CHAPTER 2

"She shouldn't be given so much leeway," Lady Harcourt said in her perfect clipped tones.

There was no answer and I couldn't imagine how Lincoln reacted to her comment.

"Charlie's a maid now," Lady Harcourt continued, "and maids do not rearrange furniture."

"I don't care how the furniture is arranged," Lincoln intoned.

"That is not the point. The point is that you are the master, and you set this room up in a certain way. She shouldn't come along and move things as if she were mistress here."

"Lichfield has needed a woman's touch for some time. Charlie is the only woman here. If she wishes to move things, I don't mind."

Lady Harcourt sighed. "You're much too easy on her."

I almost choked on my tongue to stop myself bursting into laughter. If she'd seen the way he drilled me in our training sessions, she wouldn't claim he was easy on me. Indeed, the thought of Lincoln being easy about anything was absurd.

I should have taken advantage of the pause in the conversation to announce tea, but I needed a few moments to compose myself, and by the time I had, she was speaking again.

"You need a wife, Lincoln."

My lips parted in a silent gasp. I leaned forward, straining to hear Lincoln's response. But if he gave one, it wasn't audible from where I stood.

"You think you won't marry, but you will. Lichfield needs a mistress, for one thing."

"There are too many secrets here. A wife would only get in the way."

"Then you need the right wife." Was she offering herself? A woman who already knew ministry secrets? "Besides, you ought to have a companion." Her voice had become velvety thick, throaty.

I held my breath and tried not to picture her draping herself over Lincoln and he holding her, but the image wouldn't go away.

"I have all the company I need," he said.

I breathed again and relaxed my fingers. I didn't realize I'd been clutching the tray so tightly.

"Oh, Lincoln." A swish of silk skirts followed her deep sigh. "What about love?"

"You know I'm not capable of it."

I blinked slowly. This was obviously a conversation they'd had before, and I felt horrid for eavesdropping on their private moment, but I couldn't drag myself away now. I'd wanted to learn more about Lincoln and this seemed to be the only way to do it.

"You are capable," she said. "You simply don't know what it is. Since you've had no love in your life, you don't see it when it's staring you in the face."

"That's enough, Julia."

"No, it's not. You owe it to me to listen." She paused again, perhaps waiting for his response. "You need to love and be loved in return, just as much as anyone."

"Julia—"

"Don't deny it. I can see it in the way you protect your family."

His family! I knew Lincoln had parents, both of them still living, but he told me he'd never known them. He'd been raised by General Eastbrooke, to be the leader of the Ministry of Curiosities, since birth, so perhaps she was referring to the general's family. It was likely he thought of them as his own.

"I have no family," Lincoln said in that cool, bland voice of his.

"Oh, my darling—"

"Don't."

Silk rustled and swished. "But Lincoln—"

"It's time you left. There's nothing more to discuss."

I backed up a few steps then walked forward. I was several feet from the parlor door when Lincoln emerged. Our gazes locked and a spark of surprise burned in the depths of his eyes.

"You're back," he said to me.

"I brought tea." I held up the tray, feeling somewhat exposed and terribly guilty. Did he suspect I'd overheard their conversation? It was impossible to tell.

"Lady Harcourt was just leaving."

Lady Harcourt sailed past us as smoothly as a swan on a lake, her head high, her long white neck exposed above the low-cut gown. She didn't meet my gaze, or his, and if it weren't for the vein pulsing in her throat, I would have thought her unperturbed by his dismissal.

"Take the tea back to the kitchen," Lincoln told me. "Have one of the men bring a cup to my rooms."

One of the men, not me.

Lincoln followed Lady Harcourt to the front door, but it opened and shut before he reached it. I slipped back to the kitchen as her carriage drove off.

"Does Mr. Fitzroy have a family?" I asked as I set the tray down on the central table.

Seth had returned and he looked up along with the others upon my entry. "None that we know of," he said. "He doesn't want tea?"

"Lady H just left."

He formed an O with his lips.

"He wants you to take tea up to his rooms." I removed the extra cup and saucer. "He has parents, I know that much."

