Ashes To Ashes: A Ministry of Curiosities Novella (The Ministry of Curiosities Book 5) (6 page)

Fortunately he didn't need to order them to get out. They left of their own accord, although Gus couldn't resist a parting shot. "I hope your shriveled heart keeps you warm at night."

"Close the door," Lincoln told him.

Gus's top lip curled up, but he did as ordered.

Alone again, Lincoln sank onto the chair at his desk and dragged both hands through his hair and down his face. With shaking fingers, he removed the key to Charlie's room from his pocket and placed it in his top drawer. Then he locked it.

"
Y
our hair looks fine
," Seth said yet again, as his mother patted her hair for the hundredth time. He had to shout to be heard above the rain attempting to smash through the carriage roof. The weather had turned vicious.

"Fine?" Lady Vickers continued to pat. "It needs to be better than fine."

"It is. It's lovely. Elegant." At his mother's continuing frown, Seth added, "Magnificent! Divine! Your new lady's maid is a marvel."

"She'll do. There appears to be a shortage of quality servants in the city."

"Bella was the only one I could find available to begin immediately." Seth tried to move his legs but found his mother's voluminous ink-black skirts in the way. He gave up and tucked his feet closer to his seat.

"How
did
you find her, I wonder?"

Lincoln watched mother and son exchange hard glares and wished he was somewhere else. Anywhere else. He knew how Seth had found Bella—she was one of his many mistresses—and it seemed his mother had guessed.

"Luck," was all Seth said.

Lady Vickers tucked her hand back into her fur muff. It seemed she wasn't so destitute that she'd sold off the evening gown, only the jewels. Her ears, throat and fingers were quite bare. "I do hope she won't be a distraction to the other servants. She is, after all, very young and pretty." Was she speaking to Seth or Lincoln? Lincoln decided not to answer.

"Not that young." Seth's mutter was barely audible above the rain. "She's twenty, at least."

His mother's lips pinched. Her gaze turned sharp. "You're not to look at her, Seth. I know what you're like, and she's not for you."

"So it's perfectly acceptable for you to fraternize with the staff but not me."

The baroness thrust out her noble chin as far as it would go. "I did my duty. I married well the first time and didn't
fraternize
with anyone until after my husband died."

"'The first time?'" Seth paled. "Mother…tell me you didn't
marry
the footman."

Lady Vickers turned to the window, her chin somewhat lower. Seth had his answer. He sat back in the leather seat, deflated.

Lincoln might hate balls, but Harcourt House couldn't come fast enough. The air in the carriage was frostier than outside. One of Julia's footmen opened the door, handed Seth an umbrella, and stepped aside as Seth climbed out. He assisted his mother and they walked up the steps arm in arm, as if they hadn’t just argued. Lincoln didn't want to miss Julia's reaction upon seeing them, but he needed to have a quick word with Gus first. He accepted the second umbrella from the footman and handed his flask up to Gus.

Gus took a moment before he shook his head. "Got me own, sir." He patted the chest of his coat. Despite the weatherproof coat with its multiple capes and the wide-brimmed hat, Gus was thoroughly wet.

"You might need another," Lincoln told him, holding the flask higher.

Gus took it with a nod. "Thank you, sir."

Another coach pulled up behind, and Gus drove off. Millard took Lincoln's umbrella, coat and hat in the hall, then Lincoln headed upstairs. He joined Seth and Lady Vickers in the ballroom, where they had stopped to speak with Julia at the entrance. Lady Vickers was regaling their hostess with the tale of her sea voyage. Julia appeared to be listening with polite interest.

"Thank you for the invitation, Julia," Lady Vickers said. "It's most unexpected but very considerate indeed." Like her son, Lady Vickers could turn on the charm when she wanted to. Her superior manner seemed to come naturally, as if she believed she had a right to be there. It would take a socially confident woman to turn her away. "My return to London must be quite the sensation if
you
heard about it," Lady Vickers finished.

Julia's smile broadened. She never smiled that much. Not sincerely anyway. "I'm delighted that you accepted my invitation. And you too, Seth."

Seth bowed over her hand, but he didn't hide his distaste. Ever since witnessing Julia's cruel behavior toward Charlie, Seth had gone cold toward his occasional lover. The only indication that she noticed was a slight tightening of her lips as he straightened.

