Vow of Deception (The Ministry of Curiosities #9)(20)

He quickly read the article and passed it to Gus.

"What's happened?" Gillingham said. "What's in the papers?"

"Hand it to me." Buchanan clicked his fingers at Gus. "Come on, man, you're taking too long."

"Aye," Gus said, absently. "On account of my low education."

"And stupidity," Gillingham muttered. "Honestly, you shouldn't even be in here." He snatched the paper from Gus's hand. Buchanan and Marchbank joined him and read over his shoulder.

Gus looked at Lincoln. "Werewolf."

"The reporter's use of the word is interesting," Lincoln said.

"And concerning," Seth added. "To have come to that conclusion based on only two mauling deaths is a large leap. Do you think he has some sort of connection with the shape changing community?"

"Perhaps we need to speak with that reporter."

Gillingham slapped the paper with the back of his gloved hand. "It's a poorly written piece. Clearly sensationalist to sell more copies. The headline speaks to the Ripper crimes but the article itself concludes that a werewolf is responsible for this death and the last one. The reporter doesn't actually link these two latest deaths to the Whitechapel murders of two years ago. The headline is purely to catch the attention of passersby. Look at the size of it!"

"It's what newspapers do to sell more papers," Buchanan said. "Sensationalist news stories, scaremongering and gossip are their trade."

"You would know all about that," Gillingham muttered. "You're quite the expert on feeding gossip to journalists."

Buchanan swallowed and looked away. So he still felt guilty for informing the papers about Lady Harcourt's past as a dancer. It never ceased to amaze me to be reminded that he had a conscience.

"This meeting is adjourned," Lord Marchbank said with a nod for Lincoln. "Fitzroy has work to do."

Work that would begin with finding out why the reporter mentioned werewolves in his article.



* * *



A frenzy of activity at the office of The Star in Stonecutter Street near Ludgate Circus was a testament to the daily's popularity. It was one of the few newspapers that circulated widely in the poorer parts of London. When I slept in derelict houses, there were always a few pages of The Star that could be found to stuff down the front of my shirt for warmth.

Lincoln and I met Mr. Salter in the front reception room. I guessed the tall slender man with the crooked teeth was a good ten years older than Lincoln, but it wasn't easy to tell. He had a receding hairline but smooth skin and no gray in his beard.

"My name is Lincoln Fitzroy and this is—"

"Fitzroy!" Mr. Salter rubbed his hands together. "Well then, this must be Miss Holloway."

"You know of us?" I asked.

"I do."

"How?" Lincoln growled. He would not like it that this man knew about him when Lincoln knew nothing in return.

"I'll tell you that when you tell me why you're here." Mr. Salter sniffed the air, as if he could sense a good story. "We'll talk in private. Come this way." He led us down a corridor, past several rooms, some occupied, to a small office containing a desk and bookshelves. A mechanical typing machine took pride of place on the desk, an open notebook beside it. Mr. Salter closed the notebook and placed it in a drawer.

"How do you know us?" Lincoln asked again.

Mr. Salter wagged his finger. "Uh-uh. You agreed. You answer me first. Do you have information about the murders I reported on? Or something else entirely?" His accent was almost East End but not quite. In fact, it sounded like my own speech pattern in the years when I tried to blend in with the other urchins but hadn't quite shed my middle class roots. I suspected Mr. Salter had gone in the other direction to me—he'd been born an East Ender but earned a good education at some point.

"Your article mentioned a werewolf." It would seem Lincoln refused to agree to terms. "Why?"

Mr. Salter sighed. "I can see you have nothing for me, only questions. Pity."

"Answer my question."

"Please," I added.

Mr. Salter smiled knowingly, almost as if he expected Lincoln to be abrupt and me to be conciliatory. Someone had told him all about us.

"I wondered if you would come here to speak with me," Mr. Salter went on. "I admit to using the word werewolf specifically to draw you out."

"How do you know about shape changers?" Lincoln asked.

"I heard rumors after that fellow was found in Hyde Park two months ago. When these latest murders happened, I couldn't help thinking of that one. So I entered into my own investigation. I came to the conclusion that the wild dog story put about by the police was just that—a story."

"And a werewolf attack seemed more plausible?" Lincoln asked.

Mr. Salter lifted one shoulder. "It does when you know they exist right under our noses."

"And what makes you think that?"

Mr. Salter sat forward and linked his hands on his desk. "Come now, Mr. Fitzroy. I am not a fool. I observe, listen and investigate, much as you do. The existence of the supernatural is nothing new to me. I belonged to an organization known as the Society for Supernatural Activity. It's disbanded now, but was quite prominent in the field of supernatural research."