"You'd better explain yourself, Buchanan," Marchbank said. "Julia told us that Vickers is her heir."

"As Fitzroy seems to have guessed, there's been a change of plans," Andrew Buchanan said. "Julia never did get around to making Vickers her heir on the committee. Ask her, if you like. She'll even show you her last will and testament. Her unchanged will and testament." He threw himself into an armchair and snapped his fingers. "Make yourself useful, Vickers, and pour me a drink. It's all you seem to be good for, these days."

Gillingham snorted a laugh. Seth stepped up to Buchanan, but Lincoln caught his wrist. He shook his head in warning.

I poured a glass of brandy for Buchanan instead. Then I marched up to him and threw the contents in his face. "There's your drink."

Buchanan spluttered as brandy dripped off his chin and nose, soaking his clothes. His lips peeled back from his teeth in a grimace and he went to get up. Lincoln stepped in front of him and a glare was enough to force Buchanan to sit again.

He plucked at his damp clothes. "Waste of good stuff."

I took Seth's hand and hauled him out of the library. "There's no point listening to what he has to say," I said when we were out of earshot. "It won't be interesting." I shut the door and drew in a deep breath, gathering my wits.

Beside me, Seth shook with anger. Perhaps Lincoln should have let him strike Buchanan. It wasn't as if he didn't deserve it, and it would make Seth feel better.

"Miss Holloway," Doyle said, joining us. "I tried to stop Mr. Buchanan but he marched right past me."

"It's all right," I told the butler. "Come on, Seth. Let's find Alice."

I hoped being with Alice would calm his nerves a little, but it did not. For one thing, his mother was with her in the music room, and for another, he seemed to hardly notice Alice as she played the piano. His charm was nowhere in evidence as he brooded by the window.

A brooding Seth was not something I was used to, and I found I couldn't settle into the conversations that Lady Vickers and Alice attempted to draw me into.

"Charlie?" Alice prompted, her hands stilling on the keys. "Are you listening?"

"No. Sorry. I'm distracted." I regretted leaving the meeting now. I ought to be in there, contributing and supporting Lincoln. Not that he needed my support with the committee members, but surely it was the thought that counted.

"The mail is being delivered," Seth announced, pushing off from the window frame he'd been leaning against.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"To see if there are any letters for me. A newspaper was on the hall stand too. I need something to distract me."

"Are we not distraction enough?" Alice asked, her fingers racing along the keys.

"Not at the moment." He stormed out, leaving a deafening silence in his wake.

"He didn't mean it quite the way it sounds," I assured Alice.

"I think he did," she said.

"My son is a man of action," Lady Vickers said. "He doesn't like being cooped up in music rooms and libraries for long."

Except when there are pretty women in those music rooms and libraries, I could have said. But I bit my tongue and followed Seth out. The hall stand was very close to the library, and I didn't want him to succumb to the temptation to rejoin the committee meeting.

His longs legs and purposeful stride meant I didn't catch up to him until the entrance hall. He flicked through the mail, tossing each letter back into the salver after a cursory glance.

"Are you even reading the names?" I asked.

With a sigh, he dropped the rest of the letters into the salver. "I'm going back in."

"Very well."

He narrowed his gaze. "You won't try to stop me?"

"No. I'm going to join you."

The corner of his mouth lifted and he held out his hand toward the library door. "After you."

"Miss Holloway! Lord Vickers!" Doyle rushed up to us, out of breath, and held out a newspaper. "This just arrived. I think you'll want to read it."

"Oh no," I murmured as I read the front page headline.

"'Is the Ripper back?'" Seth read.

"There's been another mauling death in the East End. We have to tell Lincoln."

Seth grabbed the newspaper as I went to move off. "Wait." He pointed to a spot near the end of the article. "That's an interesting development."

"'Werewolf,'" I read, my stomach sinking. "The reporter has made the connection."

Seth and I exchanged glances then we both headed to the library and pushed open the door together. All heads swiveled to face us.

"Do I need to remind you again," Buchanan said with a smirk. "You're not part of these meetings, Vickers, unless you're serving or taking notes."

"Shut your mouth, Buchanan, or I'll shut it for you," I said sweetly. I handed the newspaper to Lincoln. "It happened again."

He quickly read the article and passed it to Gus.

"What's happened?" Gillingham said. "What's in the papers?"

"Hand it to me." Buchanan clicked his fingers at Gus. "Come on, man, you're taking too long."

