Her Majesty's Necromancer (The Ministry of Curiosities #2)(9)

"Neither!" I threw another card down.

Gus slid it back to me. "It ain't your turn."

"Might not be back hours yet," Cook said as he added another card to the small pile.

"Do you know who he's seeing?" I asked. "Seth, not Fitzroy." Lincoln had gone to The Red Lion to see if he could learn something about Jimmy and his friend. Seth was visiting the same widow he'd called upon several times over the last few weeks. All he'd told me was that she was wealthy, attractive and restless. I wasn't entirely sure what restless meant, but from the smile he sported every morning after he visited her, I had an inkling.

Gus shrugged. "Lady Harcourt?"

I stared at him. "Surely not."

He shrugged again. "Maybe. Maybe not." He poked the back of my hand of cards, pushing them upright. "You ain't too good at gambling."

"I thought she was still in love with Fitzroy," I muttered.

Cook snorted. "Love ain't got nothin' to do with fu—"

Gus thumped the burly cook on the arm. "None of that talk around the girl."

"She be the one who mentioned love." Cook winked at me.

Gus's face flushed. "I wasn't talking about love. I meant the other…"

"Do you think she expected to marry Fitzroy?" I asked them.

"Fitzroy, marry?" Cook threw down a card and scooped up the pile. "Not him. He ain't the marryin' kind."

"All gentlemen must marry," Gus said in a falsetto toff voice as he shuffled the deck. "It's their duty."

"Does Fitzroy have a family line to continue?" Cook asked. "We don't know who his father be."

Gus shrugged. "Lady H wouldn't marry him anyway. He ain't important enough for the likes of her."

"But she can afford to do what she wants," I said. "She has money and position enough for both of them, surely."

"Those that got much always want more, Charlie." Cook got up and placed the kettle on the cooking range. "There ain't no such thing as enough."

"Aye," Gus said. "Toffs only want one thing. Power. The more, the better."

"I think that's a little unfair," I said. "Fitzroy's a toff and I wouldn't say he desires power above all else."

"He ain't a real toff. Not like them committee members. He's different."

"He be that," Cook muttered.

I yawned again and Gus gently ordered me to go to bed. "Will you take up a jug of water for Death? Saves me doin' it later."

I waited as he filled a jug from the large pot that sat at the back of the range. It was warm now, but would likely cool by the time Lincoln returned. It was still early, and I doubted he would be back for hours.

With jug in one hand and candlestick in the other, I made my way upstairs. My rooms consisted of a bedroom and small sitting room down the hall from Lincoln's. He hadn't moved me into the servants' quarters in the attic, perhaps because the men slept there and I'd have little privacy. The informality of Lichfield's arrangements was one of the reasons I liked living there.

The door was unlocked so I entered. I was familiar with the layout of Lincoln's rooms, having been held prisoner in them for a few days. I set the jug beside the empty bowl on the washstand in his bedroom. I should cover it with a lid to keep the water as warm as possible. A book wouldn't do—the steam would damage the cover.

I looked over the surface of his desk for something to use, but could only find papers and writing materials. The top drawer contained a blotter, spare ink and quills, but the second drawer was more promising. Beneath some papers was a slate of the kind children used in school. It was just the right size to cover the jug. My fingers touched a thin chain at the back from which the slate could be hung. I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to hang a slab of slate on the wall, but I flipped it over to make sure it wasn't something that could be damaged by steam.

It wasn't a chain for hanging the slate, but a necklace that had been nailed to either side of the wooden frame. A flat, oval pendant dangled from the center. Something had been carved into the pendant and I held the candle closer to see. It was a blue eye, rather crudely rendered.

How curious. Why was it nailed to the back of the slate? Had Lincoln done it or someone else?

The soft click of the door made my heart leap into my throat. I dropped the slate back into the drawer and shut it with my hip, but it was too late. Lincoln stood in the doorway. He held no light and I couldn't see anything more than his silhouette, but I felt the force of his glare nevertheless.

"What are you doing in here?" he growled. "I haven't given you permission to enter."





CHAPTER 3


"I'm not stealing anything!"

"I asked what you were doing." His sharp voice cut through me as savagely as a blade.

"I brought up a jug of warm water, and I didn't want it to cool before you returned so I came out here looking for something to cover it. The steam would damage a book or papers, so I searched through the drawers." I sounded like a rambling simpleton, but he was making me nervous. I swallowed heavily. "I know it looks like I was stealing or sneaking around your rooms, but I wasn't. Well, I was looking around, but not for valuables. Gus asked me to bring up the jug. Ask him if you don't believe me! The water will be still warm too, if you want to check."