"That's none of your affair," Gilly said with a sniff.
"It is. We may need to seek them out when you're dead and tell them about us."
"My wife inherits everything," he said, lowering his chin so that he mumbled into his chest. "She knows about the ministry."
"Andrew is my heir," Lady Harcourt said quietly. She wore deep black today, despite appearing in half-mourning colors in recent weeks. The lustrous sheen of the gown brought out the gloss in her hair and the whiteness of her skin. She was a woman aware of her beauty and knew how to enhance it with clothing and jewels, and black certainly suited her. Yet the sudden change surprised me. Was she mourning the general? Or the death of her reputation and popularity?
"Buchanan?" Gillingham waved off the cup of tea I held out to him. "Why not his brother?"
Andrew Buchanan was the younger son of Lady Harcourt's late husband. Donald Buchanan, the current Lord Harcourt, was the elder and lived with his wife on the family estate in Oxfordshire. Both knew about the ministry, but as the eldest, Donald should have inherited the committee position from his father. Old Lord Harcourt had elected his wife, however.
"Andrew is interested," she said, "Donald is not. Besides, Donald rarely comes to London."
"Then that's settled." Gillingham tilted his chin at the teapot. "Got anything stronger, Fitzroy?"
Seth poured him a brandy at the sideboard. We sat in the drawing room rather than the library. With both Seth and Gus joining us, the larger room suited better. Lady Vickers and Alice had not yet returned from their shopping expedition, and Doyle had been instructed not to disturb us, so privacy wasn't an issue.
Gillingham accepted the brandy glass. "Now," the earl said, "I called this meeting because it came to my attention that the events of the masked ball led to Charlotte and Fitzroy being summoned to the palace."
"The palace?" Marchbank's heavy brows crashed together. "Why weren't we informed?"
"Who did you see there?" Lady Harcourt asked, her features suddenly coming to life. "The Prince of Wales?"
Lincoln nodded. "I was about to call a meeting to inform you but Gillingham got in first."
"How did you learn about all this before us, Gilly?" Marchbank asked.
Gillingham swirled the brandy around his glass. "Mere happenstance."
"It arose out of Leisl's pronouncement that she sensed the Prince Consort's ghost would bring danger to his family," Lincoln said. "On the night of the ball I suggested to the Prince of Wales that we could help him in ghostly matters, so he took me up on the offer and summoned us." He told them how the meeting went and that we spoke to the ghost himself.
"In the presence of the queen?" Lady Harcourt asked. "How did that go?"
"Awkwardly," I said. "But we got answers. He's not haunting his family and has no wish to harm them. But that's not the most interesting part of the meeting."
Lincoln told them about the imposter and his theory that it could have been a shape shifter posing as the Prince Consort rather than a lookalike. "I'm seeking the counsel of another shifter known to us through the archives," he said, avoiding mentioning Harriet by name.
"Another shifter?" Lady Harcourt asked. "You mean we already know of one? Perhaps he's the imposter?"
"She's not. She can only change into a beast form, not human."
"She?" Marchbank echoed at the same time that Lady Harcourt said, "So she says. Women do not always tell the truth, Lincoln."
"Nor do men," he countered.
She gave him a tight smile over her teacup.
"So what did your shifter have to say?" Marchbank asked. "Did she know of anyone who can do what you suggest?"
"No," I said. "But she may know something of importance. Unfortunately we were interrupted before she could impart anything of use to me."
"You can't rely on one silly female who most likely doesn't know anything." Gillingham said, waggling his empty glass at Gus. "You must extend your inquiries."
Gus dutifully stood and poured him another brandy. "We are."
Gillingham didn't even look his way.
"The palace footman followed the imposter as far as Whitechapel," Lincoln went on. "We're currently making inquiries there."
"How?"
"You don't need to know my methods." Lincoln's ice cold voice matched his eyes. "All you need to know is that they work."
