CHAPTER 5

"Are you sure they're dead?" I whispered.

"They are. I checked earlier." Lincoln angled himself between the pig carcasses and gripped the arm of one of the human bodies. He swiveled it around to show me the large hook gouged into the back of the cadaver's neck above the jacket collar. The toes of its burial shoes scraped the packed earth floor, and the rest of the clothing hung loosely from the emaciated figure.

My stomach rolled and I pressed a hand over my nose and mouth, although there was no smell in the cool room. "That's vile." They were being treated the same way as the pigs, as if they would be carved up for meat and served to a customer in the shop. At least some dignity had been preserved by keeping the bodies clothed.

"How long do you think they've been in here?" I asked.

"Two months, perhaps. I'd say that's the first one they took, most likely from Highgate the day you spied them." He pointed to the body of a short man on the end. In life, he would have been perhaps thirty or so, but now his flesh was gray and sagging, and much of his hair had fallen out. "The blocks of ice can only preserve them for so long."

I noticed the wooden crates containing ice set around the small room for the first time. They were stored beneath the marble shelves and behind the feet of the bodies themselves. I pulled my cloak tighter.

"Do Jimmy or Pete work here?" I asked.

"I don't know yet, but tonight was the first time since we began watching them that they visited. They must be associated with this place somehow."

"I wonder what the butcher wants with them." I ventured closer, avoiding looking at the pig carcasses and instead focusing on the last human on the right. His skin wasn't as decayed as the others and he still had most of his hair. He looked only a little older than me. He seemed to be the most recent addition to the cool room, so he must be Gordon Thackery.

"Are you ready?" Lincoln asked.

"No, but I doubt I ever will be." I stood a few feet from Thackery and blew out several breaths. Lincoln set the candle down on a shelf nearby and slid a knife from his sleeve. I wasn't sure why, since I could control the soul after I'd raised it.

"Gordon Moreland Thackery, can you hear me?" My voice echoed around the small room, although I'd kept it low and quiet. "The spirit of Gordon Thackery, I need you to join me here in the world of the living again." When nothing happened, I added, "I summon you."

A white mist coalesced out of the air above the body. It drifted back and forth then formed the shape of Gordon Thackery, right down to the bent nose. "Who're you, and what do you want?"

My pulse quickened. Despite knowing I controlled spirits, raising the dead still alarmed me. "My name is Charlie," I said. "I wish you no ill."

"Then let me return."

"I can't. I need your help. Someone has removed your body from its resting place." I nodded at the dead figure in front of me.

The mist swirled around the body, shimmering in the candlelight. Its ghostly hand reached for the cheek, but didn't touch. "What is this?" He shot toward me, stopping so close to my face that I had to lean back or be covered in spirit mist. "Have you done this?" He raged. "Him?"

Lincoln moved up beside me, his arm touching mine. He couldn't see or hear the spirit, and it must be difficult to follow a one-sided conversation, but he didn't ask me to repeat Gordon Thackery's words. His solid presence was reassuring.

I tried to keep my voice steady, my gaze direct. The spirit was confused and angry at being wrenched from his afterlife. I couldn't blame him for that. Of course, it was also possible that he hadn't been a good man in life.

He can't harm you, Charlie.

"Not us," I told him. "These bodies were dug out of their graves by two men, possibly acting on another's instructions. We don't know why, and despite our best efforts, they won't tell us."

"Have you tried beating the answers out of them?" Gordon asked with a sneer.

I couldn't help smiling. "Yes, but they still kept their secrets. We decided to scare the answers out of them instead."

"How? They can't see me, only you can. Are you a medium?"

"Not precisely. I'm a necromancer."

He frowned. "That word is unfamiliar."

"I summon the dead from the other side and direct them into a body to bring it back to life…in a way."

"Blimey." He looked impressed and horrified in equal measure. It was an improvement over his anger. "A little thing like you can do that? Can he?"

"Not him."

He nodded, thoughtful. "That makes you a very powerful woman."

"So will you help us to stop the men doing this?"

"Do I have a choice?"

I thought about lying, but decided there was no point. "No. We need you to do this for us, and I can make you. I'm sorry, but I assure you that I will release you afterward."

The mist swept away and circled his body again. Ghostly fingers rubbed his chin. "What if you die before you can release me, Charlie? What happens to my spirit then?"

"I…I don't know." I glanced at Lincoln. If his books didn't specify then it was unlikely he would know. It was a question to ask my real mother—if she was still alive.

