Vow of Deception (The Ministry of Curiosities #9)(29)

"I think it already is. His lover is getting married, he has no home, no money and no prospects of earning any. Plus he's a turd."

Lady Vickers clicked her tongue. I thought she didn't like my language, but it turned out to be because she didn't like Buchanan. "The man's a fool and a wastrel. He always was, and age hasn't improved him. He still acts like a petulant child. Look at the way he behaves over Julia! Quite pathetic."

"She does encourage it," I said. "Or she has in the past. That will probably stop, now that she's marrying." I pulled my toast apart but didn't eat. "Joining the committee might distract him, at least."

Alice lowered her fork to her plate. "Do you think it will give him some sorely needed purpose?"

"I do hope so," Lady Vickers said. "There's nothing more invigorating for the mind and spirit than a purpose. Don't you agree, Charlie?"

"I do," I said.

"My newfound purpose is to see that my son marries well and gets back on his feet."

I didn't think that a very sound purpose considering Seth already seemed to be well and truly on his feet. But I didn't say so.

"Good luck," Alice quipped as she got up to pour more tea into her cup.

Lady Vickers narrowed her gaze as if she were trying to work out if Alice meant something else by her comment. I detected nothing insincere, however.

The hour passed quickly and the three coaches arrived on time. Lords Marchbank and Gillingham drove up in their private coaches whereas Buchanan stepped out of a hansom that he then sent on its way.

"Good morning, everyone," he said as Doyle took his hat in the entrance hall. "Shall we adjourn to the library?"

"What's this about?" Gillingham asked before we'd all settled. Seth and Gus hadn't joined us since they were still asleep. Lincoln didn't look any worse for getting a mere two hours rest before breakfast. I'd once called him a machine—sometimes it didn't seem far from the truth.

Buchanan lifted a hand to ward off Gillingham's question, but it was me he addressed. "Charlotte, should you be here? You're not part of the committee—"

"She stays," Lincoln said.

"Get to the point, Buchanan," Gillingham snapped. "I've got things to do."

Buchanan snorted. "Like keep an eye on your wife?"

Gillingham had been about to take his seat, but he now rounded on Buchanan. "What are you implying?"

Buchanan hiked up his trouser legs and sat in an armchair. "Sit down, Gilly. You're not frightening anyone."

Gillingham's hand tightened around the head of his walking stick. "I should thrash you, you imbecile."

"Wait until after you hear what I have to say." Buchanan's laconic manner had me wanting to thrash him.

"What do you mean about keeping an eye on Harriet?" I asked, knowing I was playing into his hands.

Buchanan waved at the brandy on the sideboard. "Pour me a glass, Fitzroy."

"No," Lincoln said flatly.

"It's ten in the morning!" Marchbank said. "Get on with the meeting. Why did you call us here? What's happened?"

"Very well." Buchanan gave the brandy decanter a longing look then tore his gaze away. "I wanted to take Fitzroy to task. He hasn't reported in yet."

"There's nothing to report," I said.

Buchanan held up a finger. "The meeting with the journalist." He held up another finger. "The summons to the palace."

"The palace!" Gillingham spat. "Why haven't you mentioned it, Fitzroy? Buchanan's right, you need to report in on such important meetings immediately."

"No, I do not," Lincoln said. "There's nothing to report. I learned nothing at the palace. Her Majesty simply wanted to discuss the possibility that werewolves are roaming the city. She wanted reassurance that we will find them and stop them from killing again."

"And was she reassured?" Marchbank asked.

"I believe so."

"She was," I added. I waited to see if Lincoln would mention the discussion surrounding Swinburn and the duke's threat to close the ministry, but he didn't.

"You went too?" Buchanan said to me. "Was that necessary?"

Lincoln merely glared at him.

"You don't think I should have gone?" I asked sweetly. "Why not?"

"Because of what you are."

"You mean a necromancer? It's all right, Mr. Buchanan, you can say the word. I won't bring back your father and have him put you over his knee. Well, I may, if you really annoy me."

Buchanan's lips twitched and twisted with indignation. "You little—"

"Don't." Lincoln's low growl sent a shiver down my spine.

Buchanan paled. "I'm merely pointing out that Her Majesty might not like having a necromancer in her midst."

"She knows," I lied. The queen did not know. She thought me a medium, a more acceptable supernatural than one who raised the dead.

"Very well then, but be sure to keep the committee informed of all your meetings, Fitzroy, not just the ones you choose to tell us about."

"I'll inform you when you need to know," Lincoln said. "Is that clear?"