"I do hope you'll spare a dance or two for my son," Lady Vickers went on with a gleam in her eye. "He tells me that he finds you to be a rare gem in this city, and that he hopes to get to know you better."

Julia flushed ever so slightly but her smile remained.

Seth's smile held a darkly wicked edge. "You are correct, Mother. Julia is rare, indeed. I can honestly say that I've never met anyone like her before."

Lady Vickers beamed. "Isn't he charming?"

"But I assure you, Mother, Julia and I are already acquainted as deeply as we both would like to be." He bowed again to Julia, so deeply as to be mocking. "It's kind of you to take pity on we poor unfortunate outcasts. We'll try not to embarrass you, but I can't make any promises. You know what I'm like."

Lady Vickers was left staring open-mouthed at Seth as he strode off. She followed him without a word, and they disappeared into the crowd. Julia stood stony-faced and immobile.

Lincoln stepped into their place. "Good evening, Julia." There were several bland pleasantries he could have uttered about her dress, the house, or the weather, but he didn't feel like making the effort.

"I'll be a laughing stock for inviting her," she whispered. She turned hard, glittering eyes onto Lincoln. "I suppose she's my punishment."

"No, she's not." He turned and walked off, hoping she assumed a worse punishment was yet to come.

He nodded at a group of gentlemen as he moved farther into the room. Julia had decorated the ballroom with hothouse flowers blooming out of season, and clusters of silver and blue ribbons adorned the walls, connected by swathes of more ribbons. The facets of the lead crystal candelabras and chandeliers provided a dazzling example of light dispersion and refraction. Julia didn't do anything in half measures.

He spotted Seth surrounded by people of both sexes, most of them young and already on their way to being drunk. A mature woman standing a little to one side tried to catch his attention with a rapid flutter of her fan. Seth extracted himself from the girls clinging to each of his arms and went to speak to the woman, much to her delight. If the diamonds dripping from her person were any indication, she was wealthy indeed. Lady Vickers was nowhere to be seen.

Lincoln scanned the faces and saw Andrew Buchanan talking with three gentlemen, their gazes all on the doorway leading to an adjoining room. Buchanan shrugged then nodded. One of the fellows slapped him on the back, shoving him toward the door. Buchanan moved off, and the three men grinned then followed.

Lincoln went to listen in. He'd spent much of the afternoon listening to conversations in pubs and speaking with his contacts again, but he'd come home with no new information. By the end of the day, he was quite sure the killer hadn't made further contact with anyone else. It would seem he was satisfied with the gunman he'd hired to kill O'Neill.

It only remained to be seen who was next on his list, unless Lincoln could stop him first.

The room adjoining the ballroom was quieter and smoky. Card players in deep concentration clustered around the tables. Buchanan sauntered up to one lady, her back to the door. Her fair hair had slipped a little from its arrangement and she wore no jewels at her ears or neck. So Lady Vickers was a card player. Lincoln wondered what she wagered with. Perhaps Seth had given her some money. Lincoln watched as Buchanan touched the back of her bare neck and skimmed his thumb along her shoulder. He bent down to whisper something in his ear.

"Why, sir, you're disturbing my concentration." Lady Vickers fluttered her hand of cards at her face, and leaned away from him. It was such a slight shifting of her weight that most would not have noticed it, but Lincoln saw, as did Buchanan.

He looked as if he were about to walk off when one of his friends cleared his throat. Buchanan appeared to make up his mind about something. "My apologies," he drawled, hand on his heart. Behind him, his three friends snickered. "It's Lady Vickers, is it not?"

She held out her hand and he kissed it. "Are we acquainted, sir?"

"We are now. Shall I assist you to win this round? I'm an excellent player."

"Are you? Then, by all means, join in." She indicated a vacant seat to her right. "I do love a challenge."

She threw in her hand and pushed her waged coins to the player opposite. A new round was dealt, which she won. She also won the next two, and Buchanan declared that he was out. He got up from the table amid protests from Lady Vickers, who claimed to have enjoyed playing against him.

"Of course you did," Buchanan muttered. "You fleeced me."

She laughed, as did her companions.

Buchanan rejoined his friends, who were also laughing. As they walked off, he handed them each a bank note. Lady Vickers watched them go with a satisfied curve to her lips. She caught sight of Lincoln, nodded, and turned back to her game.

Lincoln returned to the ballroom where the band struck up a waltz. He spotted each of the committee members, conversing in separate groups. If he wanted to investigate them, he needed to join them. It was going to be a long night.

