Of Fates And Phantoms (The Ministry of Curiosities #7)(4)

The woman stopped short of the prince, whose friends now tried to block the woman's path. The prince shoved one of them aside. He faced up to the woman, keeping an arm's length between them. She tipped her chin, fierce defiance flashing in the depths of eyes as black as pitch. She was a strikingly handsome woman of about fifty years, with a strong jaw and cheekbones, and a slender figure. Her clothing, however, was modest, the practical boots well worn. Not a single guest would have chosen such a drab coat and humble skirt for their costume. 

"Who is she?" he asked Lord Hothfield, standing beside him.

Lord Hothfield made a noise in the back of his throat, opened his mouth and shut it again without answering. He looked like a fish, gasping on the dock.

"You know me," the woman said. "I am Leisl. Your woman, long ago."

The entire ballroom fell silent. Not a shoe scuffled, or a nose sniffled.

The prince burst out laughing, but there was an uncertain hesitance to it. "You jest, woman. I wouldn't waste my time with you. Get her out of here."

"Thompson!" Lord Hothfield bellowed. "Thompson! Escort this dirty creature from the house."

A footman grabbed the woman's arm but she shook him off with a violent motion. "I came to warn you. I see you, Prince. I see your future. You are in danger."

The prince's laughter spluttered until it died altogether. His cheeks above his beard went white. "What kind of danger?"

His question was almost lost amid the hoots and howls from his friends. "Get the mad old bat out of here," one of them shouted.

The woman pointed her finger at the prince. "I warn you. Be careful of your father."

More howls of laughter followed. "His father's dead," someone said. "God, woman, where have you been?"

The footman grabbed her again, this time with the help of another.

"I have seen him!" the woman screeched, her unwavering gaze still on the prince, even as the two men ushered her away. "He will bring you much trouble! Heed my warning! You know I speak only true to you. You know this!"

The men pushed her forward and she stumbled. They stopped her from falling, and roughly dragged her away. The crowd parted, the women wrinkling their noses in disgust. One man spat at her.

"Disgusting gypsy," muttered a woman near me. "They ought to be barred from entering the country."

Gypsy.

I spun round to Lincoln, but he didn't notice me. He forged his way toward the footmen and the gypsy, who shouted at them to leave her alone, that she would walk unassisted. They did not let her go.

Not until Lincoln gripped their shoulders and tore them away from her. Away from his mother.





Chapter 2





"What are you doing, man?" bellowed one of the prince's friends. His voice rang clear across the room now that the band and guests had gone silent. "Let them escort her out. She's making fools of us all."

Lincoln placed his hand on the woman's lower back and said something to her that no one else could hear. She glanced sharply at him. I tried to determine from her face if she somehow knew he was her son, but her features quickly schooled and she allowed him to steer her out of the ballroom. Lincoln had never met his mother, but he knew her name and where she lived from the file in the ministry's archives.

I picked up my skirts to follow.

"Who is he?" The prince's voice sounded remarkably close. I glanced over my shoulder to see him, Lady Harcourt and our host on our trail. "Hothfield?"

"I am not sure, your highness," Hothfield said. "My wife will know."

"He's Lincoln Fitzroy," Lady Harcourt said. "Of Lichfield Towers in Highgate."

"Never heard of him," the prince said. "Does he know Leisl, do you think?" His use of her first name wasn't lost on me. He remembered her. He must.

"I rather think he does," she said.

I caught up to Lincoln and Leisl in the entrance hall, standing in the shadows beneath the staircase. He nodded at something she said and her lips parted. Her knees buckled but he caught her and guided her to the chaise.



       
         
       
        

"That's velvet!" Lady Hothfield cried. She stood between her husband and Lady Harcourt, her fan fluttering violently at her chest. "Get up! Get up! You're ruining my furniture with your dirty clothes." She barreled past the prince, but I blocked her with my arm.

"Her clothes aren't dirty," I said in as mild a voice as I could manage considering the way my blood boiled. "She's not doing you any harm sitting there."

