Of Fates And Phantoms (The Ministry of Curiosities #7)(8)

"Can't you go alone?"

"No. This is a ghostly matter, and you see ghosts."

I needed to practice my curtsy.

"When word gets out about this, you'll be the envy of everyone." Lady Vickers lifted my arms and inspected my simple woolen dress. "You must change."

"Word about our visit is not to leave this house," Lincoln told her. "If we're recognized upon our arrival, then so be it, but gossip about the visit will not be traced to here. Is that clear?"

Lady Vickers bowed her head, all demure acquiescence. "Of course. Now, Charlie, your dress."

"I'll wear the blue," I said.

"Why at the palace?" Seth asked. "Why not here? He did come all this way to speak to you, after all."

"He came in person because he didn't think an invitation in the hands of footmen would be safe enough," Lincoln said. "He doesn't want the world to know that he's taking Leisl's warning seriously. The meeting is to be at the palace because his mother wishes to attend."

"The queen!" My stomach churned. "I am to meet the queen?"

"After lunch."

"I can't possibly eat! Lady V, can you show me how to do a proper curtsy so that I don't lose my balance?"

Her eyes brightened. "It will be my pleasure. I've always wanted a daughter to teach the art of curtseying." She strode off to the parlor. "Come, Charlie, we'll begin immediately." 

Seth frowned at me as I passed. "I feel as though I'm being replaced.



Both Seth and Gus insisted on driving us to Buckingham Palace, so in the end, Lincoln allowed them to sit together on the coachman's seat, but Gus held the reins. They drove us through to the palace courtyard and deposited us at the steps. Two footmen in the distinctive red and gold livery led us inside.

I tried very hard to act as if I walked the halls of palaces every day, but my wonder must have been clear on my face because Lincoln looked amused. How could he not gawp at such opulence? We were led through room after room filled with golden candelabras, vases and frames, ornately carved furniture, doors, and ceilings, and finely detailed frescoes. The lengths of thick drapes puddled on the floor and soft carpet woven with crowns deadened our footsteps. The blue and pink walls took me by surprise and didn't appeal to my tastes, but they did suit the palace's splendor.

It would take a lifetime to fill a house this size with so many things. The queen may be old, but not old enough to decorate every inch. This place had evolved over many years, and she was merely its current occupant. Each resident had stamped their presence here in some measure and left behind tangible memories. I had always been somewhat resentful that the royal family lived in such luxury when people starved on the streets, but now I understood why they couldn't simply sell a painting and feed the homeless. In a way, they were not theirs to sell.

"So much to take in," I said quietly, staring at the painting of a man wearing a tricorn hat. "Look at all the gold."

"Seen any spirits?" Lincoln asked, his voice low.

"Not yet."

The footmen led us through to a series of more sedate rooms, not so richly decorated. A small woman of middle age wearing an elegant charcoal colored gown waited in front of a closed door. "Good afternoon, Miss Holloway, Mr. Fitzroy. I am the Honorable Mrs. Charles Grey, lady in waiting to Her Majesty. I apologize for the double escort, but we had a break-in recently and security has increased."

"A break-in?" Lincoln asked.

"A minor nuisance. Nothing was taken." The Honorable Mrs. Charles Grey didn't meet either his gaze or mine. "Now, before you meet Her Majesty, there are some things of which you ought to be aware. When you first greet her, you must address her as Her Majesty, and thereafter as ma'am. A small curtsy is required of you, Miss Holloway, and a bow is sufficient from a gentleman. Do not present your back to her, offer to shake her hand, or touch her in any way. If she stands, you must both stand too. Ready?"

She opened the door before either of us could respond and announced us. Compared to the public rooms we'd just traversed through, this room was positively cozy in size and decoration. The fireplace was modest, flanked by two vases taller than me, and in the room's center stood a round table that looked too solid to move. A figure swamped in black silk and lace sat on the sofa, her heavy features lifting a little in curiosity before settling into regal aloofness.

I sank into a curtsy and rose without losing my balance. Lady Vickers would be pleased. Lincoln's bow was more of a nod and I wasn't sure it would pass protocol.

