Of Fate and Phantoms (Ministry of Curiosities Book 7) Read online

  "You seem very earnest. Very well." I blew out a breath. "The Prince of Wales talked about you last night."

  "The prince?" he echoed, dully.

  "Yes. You and Leisl. Perhaps he felt he could talk to me about your relationship more easily than he could talk to you, and knowing how close we are, he trusted me."

  "I don't wish to hear it." His face shuttered, as it did when he was determined not to show any emotion.

  "You have to. They're your parents, Lincoln, whether you like it or not. The prince told me that he was captivated by Leisl's beauty at a fair where she told fortunes." It wasn't quite how he'd put it, but I thought it a reasonable explanation for his actions.

  "He regretted it later, I assume," Lincoln said.

  "In a way." He had nothing to say to that so I added, "He was very interested in your welfare and upbringing."

  "How much did you tell him?"

  "Only that you had an excellent education but your childhood was somewhat lacking in affection. I mentioned that you had never met Leisl until the night of the Hothfield's ball."

  "And I have no plans to see her again."

  I sighed. "Lincoln, don't be so hasty with your decision. She's your mother. You may not feel any connection to her, but I doubt she can set aside thoughts of you so easily. She must have wondered how you fared over the years. I cannot begin to know how she felt when she saw you at the ball."

  He had turned to look out the window as I spoke, presenting me with his hard profile. I turned the other way, not prepared to sympathize with him on this. I did feel for Leisl. I may never have been a mother, but I'd seen women forced to give up their children because they were too poor to keep them, and it had devastated them. Most never recovered.

  Fog hung low over the skeletal trees of St. James Park, a canvas of ominous clouds behind them. It would rain later, perhaps even snow. I tried to think about that, and the book I'd curl up with by the fire, and not the man beside me.

  "It's possible that she did not want me," he said quietly.

  My concentration shattered. "Leisl?"

  He nodded, although he still did not look at me. "I think she saw me in a vision, before my conception, and knew what her role had to be. I think she sought out the prince not because she desired him but because she knew he was the piece needed to bring the vision to life."

  "You think her that calculated?"

  "Only she can answer that."

  "Let's say it's true," I said. "Let's say her vision made her aware of what needed to be done…that doesn't mean she never cared for you, and has no interest in how you turned out."

  "It's best left the way it is. There's no point in pursuing a relationship with her if we've got this far without one."

  I gave his point careful consideration, but in the end, I couldn't agree. I took his hand in mine, but when he still didn't look at me, I touched his jaw. He finally turned my way and gave me the full force of his frostiest glare. It used to chill me, but no more. "Lincoln, you never knew you wanted a relationship with me in the beginning, and look how that's changed, in time. Don't dismiss her yet."

  He sighed. "Next you'll be telling me to call the prince Papa."

  I smiled. "One step at a time."

  We arrived at the palace and a footman led us to the queen's private apartments where we'd met her last time. The Prince of Wales was with her, standing by her side. They looked as if they were an ordinary mother and son sitting for a portrait, her in widow’s weeds and he in a modest charcoal gray suit and tie.

  "Miss Holloway," the queen said. "I'm so pleased to see you again. Are you here to speak with my husband's spirit? Bertie wouldn't tell me."

  I glanced at the prince. He looked a little sheepish but unrepentant. So he was leaving it up to us to tell her.

  "No," I said. "We were summoned here to report on our investigation into the imposter."

  She blinked and looked away "It's cold in here. My shawl, Bertie."

  The prince plucked a black shawl off the back of a chair and draped it around her shoulders. "You remember the conversation we had about that man," he said, impatience tightening his voice. "Miss Holloway and Mr. Fitzroy have been investigating. It turns out that the man had an unusual quality. He was able to change his appearance to look like anyone."

  Was? Had? How did he know King was dead?

  The queen held the shawl's edges at her throat with white knuckled fingers. "Did he admit to impersonating my husband?" Her voice sounded frail, old. It was easy to forget that she ruled the most powerful country in the world.