"Then you'd better not die," Gordon said.

"I don't plan to."

He studied his body, taking particular interest in the hook in the back of the neck. "Will I feel pain?"

"The dead feel nothing. You'll have a little trouble with controlling your movements at first, but it won't hurt."

"Good." Misty fingers passed through what would have been his hair, as if it were a long held habit from life. "I have a troubled history with pain. I don't like it, you see. A bad state of affairs for a soldier." He laughed without humor. "My weakness did this to me."

"Killed you?" I asked, startled. "I don't understand."

"Opium. Black tar. The soothing bliss of oblivion from the pain caused by my injuries. I got shot in the leg in Burma and couldn't cope with the pain upon my return to London. Opium offered the only relief."

"But you became addicted," I finished. "And your addiction killed you."

"I'd say so. I don't recall much. Out of my mind, you see. Opium does that to a fellow."

Lincoln touched my arm gently. "Ready?" he asked.

I nodded. To the spirit, I said, "The sooner we start, the sooner we can finish. Float into your body."

He looked uncertain, but tried it anyway. Once the entire mist had disappeared, the body jerked on its hook like a recently caught fish. He stretched his fingers and lifted his head. The skin on his face was so pale it almost glowed in the wan light, and the blank eyes made the cavities seem more sunken. Even as I acknowledged each sign of death, the rest of the body came slowly to life, one limb at a time. Gordon's spirit seemed to be testing out each finger, every muscle, seeing if his parts still worked. It was both fascinating and gruesome. I couldn't turn away.

He reached back and unhooked himself. The body crumpled to the floor. Lincoln stepped forward and held out his hand. Gordon hesitated then accepted it. Lincoln helped the dead man to stand and steadied him as he balanced himself on legs that must seem both familiar and not.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

Gordon nodded stiffly. "I feel…nothing." His voice was as brittle as a dry twig. He lifted his trouser leg and studied a raw, pulpy scar on his shin. If I wasn't mistaken, the wound had been caused by a bullet. With a nod of satisfaction, he let the trouser leg go.

"You will regain some strength soon," I told him. "Indeed, you will become very strong. Stronger than you ever were in life."

The muscles on his face twitched, but I couldn't determine what expression he was trying to make. He studied his hands and I worried I'd told him too much. If he'd been an unscrupulous character in life, he might try to kill us.

I kept my distance. As long as I could speak, I could control him.

Lincoln too moved, but not toward the resurrected Thackery. He dodged past me and around the pig carcasses and lunged for the door—the door that was closing fast.

He didn't reach it in time. The door slammed shut and the bolt on the other side slid across.

We were locked in!

Lincoln pushed against the door but it didn't budge. I joined him and pounded on it. "Let us out! There are people in here. Living ones," I added weakly.

Lincoln closed his hands over mine and held them firmly. "He intended to lock us in, Charlie. He won't set us free."

I bit down on my lip and searched the room for another way out. But there were none. We were in a windowless basement, and the only exit was locked from the outside. The cold seeped through to my bones.

"Did you see who did it?" I asked him.

He nodded. "It was Jimmy. I heard his footsteps in the moment before he closed the door."

"I heard nothing."

He rubbed his thumbs over my knuckles then let me go. "We'll be out soon. Step aside." I expected him to try to break the door down, but he turned to Gordon instead. "Have you regained your strength?"

The white face of Gordon folded into a frown. He tried picking up one of the pig carcasses, but dropped it. He tried again and again, each time lifting it a little higher, until the fourth try when he hefted it over his head.

"Ready." His voice held no trace of the rasping brittleness, and his smile was controlled, certain. He almost looked alive, especially since it was rather a nice smile.

Fitzroy and I moved away from the door. Gordon gave it a tentative push, but when it didn't budge, he ran at it and slammed his shoulder into it. If he could feel pain, it would have hurt. He laughed.

"Will a piece of me fall off if I overdo it, do you think?"

I pressed my lips together to stop myself smiling. It seemed inappropriate to laugh at such a joke, particularly when we were in danger of freezing to death if we didn't get out.

Gordon ran at the door again, using his shoulder as a battering ram. The crack of wood splintering and hinges snapping announced his victory. Lincoln helped him finish the task and set the door aside.

I fetched the candle and was about to ask Gordon to go up the stairs first, but Lincoln was already out the door. I held my breath, but heard no sounds of fighting. I followed Gordon out to the small courtyard. Our horse was missing, and so was Lincoln.

