CHAPTER 4

"I did go to The Red Lion," I said, with as much defiance as I could muster in the face of his frostiness. "I was in the vicinity and thought I might be able to find out more information than you did. It seems you discovered more than you let on, however. I would have saved myself the bother if I'd known."

He grunted. "You're cold and wet. You should change before you catch a chill."

"I'm in more danger of catching a chill from your glare than I am from being wet."

His eyes narrowed. "I don't understand."

"Never mind. You're changing the subject. May I come in?"

"No."

I sighed. "The tavern keeper at The Red Lion told me you got into a fight with Jimmy and Pete, last night, over a game of dice. Did you follow them home after that?"

"I did. Questioning them proved futile. They refused to tell me what they were doing, why, or who they worked for."

"Are you sure they're working for someone?"

"They don't seem intelligent enough to know what to do with the bodies, so I think they are. Whoever it is must be paying them very well, because they told me nothing of use. That's why I followed them. Keeping watch will eventually give me the information I need to determine if their master is guilty of something supernatural or not."

"So why didn't you tell me this when you returned last night?"

"I didn't think I had to keep my maid informed of ministry business, since it doesn't concern her."

"Of course it does. If it concerns you—and Seth and Gus—then it concerns me. Besides, I want to help in any way I can."

"You have enough to do here, Charlie. There's no need for you to do more."

I wasn't sure whether I ought to be offended or pleased. Was he trying to protect me or shut me out? "Being your maid is all well and good, but I'd like to do more, on occasion. If Seth and Gus can, then why not me?"

He backed away, but I moved into the open doorway so he couldn't close the door. "You're not ready to do more, Charlie."

"I disagree," I said tightly. "I am ready. I can defend myself, if necessary, and an extra set of eyes might be handy from time to time. Not to mention my necromancy would be useful."

"You wish to use it," he said flatly. "In public view."

"In private, and only when other avenues are closed to us."

He seemed to consider this for a moment, then he said, "I thought you didn't like your power."

"It's not something I wish to advertise, but I've had time to accept it now. I'm not as horrified at myself as I used to be. My father—Anselm Holloway—made me feel little better than a creature from the marshes, but you…you and the others here at Lichfield helped me to see that I'm not something to be abhorred."

"You are certainly not that," he said quietly.

"Then you will let me help?"

"Unlikely."

"Lincoln!"

"That's enough, Charlie," he growled. "Go and change out of your wet clothes. I'll see you later for training."

"Very well, but I would like to point out that it's unfair that you are allowed to be involved in my affairs and I can't be involved in yours."

"I don't understand."

"I know you're trying to find my mother through the orphanages. We could cover more in faster time if we worked together. Or am I not allowed to search for my own mother because it's taboo ministry business?"

"It will be if it becomes too dangerous for you."

I blinked rapidly at him. "But she's my mother." It sounded pathetic—small—and I wished I could take it back as soon as I’d said it. He was probably right in that others might try to use her necromancy too, if they knew about it, just as Frankenstein had tried to use me. But who else knew about her—or me, for that matter? There was unlikely to be any danger now.

"You admonish me for trying to keep you safe?" he asked quietly.

"Frankenstein is gone, and Holloway is in jail. Nobody else who knows or, I suspect, cares what I can do."

"We cannot know that for certain. For now, I'd like you to be careful." He went to shut the door, and this time I backed out. There was no point arguing with him anymore.

His words had reminded me of the man I'd seen get off the omnibus—the same man who'd watched me as I left the orphanage. It was probably just a coincidence, however. Nothing untoward had happened, and he'd not even approached me.

I changed my clothes and returned to the kitchen for soup. Poor Gus was still out in the rain, watching Jimmy and Pete, and since I'd been given the day off, Seth acted as scullery maid and washed the dishes.

"You had a morning off yesterday," he complained as he collected bowls. "Why did he give you an entire day today?"

"I'm not sure." I handed him my bowl and gave him a sweet smile. It didn't work and he stormed out of the kitchen like a boy who'd been scolded by his mother.

"Death be gettin' soft, now there's a woman in the house," Cook said.

"Fitzroy, soft?" I laughed. "Hardly. Come and play cards with me until it's time for training to begin."

He sat with me and pulled the deck of cards from his apron pocket. "I thought you'd given up cards," he said as he dealt. "You bein' no good and all."

"I'm not too bad when I concentrate." I checked my cards and placed the queen of hearts on the table. "Did you know that Fitzroy has a set of weighted dice?"