  "Yes," Lincoln said. "The man known as King admitted his trickery, although it's possible he was paid to do it, ma'am."

  "Can't you ask him?"

  "I did. He denied it. Now he's dead."

  I watched the prince carefully. He gave no reaction, not even a flicker of his lashes. "I cannot even ask his spirit," I said. "If I don't see it rise at the time of death, I must know his full name to summon him back. Everyone knew him only as King."

  "So he is gone," she said, her voice quavering. "And I am alone again."

  "Not alone," the prince said. "You have your children and grandchildren, your ladies."

  "It's not the same."

  The prince sighed. "We wish to thank you," he said to us. "It cannot have been easy." He nodded at Lincoln's bandaged hand and the bruises on his face. "Were there any casualties?" He spoke as if it had been war. I suppose, in a way, it had been a battle.

  "Two of my men suffered broken bones and bruising. They'll recover."

  "Please pass on my thanks for their service to the crown. It's pleasing to know that we have such loyal and capable subjects protecting us against the supernatural."

  "Not all supernatural people are dangerous," I said. "I, for one, am not."

  "Of course. But we must be vigilant. Your ministry is all that stands between order and chaos."

  I glanced at Lincoln, but he remained unmoved.

  "Is there anything the ministry requires?" the prince asked. "Funds? Resources?"

  "From what source?" Lincoln asked, rather boldly, I thought.

  The prince, however, seemed unperturbed. Perhaps he liked directness. "The public purse."

  "That would require an act of parliament to be passed, and the ministry would become public knowledge. Is that wise, your highness?"

  "Why not legitimize what you do? Perhaps the public has a right to know about the supernatural. Perhaps they should know."

  I held my breath, hardly daring to consider the implications of what he suggested. What would happen if the public knew? Panic, I suspected.

  "I'm not sure it's wise," Lincoln said.

  The prince nodded slowly. "You may be right. I'll think on it some more. In the meantime, there are ways of supplying funds that would keep the ministry's existence a secret. Money can be funneled through various channels."

  "That's done already."

  "It seems you have it under control. I am glad, however, that I am now aware of the ministry. My mind is eased knowing you are looking after the realm in matters supernatural. And it is even more at ease knowing someone of such competence, efficiency and loyalty is at the helm."

  It was positively glowing praise. Did he go to such lengths because Lincoln was his son, and this was his only way of showing his pride?

  The queen held out her hand to Lincoln. She seemed to have recovered from her disappointment, or at least covered it with a regal façade. Lincoln took her hand and bowed over it.

  "You're a remarkable young man," she said as he rose. "And you, Miss Holloway, are quite remarkable too. Would you mind remaining behind and summoning my husband again?"

  "She can't," Lincoln said before I had a chance to think of an excuse. "I have need of her this afternoon."

  "Another time. Soon."

  I could not let her go on in hope forever. "Your majesty," I said, approaching her. "The dead don't like their afterlife being disturbed. Your husband wishes to be here with you, of c
ourse, but every time he returns, it pains him. He is best left where he is, in peace, waiting for you."

  Her chin and jowls wobbled, and she dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. For a moment I thought she might order me. "If that is his wish, then I must abide by it." She lifted her hand to dismiss us. "Good day to you both."

  A footman escorted us outside where Doyle waited with the coach. Once settled, I mentioned the prince's response to King's death. "It was as if he already knew."

  "Yes," Lincoln said drily. "It was."

  "Do you think…" I leaned toward him and whispered, even though we were quite alone in the carriage. "Do you think he had a hand in it?"

  He considered his answer for a moment before replying. "It's possible Gillingham informed him last night, perhaps suspecting the prince would take care of King."

  "So he didn't have to do the horrid task himself."

  "Or they may have colluded to remove King."

  We didn't speak further on that matter, or any other, for the rest of the journey back to Lichfield. My heart felt too full, for one thing, and I couldn't stop thinking about the pride in the prince's eyes as he praised Lincoln. Any doubts I'd had about whether he knew Lincoln was his son were dashed entirely. But I couldn't talk about that with him. He wouldn't want to hear it.