I ran to the gate and spotted him running to the end of the lane. He stopped and signaled us to follow. Gordon lumbered ahead of me, stretching out his legs in giant leaps and once, spinning around on light feet. He grinned at me.

"Care to dance, Miss Charlie?"

I smiled politely. "Perhaps later. We're in rather a hurry." Thank goodness it was too dark for him to see how appalled I was by his suggestion. Dancing with a dead man wasn't my idea of a pleasant way to spend an evening.

"This way," Lincoln said, moving off again as soon as we joined him.

I trotted to keep up. Gordon had no such difficulty. "Where are we going?" I asked.

"To visit Jimmy and Pete." We rounded a corner then hurried down a lane that suddenly turned left and stopped at a high wooden fence. The lane was so narrow in that part that I could stretch my arms wide and almost touch the buildings on either side. Something scurried and scratched in the pile of bottles and newspapers in the corner, but otherwise silence surrounded us as thoroughly as the darkness. The candle had blown out when I'd quickened my pace.

Lincoln pressed his ear to a door in the end building. Gordon joined him, and I stepped closer, but both men shook their heads no. I rolled my eyes but neither would have seen.

"They're in there," Lincoln said, rejoining me. "I can hear Jimmy telling Pete how he saw people in the butcher's cool room, and how one of the dead bodies they'd exhumed was walking and talking. He didn't seem to have recognized me. I think he was too distracted by Thackery to notice much else."

He looked to Gordon. Gordon gave a flat smile. "He sounds upset. His friend doesn't believe him. He called him a soft-headed, yellow-bellied little turd. Pardon my language, miss."

"That's quite all right," I said. "Shall we show Pete that Jimmy isn't soft in the head?"

He rubbed his hand through his hair, dragging out a clump by the roots. He frowned at the limp strands as they fell onto the cobbles. "What will you have me say?"

"Make it clear they know who you are," Lincoln said. "Ask why they dug you up, and who is behind the scheme. If you get a name, find out where he lives. We'll remain out here, hidden."

Lincoln and I kept to the shadows on the far side of the lane. "They can't hurt you, Gordon," I added when he hesitated.

Instead of breaking the door down, he knocked. I wasn't sure that was a good idea, until someone opened the door. With a startled cry, the man on the other side tried to close it again, but Gordon thrust his foot into the gap then forced the door wide. The man inside fell back onto his arse. He scampered across the floor until his back hit a bed, then he slid under it and buried his head beneath his arms.

The second fellow had fallen off a chair at the small table. He gawped up at Gordon, then he too scooted backward. "Get away from me! Devil! Monster!"

"Be quiet," Gordon ordered, stepping into the room. It appeared to be a one-room home with a small cooker, table, one chair and two beds that wouldn't have been long enough for either of the men.

The man under the bed whimpered and curled into a ball. I couldn't see his face, but the other fellow was perhaps my age and was of a sturdy build.

"Who're you?" Gordon asked. "Why did you disturb me?" His voice had taken on a deep harshness that suited the role of dead man come back to life. If I hadn't just seen him dancing along the street, I would have been terrified.

"I'm Pete," said the nearer man. He nodded at his friend under the bed. "That's Jimmy. We didn't mean no harm, sir. Honest to God, we're just poor coves tryin' to make a decent wage. Don't hurt us, sir."

The one under the bed continued to whimper. The occasional word drifted out to me. It sounded like he was praying.

"How does digging up my body make you money?" Gordon asked.

Pete's gulp was so loud I could hear it from outside. "How is it you're walkin' around again, if you don't mind my askin'?"

"I do mind. I asked you a question." Gordon stepped forward but Pete held his ground. He seemed less afraid now that he realized Gordon wasn't a crazed demon.

"I can't say," Pete said with a shrug. "We ain't allowed to speak to no one about it."

"Is that so?" Gordon glanced around then lifted the bed beneath which Jimmy cowered.

Jimmy screamed.

"Shut up," Gordon growled. He set the bed back down, grabbed a fistful of Jimmy's jacket and dragged him out. He clamped a hand over Jimmy's mouth.

Jimmy gagged and I admit that my stomach somersaulted. I wouldn't want a dead man's hand covering my mouth, even if that hand wasn't as decayed as some of the others in the cold room.

Lincoln touched my back, settling my nerves.

