Grave Expectations (The Ministry of Curiosities Book 4) (11 page)

I was sweating by the time Gus and Seth returned from visiting Joan Brumley's cousin, Edith. "Well?" I asked before they'd had a chance to remove their hats and gloves.

"Fitzroy went there late yesterday," Gus said.

I blew out a breath. So he was alive and well then, thank God. "And?"

"And he asked the same questions you wanted us to ask her. Mostly. The Drinkwater name wasn't familiar to her and she'd had no visits from anyone asking about her cousin except for the police and Fitzroy."

"So there's most likely no other link between them except they were both supernaturals. Go on. What else?"

"As far as Edith Brumley knew, her cousin didn't know she was a necromancer, as such. She knew she could speak with ghosts, of course, but she didn't have a name for her magic. She didn't consider it magical at all, or supernatural, it just
was
. Aside from Fitzroy and us, no one has mentioned the word necromancy to her, and the police didn't discuss Joan's magic at all."

"What about Frankenstein and Jasper? Had Joan ever mentioned them to Edith?"

"The names weren't familiar to her."

Damn. This wasn't going as I thought it would. "What about my final question? Had Joan associated with anyone new lately?"

They gave me matching looks of triumph. "This is the interestin' part," Gus said.

"It was an inspired question," Seth added. "It turns out that Joan had a paramour. Edith thought this highly unlikely, considering Joan had been a spinster for years and no one had shown interest in her before."

Gus circled his finger at his temple. "No surprise there."

"According to Edith, the fellow avoided meeting her although she was Joan's only family. He kept putting it off, which made Edith suspicious that he was merely a figment of her cousin's imagination. She changed her opinion when Joan became very upset after the gentleman broke off contact. One day he'd been talking to her about building a life together, and the next…nothing. He simply never showed at their prearranged meeting place, and since she had no way of contacting him, the relationship ended."

"Did Joan give Edith a description of him?"

Both men shook their heads. "You won't believe it, Charlie," Gus said. He couldn't stand still, he was so eager to tell me. "Edith Brumley keeps a diary. She looked through it for the date when Joan came to her all upset. Guess when it was."

"Just tell me!"

"The day after Frankenstein died."

I pressed a hand to my chest. "My God," I whispered. "You think
he
was her paramour?"

They both nodded. "He wanted a necromancer and she was one."

"Yes, but…he thought I was the last one. That's why he was so desperate to get me."

"What if he didn't
know
Joan was a necromancer?" Seth said. "He might have seen her articles in the history periodicals and thought she might be of interest. Remember, her articles only mentioned she spoke with spirits. There was no indication that she could place the spirits inside bodies to reanimate them. Perhaps he wasn't yet sure if she could do it."

"Perhaps
she
didn't know she could do it." I wished I'd added that question to my list to ask Edith Brumley. "He might have been trying to find out more about her magic while courting her, even while he was looking for me." As he had done with my mother. "His efforts were cut short by his untimely death. This is an extraordinary development. I wonder if Lincoln learned about the connection too."

"We asked Edith if she'd told anyone else about Joan's lover, and she said she hadn't because no one asked."

"Not even the police?"

He shook his head. "They only asked for recent connections, not ones that were months old. I suppose Edith didn't think it was relevant either, since the contact stopped some time ago."

"So what now?" Gus asked. "You goin' to summon the Brumley woman's spirit?"

I shook my head. "It's too dangerous. She was a necromancer. I can't risk her overriding my control." I blew out a shaky breath, unable to quite believe what I was about to do, and not yet sure how I felt about it. "I'm going to summon my father, Victor Frankenstein."

"
A
re
you certain you want to do this?" Seth asked with quiet concern.

"Frankenstein's not magical," I assured him. "So we know he can't override my control."

"That's not what I meant."