Julia approached and he allowed her to intercept him. "Why did you come, Lincoln?" she said, toying with the diamond and sapphire necklace at her throat.

"I've been told I need to socialize more." He watched Lord Marchbank over the top of her head. The nobleman appeared to be listening intently to the fellow on his right, a Liberal politician. "Apparently all the important decisions are made at parties."

"Dinner parties, mostly. Why this sudden interest in politics? You never used to care about the government, and I admit that I rather saw you as above all that."

"I wasn't referring to politics. If you'll excuse me, I need to mingle."

"You are mingling. With me." She sipped her champagne and watched him over the rim of the glass with a practiced flutter of her eyelashes.

"You and I are through
mingling
, Julia."

She lowered the glass. "So you keep saying."

He couldn't tell if she believed they were over or not. She seemed to think he would change his mind again. Sending Charlie away and breaking off their engagement had probably reignited Julia's hopes.

"Miss Overton hasn't been able to take her eyes off you." She nodded at the Overton girl, standing in her mother's shadow with a gaggle of ladies. "Why don't you ask her to dance?"

"I don't dance."

"If you want to mingle, you must learn to dance."

"I didn't say I
can't
dance."

"Then you have no excuses."

"Except that I don't want to dance. The girl needs no encouragement." It would be cruel to dance with her if he had no intentions toward her. But it was in Julia's nature to be cruel to others if it benefitted her. Marrying him off to the guileless and obedient Miss Overton would clear the path for a woman who wanted to be his mistress but not his wife.

"I don't know why you resist her." She smiled at Miss Overton who glanced behind her, thinking someone else had caught Julia's interest. "She would make the perfect wife. Her family is well connected and wealthy; she's healthy, pretty and young, just the way you like them."

"Don't," he growled.

"And she's a far more agreeable girl than…others. You could manage her very well, and I dare say, after a year, you would have molded her into whatever shape you desire. As long as you use a delicate touch and don't frighten her, that is." The eyes she turned on him were as cold and hard as the gems at her throat.

He turned his back on her and wove his way through the crowd. He joined Lord Marchbank and the politician but quickly realized their discussion wouldn't tell him anything important.

After ten minutes, Marchbank accepted a drink from his wife with a "Thank you, m'dear." She nodded at Lincoln and smiled tentatively.

Lincoln extended his hand before he changed his mind. "Dance with me, madam." He winced. It sounded like he was commanding her, not asking.

The conversation around them stopped. Lincoln watched Lord Marchbank in his peripheral vision, but he didn't seem to mind another man asking his wife to dance.

Lady Marchbank took Lincoln's hand. "I would be delighted, Mr. Fitzroy. Thank you."

They waited on the edge of the dance floor for the set to end and another to strike up. Lady Marchbank was the eldest dancer to take the floor. Some onlookers stared and whispered, but she either didn't notice or ignored them. She was a little younger than her husband and still a beauty, with high cheekbones, delicate features, and silver hair. She was an excellent dancer and all but floated in Lincoln's arms. Her small smile lifted Lincoln's mood a little, until he remembered he had to think of something to talk about.

"The weather is terrible tonight," he began.

"Atrocious," she agreed. "I comfort myself that it must be even worse at March Hall. It's always colder in Yorkshire than London."

Charlie was in Yorkshire. Lincoln hadn't seen the School for Wayward Girls in person, but he knew the building had once been home to a noble family who'd sold it to the headmistress. There would be fireplaces—dozens of them—so the rooms must be warm. Even if there were only one, the school would be infinitely better than the abandoned buildings Charlie had lived in the last few winters.

His stomach knotted as it always did when he thought about her struggling to survive on the streets. This time of year must have been hell. He'd spent days in the cold of winter, sometimes in the city and other times in the countryside, both as a child and an adult, but never more than that, and he'd known a warm fire, bed and food waited for him at the end of the ordeal.

He tore his thoughts back to the present. "Do you spend much time at March Hall?" he asked as they twirled past another couple.

"Very little. Ewan prefers London. Business, you know." Her smile implied something, but Lincoln didn't know what.

Lincoln wasn't sure how to proceed next. Short of asking her directly if she knew her husband was behind the murders of the supernaturals, he was at a loss. "Nasty business, the death of the circus strongman," he tried.