"Aye," Gus said, absently. "On account of my low education."

"And stupidity," Gillingham muttered. "Honestly, you shouldn't even be in here." He snatched the paper from Gus's hand. Buchanan and Marchbank joined him and read over his shoulder.

Gus looked at Lincoln. "Werewolf."

"The reporter's use of the word is interesting," Lincoln said.

"And concerning," Seth added. "To have come to that conclusion based on only two mauling deaths is a large leap. Do you think he has some sort of connection with the shape changing community?"

"Perhaps we need to speak with that reporter."

Gillingham slapped the paper with the back of his gloved hand. "It's a poorly written piece. Clearly sensationalist to sell more copies. The headline speaks to the Ripper crimes but the article itself concludes that a werewolf is responsible for this death and the last one. The reporter doesn't actually link these two latest deaths to the Whitechapel murders of two years ago. The headline is purely to catch the attention of passersby. Look at the size of it!"

"It's what newspapers do to sell more papers," Buchanan said. "Sensationalist news stories, scaremongering and gossip are their trade."

"You would know all about that," Gillingham muttered. "You're quite the expert on feeding gossip to journalists."

Buchanan swallowed and looked away. So he still felt guilty for informing the papers about Lady Harcourt's past as a dancer. It never ceased to amaze me to be reminded that he had a conscience.

"This meeting is adjourned," Lord Marchbank said with a nod for Lincoln. "Fitzroy has work to do."

Work that would begin with finding out why the reporter mentioned werewolves in his article.

---

A frenzy of activity at the office of The Star in Stonecutter Street near Ludgate Circus was a testament to the daily's popularity. It was one of the few newspapers that circulated widely in the poorer parts of London. When I slept in derelict houses, there were always a few pages of The Star that could be found to stuff down the front of my shirt for warmth.

Lincoln and I met Mr. Salter in the front reception room. I guessed the tall slender man with the crooked teeth was a good ten years older than Lincoln, but it wasn't easy to tell. He had a receding hairline but smooth skin and no gray in his beard.

"My name is Lincoln Fitzroy and this is—"

"Fitzroy!" Mr. Salter rubbed his hands together. "Well then, this must be Miss Holloway."

"You know of us?" I asked.

"I do."

"How?" Lincoln growled. He would not like it that this man knew about him when Lincoln knew nothing in return.

"I'll tell you that when you tell me why you're here." Mr. Salter sniffed the air, as if he could sense a good story. "We'll talk in private. Come this way." He led us down a corridor, past several rooms, some occupied, to a small office containing a desk and bookshelves. A mechanical typing machine took pride of place on the desk, an open notebook beside it. Mr. Salter closed the notebook and placed it in a drawer.

"How do you know us?" Lincoln asked again.

Mr. Salter wagged his finger. "Uh-uh. You agreed. You answer me first. Do you have information about the murders I reported on? Or something else entirely?" His accent was almost East End but not quite. In fact, it sounded like my own speech pattern in the years when I tried to blend in with the other urchins but hadn't quite shed my middle class roots. I suspected Mr. Salter had gone in the other direction to me—he'd been born an East Ender but earned a good education at some point.

"Your article mentioned a werewolf." It would seem Lincoln refused to agree to terms. "Why?"

Mr. Salter sighed. "I can see you have nothing for me, only questions. Pity."

"Answer my question."

"Please," I added.

Mr. Salter smiled knowingly, almost as if he expected Lincoln to be abrupt and me to be conciliatory. Someone had told him all about us.

"I wondered if you would come here to speak with me," Mr. Salter went on. "I admit to using the word werewolf specifically to draw you out."

"How do you know about shape changers?" Lincoln asked.

"I heard rumors after that fellow was found in Hyde Park two months ago. When these latest murders happened, I couldn't help thinking of that one. So I entered into my own investigation. I came to the conclusion that the wild dog story put about by the police was just that—a story."

"And a werewolf attack seemed more plausible?" Lincoln asked.

Mr. Salter lifted one shoulder. "It does when you know they exist right under our noses."

"And what makes you think that?"

Mr. Salter sat forward and linked his hands on his desk. "Come now, Mr. Fitzroy. I am not a fool. I observe, listen and investigate, much as you do. The existence of the supernatural is nothing new to me. I belonged to an organization known as the Society for Supernatural Activity. It's disbanded now, but was quite prominent in the field of supernatural research."

"I've heard of them," Lincoln said.