I spread my fingers over my lap and blew out a breath. I sat on the new sofa, made by Fernesse himself, in the redecorated parlor. New furniture, new clothes, new fiancé, yet I didn't feel like I'd changed all that much since Frankenstein died. Sometimes, when I remembered he was my father, I found the whole thing difficult to fathom. Despite some physical resemblances, we were very different. I hoped never to become like him. He'd used people in the most callous way to complete his life's work. He'd used people he was supposed to love.

"I'll be fine," I said. "It's time I faced him."

"Maybe we should wait for Fitzroy." Gus eyed the door as if he expected Lincoln to walk in at any moment.

"I'd rather not wait. Besides, we don't know when he'll be back." Or if he needed us to fetch him.

I angled myself toward the fire, to chase away the sudden chill, and summoned Frankenstein. His spirit seemed to come out of nowhere, from no particular direction. It streaked around the room like a crazed, scared hare, passing through objects until it finally settled.

It formed his shape on the sofa beside me. "Charlotte!" He touched the ragged wound where his eye should have been. Lincoln's knife had caused it in a killing blow.

I swallowed. Sometimes I forgot what Lincoln had done. "Good morning." It didn't feel right calling him 'father' or 'sir', so I didn't call him anything. "I need to speak with you."

He spread his hands over his lap, much as I had just done, and stared at their ethereal form. "I…I'm a ghost."

"Yes. You died a little over three months ago."

He glanced up to the ceiling, then down to the floor. "You saved me."

Had he forgotten? I hadn't saved him. I'd been instrumental in killing him.

"You won't send me back, will you?" He smiled and reached out a hand to me. I felt nothing as it went straight through. "You're my daughter…you wouldn't be so cruel as to send me back there."

It took me a moment to realize he was referring to his afterlife. It must not be the utopia he'd hoped for. I felt no sympathy for him, no concern. He'd made his bed, and now he must lie in it.

"Charlie," Seth urged. "Ask him what you need to ask."

"Where is this?" Frankenstein said before I could speak. "Where am I?"

"Lichfield Towers, in Highgate."

"You live here?"

"Yes."

"You've done well for yourself. Good girl. It's a large house?"

"Yes."

"Good, good." He stood and held out his hand to me. I almost took it as a matter of course. "Where will I find my bodies?"

"Bodies?"

"My work. You brought everything here to continue my experiments? Have you made much progress? I expect to see quite a few developments in three months, particularly with your necromancy."

"Stop!" I held up my hand. "Sit down."

He sat. "Charlotte? My work…?"

If I wanted answers, I needed to tread cautiously. "I'll show you the workshop soon. But first, I have to ask you something."

His gaze roamed over my face, settling on my eyes. Mine were blue, like his, although his only remaining one was colorless in spirit form. The scrutiny unnerved me, but I forced myself to remain still. After a moment, he sighed. "Very well. What do you want to know? Is it something to do with your mother?"

There were so many things I wanted to
tell
him about her—that she was beautiful and kind, that he'd hurt her badly and destroyed her trust in men—but nothing I wanted to
ask
him. I didn't want to hear him confirm that he'd used her because she was, well, useful to him.

"Did you court an historian named Joan Brumley?"

The question sent his undamaged eyebrow shooting up his forehead. "Yes. And?"

"Why?"

He lifted a shoulder. "She could speak to spirits. I had plans to test her skills with reanimation, but I died before I had the chance."

I nodded, as much for Seth and Gus's benefit than to acknowledge Frankenstein. He'd answered as we suspected he would. God, how I hated him.

I clasped my fingers together in my lap and set my jaw. "Did you know a scientist named Reginald Drinkwater?"

He frowned. "The name rings a few bells. Is he the fellow attempting to get artificial limbs to move of their own accord?" He snorted. "He wanted to share results with me, but I only replied to one of his letters. He's a crackpot."

"He was magical."

His eye widened. "A necromancer?"

"No, but he may have been useful to you. You should have discussed your work with him. He's dead too now."

"Shame." He stood and jerked his head toward the door. "Come. Show me the workshop."

