short distance away on the Strand. It was located in the North Wing of Somerset House, an imposing building that was more like a palace with an air of stuffy authority about it. I waited for my turn to be called to a desk where a snowy-haired man with a pointed beard peered over his spectacles at me.

He asked me to write down my name and Frankenstein's on a form then passed the form on to a younger man. The poor fellow was already laden with forms and documents, and I was afraid that even one more might see the lot toppling.

"Wait a moment," I called out to him as he went to walk on.

He blinked at me then at the snowy haired man. "What is it?" asked the older man at the desk in a bored monotone. "We're very busy."

"I'd like to make an enquiry about one more birth." I smiled my sweetest smile at them both. The younger man moved closer and returned my smile. The older one grunted, but he handed me a blank form to complete. I entered Lincoln's name in the space left for the baby's name section before I lost my nerve. I handed it directly to the assistant and laid a hand on his wrist. "Thank you so much, sir. I appreciate you waiting for me."

"It could take a little while," said the older fellow.

"Oh."

"Yours are at the top, miss," said the younger man. He winked at me and headed off.

I sat with several other people who were also waiting and instantly regretted my hasty decision to inquire after Lincoln's birth. It had been made on a whim, and not one I felt proud of now that I'd had time to think about it. He would hate me going behind his back again. I hated myself. I resolved not to look at the response.

I had to wait only half an hour before the young assistant came looking for me. He smiled and fiddled with his tie, but I had no inclination for flirting.

"What did you learn?" I asked.

He spread out his hands in front of him. They were empty. "Nothing, I'm afraid. There are no births registered under the name of Frankenstein."

I smiled through my disappointment, but it felt forced, and he seemed to know it too. His own smile slipped. "I'm not interested in the other matter anymore," I told him as I rose. "Whatever you learned you may keep to yourself."

His face brightened. "That's a relief because I learned nothing anyway. There were no babies named Lincoln Fitzroy born in the last fifty years."

I left the registry office and walked along the Strand in a daze. It wasn't the lack of information on my own birth that confused me, since I suspected my mother was trying to keep Frankenstein from me and, as such, wouldn't have recorded his name on the birth entry. But not finding a record of Lincoln was a little more surprising. I'd assumed his parents were poor and couldn't keep him. If that were the case, there should still be a record of him.

I dismissed any further questions I had on the matter. I was glad to have learned nothing useful from my thoughtlessness. The sickening sensation I'd felt in my gut ever since sending the fellow off with the inquiry began to ease.

I caught an omnibus from the city to Highgate. Instead of heading straight home, I detoured via the cemetery. The costermonger and his cart weren't there today, thank goodness, and no other passengers alighted behind me. I was satisfied that I had not been followed and was no longer being watched. It was a considerable relief.

I couldn't find Mr. Tucker, so I sought out the chap with the port wine birthmark. I found him sitting under a tree munching on his lunch. He scrambled to his feet, doffed his cap and tucked his chin into his chest.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you." It was like talking to a stray cat. I had to keep both my movements and voice gentle, soothing. "I hope you can answer a question for me about the grave that was dug up."

He nodded.

"Have you been near there since the body was reburied?"

He nodded.

"Is it still buried?"

Another nod.

"Are you aware of anyone taking an interest in the grave since then?"

"No, miss," he mumbled.

"Thank you. That's all. Please continue to enjoy your lunch."

So it would seem we were right; the captain hadn't wanted to risk digging up Gordon again. Our only way to find the man was at Mr. Lee's—
if
he paid the den another visit.

***

Despite having the day off, I completed some chores after lunch. Lincoln had returned while I was out and was resting in his rooms, while Gus kept watch at Lee's. It was quite late in the day when Lincoln joined me in the parlor as I rubbed beeswax into one of the tabletops.

"We can get an hour of training in before I head out again," he said.

I glanced out the window. The sun's final rays cast a sepia glow over the front garden. It would be dark soon. "Not today, if that's all right with you. I want to talk instead."

He rested a hand on the mantel. "About?"

"About the ministry."

He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. "Very well. First, tell me how your investigations went this morning."

I told him which orphanages I'd visited and what I'd learned from them, as well as at the cemetery. I didn't mention my detour to the GRO. "The captain hasn't been back to Thackery's grave."

"We'll find him at Lee's or one of the other opium dens," he said. "Not the cemetery."

"You're very confident, but I don't see how you can be. You can't possibly watch all the opium dens in London. There are only three of you."

"I've paid each proprietor a substantial sum to report to me if a man fitting the captain's description shows up and doesn't partake in smoking. I'm confident my money will bring results."

I smiled. "You've thought of everything."

"I know how these operations work."

"How? You said you knew Lee's…" I couldn't meet his gaze anymore and returned to polishing the table.