"Good afternoon, Miss Holloway, Mr. Fitzroy." The queen's voice was as robust as her person. "Take a seat. My son will be here shortly."

We sat on the chairs at the table. Who else had sat here? The prime minister? Princesses? Best not to think about it. It wouldn't do to giggle nervously in the presence of the queen while discussing the matter of her dead husband.

The silence stretched as we waited. I felt compelled to fill it, and couldn't rely on Lincoln. "You have a lovely home, ma'am." Ugh. Perhaps I should have stayed quiet.



       
         
       
        

"Thank you," the queen said. "You live with Mr. Fitzroy at Lichfield Towers, I believe."

"I do."

"As his ward?"

"Yes." Not really, but our living arrangements would only expose us to speculation and innuendo and I couldn't abide that from a woman whose moral streak was wider than her person, according to Lady V.

"And what is it you do, Mr. Fitzroy? Or are you a man of leisure?"

"I am not," he said.

"He's the least leisurely person I've ever met," I said.

She pinned me with her deep-set eyes, as shrewd as they were grim. No, not grim, sad. This woman still mourned her husband, so the newspapers claimed. How that must dampen the air here and infect it with her misery. No wonder her eldest son did the exact opposite of his mother and enjoyed himself.

The Prince of Wales entered at that moment. We rose, and I curtseyed while Lincoln nodded again. The prince stood by the crackling fire, his hands at his back. If he stood and the queen sat what were Lincoln and I supposed to do? The Honorable Mrs. Charles Grey hadn't given us a clue. Lincoln sat again, so I did too. As if it were a signal, the also prince sat. He had not taken his gaze off Lincoln.

He knew.

"My son imparted the events of last evening to me," the queen said. "All of them. Apparently you claim to have knowledge of spiritual matters."

Lincoln hesitated barely a moment before saying, "Some, ma'am, yes."

"And you are the son of that gypsy woman."

"Leisl. I believe so, although I cannot be certain. I'd never met her until last night."

"Who raised you? Your father?"

"A man known as General Eastbrooke, a commander in Your Majesty's army, now deceased."

"He was not your father?"

"No."

"Then who is?"

Lincoln hesitated again. "I cannot be certain." Before the queen could ask him more questions, he turned to the prince. "Are we to understand that you believe Leisl's pronouncement after all?"

The prince settled back in the chair and stretched his legs under the table in a rather relaxed manner that had his mother pursing her lips. "I've met her before, and I have reason to believe she speaks the truth."

"What reason?"

"I beg your pardon," the queen snapped.

I sank into my chair, wishing I'd taken charge of the conversation and not left it up to Lincoln. He was as subtle as a bull.

"Private reasons," the prince said. He smiled charmingly. Too charmingly. I didn't quite believe it. "Mr. Fitzroy, I admit to being intrigued by you last night, as much as Leisl's vision. I had asked you how old you are and received no answer, so this morning, I sent my secretary to the General Register Office." 

Good lord! I couldn't believe he'd done such a thing. I couldn't believe he'd admit it. I may have done the same thing a few months ago, but I had good reason. I was living with Lincoln yet he'd been something of a stranger to me. I needed to know more about the person under the same roof as me.

"You learned nothing," Lincoln told him. "The record of my birth has been lost, if it ever existed."

The prince confirmed this with a nod. "I find that odd, don't you?"

"Not at all. Perhaps Leisl failed to register me. Perhaps she recorded my birth under a Romany name."

"Why didn't the general do it?" the queen asked.

"I don't know. You would have to ask him that."

"You said yourself that he's dead."

Lincoln didn't tell her that I could summon him. Either he wasn't ready to mention my necromancy or he knew I never wanted to see the general again, even in spirit form.

The prince opened his mouth to speak but the queen lifted her hand and he closed it again. "This meeting is to discuss the gypsy's vision, not Mr. Fitzroy's family."

"Very well," the prince said. "The matter of his family can wait." Wait, but not dropped altogether. "I believe Leisl genuinely saw something in her visions that worried her," he went on. "And I would like you, Mr. Fitzroy, to discover what it is and then disarm the danger. Can you do that?"