"I'm not finished with my questions," I snapped. "Do you know of a Captain Jasper?"

"No." He began to pace the room, sometimes walking, sometimes flowing in mist form. Despite his agitation, he couldn't leave until I allowed him to go.

But I wasn't ready. There had to be a more solid connection. Three of them were involved in reanimating bodies or body parts, and the fourth was a necromancer, an invaluable tool for the projects of both Jasper and Frankenstein. There had to be something connecting
all
four. Two had been magical, two had not. Out of the two who weren't, one had known about magic and the other hadn't until he met me. Jasper's commission from an anonymous benefactor had been for his medical serum.

Wait…commission.

Drinkwater had also mentioned being commissioned, although he'd gone on to say it had fallen through before his death.

"Did anyone approach you about sponsoring your work?" I asked.

He stopped darting around and settled on the sofa once more. "A man wrote to me anonymously," he said, sounding distracted, frustrated. "He was interested in my work and wanted to learn more. I wrote back and told him I would give him a tour of my workshop. But he didn't want a tour, he wanted to know everything through correspondence. I gave him some details, but not enough that he could steal my ideas. He then asked specifically if I was using magic to reanimate the bodies. I told him yes, but I wasn't magical myself." He held up his hands. "I never mentioned you, Charlotte, or necromancy."

"What can you tell me about him?"

"Nothing. I never met him. The correspondence ceased after I mentioned magic."

"Where did you send the letters?"

"An address near Whitehall. I can't remember the details."

"Think."

"Charlotte. It was of no consequence to me. I can't recall."

I sighed then repeated the conversation for the benefit of Seth and Gus, in the hope they could think of something more to ask Frankenstein. They both gave me blank looks.

"I have answered everything you've asked of me," Frankenstein said, once more pacing restlessly across the room. "
Now
may I see the new workshop? I must see what you've achieved, and then I'll help you write an essay for the medical journals."

I slapped my hands on the sofa on either side of me and pushed to my feet. Seth and Gus both scrambled to their feet and drew closer.

"You don't care, do you?" I snarled at Frankenstein. "You're my father, yet you don't care a whit for me, only your bloody work and your bloody reputation."

He shimmered before coalescing again. "Pardon?"

"You used me, my mother, and Miss Brumley, to bring your damned cadavers back to life. It's sickening enough that you wanted to do such a thing, but it's worse that you cared nothing for those you trampled over to succeed."

"Trampled over! My girl, it's an
honor
to help me. You would have received accolades beyond your wildest dreams, particularly if you claimed the Frankenstein name."

"I will
never
take your name. I would rather be a Holloway than a Frankenstein, and that's saying something, since my adoptive father tried to kill me." I poked my finger into his chest, but it met no resistance. "I detest you. I'm not sorry you're dead. This world is a better place without you. Goodbye. I hope we don't meet again, in this life or the next."

"Charlotte! You've been listening to short-sighted fools again!"

"I release you, Victor Frankenstein. Go away. Return to your afterlife."

He backed away, tumbling through furniture and into the fireplace. "No! Not there." He turned to mist and dissipated before he could finish.

I sat heavily and covered my face. My hands shook. Tears pooled but didn't spill. Good. I didn't want to shed any over that man.

An arm came around my shoulders and another touched my knee. I clutched at it and leaned into Seth. No one spoke but their presence was a comfort.

True to form, Lincoln strolled in at that moment. I didn't see him or hear him enter, and the first indication I had that he'd joined us was Gus's sharp gasp.

"Sir," Seth said, removing his arm.

I opened my eyes to see Lincoln standing very close to me, a deep frown furrowing his brow. He looked exhausted, disheveled and absolutely wonderful. I stood and tumbled into his arms, burying my face in his jacket at his chest. He felt warm, and the beat of his heart was both a comfort and a relief.

"I'm sorry we didn't part on good terms," I murmured.