"You want to know if I smoke opium."

I shrugged one shoulder. "It crossed my mind."

"I have."

His answer startled me into looking at him again. "Oh. I see. Well."

"Don't you want to know more?"

"I don't want to pry."

"Yes, you do." Despite his accusation, he didn't sound angry or offended. "You have a curious nature."

"Some would say nosy."

The corner of his mouth lifted. "I would rather you asked me questions directly instead of others. That way you'll be sure to get the right answer."

If he wanted to answer at all. "Very well. How did you end up becoming an opium addict?"

"I wasn't an addict. I experimented with it as part of my studies when I was younger."

"You experimented with it?" I echoed. "How does one experiment with opium? And to what end?"

"I smoked it five times over five weeks to study the effects."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Why not? It's just another piece of knowledge, and knowledge is necessary in my position."

"When you put it like that, it sounds quite innocent. I think of opium smoking as a sordid habit that lures desperate men."

"It can be, if one partakes too often. As Gordon Thackery did, by his own admission. An addict is not a pretty sight."

"I've seen men coming and going from a garret in Bluegate Fields, near where I once lived. We all knew it was an opium house. I'd often see the same men on street corners, begging for money that they would spend at the garret later that night. There was such an air of hopeless about them, as if they were caught in a web they couldn't escape. It was awful."

"That's generally how addiction works. It's difficult to break free once it digs its claws in."

"You never felt the pull of the opium when you experimented? You never wanted to partake more than once a week?"

He shook his head. "Like you, I'd seen what it could do to a man. One of my tutors showed me the addicts like you describe."

"That's an odd thing for a tutor to do. What was the subject he taught?"

"It didn't have an official name. I called it Slums and Scums Studies, but not to my tutor's face."

I laughed. "How many tutors did you have?"

"Twenty-two, but not all at one time. Over the course of several years, I might have three or four different tutors for the same subject."

"Your lessons were private?"

He nodded.

"No other children joined you?"

"No. Why?"

"I'm merely curious." It confirmed my theory that he must have had a lonely childhood. "Were they stuffy old men?"

He paused before answering. "Not all."

I frowned, wondering why he'd paused. And then it dawned on me. "Do you mean to say you had women tutors too?"

Another pause. "Only one."

"What subject did she teach?"

"Women."

I almost choked on my tongue as I tried not to laugh. "Women?"

"I had little to do with females at that point, so the general decided I needed to learn more about them. Since there was only a crusty old housekeeper living at the house, he employed a woman to tutor me in all things feminine. How they behaved and thought, their weaknesses and strengths. I learned a lot from her."

"So it's thanks to her that you're the charming man you are today?"

His eyes narrowed. "She did her best. It's not her fault I was already sixteen and set in my ways by the time she took on the task."

"She must have done something right," I said, finishing off the cleaning.

"Is that so?"

"Lady Harcourt certainly finds you appealing."

"Does she?" he said idly.

I wondered what else his female tutor had taught him. How to please a woman intimately? Or had that task fallen to Lady Harcourt, or perhaps an earlier mistress? How many had this handsome, intriguing man taken to bed?

I wiped my greasy hands on a clean cloth and screwed on the wax tub lid. I tried not to think about his lovers. Being aware of Lady Harcourt was quite enough.

"Are those the only questions you had for me?" he asked.

"No. They weren't even the questions I intended to ask. Thank you for answering them. I appreciate your candor." I bit my lip, acutely aware that he was watching me and that as his maid I had no right to ask him anything about his private life.

"I want you to feel comfortable here," he said, placing his hands behind his back.

"I already do."

He indicated I should sit on the sofa so I sat, being careful not to touch the brocade fabric with my hands. He sat on an armchair opposite. "Go on."

"Tell me about the ministry," I said.

"I thought I already had."

"You've told me what its purpose is now, and why there is a committee, but not its history. You all seem to have quite different opinions about ministry business, and what to do with people like me, and I thought understanding the ministry's past will help me understand its present."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Don't let Gillingham upset you. His is one opinion among several."

"I know. And he doesn't upset me." Not anymore.

He leaned back and sat very still. He was often still, whether sitting or standing, as if conserving every ounce of energy and storing it for later use. "The ministry grew out of an order that has existed for a long time. It was renamed the Ministry for Peculiar Things when I became its head."

"Things?" I chuckled. "Who thought of that name?"

His lips drew together. "It was more recently given its current name The Ministry of Curiosities. Prior to my taking over, it had been dormant for many years, with no leader and only a committee to remember its function and pass on information about it from generation to generation. And to store the archives, of course."

"How old is it, precisely?"

"Perhaps a thousand years. No one is certain."

"Good lord. It's been in existence all this time? That means people with supernatural abilities have been around for just as long, or there would have been no need to harbor them."