  "So?" Gus asked upon our return. "You getting a knighthood now?" He winked at me. "Be worth getting a broken hand for a knighthood."

  Lincoln closed the parlor door, piquing the curiosity of Lady Vickers, Alice, Seth and Gus. "What's happened?" Seth asked.

  "The Prince of Wales is considering giving the ministry a more formal role," Lincoln announced.

  "Blimey," Gus muttered.

  "Madness," Seth said, tapping his temple above his cut eye. It was almost completely closed today, and the surrounding flesh sported a rainbow of colors. He looked terrible, and I'd even caught Alice giving him a sympathetic glance.

  "What did you say to him?" Lady Vickers asked.

  "We managed to convince him that keeping the ministry secret for now was in England's best interests," Lincoln said. "But I suspect he wants us to be more official than we have been."

  "To give us access to funds and resources," I clarified.

  "He'll tell people," Seth said with certainty. "Let's just hope the people he tells are liberal-minded."

  "You mean more like Lord Marchbank than Lord Gillingham."

  "Precisely."

  Gus sat forward, his eyes bright. "We need a symbol."

  "What?" Seth scoffed.

  "If the ministry becomes more official, it needs a symbol, an emblem. We can get paper printed with it, and get it etched in the silverware."

  "Did your brain get squashed yesterday?"

  Gus's enthusiasm would not be curtailed. "We could get it painted on the coach door."

  I rolled my eyes and caught Lincoln smirking. "I don't think the ministry is at the point where it needs an emblem," I said.

  "We need someone to draw it," Gus went on. "Alice, you said you're good at watercolors."

  "I can sketch well enough," she said, "but only if I copy something. Creating a design from scratch is not a skill I possess."

  "Seth's creative," Lady Vickers piped up.

  Alice looked impressed. "Is he? I never suspected."

  Seth gave a nonchalant wave of his good hand. "I've dabbled."

  "Aye, but dabbled at what?" Gus said wryly.

  "Fetch a sketch pad and pencil," Seth ordered him. "I've got some ideas already."

  "You can't," I reminded him. "Your hand."

  "Oh. Right."

  Gus rose anyway. "I can work a pencil as well as him."

  I left them to it and went to sit beside Lady Vickers. Lincoln joined us. "Maids and a footman have been employed and will begin tomorrow," she announced. "Mrs. Cotchin is proving to be a marvel. Lichfield is in safe hands with her."

  "My thanks, madam," Lincoln said.

  "I could never have done it on my own, and nor could Lincoln," I said. I hoped he would offer to give Lady Vickers something as compensation, but he walked off. It was left to me. "As a token of his appreciation, Lincoln would like to take you shopping. Well, I will be the one to take you."

  She patted her hair and her cheeks blushed. "That's very kind of you."

  "I thought a new gown, something to wear to dinner parties. Something to wear to our dinner party."

  She clapped her hands. "Charlie, what a wonderful idea. I already have a list of guests. There are invitations we must reciprocate, of course, and some dear friends who've been kind to me since my return. And eligible young ladies, too," she added, eyeing Seth and Alice, their heads bent together in discussion.

  I almost mentioned inviting Lady Harcourt but bit my tongue. Did I want her at my first dinner party? She may be in an unhappy situation, but how was that my fault? It was her stepson's doing. He ought to be the one making it up to her. I would think about it some more.

  "It's not so bad," Lady Vickers said quietly.

  "Pardon?"

  "I know what you're thinking, and I want you to know that it can be as wonderful as it can be awful. It all depends on whether you love one another enough to endure the lows."

  "Hosting dinner parties?"

  She laughed. "No, marriage."

  "Oh!"

  "I have had one awful marriage and one good one," she went on. "Take it from me, Charlie, how you feel about one another makes all the difference. If there is no respect between you, no genuine friendship, and no love, then you'll end up despising one another." She looked to the door through which Lincoln had just left. "Mr. Fitzroy is not like any man I've ever met. You can't compare him, and your relationship, to any other. You are both unique individuals, and what you have now and what you'll have in the future has no precedent."