"I haven't." I appealed to the journalist. "What did they do?"

"They investigated the supernatural," Mr. Salter went on. "Anything unexplained, they dug deeper to find answers. Their library containing supernatural texts was extensive, I believe. A private buyer bought the contents. Anyway, the society is no longer, yet I am still investigating rumors of the inexplicable whenever something inexplicable comes across my desk."

"And do many come across your desk?" I asked.

"Very few, I admit."

"So the term werewolf simply occurred to you in the case of this latest mauling?" Lincoln said.

"It did."

"Even though a more obvious answer is the wild dog theory?"

"I question whether a wild dog attacking people in an urban area is more obvious, Mr. Fitzroy."

"Something else led you to the werewolf conclusion. What is it?"

Mr. Salter smiled amiably. "I assure you, I am not privy to any other information. Scotland Yard have not been forthcoming, which implies they know very little. They've already admitted there were no witnesses to either murder. My conclusion of werewolf was simply a guess, based on my interest in the supernatural."

A good guess. Too good perhaps?

"You say you've heard about us," Lincoln went on. "What have you heard?"

"That you are the leader of an organization called the Ministry of Curiosities."

I sucked air between my teeth. I hadn't been expecting him to say that. Lincoln gave nothing away. If he was surprised by Mr. Salter's answer, he didn't show it.

"Go on," Lincoln said, as calmly as can be.

"There's little more to tell. I am aware that the ministry keeps records of supernatural families through the ages, and that you investigate paranormal phenomena from time to time. I am not aware of very many of the particulars, however, just generalizations."

"Is that why you haven't written an article mentioning the ministry?"

Mr. Salter merely smiled.

"Don't believe everything you hear, Mr. Salter."

"If you are trying to convince me that the ministry doesn't exist, you are wasting your breath. I trust my source."

"Who is your source?"

Mr. Salter chuckled as he leaned back in his chair. He seemed quite unconcerned. Clearly his source hadn't told him how dangerous Lincoln could be. "Come now, Mr. Fitzroy. You're smarter than that."

"It doesn't matter if you tell us or not," I said with more confidence than I felt. "We can discover who told you on our own." I stood and Lincoln followed suit.

"Be careful, Mr. Salter," he said. "Don't write anything too speculative in your newspaper or you might reveal too much. There are some people who wish to keep the supernatural a secret and they'll try to silence you."

Mr. Salter shot to his feet and squared his shoulders. "Is that an idle threat?"

"I don't make idle threats. Ask your source. They'll tell you."

"In that case, let me advise you to be careful too, Mr. Fitzroy. If these murders were in fact committed by a wolf-like shifter, and you are found to be harboring one, you might find your ministry coming under intense scrutiny."

Lincoln watched him from beneath hooded lids, that fierce gaze of his never wavering. Tension made his features hard, his body rigid. I hooked my arm through his and steered him toward the door before he created a scene.

We made our way out of The Star's office and climbed back into our waiting coach.

"The nerve of him!" I snapped as we drove off. "He doesn't care about the trouble he's stirring up at all. Imagine if people believe that article. They'll panic if they think there are werewolves roaming the city."

"They will if there's another murder," Lincoln said darkly. "It'll be like the Ripper murders all over again."

"Who do you think told Salter about the ministry? Swinburn? Ballantine?"

"It's possible, but if they also suggested the werewolf theory to Salter then they're putting themselves in danger of being exposed. I can't imagine Swinburn would jeopardize his pack by inviting scrutiny."

"I suppose," I muttered, not entirely convinced. Swinburn was so slippery that I suspected him of everything at the moment. "Lady Harcourt, in revenge?"

"We only removed her from the committee this morning. But if Salter had information about her past then it's possible she exchanged this information for his silence. It wouldn't surprise me. She doesn't want to lose Swinburn."

"It wouldn't surprise me either." I looked out of the window and watched the long shadows of the late afternoon slip past. "There's also Buchanan and any number of people we've met in the past—Lord Harcourt and his wife, Miss Redding from the theater… Sometimes it seems as if the entire world knows about the ministry."

"It hasn't been a priority to keep it a secret. Just your necromancy."

I turned to face him. "Do you think Mr. Salter knows about that?"

His brow creased in thought. "He didn't mention it."

"And he didn't give me odd looks, like most do when they learn what I am." I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I suspect he doesn't know." But how long before he found out?

He leaned forward and closed his hand over mine. "The question is, did his source leave that piece of information out deliberately, or did he or she not know?"

