Her Majesty's Necromancer (The Ministry of Curiosities #2)(31)

I handed the knife to Cook, rolled my eyes, and went after Lincoln. "That is not a reason."

"You need to learn to obey my orders, Charlie. You all do. If you want to help with ministry business then you need to learn to do as I tell you. I can't have you all going off in different directions on a sudden whim. It's imperative you do as I say, or plans will fall apart."

I quickened my pace to keep up with him. "While that does sound reasonable, we are simply training here at Lichfield. We're not out on ministry business. I think you're over-reacting."

He suddenly stopped and rounded on me. "Do you? Then you won't be surprised to learn that I'll dismiss Cook."

"What? You can't!"

He walked off again. "He should know better."

We'd reached the stairs now and I was beginning to breathe heavily from the effort of following him. "You're being unreasonable."

He said nothing, just took the stairs two at a time.

"Mr. Fitzroy, slow down." He didn't. "This is absurd. I won't let you dismiss him. He won't get another position in a large house, not with his history."

"You have no say in the matter. You're a maid."

"I don't care!" I shouted, stopping on the landing. "Dismiss me too, if you will. It was my fault, after all. I asked him to instruct me." I resisted the urge to look back down to see if Gus and Cook were listening and would tell Lincoln that wasn't true.

"He should know better," he said again. He didn't sound quite so angry, and I suspected I was getting through to him.

"You'll regret this tomorrow."

"Will I?" He came back down the stairs toward me, but remained on the step above so that I had to crane my neck to look at him. "You presume to know me that well?"

I stepped up beside him and folded my arms. "I think I do, yes."

The muscles high in his jaw bunched. "You're wrong, Charlie. You don't know me at all."

"Bollocks."

His eyes narrowed.

I took his silence as permission to continue. "I do know you will regret speaking to me like this. I also know you'll regret dismissing Cook."

"Why would I?"

"He's a bloody good cook, for one thing. His sponge cakes are delicious. More to the point, it would be several days before we could replace him, and you do not want to eat my cooking. I imagine Seth and Gus are equally inept in the kitchen. Cook also saved my life. So, please," I said, softer, "keep him on. It was a trifling thing he did, after all."

He placed his hands behind his back and regarded me from beneath heavy-lidded eyes. "Why are you so intent on defying me lately?"

I baulked. "Am I?" I shook my head. "I disagree."

He ached a brow.

"Yes, well, while that does sound insolent, I would hardly call standing up for Cook defiant. You never said not to learn how to throw knives. I actually don't see the problem with it."

"I will oversee your training. Not Seth, or Gus, or Cook."

"You weren't here."

"And I will not have my staff going against my orders," he said, walking up the stairs again.

"You never actually gave a direct order not to teach me knife throwing."

He paused and glanced over his shoulder at me.

I shrugged. "If you're going to be particular about this then so will I."

He marched up the stairs again. "Tell Cook he can stay," he tossed back. "He's fortunate to have you as his champion."

***

Lincoln didn't join us for dinner, but came downstairs afterward and announced he was heading out to Mr. Lee's Lower Pell Lane establishment.

"Again?" I asked, setting aside my mending.

"There is no again. I haven't been yet." He threw on his riding cloak and picked up the gloves he'd set on the kitchen table.

"I thought that's where you were this morning."

He shook his head without looking at me. Indeed, he'd not met my gaze since entering.

Gus yawned and slumped further into the chair. "So where were you this morning?"

"The orphanage in Kentish Town." Upon my quiet gasp, he finally met my gaze. "I asked Mr. Hogan, the administrator, if he'd kept a copy of the letter he'd received from the person inquiring after your adoption."

"And?"

"And he hadn't. Nor could he recall where he sent the response. If he were my employee, I'd dismiss him for ineptitude."

"He must receive a lot of correspondence." I picked up my sewing again to hide my disappointment. "Thank you for trying. I know you're very busy."

I wasn't aware he'd moved closer until his gloved hand rested on the table in my line of sight. "Someone wants to know more about your origins, Charlie. They're possibly even searching for you."

"We don't know that certain."

"No."

"If they wanted to know where I'm living, they could simply question Anselm Holloway. It's not like he's difficult to find, locked away in a jail cell." I glanced up at him. "I won't live here as a prisoner."

"I know."

His response surprised me, after his earlier over-reaction. Then it had seemed as if he were trying to protect me to the point of being unreasonable, but now I wasn't so sure.