"I do not cheat at dice. Or cards."

I spun around as my stomach plunged. Lincoln strode into the kitchen, looking like he wanted to challenge me to a duel for besmirching his reputation. "Why are you always sneaking about? It's grossly unfair."

"I am not sneaking." He flicked his hand and Cook dealt him in. "Why do you think I cheat?"

"The Red Lion barkeep said you won every throw against Jimmy and Pete."

"That was luck."

"Every time? How many throws were there?"

"Twenty-eight." He threw down a card and swept up the pile. He'd won the round.

"Twenty-eight!" I looked to Cook. "In your experience, has anyone ever won twenty-eight throws of dice in a row?"

Cook glanced from me to Lincoln then threw in his entire hand. "I have bread to bake."

"Coward," I muttered.

"It was merely luck, Charlie," Lincoln said again. "Jimmy and Pete couldn't accept that, even after they inspected the dice." He tapped the table with his finger. "Are you playing or arguing?"

I threw down my best card and won the hand.

"You should have discarded something lower," he said. "My card was only a six."

"What if I didn't have anything lower?"

He looked at me like he didn't believe me.

We played for another hour and he won every round except for those where he deliberately discarded a low value card. It was extraordinary. It was as if he could see my hand. I checked the deck during the break we took for him to have his soup, but I couldn't see any markings on them. If he was cheating, it wasn't obvious how he was doing it.

"You're wasting your time," he said. "I do not cheat. I'm merely lucky at cards. And dice." He sounded offended.

I resisted telling him, once again, that nobody was that lucky. "You could make a fortune at those disreputable gambling dens that you gentlemen like to frequent."

He said nothing, merely finished his soup. Seth, who'd rejoined us, laughed softly. "Where do you think we met? It was at one of those disreputable gambling dens. Mr. Fitzroy did indeed win everything that night."

I recalled Seth telling me the story of how he'd been about to wager his body as a last resort when Lincoln had stepped in and won enough to clear Seth's debts. His price had been Seth's service, which he still seemed to be paying off a year later.

"He was banned that night," Seth said, smiling. "For suspected cheating."

"I didn't—"

"Cheat," I finished for Lincoln. "So you keep saying."

He set the bowl down hard on the table. "It's time for your training." I got the feeling he was going to make me work extra hard today. "Change into your exercise clothes and meet me in the ballroom. It's still raining outside and there's more space in there."

I did as told, leaving him behind in the kitchen. I changed into my training attire of loose fitting men's trousers and an oversized shirt. Even without a corset, women's clothing was too restrictive. I would one day have to learn to fight in it, so Lincoln had told me, but not yet.

The ballroom was located on the first level. I rarely entered the vast, empty room, as there was no need to clean a space that was never used. Besides, it made me a little sad to see such a grand room go to waste. In days past, the three crystal chandeliers would have presided over revelry and scandal, but now they gathered dust. Perhaps Lady Harcourt could convince Lincoln to hold a ball there, one day, to breathe life into the room. Perhaps after he attended a few elsewhere, he'd want to hold one of his own.

Or not. I rather thought he'd prefer to use the room for fighting than dancing.

Lincoln arrived a few minutes after me in his regular clothes of shirt and trousers. He rarely wore a waistcoat or tie around the house, unless he was receiving callers, and he rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows for training. If he knew the effect his state of casual undress had on me, he would probably don the full suit. Sometimes it was a marvel that I could learn anything at all.

"I'm ready," I said, planting my feet on the floorboards to steady my stance.

"I thought we'd try something different today." He nodded at the sideboard and table, pushed up against the wall and covered by dust sheets. On the table, a long knife, short one, and a club had been set out. "Choose a weapon."

"I thought you said I wasn't ready for weapons training."

"We have to start at some point. Inspect the weapons and tell me which one you want to use, but do not pick any up."

"Why not?"

"Don't ask questions."

I crossed the room and inspected the three weapons then turned back to him. "Does Cook know—"

I heard the dust cover flap in the moment before something slammed into my back and a set of arms gripped me round the waist from behind. The warning didn't give me enough time to turn to fight my attacker—Seth, I assumed—but I was able to position my arms so that he couldn't pin them too. Then I jabbed my elbow into his ribs, stomped on his toe, and threw back a punch that had the fortune to hit his groin.

He let me go and I spun round. He was too busy clutching himself and going deathly pale to counter my attack, so instead of attempting to gouge his eyes out, I simply placed my hand over his face.