I heard Seth and Gus leave. Lincoln's arms tightened, as if he felt more comfortable alone. He stroked my hair back and pressed his lips to my forehead in a lingering kiss.

"You have something to tell me?" he asked after a long moment.

I drew back. "That's the first thing you wish to say to me?"

"I walk in here to see my men touching you, you're in tears, and you throw yourself at me. Forgive me for being unable to think of another response."

"I am not in tears, and I did not
throw
myself." I hugged him again, fiercely. "But I am terribly relieved to see you. I've been worried."

"Why?"

"Because you've been gone since yesterday, and you were in a black mood when you left. Any woman would be worried if her fiancé disappeared for that long without word."

"You are not a typical woman, and I am not a typical fiancé."

I caressed his cheek above the rough stubble. "I wouldn't have you any other way."

He lifted my hair off my shoulders and kissed me until my toes curled and our bodies heated. Then he suddenly let me go. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

I shook my head and smiled. His abrupt changes baffled me. Gus brought in supper before Lincoln returned and asked me if I'd told him about Frankenstein yet.

"We've not had a chance to talk," I said.

"He won't like that you went to the police station without us."

I held the door open for him. "Thank you, Gus, but I won't keep things from him." Not like he'd kept things from me.

He left when Lincoln returned. His hair hung in damp waves and he smelled like the spicy soap he liked to use. I found myself drawn to his arms again, and to his lips. He tasted as good as he smelled.

Our kiss was all too brief. With a frustrated huff, he directed me to sit. "I want to know why you were upset."

I sat on the armchair by the fire. "After you tell me where you've been and whether you found Mrs. Drinkwater."

Two beats passed before he answered. "I've been to her sister's house, visited her neighbors, and checked hotels in the vicinity. I broke into her house to find out what I could about her life and movements. When that investigation proved futile, I visited the Brumley woman's kin. I believe the two victims may have known one another." He rubbed a hand over his eyes and down his face. The exhaustion etched into the lines tugged at my heart. It must gall him to have failed, but at least his exhaustion was better than his anger. "I didn't find the Drinkwater woman."

"I see. I can't pretend I'm sorry for that."

His gaze sharpened.

"Before you accuse me of not trusting you," I went on, "I want you to know that I do. You won't hurt her, but
she
doesn't know that."

He blinked slowly and looked away. "I find it remarkable that you can still think me harmless after witnessing me kill your father."

"That's different. He was a danger to us both, and to Seth and Gus. You had no choice." I cleared my throat. "Speaking of my father, I summoned his spirit tonight."

The sharp gaze returned, piercing me like an arrow. "That's why you were upset."

I sucked in air between my teeth. My reluctance to continue did not go unnoticed, if the quirk of his eyebrow was an indication. "I haven't been idle while you were away," I said. "Can I speak without risk of you interrupting?"

"Probably not."

I gave him a withering glare. "I snuck out of the house with my imp and broke into the Kensington Police Station to find out what they knew about the Drinkwater murder."

His lips pressed together in what I assumed was an effort not to interrupt.

"I learned some things, which I'm sure you already knew, since you probably have also broken in at some point."

"Are you going to admonish me for not sharing the information with you?"

"Lincoln, I thought we'd agreed to be partners in ministry business. In everything!"

"For one thing, you're my assistant, not my partner. For another, being betrothed makes you my partner in life, not in work."

"The two are inextricably linked. You said so yourself once. And anyway, you should have involved me in the investigation because I believe I've learned more about the murders than you."

"I have no doubt, since you summoned Frankenstein. You saw the connection in the detective's files?"

"And with Jasper too."

He didn't look surprised, so he must have known.

"That's only partly why I summoned his spirit. I sent Seth and Gus to talk with Edith Brumley, Joan's cousin, and they learned that Joan had a lover, but all contact between them suddenly ceased when Frankenstein died."

That brought quite a reaction.
Both
his eyebrows lifted. "He wanted to use her necromancy?"