The answer to that would change the list of suspects.

"The Society for Supernatural Activity is an organization that had entanglements with the Langleys," he said.

"Are you implying the Langleys are Salter's source?" I shook my head. "Surely not. Jack Langley is a demon himself, and there is a portal on his property. He didn't like discussing the supernatural with us at first. Despite all that, I can't believe it of them anyway."

"Why not?"

"I liked them."

His features softened. "That isn't a good defense."

"And this is not a courtroom."

He stroked my wrist with his thumb. "There's another possibility. Someone I expect you to defend."

I snatched my hand back. "You are not going to accuse Alice or Lady Vickers! Who's next? Seth or Gus?"

He sat back and folded his arms. His eyes banked with a coldness I didn't like. "You think I'd do that?"

I bit my lip. "No. You're right. You wouldn't. I'm sorry, Lincoln. Who do you suspect?"

"The royal family."

I stared at him for so long my eyes watered. "You think your father is the source? I cannot believe it. He likes you, and his brother the duke likes him. They wouldn't talk about you to anyone. Besides, the royals are not the sort to trust newspapers. They dislike that sort of attention."

"Unless it helps them."

"How does telling a reporter from The Star about you and the ministry help them?"

"I don't know yet."

"It's a working men's daily anyway, and far too left wing for the royals. They'd probably go to the The Standard. No, I still think it's Swinburn."

"Then if Swinburn is confiding in newspapermen, we have another problem." At my raised brow, he added, "He could tell Salter who my father is."

I considered that a moment then shook my head. "The risk is too great. He wouldn't want to offend the royal family, and he knows he'd be our number one suspect, since so few are privy to that piece of information."

"Whoever it is knows about Harriet being a shape changer. Salter mentioned the ministry harboring one. That can only mean her."

"Then we can rule out the royal family," I said.

"Unless Swinburn has informed the prince or duke."

"Could Mr. Salter be referring to Gawler and the fact you have not held him accountable for these murders?"

He nodded thoughtfully. "That is a very good point."

I sighed. We were not getting any closer to answers, only more questions. "So what do we do now?"

"I look through that notebook from Salter."

"Oh! Yes, the one he placed in his desk drawer. Why hide it from us if it's not important? It probably contains the name of his informant." I rubbed my hands together. "Shall we break into The Star's office tonight?"

"I will do the breaking in without you. That is not negotiable, Charlie, so don't attempt to change my mind."

"But—"

He lunged toward me, planted his hands on the seat either side of me, and pressed his mouth to mine before I could say anything more. The kiss sent a thrill through me, right to my toes. It was full of ferocious desire, of a need that came from deep within him. I could not push him away. Didn't want to. I clung to his shoulders and deepened the kiss.

He finally sat back opposite when the coach turned a sharp corner. I was gratified to see that his cheeks had colored. He looked as flustered as I felt.

"You are diabolical," I said.

He flashed me a wicked grin.

"But you can't silence me forever," I said.

"Seth and Gus will come with me. There's no need for you, too."

I didn't bother to contradict him. It would only end in an argument.

---

I slept through the night and missed Lincoln's nocturnal excursion to The Star's office and his subsequent visit to Mr. Salter's lodgings. It was a pity, as I would have liked to scramble through windows like I used to. It turned out that he didn't take Gus or Seth either. I did not admonish him for it in front of them as we all sat in his study in the morning, but planned to do so later.

"Did you find the notebook?" Seth asked.

"No," Lincoln said. "It wasn't in his office, and I couldn't find it in his rooms. I didn't check his bedroom for risk of waking him."

"You never used to worry about that," Seth said with a laugh.

Lincoln glared at him and Seth gulped.

"Might be worth going back when he ain't there," Gus suggested.

"I disagree," I said. "I suspect he keeps the notebook close, perhaps even on his person."

"My money's still on Swinburn being Salter's source," Seth said. "Or Julia. Perhaps both together."

I no longer felt so sure. Lincoln was right; Swinburn wouldn't jeopardize his pack by drawing the ire of the public. Imagine if Salter's articles led to vigilantes roaming the streets at night or an extra police presence. At best, they would be seen during their runs, and at worst, they'd be shot at.

A knock sounded on the door and Lincoln asked the visitor to enter. It was Alice, biting her lip and looking drawn. She seemed out of sorts since returning from Freak House. She was often distracted by her own thoughts and frequently took out her frustration on the piano keys. When I asked her what the matter was, she simply shook her head and refused to answer.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but we have visitors," she announced. "The Cornells wish to speak to you."