  "Thank you for your advice."

  "Will you put him out of his misery?"

  "I…I think I need to talk to him."

  I rose in something of a daze but did not leave to follow him. I wanted to be among my friends and their lively chatter, so remained in the parlor. We ate an informal luncheon in the cozy room, although Lincoln was absent. Doyle informed me he'd gone out, but he didn't say where. I found myself alone in the parlor with Seth after lunch, the others having gone in search of more paper for their sketches.

  "You look contemplative," he said, stretching out his legs. "Anything you want to talk about?"

  I shook my head. "Oh, wait, yes." I lowered my voice. "I've been meaning to talk to you about Alice."

  He straightened. "Has she mentioned me?"

  "Yes, but not in a good way."

  It took a moment for my words to sink in, then he sat back with a deep sigh. "What do I have to do, Charlie? Why doesn't she like me when everybody else does?"

  "Alice is very perceptive," I said. "And she's a lot like you, in that she has been admired for her beauty all her life. But unlike you, her beauty has led to complications."

  "You're referring to the engagement she never wanted with that older fellow."

  I nodded. "So she's careful now, wary, and you…well, you aren't subtle, Seth. You've praised her beauty often."

  "I thought women liked to be told they're pretty. Would you have me call her ugly?"

  "Don't twist my words."

  "Sorry," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "Go on."

  "Point out her other good traits."

  "Like her needlepoint?"

  "Like her cleverness, for example. Her creativity," I said, indicating the scraps of paper with half drawn designs on them.

  "She's not overly."

  "Don't tell her that."

  "I'm not an imbecile. I know how to praise women, Charlie."

  "And another thing. Be yourself."

  "I am."

  "No, you're playing a role around her. The role of charming, affable gentleman."

  "That's not a role."

  I never knew he could be so recalcitrant. Perhaps I'd offended him by poin
ting out a fault. He probably wasn't used to it. "Be sincere with her. Don't worry if she sees a bad side to you. It'll make you a more interesting person. I fell in love with Lincoln despite his faults. Owning up to yours won't push her away, if she does really like you enough."

  He looked to the ceiling and shook his head. "I can't believe I'm listening to the advice of a nineteen year-old. I can't believe I need advice at all. What is the world coming to?"

  "You're maturing, Seth. That's the problem."

  He pulled a face. "Maturity is for the aged, like my mother."

  "Don't let her hear you say that."

  He huffed out a humorless laugh. "And what about you? How does your love life fare?"

  "I've been too busy to contemplate it."

  "You're not busy now."

  I glanced at the clock on the mantel. Lincoln had been gone for nearly three hours. "Indeed I'm not." I kissed the top of his head and left as Alice and Gus returned, chatting excitedly about designs for the ministry emblem. I hoped they wouldn't be disappointed if it was never used.

  I headed up the stairs and walked quickly to Lincoln's rooms. The fire in his study was unlit, the room cold. I picked up the box and plucked the ring off the velvet bed. It slipped easily onto my finger.

  I stared at it. The diamond looked so large and bright, even in the gloom. Was it really mine?

  I tucked my hand into my skirts and headed back downstairs. I didn't join the others in the parlor but sat in the library. Mink and Finley had returned to Clerkenwell that morning with the rest of the gang to prepare for the move to the general's house. Perhaps Lincoln had gone there too.

  It was another two hours before he finally returned. I met him in the entrance hall and beckoned him into the library, just as the rain started. It pummeled the windows, drowning out the laughter from the parlor. "You've been gone a long time." I indicated he should sit in the chair by the fire. "Are you cold? It looks fierce out there. Take off your boots and warm your feet."

  His eyes narrowed. "You're fussing. Should I be worried?"

  I knelt on the rug and knotted my fingers behind my back. "Tell me where you've been."

  "To Mrs. Sullivan's first."

  "What did she say?"

  "That she can't wait to move into the big house with her girls, as she calls them."