Gillingham gulped his brandy down.
"The involvement of the palace is a bold move on the villain's part and extremely concerning." Marchbank stroked the white scar slicing through his beard. "It means he has no respect for authority, coupled with a brazen nature. A dangerous combination in my book."
"Or it could mean he already bore a remarkable resemblance to Prince Albert," I said.
Everyone turned to me. "Go on," Lincoln said.
"Did the imposter choose the Prince Consort because he already resembled him to a certain extent so the shift wouldn't be too difficult? Or does pretending to be the prince achieve something in particular? If the former, then his motives will be difficult to discover, but if the latter, then it will be easier because it's highly specific. He chose the dead prince for a reason."
Marchbank nodded. "Excellent point, Charlie."
"Not really," Gillingham drawled. "It brings us no closer to learning the imposter's identity."
"It's something to consider," Seth spat back.
"Who asked you? Fill up my glass, there's a good fellow."
Seth ignored him. Gillingham waggled his empty glass, and Gus got up to fill it again, but Lincoln put a hand out to stop him.
"The meeting is concluded," Lincoln said. "I've told you everything you need to know."
"Need?" Marchbank intoned. He nevertheless rose, as did Lady Harcourt. Lord Gillingham did not.
"I'll keep you informed of developments," Lincoln said.
"Will you really?" Gillingham sniffed. "Because it seems to me that you haven't questioned the most logical suspect. Your mother."
It felt as if the air got sucked out of the room as everyone focused on Lincoln. His face remained impassive. "Leisl is not a suspect."
"Why not? She knew about the imposter. Perhaps she knew because she has something to do with the villain."
Sometimes I wondered if Gillingham had a death wish. To my surprise, however, Lincoln merely repeated, "She's not a suspect."
"Why would she warn the Prince of Wales if she were part of the scheme?" I asked. "Your theory is absurd."
"She may have had regrets." Gillingham shrugged. "She's a gypsy. They think differently to us. No offense intended, Fitzroy, but it's not like you care about the woman who gave you up, is it?"
If Lincoln didn't shut him up, perhaps I would. It was very tempting.
"If she were involved," Seth said, "which I doubt, why would she choose the royal family, and the Prince of Wales in particular? What would she gain?"
"Revenge for past wrongs," Gillingham said before I could stop him.
Seth and Gus both frowned. As the only ones who weren't aware of the relationship between the prince and Leisl, Gillingham's response made no sense to them.
"What wrongs?" Seth asked.
"It's not relevant to this investigation," I said quickly.
"Charlie's right," Lincoln said. "It's not relevant. But Gillingham wants to remind everyone that Leisl and the prince had a liaison some thirty years ago. It resulted in me."
Seth and Gus stared at him, utterly speechless. Then Seth burst out laughing. "Is that a joke?"
"I don't joke."
Seth's laughter died. "Right. Er, Charlie, did you know about this?"
I nodded.
"Blimey," Gus muttered. "Does that make you a prince? Do you outrank everyone here?"
Gillingham snorted. "Simpleton. Illegitimacy has no rank. He would have to be publicly acknowledged and a title bestowed upon him. That sort of thing doesn't happen, nowadays."
"Ain't no one here who can say their pa is a prince."
Gillingham had no response to that and Gus sat back with a smug look on his face.
"Are you quite sure we can rule out revenge?" Marchbank asked. "It's a simple yet effective tactic-scare him with a strange vision about his dead father, and embarrass him in a public place."
When Lincoln didn't answer, I said, "I may have only just met her, but she seemed sensible and not at all inclined for revenge. Besides, why now after thirty years?"
"Ask her. We expect you to, Fitzroy, regardless of your personal feelings on the matter."
"I have no personal feelings on the matter," Lincoln said. "If I decide to question her, it will be because I think it's relevant, not because you or anyone else does. Is that clear?"
Marchbank held up his hands in surrender. "If you say so."