"I win," I told him, fighting to keep my grin under control. "Are you all right?"

He squeaked a response that I didn't understand.

"Sorry," I said. "If you'd come out from your hiding place more quietly, I wouldn't have had time to react."

"Good," Lincoln said, joining us. "But you should have grabbed the weapons while he was incapacitated then fled."

"You said not to pick up the weapons. I was following orders."

"My orders are irrelevant in the event of an attack. You must do everything you can to escape, and if that means defying me, then I give you my permission."

"How gracious of you." I clutched Seth's shoulder. A little color had returned to his cheeks, but he still looked in some pain. "I didn't think I hit you that hard. I couldn't muster as much strength as I would have if I were facing you."

"It's the most sensitive area on the male body," Lincoln said. "Remember that, aim for it, then run if you can. Your primary goal is to get away from your attacker, not defeat him."

Seth rubbed his crotch and finally released his nether regions. "Jesus, Charlie, not so hard next time. I might need it later tonight."

"I am sorry." I bit my lip and glanced at his crotch. "I hope it still works."

"So do I!"

"And so does your lady friend, I'm sure." I grinned and he managed a wobbly smile in return.

"Leave us," Lincoln growled at Seth.

The poor man walked gingerly from the ballroom. "I haven't done any permanent damage, have I?" I asked Lincoln once Seth was out of earshot.

"Unlikely."

"Good. I'd hate to deprive the ladies of their favorite pastime."

He narrowed his gaze at me.

"That was a joke," I said.

"Young ladies shouldn't make such crude jokes."

"I'm hardly a lady, and that's tame compared to what I used to say." Fitting in with gangs of boys required far cruder jokes than that. "Will you allow me to help you investigate now?"

"I will consider it."

"Are you going to teach me to fight with weapons?"

He shook his head. "That was a ruse to get you near Seth's hiding place. Training will resume as normal. That little exercise proved to me that your reflexes are fast, your hearing excellent, and your nerves steady. But you still need to become stronger and build your repertoire of maneuvers before you learn how to fight with weapons."

He'd rendered me quite speechless. I'd never thought I'd hear such praise from his mouth. I was still basking in his words when he suddenly grabbed me round the waist in almost the same manner that Seth had. Except I'd not had a chance to keep my arms free. With them pinned to my sides, I was only able to stomp on his toe, wriggle and kick backward, failing to connect with his legs.

"That wasn't fair," I said, giving up. If I couldn't beat him, I might as well enjoy the feel of his arms around me.

"No attack is fair. During training, you must always be alert. Whenever you are out walking on your own, you must always be alert."

I tilted my head to peer up at him. His jaw was at my eye level, his throat near my lips. I relaxed against him and rested my head on his shoulder. His long, slow exhale fanned my hair. His heart gave a single, booming thud against my back. It stirred my blood, raised my hopes.

"Lincoln," I whispered into the smooth skin at the base of his throat.

His arms loosened so that I was able to turn into him and place my hands on his chest. His heart beat rapidly, erratically, and even as I registered that, I pushed hard against him with one hand and slammed the palm of my other under his chin, snapping his head back.

I went to step out of his embrace entirely, but he'd already recovered and grasped my forearms. I was facing him now, however, and had the use of my legs. I stomped on his toe then lifted my knee to smash it into his groin, but he knocked it away with his hand. With one arm now free, I swung a punch into his stomach and another at his jaw, but missed.

In the blink of an eye, he'd grabbed both my arms again and lowered me to the floor with more gentleness than an attacker would have. He sat on my thighs and stretched my arms over my head. He gripped both my hands in one of his and planted the other on the floor beside my head.

I bucked and growled in frustration, but I couldn't dislodge him. If he were a real attacker, I'd be in a lot of trouble. It was a stark reminder that I needed to improve.

"You win this round," I muttered.

He didn't release me. The shutters came down over his eyes, leaving only a slit through which he watched me. His face drew close to mine as he leaned forward to lock my hands in his own big one. Heat flared beneath my skin and pulsed through my veins, throbbing in time to my rapidly beating heart. His free hand cupped my cheek. His face lowered until his mouth was near mine. His spicy scent filled me, rendering me stupid. I could think of nothing but this powerful man, and the way I ached for his kiss.

"Sir, when—? Oh." Seth stood in the doorway, his mouth flopped open.

Lincoln sprang to his feet in a blur of movement. "What do you want?" he snapped.