"Does he?" Gus asked mildly. "Thought he was spawned by the devil."

"Or the Reaper." Cook grinned as he held out a plate with a scone on it. "That be why he's called Death."

Gus took the plate. "No it ain't. He's called Death because Seth and me saw him dressed in a dark hooded cloak one night, holding a bloody big knife."

"And because he killed a man with the knife," Seth added. "The fellow's head had been almost severed from his body."

I felt the color drain from my face. Seth took my elbow to steady me, but I waved him away. I knew Lincoln had killed people; there was no need for me to be shocked at hearing about another death he was responsible for.

"He knew the fellow," Gus said. He set the plate down gently on the tray yet the clink sounded loud in the silence. "Fitzroy called him Mr. Gurry."

"Who was he?" I whispered. Even Cook was listening intently now, the pot on the stove forgotten.

Seth shrugged. "We don't know. We didn't dare ask him."

"The fellow begged Fitzroy not to kill him," Gus said. "He pleaded for his life, but Fitzroy killed him anyway."

"I'll never forget the look on his face when he ordered us to remove the body," Seth went on. He and Gus exchanged bleak glances.

"Was he upset?" I asked, unable to imagine such an expression on Lincoln's face.

"No. He was satisfied."

Satisfied? After killing a man who begged for mercy? The notion left a sour taste in my mouth and set my mind reeling. Surely there had to be an explanation. Lincoln had a reason for everything he did. Didn't he?

Seth picked up the tray but I touched his arm. "I'll take it," I said.

"Are you sure?"

I nodded. "I need to tell him about something I learned at the cemetery."

"He'll probably be in a bad mood. He usually is after Lady H leaves.

I smirked. "He's always in a bad mood of late." I took the tray and steeled myself for an awkward meeting with my master. I had some questions that I wanted answered, and now was as good a time as any to ask them.

***

"I asked for one of the men to bring up tea." Lincoln blocked my entry to his rooms with his arms crossed over his chest. His shoulders and jaw were rigid. I was a fool to want to speak to him. I knew it, yet I couldn't help myself. I wanted to get a reaction from him. Anything was better than the way he'd been ignoring me of late.

"They're busy." I inched closer, and he had to step aside or risk touching me. He chose to step aside.

I set the tray down on one of the occasional tables near the deep armchair. There was no room to place it on his desk, between the papers, books and another tray laden with dirty dishes.

"Why haven't Seth or Gus collected these yet?" I asked, picking up the breakfast tray.

"They haven't been up."

The sunlight spearing through the window picked out the thin layer of dust on the sill. "They haven't dusted in some time either. And I see your bed hasn't been made."

He shut the door to his bedroom. "They've become lazier with their duties since you became maid. I'll have a word with them."

"Or you could allow me in here to clean."

"You already do enough."

"I don't mind the extra work."

"Seth and Gus will suffice."

"Clearly they don't want to do it. Let me clean for you, Linc—Mr. Fitzroy."

"No. Thank you for the tea. Send up Gus, when you see him."

I set the breakfast tray down again. "Why don't you want me in here? What are you afraid I'll find?"

His lips flattened. He crossed back to the exit and stood with his hand on the doorknob, waiting for me to leave.

I walked over to him and laid my hand over his. His nostrils flared then he quickly withdrew his hand, allowing me to shut the door. I stood in front of it, hands on hips, and regarded him. He stared levelly back.

"Why have you been ignoring me these last two months?" I asked.

"Ignoring you? Hardly."

"You've been pushing me away."

"I didn't want to overwhelm you. I thought it best if the men show you what needs to be done and you make the position your own. Your service has been admirable, Charlie."

His praise caught me off guard. "Thank you. Admirable is much better than adequate."

His eyes narrowed.

"Don't change the subject," I said. "You've been avoiding me for two months except during training, and even then we hardly talk."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"There is! And not only that, you don't join the men after dinner to play cards anymore."

"I rarely did before."

"Now you don't at all. Nor do you join them for tea, or breakfast, as you used to do on occasion. You're avoiding me, Mr. Fitzroy, and I want to know why."