"When I remove my hand," Gordon said to Jimmy, "you will answer my questions. Understand?"

Jimmy nodded, not taking his wide unblinking eyes off Gordon.

"He won't like that we told," Pete warned his friend.

"No one need know," Gordon said. "All I want is answers, then I'll return to my grave."

"You won't hurt us?" Pete asked. "After we tell? You won't drag us down to hell?"

"First of all, I wasn't in hell. Second of all, I don't plan on lingering here. I'd rather return to my afterlife. But I need answers or I can't rest completely. Do your small brains understand that?"

Pete and Jimmy both nodded quickly. Gordon removed his hand and Jimmy spat on the ground then wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

"We don't know why he wanted you," he blurted out before Gordon even posed a question. "He told us which bodies to take and we did it."

"We're just following orders," Pete said, getting to his feet. "It ain't our fault."

Gordon let Jimmy go and the man backed up to his friend. "There ain't much work to be had around here and he paid well," Jimmy said. "Who'd say no to that kind of work? Not us."

"Who's paying you? The butcher?" Gordon asked.

Both men shook their heads. "That's my uncle's shop," Pete said. "He agreed to store the bodies there and let the captain in to see them whenever he wants."

"The captain is the man who paid you?"

Jimmy nodded.

"Does he have a name?"

"It's just Captain to us," Pete said. "We don't know his name, or where he lives, so don't go tryin' to beat the answer out of us."

"Jesus, Pete." Jimmy jabbed his friend in the ribs with his elbow. "Don't go puttin' ideas in his head."

"Is he a ship's captain?" Gordon asked.

Beside me, Lincoln nodded his approval of the question.

"Don't know," Pete said. "Maybe army."

"Nah." Jimmy shook his head. "He didn't bark orders like them army folks do. He were quieter. Didn't speak much, but we didn't see him often. Only when he wanted us to get another body."

"He were real precise, like an army man," Pete said. "Told us exactly where the bodies would be, and how far down they would be buried."

"So he asked for specific bodies? By name?"

"Aye, sir."

Gordon seemed as surprised by that as I was. I wondered if he knew or suspected who the captain was now. He'd mentioned being in the army himself. "What does he look like?"

"Like a toff," Pete said. "Mostly bald, wears spectacles."

"About your height," Jimmy added. "Thin fellow."

"Aside from depositing the bodies in the cool room, what has he done to them?"

Both men shrugged. "Nothing, far as we can tell," Pete said. "My uncle says the captain looks in on 'em sometimes, and asks to be left alone in there. Real strange."

"Is that it?" Gordon asked. "Is there anything more you can tell me? Do you know where to find him? How to contact him?"

"No, sir. He always comes here when he needs us," said Jimmy.

"So what you are going to do now, sir?" Pete asked.

"I leave," Gordon told him. "You stop digging up bodies for the captain, or anyone else."

"You going to haunt us if we don't?"

"Yes."

Jimmy gulped. "Thank you, sir. We'll stop right away." He jabbed Pete again.

But Pete's boldness had returned. He stepped forward and peered into Gordon's eyes. I'd trembled the first time I'd stared into a dead man's eyes, but Pete didn't flinch. "Is this some kind of magic trick to get us talkin'? You ain't the first one to ask these questions. Maybe the gypsy put you up to it, or the pigs."

"You've sparked some interest," Gordon said. "Nobody likes a grave robber. You're revolting, depraved."

"Aye, but the pay's good." Pete poked him in the shoulder. "I think you're usin' the night to play tricks on us. We shouldn't have fallen for it, Jimmy. It ain't the body in the cool room come back to haunt us. It's just a cove who's covered his face in chalk—"

Gordon grabbed the finger and wrenched it backward. Bone snapped. Pete cried out and cradled his finger close to his chest.

"Bloody hell!" he screamed. "You're mad!"

"Dead, not mad." Gordon picked up a knife from the table and grinned. The two men backed away. "Since that wasn't enough proof, here's something more definitive." He placed the blade between his teeth and rolled up his left sleeve. He turned his arm over for them to see. "Nothing hidden up there. My arm is real." He splayed his fingers on the table and drove the knife through the back of his hand. I heard the sickening crunch of bone from where I stood outside.

Jimmy and Pete jumped, their huge eyes on Gordon's bloodless hand as he pulled the knife from the flesh. Jimmy crossed himself and blubbered through a prayer again.

