From The Ashes (The Ministry of Curiosities #6)(55)

Dr. Bell made excuses, telling his colleagues he needed to go away for a few days on a private matter. I don't think anyone believed him, but they could see he wasn't being coerced and they must respect and fear him enough that they didn't want to pry.

We took them to the coach. Lincoln climbed in with Bell, Fawkner, and me, and ordered Seth to remain on the footman's perch at the rear and watch for anyone following. "King's Cross," he told Gus.

"Tell me how you did it," Bell once again asked Lincoln. "How did you make Mannering come alive?"

Fawkner spluttered a mocking laugh. "Have you finally lost your mind?"

"I must know!" Bell reached forward and grasped Lincoln's forearms.

Lincoln's stone-cold glare forced the doctor to let go and sit back again. "No medicine can bring the dead back to life, Dr. Bell. It's impossible."

"But I saw—"

"You saw someone who looks like Mannering. It wasn't him."

Bell's lips moved in silent discussion with himself as he considered this possibility. Perhaps he really was mad.

"It hurts like the devil," Fawkner whined, inspecting his bloodied sleeve.

"Do be quiet," I spat. "You made your bed and now you must lie in it."

"I wouldn't really have shot anyone." He sniffed and slumped into the seat beside Bell. "Where are you taking me?"

"Home," Lincoln said.

"Where is that?" When Lincoln didn't answer, he asked again. "Where do you live?"

"In a mansion with an imposing central tower used for my prisoners. You'll like it there."

"No need for sarcasm," Fawkner said with a petulant sneer.

Bell didn't speak again until we reached the railway station. He sat in the corner, reluctant to move. The shadows around his eyes appeared deeper, darker, but that could have been because his face was paler. To look at him, one would think he'd lost a loved one. Perhaps, to him, his work was his closest and constant companion, and now that work lay ruined.

"Where will I go?" he muttered. "What will I do?"

"You'll go wherever the first train out of London takes you," Lincoln said, opening the door.

He got out and helped a doddery Bell descend the step. The doctor seemed to have aged ten years. Lincoln gave him a pouch full of money and spoke with him quietly then jerked his head at Seth. Seth jumped down from the footman's post and escorted Bell through the throng of passengers milling about the station.

Lincoln remained outside, watching, until Seth rejoined us ten minutes later. It felt like an interminably long time. Fawkner wouldn't stop asking me questions about our destination and about his fate. He wouldn't shut up no matter how many times I asked him to, until Lincoln finally rejoined us.

We drove home in blessed silence. Lincoln and Seth escorted both Dr. Fawkner and me to the house via the service entrance. "Take him to the tower room," Lincoln ordered.

"Not the dungeon?" Seth pouted. "Pity."

Lichfield didn't have a dungeon, just a cellar, although it did feel like a dungeon down there once the door was locked. "I'll see to his wound in a moment," Lincoln said.

"You will not," Fawkner declared. "You're not a doctor. I'll do it myself."

"As you wish. Seth, once he's settled, fetch the medical kit and stay with him until he finishes then remove everything that could be used as a weapon."

Doyle and Cook watched Seth direct Fawkner past the kitchen. Fawkner walked meekly, his head bowed.

"How will we explain this to Lady Vickers?" I asked.

"She requires no explanation," Lincoln said, indicating I should walk ahead of him into the kitchen.

"That doesn't mean she won't demand one. I suppose we'll have to lie."

He asked Cook to make us something for a late breakfast then turned to Doyle. "See that Charlie's rooms are warm. Do you require a bath?" he asked me.

"God, yes. The sooner I get the stink of that cell off me, the better." I moved to the stove and helped Cook fry some bacon and eggs. Lincoln prepared two trays on the table.

"So what happened?" Cook asked.

I described our evening to him, and something occurred to me as I spoke. "No one has followed us this morning, or tried to attack," I said to Lincoln. "Does that mean Fawkner was the only spy at the hospital, and since we caught him, the killer cannot be alerted?"

"To rely solely on someone like Fawkner would be an amateurish mistake," he said, leaning back against the wall near the pantry, his arms crossed over his chest. "Our killer isn't an amateur. It probably means they aren't willing to attack yet, so as not to show their hand too early. That's what I would do."

"Or perhaps it's not a committee member, after all. Perhaps whoever it is hasn't yet heard about our encounter with Bell last night."

"It's a possibility."

"Are you going to question Fawkner?"

"After breakfast. I can wait until after you bathe if you want to join me."

Why was he asking me to interrogate Fawkner with him? To involve me in the investigation? Or because he was afraid of the methods he'd use if I wasn't there to temper his violent streak?