"Just Lincoln?" Seth asked.

"All of you. Leisl particularly asked for you, Seth."

He tugged on his cuffs. "She finds me charming."

Gus thumped his arm but had no cutting remark to offer. Perhaps because Seth was right and it was his presence that Leisl liked. Older women in particular found him charming.

I hung back with Alice, allowing the men to go on ahead. "Is everything all right?" I asked her.

"My nerves are frayed. The lack of progress regarding my situation is torture. I thought going to Frakingham would bring answers, and a plan to help me, but it hasn't. In fact, the investigation into my condition has stalled altogether."

"We're busy with solving the murders. That must take priority."

She sighed again. "I know. But that doesn't mean I can't feel irritable. You cannot understand how important this is to me. I must find a way to stop these dreams coming to life. I must find answers."

"What if the answer is that they cannot be stopped? What if this is how you'll be forever?" I felt awful for pointing it out but she ought to prepare herself for the worst. "Just as I have to live with the fact I'm a necromancer."

"At least you can control when you raise the dead. I can't control my affliction."

"Perhaps you'll learn to."

She threw her hands in the air. "When? I need to learn now, before something awful happens or that horrid little rodent returns."

"Rabbits aren't rodents." I didn't tell her that I found the creature rather adorable with his floppy ears and waistcoat. He'd not tried to harm anyone, he’d merely urged her to go with him. "You must relax, Alice. You know what happens when you're frustrated."

"I'll try."

"As soon as we discover who has killed those people, we'll investigate portals and realms. I promise."

She hugged my arm and we headed down the stairs, catching up to Seth who'd paused on the step. I followed his gaze to see his mother emerging from the hidden door that led to the service stairs. The stairs ran through the house between the walls with a door to each level for the servants to easily come and go. We used them, from time to time, if we didn't want to be seen by other members of the household, although those times were rare now Lichfield housed more staff. I'd never seen Lady Vickers venture through any of the doors before.

She headed in the other direction, not having seen us. Her light hum drifted along the corridor. It was a pretty, happy tune.

"Your mother seems content lately," I said to Seth.

He grunted. "That's what worries me."

I exchanged a glance with Alice. "Why?" I asked him.

"Because I've noticed her talking to Cook a lot."

I pressed my lips together to suppress my smile.

"You're worried they're developing a tendre for one another?" Alice asked.

"She has a history of it."

"And what is wrong with Cook courting her? He's a fine man."

Seth turned a sharp glare onto her. "You wouldn't understand."

"I understand that you don't like people from different stations courting each other."

"That's not why," Seth said and walked off.

"I think my charm is wearing off," Alice said, sounding pleased. "Thank goodness for that."

"Don't goad him," I said as we followed Seth at a distance. "He's sensitive about his mother's second marriage, and it seems she may be heading down the same path again. Her choices affect him."

"He's old enough not to let it matter. He should be pleased that she seems to have found happiness again."

It was impossible to argue with that.

All three members of the Cornell family waited for us in the drawing room. Lincoln greeted them stiffly while I gave them each a kiss on the cheek. We'd seen them twice in the last two months, including at a dinner held here. While it had been a pleasant evening, on the whole, David was still rather frosty toward Lincoln, his half-brother. Their mother had told me to give them time. I wondered how long it would take before he accepted Lincoln into his family.

I wondered how long it would take for Lincoln to want to be a part of it.

"What can we do for you?" Lincoln asked, getting straight to the point.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw David's lips flatten in irritation at Lincoln's curtness. His sister, however, kept her face averted. Eva studied her lap, her hands clasped tightly. I got the distinct impression she was avoiding meeting anyone's gaze but couldn't fathom why. She'd been amiable and kind to us since discovering she had a half-brother, with a wicked sense of humor. I liked her.

"I had a vision about you, Lincoln," Leisl said. "I come to warn you."

Heavy dread settled in my heart. "Warn him?"

"I see you trapped in a small room."

"Where?" I asked.

"I do not know." Leisl wrung her hands together, her handsome brow deeply furrowed. "I am worried, Charlie."

Lincoln remained unmoved as he stood by the fireplace. He didn't ask his mother any more questions, so it would seem it was up to me.

"What did the room look like?"

"Dark, damp, bare. The walls are dirty. I do not see the door or windows, if there are any, but my seer's senses know he cannot get out."

