Vow of Deception (The Ministry of Curiosities #9)(69)

"Some do." Her gaze slid to her husband then back to me. "But I have eyes and ears and I use them to learn. Swinburn's pack mates are unhappy over Gawler's death. They see it as betrayal of our kind, of putting our entire species in danger by handing the body over to science. They think the disagreement between them should have been settled in the traditional pack way, with a fight in our beast form."

"Don't use that word," her husband muttered.

"There now, Charlie. Isn't that a useful piece of information?" she asked.

"Not particularly," I said. "It's not going to get Lincoln out of jail." I pressed my fingers to my forehead and rubbed the ache blooming there. "We're supposed to be married tomorrow."

"I know." Her brow crumpled. "You poor thing."

"If you are truly loyal to us," I said, "you will use your influence with Swinburn and ask him to see that Lincoln is released. It's his bloody fault the parliamentary committee was set up in the first place."

"I'm not convinced he was responsible," she said carefully.

"He is! He must be."

"It was set up because of the public outcry over the attacks and the revelation that the ministry exists to stop that sort of thing from happening."

"And who told Mr. Salter from The Star about werewolves and the ministry in the first place?"

"Swinburn," Gillingham said, stamping his hand on the chair arm. "Assuredly, it was Swinburn."

"No, it was not." Harriet turned toward him, her eyes narrowed to slits. "Stop this charade, Gilly. It's pathetic. I know it was you."

His jaw dropped and he spluttered words of denial but they did not form a full sentence. She let him ramble on, her glare unwavering, until he finally drifted to a stop. He closed his mouth and his audible gulp filled the silence.

"Go on, Harriet," I said darkly.

"I was looking through the correspondence on my husband's desk the other day," she said.

"You what?" he exploded. "Why?"

"Because it's time you treated me as your equal in all affairs that affect us as a family. Your business is my business, Gilly. Anyway, that is by the by. I was looking through your correspondence and discovered a letter from Mr. Salter thanking you for the information and asking for further details."

"You were his source?" I said to Gillingham.

He shot to his feet. "I don't have to listen to this!"

"You do if you want to keep my condition a secret," his wife said. "Believe me, I have no qualms in telling the world what I am. It might even go some way to proving that not all werewolves are dangerous. I have considered it, Gilly, and I will do it if you don't do as I say. Now, sit and listen. You planted the idea in Mr. Salter's head that a werewolf was responsible for those murders in the Old Nichol, then you gave him Gawler's name."

"My God," I whispered. "That's awful. Why would you do such a thing?"

His throat worked but he simply stared at his wife. The freckles on his cheeks darkened against his pale skin.

"Because he wanted to stop me running with Gawler and his pack," Harriet said. "He assumed if Gawler was arrested for murder, the pack would disband, or stop running until the dust settled."

"I did it for you, my love," he whispered. "For you and our child, to keep you both safe."

"From what?" she shouted. "We are only in danger from the authorities now thanks to you!"

"Anything could have happened during a run. It's the East End, for God's sake! Those people could have turned on you. They are scum, Harriet. They have no morals, no conscience. I hate to think what they might have done."

"You stupid fool. They are good people. Better than you, by far."

He leapt off his chair and lunged toward her. He grasped her shoulders. "Harriet, please, I did what I did for you."

She shoved him away and he fell onto the rug. He scooted back until he hit a table.

"Did you tell them about Lincoln, too?" I asked. "About the ministry?"

"No!" he cried. "I did not mention the ministry, Fitzroy or Lichfield. My aim was only ever to keep Harriet and our baby safe, not close the ministry. Be sure to tell Fitzroy that, Charlotte."

I appealed to Harriet. She lifted one shoulder. "There was no evidence in the correspondence that he informed Mr. Salter about the ministry. I sent him a message to ask him, and he wrote back that he will not reveal his sources."

"It's not me," Gillingham said weakly.

His wife lifted her finger in dismissal, as if she were addressing one of the servants. "So you see, Charlie, at least some of this situation is not Swinburn's fault. The original newspaper reports certainly aren't."

"The murders themselves are, possibly," I told her. "And he most likely told Salter and Yallop about the ministry. That is my concern now. Harriet, please just talk to him. Try to convince him that Lincoln and the ministry are not his enemy."

"I'll try, but the problem is that he wants power, and the ministry will thwart him at every turn."

"Because we don't want power to fall into the hands of a corrupt, amoral murderer. Swinburn is not a good man, and you know it. Is that the sort of fellow you want your child near?"