Her Majesty's Necromancer (The Ministry of Curiosities #2)(12)

"Good morning, Mother dear," he drawled.

Mother? This must be one of her stepsons.

"Andrew." Her tone was as crisp as the morning air outside.

"What are you doing down here, dressed like a harlot?" His gaze slid to the deep V of her bosom, visible through the gap of her unfastened over-gown.

Lady Harcourt clutched the edges of the gown closed. "Miss Holloway has called upon me. She was just leaving."

Andrew regarded me with lazy indifference then dismissed me with a sniff. "You're inviting the riff raff in through the front door now, Mother? How amusing."

She didn't bother with a reply, merely stepping around him. She gave me a forced smile. "Thank you for stopping by, Charlie."

I bobbed a curtsy and left. She shut the door, but not before I heard Andrew tell her to "Be a good mother and keep the noise down" while he slept. What a horrid man.

I thought about Lady Harcourt and her stepson on the omnibus to Kentish Town. Or, more specifically, the way they'd treated me. Servants were supposed to be invisible. A maid wasn't worth acknowledging, except when it was to give her an order. Lady Harcourt hadn't introduced me to her stepson, and he'd not addressed me at all. None of that bothered me. I wasn't in the least concerned about what Lady Harcourt or her family thought. But it did cast a light on something that I found more upsetting. Two months ago, I was important to the ministry, a curiosity because of my necromancy and because I'd lived as a boy for so long. Even when I'd revealed myself to be female, I'd been the daughter of a respected vicar. Now I'd sunk to being a maid, and maids were a step below vicars' daughters.

It was no wonder Lincoln treated me differently. Ever since I'd accepted the position of housemaid, he'd avoided me except during our training. It was only natural that he'd want to keep me in my place and not allow me ideas above my station. I'd wanted a friendship with him, at the very least, but it was becoming clear now that he couldn't allow that to happen. The only thing maids were good for, besides cleaning, was keeping their master's bed warm, and Lincoln was too much of a gentleman to offer even that. I wasn't sure if it would be enough for me anyway.

I was trying to wade through the quagmire of my thoughts when the omnibus sailed right past the squat gray building of The Red Lion. I called out for the driver to stop and he pulled the coach to the curb for me and another passenger to alight. I hurried back to the tavern and was surprised to find that it was open. Only two old drinkers hunkered down at each end of the long polished bar like bookends, their gloved fingers grasping tankards as if they were anchors in a storm. Both looked around as I entered and straightened. One even shot me a gap-toothed smile.

"Mornin', miss," he said. "Come join me for drink." He patted the stool beside him.

I hesitated. A mere two months ago, such an offer from a grubby, grizzly fellow would send me scurrying out of the tavern again, but I was a respectable woman now, and this wasn't a greasy lane where thugs ruled. I smiled and sat on the stool. My new companion seemed pleased. The other drinker moved up a stool, closer to me. I smiled at him too.

"What's a girl like you doin' at The Lion?" asked the one beside me, on my right.

"P'haps she heard the company's good." The other man chuckled.

The tavern keeper emerged from a door behind the bar. He raised his brows, searched the rest of the taproom, and upon seeing no one with me, arched his brows higher. "You lost, miss?"

"No." I allowed my smile to slip into a wistful, worried one. "I'm looking for my brother. He hasn't come home for several days and our mother is concerned. I believe he drinks here some evenings and plays dice." I looked at all three men in turn, blinking owlishly. I'd never had to use my femininity to get what I wanted, and I hoped I looked the part of sweet, worried sister and not like the liar I felt.

"Brother, eh?" The man beside me wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "You should come back in the evening when it's busier. Your brother might show up then."

"Tosser," said the other drinker with a shake of his head. "She can't come back at night. Only doxies come in here after dark, and she ain't no doxy."

That seemed to be an invitation for all three men to appraise my form openly. My face heated and I resisted the urge to slap one of them. At least they didn't mistake me for a harlot.

"My brother's name is Jimmy. He's older than me by a few years, has brown hair and a solid build." I'd seen the grave robbers the first time they dug up a body two months ago. They'd not had any remarkable features, and I wasn't even sure I'd recognize either of them again, but I did recall their strong builds.

"Many Jimmys come in here reg'lar," said the innkeeper, moving away. "It's a common name."

"Weren't that fellow asking about a Jimmy last night too?" said the man on my left. "Tall cove, black eyes, longish hair."

Lincoln. I affected a gasp. "Oh no! Is my brother in some sort of trouble, do you think? Mother will be so upset." I clicked my tongue and shook my head. "Jimmy is forever getting himself into difficulty. We were worried he was in over his head this time and was too ashamed to come home. My poor, fool of a brother. I must find him before this other man does."

"You be careful, miss," said the innkeeper. "The black-eyed fellow is dangerous. He fought off several fellows. I only just finished cleaning up the mess they made." He picked a hessian bag off the floor. Broken glass clinked inside.