"Any idea how he got in there?" Seth asked.

"It doesn't work that way," David snapped.

"Then how does it work?" Seth snapped right back.

"She sees or senses only a moment in time, not the before or after."

Eva cleared her throat. "The visions act as a warning of what is to come."

"So they only reveal the bad?" Gus said. "Never the good?"

"Good too," Leisl said with a glance at Eva. "But not this time. This is bad. You must be careful, Lincoln."

Lincoln inclined his head in a nod but didn't speak.

"He will be," I told her. "I'll make sure of it."

Leisl looked expectantly at Lincoln. He studied the hearth at his feet. I could hear my own breathing and the tick of the clock on the mantel in the hush. Why didn't he reassure her? She only needed to hear a word or two from him telling her he would be careful, even if he didn't mean it. I almost scolded him then and there, but it was David who finally broke the tension.

"Don't you care, Fitzroy?"

"David, don't," Eva said.

"We came all this way to warn you," David went on.

"You didn't have to come," Eva hissed.

"Thank you," Lincoln finally said to Leisl.

It wasn't nearly enough but I knew it was all Lincoln would offer, and I think Leisl understood that. She smiled tentatively.

"Let's go," David said, rising.

"Won't you stay for tea?" I asked as Mrs. Cotchin and Doyle entered carrying trays laden with tea things and cakes.

"We can't," Eva said, also rising.

"We can," Leisl said. Her children exchanged glances then sat again.

"Do you think this vision is connected to the one you had about the queen, Eva?" I asked as I poured the tea. "Where you think she will be a danger to us?"

Eva shook her head and accepted the teacup. "I don't know. Mama sensed no regal presence in her vision."

"Too many bloody warnings and not enough information," Gus muttered. "Pardon me, ma'am, miss, but what're we s'posed to do with 'em? How can we be careful if we don't know what to be careful of?"

It was a question without an answer. We left behind discussions of visions and dire predictions and moved instead to talk of the wedding. Lady Vickers joined us, her mood still buoyant. I tried to imagine her having a rendezvous with Cook on the service stairs but only ended up giggling into my teacup.

Seth shot me a glare. I suspected he knew precisely what I was thinking.

Our guests remained for another half an hour, during which I could see the men growing increasingly eager to leave the drawing room. When Eva reminded her mother that she had a lecture to attend at London Hospital, Leisl finally agreed it was time to depart. David was the first to stand.

"Thank you for the tea," he said to me. "It was a pleasure to see you, as always, Charlie." He spoke just as nicely to the others, but was as brisk as ever with Lincoln.

Eva caught my elbow and held me back, allowing the others to go on ahead. "I'm sorry we all descended on you like this."

"Don't be silly," I said. "We're happy to see you."

"My mother insisted on coming and having me with her. David insisted on joining us."

"To see his brother again, perhaps?" I teased.

She grinned. "I do think he's thawing to the idea of having a brother."

"That was David thawing?"

"Oh yes. He didn't grumble once on the way here, whereas he used to. The real test will be what he says about Lincoln on the way home." She took my arm and squeezed it. "Don't worry. He'll thaw out altogether eventually."

"I'm not worried. He's exactly like Lincoln in that regard. They may not like one another by the wedding day, but I'm sure their greetings will move on from polite nods and graduate to grunts soon enough. Grunts are practically hugs in Lincoln's book."

She laughed and we strode toward the door arm in arm. Ahead, Seth placed a hand to Alice's lower back to steer her down the front steps.

"May I ask you a question about Seth and Alice?" Eva whispered, her head bent to mine.

"Of course."

"Is there an understanding between them?"

"He would like there to be, but she doesn't seem interested. I do think that will change when she gets to know him better and sees that there is substance behind his handsome face. Why do you ask?"

"No reason."

"Come now, Eva, you can share with me. Have you had a vision about them?"

She blushed and I knew I was right. "Not them," she said.

"Just Seth?"

She went to stride off but I clung to her and kept her at my side.

"Please, Eva, just tell me if it's something to be worried about."

She stared at Seth's back as he spoke to Alice. He flashed her a dazzling smile but Alice didn't respond. His smile faded quickly and he lowered his hand. Poor Seth. He needed to stop trying so hard. She would grow to like him in her own time, when he was acting more like himself.

"Yes," Eva said heavily. "Yes it is something to worry about, but I suspect I will be the only one who sees it that way."

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.