Her Majesty's Necromancer (The Ministry of Curiosities #2)(44)

I wondered which noble family he belonged to, and who else knew. The committee must. Lord Gillingham had once alluded to knowing secrets about Lincoln, and Lady Harcourt had said he was protective of his family. She could have meant his mother, but I somehow suspected she meant his father. She'd also known precisely which ball to invite him to, one where his family would be in attendance, therefore increasing the chances of him going.

He must like to keep his eye on them from time to time, perhaps even talk to them. I could understand the allure.

I wondered if his father knew that Lincoln was his son.

***

The only mending Lincoln's formal tailcoat required was for a loose button to be removed and sewn back on. I ironed his best shirt and made a note to send the collar out to a nearby laundry for starching into a circular shape on their special steam iron. In the evening, I read in the library for a little but grew lonely and went in search of Cook. Everyone else had gone out to make inquiries at opium dens.

I found Cook stropping a knife blade on a cleaning board at the kitchen table. I must have startled him because he glanced up quickly. The moment's inattention caused him to cut his thumb.

He swore like a sailor and swiped up a cloth, wrapping it around his thumb. Blood soon seeped through.

"Are you all right?" I dropped the sewing I'd brought with me on the table and tried to get a look at his thumb, but he wouldn't unwrap it. "Let me see."

"It bloody hurts."

"I'm sure it does. Is it still attached?"

He gingerly unwrapped the cloth. The cut oozed blood, but after a close inspection, I was satisfied the thumb wasn't going to come off. The cut was deep, however, and required stitching. Fortunately I knew where the medical kit was kept, and how to suture a wound. Lincoln had shown me soon after we'd met. I'd not done it since, and not without supervision, but I was sure I could manage.

Cook wasn't quite so certain. It took some convincing, and half a bottle of Lincoln's best brandy, before he would unwrap it for me again. He couldn't bear to watch as I threaded the sterile needle and sewed up the cut. He whimpered like a child the entire time.

"And here I thought you were a big, strong beast of a man," I told him as I tied the thread ends. "You're nothing but a baby."

"It bloody hurts!"

I kissed the top of his bald head. "I know. You cradle your hand while I make you some hot chocolate."

He sat there while I packed away the kit and he didn't get up as I broke the chocolate pieces into the saucepan. I made a cup for him and one for me, and I tried to get him to return to his usual gruff self by getting him to talk about the carnivals his father used to take him to as a child, but it was no use. I sent him to bed when he finished his chocolate.

I cleaned his knives and washed the saucepan and cups then sat down to my sewing. I pulled the lamp in close so I could see the dark blue ribbon against the pale blue fabric of the dress. It was the only dress I owned that wasn't a uniform. I'd only worn it once, preferring to keep it for special occasions. Unfortunately, there'd been no special occasions. I'd worn it one time when I went out, merely to get some use out of it. I resolved to wear it more now that I'd sewn Lincoln's ribbon into the waistline.

I was packing my pins away when I heard a brisk knock at the back door. It must have been almost eleven o'clock; far too late for callers or deliveries. I thought about fetching Cook, but whoever it was might have given up by then. The knock came again, more urgent this time.

"Who is it?" I called out.

"I come from Mr. Lee," came a small voice. It belonged to either a child or a woman, but I still didn't open the door.

"What do you want?"

"Mr. Lee sends a message for Mr. Fitzroy."

"What about?"

The person hesitated, perhaps considering if he or she should deliver the message to someone who wasn't the intended recipient. "Mr. Fitzroy wanted to be told if the captain returned."

I unlocked the door and opened it. A boy no older than fourteen stood there, shivering in clothes too small for his growing limbs. I ushered him inside and through to the kitchen, and he immediately went to stand by the warm range, like a moth attracted to a flame.

"Has the captain returned to Mr. Lee's?" I asked him.

He peered at me through his long, dirty hair. He had Oriental eyes, but he wasn't a full-blooded Chinese. "Mr. Lee sent me here to tell Mr. Fitzroy."

"Thank you. Mr. Fitzroy will be very satisfied. I'll inform him shortly. Did you get a look at the captain?"

The boy shook his head.

"What is the captain doing now?" I asked.

"Watching someone."

"Watching one of Mr. Lee's…customers?"

He nodded again and rubbed his hands more vigorously. They were dirty and red raw, and the boy's clothes were so thin. He at least wore shoes, but his toes poked through.

"Stay here. Don't steal anything." I hurried out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I found a spare coat and pair of gloves in Seth's room and ran back down to the kitchen again. The boy was exactly where I'd left him. I handed over the garments then asked him to wait. I found some bread and cheese in the pantry and handed the lot to him.

"Thank you for reporting in," I said to the lad, who now stared back at me as if he'd seen a remarkable vision. "You may go now. Be careful. It's dark out and the streets are dangerous."