Seth backed out the door. "I'm, er, sorry to interrupt, sir."

"We're training." Lincoln held out his hand to me and I took it. His touch was clinical and he let me go as soon as I was steady on my feet. "Charlie is yet to defeat some of us."

I searched his face for signs that he was as affected as me by what had almost happened, but there were none. His mouth was set in an uncompromising line, his eyes were black voids. With my heart still in my throat, I walked as steadily as my shaking legs would allow to the table and clutched the edge through the dust cover. With my back to the men, I gasped in air in the hopes my nerves would feel a little less frayed. It didn't work.

"I was going to ask when you wanted me to relieve Gus," Seth said.

"I'll go after dinner," Lincoln said.

"For how long?"

"All night."

"Is that wise, sir? Shouldn't you rest?"

"I'll rest tomorrow. Charlie, training is complete." His footsteps receded from the ballroom and I closed my eyes. So he was going to fight against his feelings and ignore what had almost happened. I didn't know why I expected anything else.

"Are you all right, Charlie?" Seth asked from close behind me.

I nodded.

I thought he'd walked off, but then he sat on the edge of the table beside me. "Will you allow me to give you some advice?"

"If you must."

"Forget him. He's too volatile, too wild."

What an odd thing to say. "He's not an animal."

"Isn't he?" He sighed. "If you'll permit me to speak freely?"

"Of course."

"You crave a family, a place, a home."

"Lichfield is now my home, and you are all my family." My throat clogged with tears that I couldn't swallow past. Why did I want to cry? I hated crying, especially over a man. There were sadder things that deserved tears. Things that had happened to me in the past that had failed to unravel me like this.

"I know," he said softly. "That's why you shouldn't do anything to jeopardize what you have here. He'll throw you out if he feels your presence is making him weaker."

I spun round. "How am I making him weaker?"

"If he develops feelings for you, it makes him vulnerable. Fitzroy hates vulnerability in himself, and if you make him weak…" He shrugged. "He would force you to leave."

I blinked back tears and shook my head. "He wouldn't," I whispered. "He's not that cruel."

"Isn't he? Anyway, like I said, that's if he develops feelings for you. I'm not entirely certain he's capable of feeling anything."

"You're wrong about him, Seth."

"Am I? I've known him longer than you."

"That doesn't mean you know him better."

"Women," he muttered as he pushed off. "Moths have more sense. They know to stay away from flames like him."

I watched him go, my heart a dead weight in my chest. How many moths were circling Lincoln's flame? I wished I didn't care so much. It would make life far easier if I could do as Seth wanted and shrug off my feelings. Lincoln certainly seemed capable of shrugging off his desire for me.

***

"Charlie, wake up." Lincoln's deep voice nestled into my dreams. I wanted to hold it close, sink into its silky depths. His vigorous shaking of my foot was far more disruptive, however.

I sat up and he let my foot go. I rubbed my eyes. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Come with me."

I blinked at him. He was fully dressed and not looking the least sleepy. He must have come straight from Jimmy and Pete's place. "Where to?"

"Whitechapel."

"Why?"

"You wanted to help," he said turning away. "Now is your opportunity. Dress in boys' clothes and your cloak."

I scrambled out of bed as he shut the door behind himself and waited in the corridor. I pulled on the boys' clothing I'd worn the day I'd arrived at Lichfield, and a black hooded cloak, gloves and boots. My hair would have to stay loose. I doubted he'd allow me the time to pin it back.

Without word, he strode ahead of me through the darkness. Neither of us needed a light to move around the house at night, but I was slower at descending the stairs than him. It would be just my luck to miss a step and tumble down. He waited for me at the base of the staircase then strode off again, through the kitchen and other service rooms and out the back door. I had to take two steps to his one to keep up.

A horse tethered to a bollard blew foggy air from its nostrils. The light of the glowing moon glinted off the metal stirrup as Lincoln held it for me. I hesitated, but not for more than a heartbeat. If he'd made the decision to invite me to help on a whim, I didn't want him thinking too much about it and risk having him change his mind. I might never get the opportunity again.

I hoisted myself into the saddle and tried to correct my balance. Seth had given me some riding lessons but I wasn't very good; I much preferred to have both feet on solid ground. It felt somewhat more natural and comfortable with trousers on, as I sat astride like a man instead of sidesaddle. I was beginning to think I could get used to riding if I always sat astride—until Lincoln mounted and disrupted my composure.

