"Father—"
"Do not call me that," he snarled. "You are not my daughter. You don't belong here. You belong in hell! Get out!" He began a prayer as he scooted up the stairs on his behind.
I bit back tears, refusing to let this man see how much his hatred affected me. I thought I'd given up hope of a happy reunion years ago, but it seemed a flame had flickered in my breast the entire time. I'd promised myself I would never feel anything for him again, and yet here I was, about to shed tears for the pathetic man I wanted to love me.
"I am your daughter," I whispered, struggling to get the words out through my aching throat.
He laughed, a manic, high sound that grated on my ears. "You're not. You're adopted."
I fell back and reached out for something solid to hold on to; to stop myself losing my balance in the suddenly tilting world. Fitzroy's arm was there. His hand on my elbow steadied me.
"You…are not my father?"
The old man on the stairs stopped laughing and squared his shoulders. "No. How did you not see it? Your mother was pure of heart. I am the lord's faithful servant. And you are a creature of darkness and death. The lord sent you to us, to test me. I didn't fail. I cast you out, as the devil should be cast out. I removed the ugly cancer from my house and—"
Fitzroy's fist stopped the vomit of insults. My father's head—no,
Holloway's
—snapped back. He cried out and clasped a hand over his mouth. Blood seeped through the fingers. He scrambled further up the staircase, away from us.
Fitzroy followed him, his hands closed into fists at his sides, his shoulders rigid.
"Don't!" I shouted.
Holloway had reached the top of the stairs. Fitzroy stopped, towering above him. "The man who was here calling himself Doctor. Was it he who came last night?"
Holloway closed his eyes and began praying again. "Answer him," I said. "Or he'll kill you."
Fitzroy glanced at me over his shoulder. I shrugged.
"You won't be harmed if you tell me his name," Fitzroy said. He kicked Holloway's foot.
Holloway pulled his knees up and clasped them to his chest. He opened his eyes. "Yes, it was the same man. He wanted to know where you were." He nodded at me. "I told him you'd gone to Hell."
"You probably won't be surprised to know that Hell looks very much like the slums of London." I felt numb, like I was looking down on the scene from afar. But more than that, I felt like I was speaking to a stranger, not the man I'd called Father for as long as I could remember.
"His name," Fitzroy prompted.
Holloway eyed the fists at Fitzroy's sides and swallowed. "He's a doctor. Frank something. I can't recall."
"His initials are V.F. Is it Doctor Frank?"
"I told you, I can't recall. It was an unusual name, foreign."
Fitzroy leaned over and grabbed the front of Holloway's smoking jacket. He lifted him until he was no longer sitting. "Think."
His eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Frank…Frank-in…star."
"Doctor Frankinstar?"
"Frankenstein! That's it. Doctor Frankenstein. First name Victor."
I traced the letters on the headstone with my fingernail, from top to bottom.
Loving Mother to Charlotte
read the final words, right beneath
Devoted Wife to Anselm
. She
had
been loving toward me, but she had not been my mother. I'd accepted it immediately when Holloway told me. Perhaps it was the numbness of shock, or perhaps I'd given up thinking he cared for me long ago. But now, sitting on the grass near my mother's grave, I felt like my chest had opened up and I was bleeding over the ground.
She'd loved me during her lifetime. I'd felt sure of that. And yet what if she'd lived to see me perform my necromancy as he had done? Would she have continued to love me regardless, or would she have called me names and cast me out too? A mother was supposed to love her children unconditionally, no matter what they did, but perhaps adoptive mothers didn't feel the same degree of love.
It felt so strange, sitting there, as I'd done so many times before, and yet this time I felt more alone than I ever had. I used to have her memory for warmth, the feeling that I had once been loved. But now, I wasn't entirely sure of that love. It was like mourning her loss all over again. Fighting tears, I scooped up a handful of dirt and sprinkled it over her grave.
Something moved behind me. I sprang to my feet but it was only Fitzroy, standing as still as the angel statue marking a nearby grave. I quickly turned away and dashed my damp cheeks with the back of my hand.
"You made a noise," I told him. When he didn't answer, I added, "Just now, you made a noise as you approached. Usually I don't hear you coming."
"I know," was all he said.
"How did you know where to find me?" I hadn't told anyone where I was going upon our return to Lichfield. Seth and Gus had dropped us at the front door and then taken the horses and carriage to the stables. Fitzroy had said something about speaking to Cook. I'd wanted to visit my mother's grave, so I'd just walked out. It wasn't until I'd arrived at the cemetery that I'd wondered if he would assume I'd run away.
"I asked a grounds keeper for directions. He boasted that he knew the location of every grave. Seems he knew this one."
"I mean how did you know I'd be at the cemetery?"
"A guess."
I looked down at the headstone and the words
Loving Mother to Charlotte
. "She was ill for a long time and stipulated what she wanted on her headstone. It was completed before her death. Before I…displayed my true colors. I'm surprised he didn't have another one made. One that leaves off that line."
"Headstones are expensive."