"It ain't no trick," Pete said, more to himself than his friend who wasn't listening anyway. He suddenly took off, running out the door and down the lane.

Lincoln could have stopped him, but he let him go. "He's told us all he knows," he said.

"What if he runs to tell the captain?" I asked.

"He claims not to know where to find him. I doubt he'd be believed anyway."

"Come back!" Jimmy screamed. "Don't leave me with this demon!"

"I'm not a demon," Gordon told him mildly. "I'm a resurrected dead man."

"Jesus," Jimmy spluttered.

"Not Jesus. Gordon Thackery." He strolled out of the room and wiggled his fingers in a wave at the blubbering Jimmy. "Be sure to remember my name if you tattle any tales."

Jimmy slammed the door shut.

None of us spoke as we left the lane behind and headed back to the butcher's shop. We spotted Lincoln's horse being led away by a stooped man in a cloak. Lincoln intercepted him before the man even realized he'd crept close. A few words were all it took for the thief to scamper off.

"What happens now?" Gordon asked me.

"I'll release you so you can return to your afterlife."

Lincoln rejoined us, leading the horse. The jittery animal balked and tried to push Lincoln to the side, but he calmed it with a hand to its neck and some quietly spoken words. Its ears flicked back and forth and the nostrils flared, but it didn't shy away again.

"He smells death on me," Gordon said. "I know horses well, and I know when they're afraid. He's afraid of me." He sighed. "It's too bad. I would have enjoyed one last ride while I was here."

"Perhaps I should release you now," I said. "It would be for the best."

When he didn't answer, I grew worried that he was going to protest and demand we let him stay. But finally he nodded. "It has been rather fun, but it must end. Pity."

"Not yet." Lincoln indicated the gate to the butcher's yard and Gordon swung it open.

"You have another task for him?" I was about to warn him of the perils of allowing a dead man to walk the streets for any length of time, when he shook his head.

"A final journey. Including yours, Thackery, we have four bodies to transport back to the cemetery. The cart won't take them all."

"Of course," Gordon said. "But you're not going to notify the police? Those two blighters should be put in prison."

"I'll take care of it in the morning."

Gordon seemed satisfied with that answer, but I knew Lincoln better and suspected he wasn't going to notify the police but try to learn more about the captain and the reason behind the thefts.

"It's good of you return them," Gordon said, as he pushed open the door to the butcher's shop.

Lincoln found equipment to hitch up the horse in a storeroom, while Gordon brought up the bodies. They piled them onto the cart and I sat alongside Lincoln as he drove. Our pace was slow enough that Gordon was able to walk. We must have looked an odd sight, with limbs hanging out of the cart, but the streets were entirely empty now.

It had begun to rain again. I hunched into my cloak, drawing the hood close to my face. Neither Lincoln nor Gordon seemed to mind the chill and rain. Indeed, Gordon lifted his face to the sky and opened his mouth like a child catching rain drops. I smiled. It was the first time I'd felt comfortable in the presence of a body I'd resurrected. I didn't fear Gordon at all.

"You must have been a good man when you were alive," I told him. "I think I would like to have known you."

He snapped his mouth shut and stared at me. Despite the hollowness of the sockets and the emptiness of his eyes, I didn't feel as if I were conversing with a dead man. "Thank you, Miss Charlie. I appreciate the sentiment, but I doubt you would have liked my company. Perhaps before my injury, but not after."

"The opium changed you," I said quietly.

"The cure for the pain was no cure at all. I wish someone had warned me before I tried it. It's like a beautiful lover. Beguiling and tempting at first, then it gets greedy, always wanting more. By the time you realize it's ultimately bad for you, it's too late. It already has its claws in too deep."

I knew little about opium addiction. There were houses where you could smoke it, but I'd never been inside one. The people who came and went from them were sometimes respectable members of society, many of them injured soldiers searching for relief from painful injuries. I'd never met an addict. From what I'd been told, opium rendered the addicts useless for hours after smoking it. They lost their lives to it, figuratively as well as literally.

"Do you know the man Jimmy and Pete referred to as the captain?" Lincoln asked.

"I think so," Gordon said. "If it's him, then I can't say for certain if he is, or was, an army man. I met him after I was invalided out. I use the term 'met' loosely."

"You were suffering the effects of opium at the time," Lincoln suggested.

Gordon nodded. "He would visit me, talk to me, but my memory fails me and I can't recall what was discussed or his name."

"Drat," I muttered.