"Don't be ridiculous," Lady Hothfield snapped, shoving my arm away. "She tried to assassinate His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales! In my home!"

"Steady on, m'dear, " Lord Hothfield said. "There was no assassination attempt."

"Don't be a fool. She's a gypsy!"

Lincoln stood between Leisl and Lady Hothfield. "She'll leave," he said. "She needs a moment to compose herself first."

"Why does she need a moment? I am the injured party! And His Royal Highness, of course." Lady Hothfield assessed Lincoln anew and made no attempt to get past him.

Lincoln crossed his arms over his chest and set his feet apart.

Lady Hothfield took a step back beneath the force of his glare. "Thompson! Thompson, remove these people at once!"

"Leave us, Hothfield," the prince ordered.

"You wish to speak to her?" Lord Hothfield blinked at the prince. "Is that wise considering what she is?"

"Indeed," Lady Hothfield said. "What if she puts a spell on you?"

"Go." The way the prince barked reminded me very much of Lincoln. Both men were accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed, without question.

With a bow, Lord Hothfield retreated, gesturing for his wife to follow. She shot a glare at Lincoln then retreated with her husband. They passed Seth at the base of the stairs and headed back up to the ballroom. Lady Harcourt left too, her pace slower, her brow rumpled in thought.

"See that we're not disturbed," Lincoln said to Seth.

Seth nodded and headed up the stairs, taking two at a time.

The prince approached Lincoln as one would approach a dog of uncertain temperament. In Lincoln's current mood, it was perhaps wise to be cautious. He looked thunderous.

"You too," the prince said.

"No," Lincoln shot back.

I stilled. He dared disobey the Prince of Wales? "We know she's a seer," I said quickly. "We know a lot of things that may help in this situation."

The prince regarded me levelly for a moment. I thought he would order me to go too, but then he said, "Very well. Stay. Leisl, you shouldn't have come here. It's far too public."

"I cannot go to your palaces," she said. "There are too many guards. Where do you expect me to go?" 

"That is not the point."

"No," Lincoln said, low. "The point is that she risked much to come here and warn you."

"Warn me?" The prince snorted. "Of what? That my dead father has it in for me? That's absurd." He squared his shoulders and stretched his neck. "Even if I believe that she has visions, it's still an outrageous claim."

"You believe," Leisl said before Lincoln could reply. "I know you. I read you … sire."

Had she been about to call him a different name, perhaps a more personal one that she used to use?

The prince stiffened. "This man." He jerked his head at Lincoln. "How do you know him?"

Leisl pushed to her feet. The fierce set of her jaw, so like Lincoln's, spoke of her cool determination, yet the slight quiver of her lower lip softened the effect. "I have just learned that he … he is my son."

So Lincoln had told her that much in their brief encounter tonight. My son, she'd said, not our.

"Fitzroy," the prince murmured, mulling over the name that meant son of a king. He looked at Lincoln anew. "How old are you?"

"My age is not the issue here." In centuries past, Lincoln's impertinent answer would be considered an offence worthy of a beating. Nowadays, the prince simply flared his nostrils in disapproval. "The point is, you treated Leisl abominably this evening. Apologize."

"I beg your pardon?" the prince spluttered.

"Apologize to her."

My breath hitched. Leisl sucked in her top lip and half shook her head.

"I will not!" the prince bellowed. "She charged in here, uninvited, frightened the other guests, then proceeded to spout off about my late father. Why in God's name should I apologize to her? It is she who ought to apologize to me." His gaze flicked to the woman he'd known intimately on at least one occasion.

"We have both wronged the other," Leisl said. "So long ago."

Lincoln opened his mouth, most likely to protest. As the only one there who had his best interests at heart-and I included Lincoln himself in that assessment-I decided to step in before he spoke. This little family reunion   wasn't going at all well and he had the potential to make it so much worse.

"Water under the bridge," I said in a light, breezy voice. "Perhaps we ought to discuss Leisl's warning. I think we'd all like to hear more about it."