"His won't say
Loving Father
, of that I'm quite sure." I pointed down at my feet. "He bought the plot next to hers when it became clear she wouldn't survive. Their headstones will be side by side, but they won't match now. It'll look odd."
He didn't respond, but I hadn't expected him to. I was rambling, trying to fathom what it all meant for me. A few hours ago I'd had one living relative who hated me. Now I didn't even have that. I wasn't sure if I was better or worse off. I supposed nothing had changed. I was still on my own.
"Historians will wonder about the discrepancy in years to come," Fitzroy said.
I blinked at him. What an absurd thing to say. Yet he was right. It would be confusing for anyone unfamiliar with the story. I smiled, despite myself.
"If you want to stay longer, I can wait," he said. "You shouldn't be out alone. Not while Frankenstein is after you."
"He wouldn't know where to start looking."
He arched one brow and glanced at the headstone.
"Oh. Yes, of course. I wasn't thinking." I rubbed my forehead. I felt exhausted, despite doing nothing all day. It would seem learning one was adopted was a trying experience. "I'm ready to go now." I walked away from the grave and did not look back.
"Luncheon will be ready upon our return," Fitzroy said, as we walked through the cemetery gatehouse.
"I'm not hungry."
After a moment, he said, "Cook will be offended if you don't eat."
"Cook knows I don't have a large appetite. And since when do you care if he's offended or not?"
We passed the costermonger's cart, the one I had been caught stealing from. The scruffy fellow watched me from beneath his hat, a frown on his face. Surely he didn't recognize me now. I frowned back and he quickly set about rearranging a pile of wilting lettuces.
Fitzroy and I walked back toward the house in the sunshine. It was a pleasant day, although clouds crowded on the horizon. I found it difficult to appreciate the sun, however. My mind still felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool.
"I wonder if I'm an orphan or if my parents are alive," I muttered, more to myself than him.
"If they are, it's likely they couldn't care for you. Mothers have to give up their babies all the time. Some don't want to."
"Poor, unwed mothers, you mean."
He stared straight ahead with hard eyes.
"Are your parents still living?" I asked.
After a moment, he said, "I believe so. Like you, I never knew them."
"You're adopted too?"
"No."
I frowned. How could he not know his parents but not be adopted? And yet he did know that his parents lived, so he was a step ahead of me. "Who raised you? General Eastbrooke?"
"He had a hand in my upbringing."
"Were you his ward?"
"I was nobody's ward."
Nobody's ward and nobody's child either, it seemed. Lady Harcourt had told me Fitzroy was specifically chosen to be leader of the ministry from birth. Did that mean the committee had raised him? "If I ask any more questions, will you answer them?"
"Will any of those questions be about lunch?"
"No."
"Then it's unlikely."
I sighed. "You say I'm stubborn, but you are positively obstinate."
We walked back to the house in silence, slowing down as we drew closer. Four carriages were stopped in front of the steps, two of which I recognized as belonging to Lady Harcourt and General Eastbrooke. The other two escutcheons were new to me, although I wouldn't be surprised if the one with the serpent coiled around a sword belonged to the snakelike Lord Gillingham.
"I'd hoped they wouldn't be here yet," Fitzroy said, his face dark.
"You invited them?"
"A meeting of the committee has been called. Not by me."
"You sent word about the man known as Dr. Frankenstein?"
"Not yet. I haven't had time. This meeting is in response to you agreeing to help."
"Ah. It seems you'll have a lot to discuss then. What a lark."
"You'll be present too."
I pulled a face.
"After you've eaten, of course."
I sighed. "Very well, I'll eat. If I indulge too much, however, Lord Gillingham will only have you to blame when I vomit over his shoes."
"I'll have Cook double the quantity on your plate."
We got no further than the front steps when the door burst open. "You found her!" Seth stood with hands on hips, alternately smiling and frowning at me as if he couldn't make up his mind if he were pleased or mad. "Are you all right, Charlie?"
"Fine, thank you."
Gus pushed past him, his heavy brow scrunched into a frown, his arms folded over his chest. "What'd you think you were doing, leaving without telling anyone where you were headed?"
His vehemence surprised me. "I…I'm sorry, Gus."
"Sorry! That's all you got to say for yourself?"
I shrugged.
"Be sure not to do it again or you'll find yourself locked in the tower room."
"Enough!" Fitzroy growled.
Seth smacked Gus in the shoulder. "We're not going to lock you up," he said to me.
"We been looking everywhere for you," Gus hissed at me as I passed him. "Me and Seth been out of our minds with worry."
They were worried? About me? No one had worried about my wellbeing in so long that I wasn't sure how to respond. Nor was I sure I liked being monitored, now that I was supposedly free.
I patted his cheek. "That's very sweet of you. I simply wanted to be by myself."
A growl rumbled from the depths of his chest. "Be sure to take someone with you, next time you want to be alone."
Seth rolled his eyes and I smiled tightly. "I will."