He sat in front of me and directed me to hold on. I circled my arms around his waist and rested my cheek to his back. Even through the layers of clothing I could feel his warmth and the ridged muscles of his stomach. Every part of him felt taught, but I got no chance to ponder that when the horse moved. It didn't walk or trot, but flew down the drive to the gates. At least it felt like flying, the beast was going that fast. I held on, not only with my hands and arms, but with my thighs and feet too.

"Charlie." Lincoln's hand closed over mine at his stomach. "Relax your fingers. I need to breathe."

"I will relax them when you hold the reins in both hands again."

He let me go and I loosened my grip a little.

"Are your eyes open?"

"Of course." I opened them and was glad that it was too dark to see much. The few working streetlights provided enough light for me to realize we were going exceedingly fast. I resisted the urge to close them again and instead began to count to pass the time and take my mind off the fact I was riding at an alarming speed.

It still seemed like an age before we slowed. We'd reached Whitechapel. I knew the area well, having spent more months in the miserable precinct than I would have liked. Where not a soul was out on the cool, damp night in Highgate, there were signs of life in Whitechapel, from the homeless, huddled on front porches, to the whores offering themselves to us as we passed. Their threadbare clothing looked too thin for the bitter autumn night. I wished I'd brought some coins with me to hand out.

Lincoln ignored them all. We rode through the shadows, down narrow lanes that stank of human wretchedness until we finally came to a stop behind a row of buildings. Lincoln dismounted and opened a gate then led the horse through to a small courtyard. It was empty except for a small cart, a pail and some empty crates. He closed the gate again and held the horse steady while I dismounted without assistance.

"Is this where Jimmy and Pete live?" I asked.

"They live around the corner. This is a butcher's shop. They stole another body earlier this evening, deposited it here and then left."

Bile rose to my throat. "They're selling human meat for people to eat?" Oh God, how horrid.

"I don't think so, but I don't know for certain."

"So you wish me to use my necromancy and find out from one of the body's spirits what it is they plan to do?"

"I doubt the spirits will know. They have probably crossed over and wouldn't have witnessed anything. It's unlikely they even know their bodies have been disturbed."

"Then how can a spirit help? What do you need me for?"

"To raise one so he can frighten them into telling us."

"Oh. That's a good idea. It might work. But you don't think your interrogation techniques are enough to scare them into giving you answers?"

"It wasn't when I questioned them at The Red Lion. They're being paid very well, or being offered another incentive to keep the secret. Either I kill one of them to frighten the other into loosening his tongue, or we frighten them in some other way."

"I think you've made the right choice."

"We shall see."

"Do you think I can manage it? Raising a dead man when his soul has already crossed over, I mean. I've never done it before." I knew from reading Lincoln's books that a necromancer must summon a soul that has crossed over to the afterlife by name then instruct him or her to re-enter a dead body, not necessarily their own. I knew from experience that a soul that has not yet crossed doesn't need to be summoned by name. Simple instructions suffice in that case.

"You can manage it," he assured me.

"But I don't know any names."

"Gordon Moreland Thackery was inscribed on the headstone of the latest victim."

"Oh. Well done." I pulled my cloak tighter around my neck to keep out the chill. "Take me to the body."

"I picked the lock earlier," Lincoln said as he pushed open the door to the butcher's shop. It was as dark as his eyes inside and he didn't light a candle.

"I can't see."

His hand slipped into mine and he led me down a short corridor. The door clicked closed behind me. Our footsteps echoed on the floorboards and my breath sounded loud in the dense silence. He stepped on a creaking board and stopped. He let go of my hand and a sudden surge of fear bubbled inside me. I huddled in closer to him and was relieved when he struck a match and lit a candle that had been placed on a small recessed ledge at the top of a flight of stairs.

He returned the box of matches to his inside coat pocket then, of all the odd things, he fussed with my hood, ensuring it was pulled low over my forehead and around my ears. He was clinical, his gaze not meeting mine.

"Keep warm," he said, lowering his hand.

"Is the body down there?" I whispered.

He nodded. "Charlie?"

"Yes?"

"Prepare yourself."

We went down the steep narrow staircase and Lincoln slid back the bolt on the door at the base and pushed it open. A blast of cool air hit my face and I shivered. He stepped into the room first, blocking my view, but I entered close behind, not wanting to be left alone in the dark corridor.

He raised the candle high and I gasped. Behind the carcasses hanging from hooks suspended from the cool room ceiling was not one human body, but four. And they all stood upright, staring back at me with empty, dead eyes.