Her Majesty's Necromancer (The Ministry of Curiosities #2)(14)

"I understand, but I'm also very busy and can't come back. Please," I added when he gave no reaction. "I was adopted as a baby by a couple named Holloway—"

He glanced up. "Holloway?"

My heart skid to a halt. "Do you remember them?"

"Of course not." He frowned. "But you're the second person in two days to ask about a baby adopted by them."

"The second? Who was the first?"

He steepled his fingers again. "I received the request by letter, and I won't divulge the name on the correspondence. It's unethical."

"Of course." It must be Lincoln, also trying to discover my real mother's name and if she was still alive. She was, after all, a necromancer too, and the ministry needed to know if she still lived.

"I can tell you what I wrote back, however. There are no records of any babies adopted from here by a Mr. and Mrs. Holloway. Now, if you don't mind…"

"Of course. Thank you for your time, Mr. Hogan."

He was once more looking down at his ledger before I even rose from the chair.

I saw myself out into the windy, grim street and was contemplating whether to catch an omnibus or walk home when I spotted a man watching me from the other side of the road. He quickly walked off, but not before I saw that it was the same man who'd stepped off the omnibus outside The Red Lion along with me. I clutched my reticule tighter and hurried away. I checked over my shoulder every few steps, but he seemed to have gone. Perhaps I was silly to worry. He might simply have business in the area too. My recent experiences had made me over-anxious.

It began to rain when I reached the Lichfield gates. I ran up the drive but was thoroughly wet by the time I entered the house through the back door. Cook was alone in the kitchen and I joined him by the warm range.

"You're wet," he said.

"How observant of you."

"Best change into something dry. Soup'll be ready when you return."

"Are the others about?"

"I'm here," said Seth, striding into the kitchen from the same direction I'd just come. He joined Cook and me at the warm range and stretched his hands over the simmering pot of soup.

"Oi," Cook snarled at us. "You be dripping on my floor."

"It's pouring out there."

"Don't mean you can drip all over my floor."

"I'll wipe it up after I dry off," I said. "Where's Gus?"

Seth grinned. "Getting drenched while he watches those grave robbers."

"What?" I pulled back my hands and rounded on him. "Where?"

"They live in a hovel in Whitechapel. Didn't Death tell you?"

"No, he didn't. When did he learn where they lived?"

"Last night. He followed them to Whitechapel from The Red Lion. They got into a fight—"

"Yes, thank you," I said through a clenched jaw. "I knew that part. But bloody Fitzroy didn't tell me he'd discovered where Pete and Jimmy lived."

"Who?"

"The grave robbers. Jimmy Duggan and Pete Foster are their names."

"Is that so? And how do you know that?"

"Never mind." I removed the pins from my hair and shook it out so it would dry faster. "Excuse me, I need to speak with my employer."

"Wait." Seth caught my arm. "How did your visit with Lady Harcourt go? Did you find out any more about Gurry?"

I glanced at the door to make sure Lincoln wasn't lurking there. I didn't want him knowing I'd visited Lady Harcourt to learn more about him. It felt as wrong as eavesdropping had, and part of me regretted doing it. "I discovered…very little. Nothing about Gurry." It wasn't my place to tell them Lincoln's story. No doubt they'd asked him at the time of Gurry's death and he'd refused to answer. I was still surprised that Lady Harcourt had told me that Gurry had been Lincoln's tutor. It seemed traitorous, considering they'd once been lovers and she still seemed to consider him a friend.

"I met her stepson," I said, compelled to tell him something. "Andrew. He was just entering the house as I was leaving. I think he'd been out all night."

Seth pulled a face. "Andrew Buchanan, a dissolute little waste of space and air. Stay away from him, Charlie. He's no good."

"I doubt I'll see him again."

"Why's he no good?" Cook asked.

Seth sat at the kitchen table and began removing his boots. "He's Lord Harcourt's second son. The eldest is a fine fellow, but keeps to himself on the family estate. Andrew lives at the Mayfair house with his stepmother, and squanders his inheritance on gambling and women."

"Half the bucks in this city do that," Cook said, stirring the soup. "Includin' you."

"Yes, well." Seth cleared his throat. "I make an attempt to pay my debts, at least, while he racks up more without a care. Nor did I injure anyone in my downfall. Except a few hearts, perhaps."

Cook snorted.

"Andrew Buchanan is a malicious gossip who likes to cause trouble," Seth went on. "He rubs people the wrong way and has never worked a day in his life. He thinks women are there for his amusement."

"And you don't?" I asked.