With the two of them appeased, I thought my ordeal was over. I didn't see the four stiff, regal figures until I entered the house. They stood as one, a wall of dark austerity—three men in black suits and Lady Harcourt in her mourning crepe. Lord Gillingham was there, along with General Eastbrooke and another man aged fifty or so who was as tall and well-built as the general but considerably rougher in appearance, thanks to the scar on his temple and another slicing through his gray beard.
"There you are." Lady Harcourt broke ranks and held her hand out to me. I hesitated, then took it and allowed her to lead me to the men. "Gentlemen, may I present Miss Charlotte Holloway, daughter of Anselm Holloway. Charlotte, you know both General Eastbrooke and Lord Gillingham." Lady Harcourt waited, but I wasn't sure what for. Me to curtsy to them?
"You look better as a girl," the general said, offering a gruff nod as he gave me a thorough once over. "On the small side, but I dare say Fitzroy will fatten you up."
"Now that your lies have been exposed, I expect you've seen the error of your ways." Lord Gillingham leaned on his walking stick. If I kicked it out from under him, he would topple forward. "Do not lie to us again or there will be consequences. Is that understood?"
I stepped forward and touched my toe to his stick. I gave it a nudge so that he knew I could have done more if I'd wanted to. "Do not behave like an in-bred half-wit, or I might refuse to co-operate."
His eyeballs almost popped out of the sockets. "You can't speak to me that way!"
"Can't I? I'll try to remember that next time."
Eastbrooke placed his hand on Gillingham's shoulder as the lord's face turned an apoplectic shade of purple.
"And this is Lord Marchbank." Lady Harcourt pulled me away from Gillingham so roughly that I stumbled and bumped into her. Her smile never even wavered as she presented me to the new man.
Another lord. I'd thought the scarred man was an old soldier, but it seemed he was just another tosspot like Gillingham. My opinion was confirmed when he didn't offer me a smile. He merely looked down his crooked nose and said in the blandest voice, "Miss Holloway."
"My lord," I said in the same bland voice.
He met my gaze with a somewhat cool one of his own, but there was no obvious animosity in his eyes as there was in Lord Gillingham's. He seemed…indifferent. Indifference was fine with me. I felt the same toward him and the other committee members.
"Let's get on with it." Lord Gillingham's walking stick click clacked on the tiles as he headed toward the parlor. When he realized nobody followed, his fingers tightened around the knob. "Well?"
"Charlie needs to eat," Fitzroy said.
"So?"
"We're not starting without her."
"She doesn't need to be present! Indeed, she
shouldn't
be present."
"We are not starting without her." Fitzroy nodded at Gus, who left us.
Gillingham marched back, proving he didn't need his stick to walk. "You fly too close to the edge,
Fitzroy
." Only his lips and jowls moved. His jaw remained clenched. "Push us too far and you
will
see how things lie. You are not indispensable."
Fitzroy turned his back to him, as if he couldn't be bothered wasting his breath on an argument, and indicated I should walk on ahead. Gillingham spluttered his protest at the insult.
"It's only lunch, Gilly," the general said quietly. "We'll wait in the parlor."
"She shouldn't be privy to ministry business." Gillingham raised his voice, insuring I could hear.
We headed to the kitchen, where Cook stood over the range, stirring something in a pot. "Charlie," he said with a nod at me. "Hungry?"
"No, but I've been ordered to eat something."
Gus handed me a plate with lettuce, a slice of bread and a sliver of beef on it. "Sit. Eat."
"You are all so demanding." I sat and accepted the plate.
"They be staying, sir?" Cook asked Fitzroy.
"Not for lunch." Fitzroy stood by me as I ate, which would have been enough to put me off my appetite if I'd had one. "Have tea brought in."
Cook set the wooden spoon aside and handed Gus a pot. "Fill it."
Gus left with the pot just as Seth arrived. "Lord Gilly's in a fine mood today," he said. "What set him off?"
Fitzroy's gaze met mine. "Me," I said, cutting up my beef. "He seems to have something against lying, thieving necromancers. Can't think why."
"Ignore him." Seth placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. I was so surprised at the intimate gesture that I pulled away. A blush infused his cheeks. "My apologies," he mumbled. "I forgot that you're a…"
"Lying, thieving necromancer?"
"Woman."
I smiled to let him know I wasn't offended. "It takes some getting used to." I wanted to tell him that his touch hadn't upset me—just that I wasn't used to it. However, there seemed no easy way of broaching the subject, so I remained silent.
I finished my light lunch, including the scoop of jelly afterward, and joined the committee members in the sitting room with Fitzroy at my side. He even remained standing by me as I sat. He must think me at risk of running off again.
"How much have you told her?" Lord Gillingham asked, before anyone had even taken a breath.
"Everything she needs to know," Fitzroy said.
"Is that wise?"
"Yes."
Lord Gillingham snorted. "I'm not sure your judgment is one we should trust."
The silence that descended was as smothering as a shroud. Lady Harcourt opened her mouth to speak after a moment, but Fitzroy got in first. His voice was as cold as ice.
"Whether you trust my judgment or not is immaterial. Charlie is an integral component in my plan, and she must be kept informed. You are not integral to any part of my plan. If you disagree with my decisions, see yourself out. My men are busy."