"I do remember that he gave me something."

"An object?" Lincoln asked.

"A liquid. He would spoon feed it to me."

"How odd," I said. "Was it water, perhaps? Soup?"

"That sounds like the act of a good Samaritan." Gordon's dry, flaky lips flattened. "That doesn't fit with what we know of our grave robber."

"No," I said quietly. "You're right. Do you think he was poisoning you?"

"Possibly. But why? The addiction would have got me anyway."

"Did he visit you at the opium house or at home?" Lincoln asked.

"The opium den. I rarely went home. I lived and died among strangers who profited from my weakness. It's not a noble way to be, Miss Charlie. I hope you never have to see the miserable souls wasting away their lives on the stuff."

"Where is the house?" Lincoln asked, abruptly.

"Lower Pell Lane, off Ratcliffe Highway, at the docks."

"I know it."

I blinked at Lincoln. "How do you know it?"

"I've been there. A Chinaman named Lee is the so-called pharmacist."

Gordon snorted. "He's no pharmacist."

Lincoln didn't elaborate and I doubted I'd get further information out of him. That didn't mean I wouldn't try at a later time.

"What about them?" I pointed to the bodies behind us, squashed ungainly into the back of the small cart. "Do you recognize them from Mr. Lee's den?"

Gordon shook his head. "That doesn't mean they didn't frequent that hell too. I wouldn't have noticed the queen if she'd wandered in wearing a crown."

We pulled up the cemetery gates and deposited the bodies where the groundskeepers couldn't fail to see them in the morning. "I do hope they put the right body back in the right grave," I said, stepping back to inspect our handiwork.

"The extent of the decay on each should help them determine the order in which they were dug up." Lincoln passed his hand over the eyes of one of the corpses to close them. "Thackery?"

Gordon lay down on his back, hands by his sides. He looked quite peaceful. "Ready," he said.

I knelt and touched his hand. It wasn't necessary to do so to release the spirit, but I wanted to give him a connection to the living world right to the end. "Thank you, Gordon. You've been very helpful. Rest easy, now. Return to your afterlife. You are released."

White mist floated up and the now empty body subsided as if it had expelled a deep breath. I closed its eyes then gave the spirit of Gordon Thackery a small smile.

He returned it. "If you ever require my services again, Miss Charlie, please summon me. I'd be happy to help." He waved then his spirit mist dispersed and blew away.

"He's gone," I said rising.

Lincoln held his hand out to me to assist me up into the cart. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." My answer surprised me. I was all right. The experience hadn't been awful at all.

Lincoln climbed up beside me and urged the horse forward.

"Let's hope they stay buried this time," I said, looking back at the bodies. "Do you think the captain will try to retrieve them again?"

"Perhaps. I do know that he'll need to find other diggers. I doubt Jimmy and Pete will venture near the cemetery again for some time."

"Gordon did perform rather well." I chuckled, but it ended with a yawn.

"So did you," he said quietly.

I glanced at him, but he was looking directly ahead. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking at the best of times, but the darkness made it impossible. "Does this mean you'll allow me to do more work for the ministry?"

"If and when required."

"I suppose this makes me Her Majesty's Necromancer." I laughed softly. "It sounds rather grand, if one ignores the macabre nature of it. I wonder what official positions receive? A medal? A sash?"

"A warm fire and soup."

"I prefer hot chocolate."

"I'll make you a cup when we get home."

I rested my head against his shoulder. To my surprise, he neither moved away nor tensed. I closed my eyes and stifled another yawn. "I wonder how many spirits my mother—my real mother, that is—raised."

"We may never know."

"If she's still alive, we can ask her."

He was silent, and I suspected he was trying to decide whether to warn me not to hold out hope of her being alive. I wasn't a fool. I knew she was most likely dead, after all this time, but I still wanted to find out for certain.

"We should make a list of all the London orphanages and cross off the ones we've both visited to save time. We can begin with the one in Kentish Town."

"That was next on my list."

I jerked upright. "But you already wrote to the administrator there and asked about my adoption."

"No I didn't."

"But you told me you had."

"You never mentioned which orphanage you'd just returned from. I assumed it was the one in Clerkenwell where I'd last been. I haven't written letters."

"It wasn't Clerkenwell," I whispered. "The administrator of the Kentish Town orphanage said someone had asked the same question as me, and I assumed it had been you. Lincoln, that means someone else is searching for information about my adoption."