From The Ashes (The Ministry of Curiosities #6)(39)

He nodded. "I'd like to start with Andrew Buchanan and his brother, Lord Harcourt. Considering our prior associations with them, their knowledge of the supernatural, and access to our archives, they're our most likely suspects."

"Want us to travel to Harcourt's estate?" Gus asked. "A bit o' fresh air will do us all good."

Lincoln shook his head. "Not yet. See what Buchanan has to say first."

"I know you prefer the direct approach," I said, "but I think we should tread softly."

"I can tread softly." Was he offended? It was difficult to tell.

"Is there some way you can question him about his movements without raising his suspicions?"

"I could interrogate his valet."

I winced. Lincoln's interrogation methods were not at all soft.

Seth shook his head. "Valets are usually loyal to their masters."

"I'll pay him for his silence," Lincoln said.

"There's always the risk he'll tell Buchanan."

"I think this would be better left to Seth," I said. "He's very good at casual conversation."

Seth nodded thoughtfully. "I am, aren't I?"

"And not quite as threatening as you, Lincoln."

Lincoln bristled. I don't think I'd ever seen his spine straighten like that or his lips purse quite so much. I'd not thought it possible to offend him, but perhaps I had. "I'm not always threatening."

The loaded silence was broken by approaching footsteps on the tiles outside the library. Doyle must be returning to see if we required anything.

"We need to learn Buchanan's movements," I said, "then make it seem as if Seth just happens to be in the same place at the same time by coincidence. They can strike up a conversation and Seth can casually weave in questions about Buchanan's whereabouts on the dates we know Rampling met with his mysterious employer."

"Right," Gus said. "So how do we know where Buchanan's going to be so Seth can come across him?"

"I can arrange it," announced Lady Vickers, sweeping into the room in a cloud of black. Oh no. Doyle had left the door open.

"Mother!" Seth shot to his feet. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Only enough to know that you wish to speak with Mr. Buchanan."

"Nothing before that?"

She waved a hand. "I assume Mr. Fitzroy conducts…private business. It's all far too vulgar for my liking, although I understand the necessity of these secret meetings and discussions." She gave Lincoln a firm nod, as if she knew precisely what he was up to, and had decided it was a little underhanded but not enough to be concerned. I wondered how she'd react if she knew the truth.

"You know where Mr. Buchanan will be?" Lincoln prompted.

"I know where he'll be tomorrow night." She turned a triumphant smile onto her son. "At the dinner party I asked you to attend."

Seth fell onto the chair with a groan. "I'll dust off my dinner suit."



I returned to the attic to resume adding to the ministry records, and took the opportunity to check for hypnotists. There was only the one whom Lincoln mentioned, but he'd died over a hundred years ago.

The attic was a pleasant room with its grand views over the estate, and neatly arranged files stored in a cabinet of small wooden drawers. There was little dust, despite our lack of maids, and part of it was arranged like a small study with a desk and chair in a nook by the window. Old furniture and boxes containing pieces left behind by the previous owner were stored in the deeper recesses at the back. I had little need to venture down there.

"You don't have to do this." Lincoln's voice startled me. I swallowed my gasp but couldn't hide my jump. "It's your birthday."

I returned to the files I'd been flicking through, but took in none of the information. "Do you stop working on your birthday?"

"You're not me." His voice sounded closer.

I slammed the drawer shut, drew in a fortifying breath, and turned to face him. He stood only a few feet away, his collar undone and white shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing strong, tanned forearms. His eyes seemed blacker, but that could have been due to the poor light in the attic. His face, with its noble cheekbones and hard planes, gave nothing away. The pointer finger on his right hand stroked the thumbnail, but he was otherwise still. He simply watched me with that unreadable expression, as if he expected me to guess what he wanted.

"I've been thinking about the murderer," I said to fill the awkward silence.

He looked away. His right hand curled into a fist.

"I feel as if we're examining this case in pieces, but not seeing the whole. No, that's not quite right either." I drew in a steadying breath and let it out slowly. His presence addled my brain.

"Go on," he said, drawing the chair out for me.

I sat and he perched on the desk, his hands holding onto the edge. "We need to go back to the beginning, back to the basic elements. We've been trying to find out who hired Rampling and Daley, but there's another path we can take. We were going down that path before…" I swallowed. "Before I went away."

"The link between Frankenstein, Jasper, Brumley and Drinkwater. I've been thinking about that too, but I fail to see how we can progress without investigating Rampling's story. It's not impossible," he added quickly. "I don't doubt you. You have a way of seeing things differently to me. It's…good. We work well together because of it."