I thought his jaw couldn't harden any more, but it seemed it could. The muscle bunched tight. I resisted the urge to stroke it until he relaxed again.

He suddenly turned away and strode to the window. He leaned against the frame, crossed his arms again and stared up at the sky. He didn't ask me to leave, and after a moment, his jaw relaxed. I waited until he was ready, even though it stretched my nerves.

"I thought you wouldn't want to be near me after what I did."

I was about to ask him what he meant when it clicked into place. He was referring to paying that man to scare me beneath the bridge. The brute had almost raped me, and Lincoln had saved me by killing him, but that didn't change the fact that he'd set him on me in the first place. I'd been furious with him at the time, but my anger hadn't lasted. Perhaps a scare had been the only way to make me stay at Lichfield Towers. Nothing short of a severe fright would have succeeded. Now, I couldn't imagine living anywhere else, but then, I'd been scared of exposing my necromancy and unsure if I could trust Lincoln or the ministry.

"That doesn't make sense," I said, approaching. "I asked you to teach me to defend myself. Why would I do that if I wanted to get away from you?"

"Outside of those times," he said without looking at me. "I thought it best to give you space and time while you settle in, without my interference."

"Perhaps I want your interference." I touched his shoulder but withdrew my hand when he flinched.

The fingers on his right hand curled into the left shirt sleeve at his bicep. "You should hate me."

"I can't."

"You should!" He pushed off from the window frame and stalked past me, bumping my arm as he did so.

"I know I should," I snapped. "But I don't. You're not all bad, Lincoln, no matter what everyone thinks. Or what you think, for that matter."

He pulled open the door. "Is that all?"

"Actually, no. I came up here to tell you what I learned at the cemetery about the grave robbers."

Some of the tension left his shoulders. He blinked at me. "You told me you were visiting your mother's grave."

"I did. I just happened upon a helpful groundskeeper afterward. He was in the vicinity when the grave was robbed."

"The one with a birthmark on his face?"

I nodded.

"I spoke to him. He claimed not to have seen anything."

"Did you ask him if he heard something?"

"I thought that was implied in my first question."

"For most people, yes, but he was terribly shy and loathe to speak up. I had to be delicate with him. I expect you interrogated him in your usual brutal way."

"I didn't hit him."

"I meant your intimidating brusqueness."

"I find that method works well. As does using my fists."

"On some, but not this man. He was extremely anxious. I can only imagine how overwhelming it must have been for him to be confronted by you."

"You think speaking to you is less overwhelming?"

I held my hands out from my sides. "My physique is considerably less threatening than yours, wouldn't you say?"

"That depends on what you mean by threatening."

I rolled my eyes. "It would seem my technique worked better than yours, anyway."

"On this occasion."

"Do you want to find out what I learned or not?"

"Go on."

"It may not be much, but the robbers spoke about playing dice at The Red Lion. I only know of one Red Lion tavern. It's in Kentish Town."

He tapped his finger on the doorknob. "I know it."

"One of the robbers was named Jimmy. Unfortunately that was all the groundskeeper learned."

"It's more than I discovered."

I waited but he said nothing more. "A simple thank you will suffice. There's no need for any grand praise this time."

"Thank you, Charlie. But next time you plan on interrogating someone, take me with you."

"Since I don't plan on interrogating anyone, that won't be necessary."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"Will you go to The Red Lion and look for Jimmy and his friend?"

He nodded. "I'll go tonight. I need to know for certain whether they're robbing the graves for medical reasons or…something else."

I supposed he would use his usual method of interrogation on the boozers. I doubted my methods would work in a tavern full of men anyway.

I crossed over the threshold into the corridor. I decided it was best not to ask him why he'd killed the man named Gurry, or about his family. Things were tense enough between us as it was.

"I'll see you soon for training," I said.

"Not today. I have too much work."

"Oh." I tried not to sound disappointed, but I wasn't successful. "Tomorrow, then."

He nodded. "Thank you, Charlie," he said as I turned to go.

"You've already thanked me."

"Once wasn't enough."

***

"Go to bed, Charlie," Gus said when I yawned into my hand of cards for the fourth time. "You've lost the last five rounds."

I tossed the eight of diamonds onto the table. "I'm not tired."

Cook snorted. "Are you waitin' up for Seth or Death?"

"Neither!" I threw another card down.

Gus slid it back to me. "It ain't your turn."

"Might not be back hours yet," Cook said as he added another card to the small pile.

"Do you know who he's seeing?" I asked. "Seth, not Fitzroy." Lincoln had gone to The Red Lion to see if he could learn something about Jimmy and his friend. Seth was visiting the same widow he'd called upon several times over the last few weeks. All he'd told me was that she was wealthy, attractive and restless. I wasn't entirely sure what restless meant, but from the smile he sported every morning after he visited her, I had an inkling.

Gus shrugged. "Lady Harcourt?"

I stared at him. "Surely not."

He shrugged again. "Maybe. Maybe not." He poked the back of my hand of cards, pushing them upright. "You ain't too good at gambling."

"I thought she was still in love with Fitzroy," I muttered.

Cook snorted. "Love ain't got nothin' to do with fu—"

Gus thumped the burly cook on the arm. "None of that talk around the girl."

"She be the one who mentioned love." Cook winked at me.

Gus's face flushed. "I wasn't talking about love. I meant the other…"

"Do you think she expected to marry Fitzroy?" I asked them.

"Fitzroy, marry?" Cook threw down a card and scooped up the pile. "Not him. He ain't the marryin' kind."

"All gentlemen must marry," Gus said in a falsetto toff voice as he shuffled the deck. "It's their duty."

"Does Fitzroy have a family line to continue?" Cook asked. "We don't know who his father be."

Gus shrugged. "Lady H wouldn't marry him anyway. He ain't important enough for the likes of her."

"But she can afford to do what she wants," I said. "She has money and position enough for both of them, surely."

"Those that got much always want more, Charlie." Cook got up and placed the kettle on the cooking range. "There ain't no such thing as enough."

"Aye," Gus said. "Toffs only want one thing. Power. The more, the better."

"I think that's a little unfair," I said. "Fitzroy's a toff and I wouldn't say he desires power above all else."

"He ain't a real toff. Not like them committee members. He's different."

"He be that," Cook muttered.

I yawned again and Gus gently ordered me to go to bed. "Will you take up a jug of water for Death? Saves me doin' it later."

I waited as he filled a jug from the large pot that sat at the back of the range. It was warm now, but would likely cool by the time Lincoln returned. It was still early, and I doubted he would be back for hours.

With jug in one hand and candlestick in the other, I made my way upstairs. My rooms consisted of a bedroom and small sitting room down the hall from Lincoln's. He hadn't moved me into the servants' quarters in the attic, perhaps because the men slept there and I'd have little privacy. The informality of Lichfield's arrangements was one of the reasons I liked living there.

The door was unlocked so I entered. I was familiar with the layout of Lincoln's rooms, having been held prisoner in them for a few days. I set the jug beside the empty bowl on the washstand in his bedroom. I should cover it with a lid to keep the water as warm as possible. A book wouldn't do—the steam would damage the cover.

I looked over the surface of his desk for something to use, but could only find papers and writing materials. The top drawer contained a blotter, spare ink and quills, but the second drawer was more promising. Beneath some papers was a slate of the kind children used in school. It was just the right size to cover the jug. My fingers touched a thin chain at the back from which the slate could be hung. I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to hang a slab of slate on the wall, but I flipped it over to make sure it wasn't something that could be damaged by steam.

It wasn't a chain for hanging the slate, but a necklace that had been nailed to either side of the wooden frame. A flat, oval pendant dangled from the center. Something had been carved into the pendant and I held the candle closer to see. It was a blue eye, rather crudely rendered.

How curious. Why was it nailed to the back of the slate? Had Lincoln done it or someone else?

The soft click of the door made my heart leap into my throat. I dropped the slate back into the drawer and shut it with my hip, but it was too late. Lincoln stood in the doorway. He held no light and I couldn't see anything more than his silhouette, but I felt the force of his glare nevertheless.

"What are you doing in here?" he growled. "I haven't given you permission to enter."