"You don't talk much," I said. If he wanted to keep a close eye on me, I might as well annoy him. It was my duty as his prisoner.
"You ask too many questions."
"Ha! That's rich coming from you. You
only
ever ask questions."
"I haven't asked you any today."
"It is only mid-morning. I expect them to come after Seth and Gus return."
"You are probably right."
I glanced sideways at him, but he kept his gaze directly ahead. He did slow down somewhat, which was just as well since I was starting to get a little breathless.
"You've almost finished the book." His attempt at starting a new conversation that had nothing to do with my background surprised me. I was growing used to his silences.
"It's a good book."
"Nor have you asked me the meaning of any of the words."
"So?"
"You're educated."
Ah, there it was. His attempt at digging into my past had begun more subtly this time, but he'd ruined it with that comment. "Very observant, Sherlock."
He said nothing.
"Sherlock is the character in the book I'm reading," I explained. "He's very observant."
"I've read it."
"Oh. So you didn't find my reference clever or amusing enough to bother replying, or even smirking."
"I didn't say that."
"I see. You only
thought
me clever and amusing. Be careful, Mr. Fitzroy, I've heard that keeping your emotions bottled up will rot your insides."
"You have a dry sense of humor. I wasn't expecting that."
"And you, sir, have no sense of humor whatsoever."
When he didn't answer, I worried that I'd offended him. Then I told myself to stop worrying. He was my jailor; his feelings were of no concern to me. Besides, I doubted he had feelings.
"Why do Gus and Seth call you Death?"
"Because I've killed people."
My step faltered. I'd been trying to goad him again, and wasn't expecting his frankness. "How many?"
"Enough."
"Why did you kill them?"
"They talked too much."
I stopped altogether, but he continued on, not caring that he was leaving me behind. I blinked rapidly, then realized he was teasing me.
"And you call my sense of humor dry," I muttered when I caught up to him near the stables. "Yours is positively parched."
We walked past the stables and other outbuildings, then crossed the courtyard and headed up the back steps. He opened the door for me and I went inside. We were in the service area, near the kitchens if the delicious smell of baking bread was an indication.
We passed the servants' dining room, the butler and housekeeper's offices, scullery, and the bells labeled with the names of the rooms they serviced. They were eerily silent, as was the entire house, until we came to the kitchen. A large man hummed as he kneaded dough, his attention focused entirely on his work.
"Cook," Fitzroy barked.
The cook looked up and his eyes widened. He had no hair on his head or face, not even eyebrows, and the lack of it made his cleft chin and red cheeks more obvious. I couldn't be sure if he had a naturally rosy complexion or he was simply hot. The kitchen was terribly warm.
"Mr. Fitzroy, sir! I weren't expecting you." He screwed his hands into his apron to wipe them, but they still came away doughy. "You be hungry, sir?"
"No," Fitzroy said. "This is Charlie. Charlie, this is Cook."
"You don't eat much," Cook said to me.
"No."
He frowned. "Can't be the food. I'm a great cook."
"Yes, you are. I just don't get hungry."
"Growin' lad like you should be."
I shrugged. "Maybe I'm not used to eating."
Fitzroy continued along the corridor, leaving the cook and me staring at one another. The cook jerked his head in the direction Fitzroy had gone. "Don't keep him waitin'," he whispered. I was about to head off when he added, "You can't live on bacon and jelly alone, boy."
"Just put less on my tray next time and I'll eat it all."
He winked and jerked his head again. I nodded thanks and hurried after Fitzroy. He waited at the base of the service stairs and stepped aside to allow me to go ahead of him. I was very aware of him behind me as we ascended. I wasn't a curvy woman in front, but I wasn't sure what I looked like back there. Certainly not too round, or the boys in the gangs would have teased me for having a feminine arse. Yet they weren't as observant as Fitzroy, and had no reason to suspect me of being a woman. I wasn't sure if he did suspect, but I felt his gaze on my rear nevertheless.
We emerged from the service stairwell onto the second floor corridor, not far from his rooms. I wasn't ready to be cooped up again. There was still so much I hadn't seen. "May I look around the rest of the house, with you as my tour guide?"
He paused. "Are you trying to find out where I hide the weapons?"
"Of course not."
"Good. You will not be given the chance to escape and I wouldn't want your hopes to be raised falsely."
"How considerate," I sneered.
"Except for the attic, this is the highest level in the east and west wings. The tower goes two levels higher."
"I know that already."
"You've seen the bathroom." He indicated the other doors up and down the corridor. "These are bedrooms. They're unfurnished." He did not open the doors but strode past them and the main central staircase too then opened another door on the right. The room beyond was large but clearly unused. Dustsheets covered the furniture and it was just as well, as there was dust everywhere. I wrinkled my nose at the musty smell, even as I admired the large windows, the giant marble fireplace, and the multi-tiered chandelier.
"This is the drawing room," he said.
"Such a shame to see it in this state," I whispered. Imagine the conversations those walls had been privy to over the years.
We headed past the ghostly furniture and through another door on the other side. It was empty. "This is the ballroom."
"It's magnificent." It was very long, but the dark wood paneling made it feel cozy. I could imagine elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen dancing and chatting beneath the three enormous chandeliers, their jewels sparkling in the light.
"Have you ever held a ball here?"
"No."
"You should, if only to enjoy such a lovely room."
"I'll keep that in mind for when enjoying ballrooms becomes one of the ministry's primary aims."
We rejoined the corridor. It bent suddenly to the left then stopped at another, narrow staircase. "That leads to the attic and the servants' rooms," he said.
"Is that where Gus, Seth and Cook sleep?"
"Yes."
"Are they the only servants here?"
"Yes."
"But Seth and Gus are more guards than footmen."
He didn't say anything, and I suspected it was because I hadn't posed it as a question.
"You've not thought about employing some maids or a butler? Someone discreet?"
"No." He returned back the way we came and headed down the grand stairs to the ground floor. "You've already seen the dining room, library, and the parlor, which we use instead of the drawing room for visitors."
"Do you get visitors often?"
"Only committee members."
"What about your friends and family?"
He paused on the bottom step, his back to me. "You've also seen the service areas in that direction. Adjoining the dining room is the billiard room."
"Do you play?"
"There's no table."
"What an entertaining household this is. No tennis, no billiards, and no visitors."
"You're not here to be entertained."
"True. But
I
don't live here, nor am I staying long. You, Seth and Gus, however, need
something
to do in the evenings."
He indicated I should go first up the stairs. "I told you, they play cards. Most evening they spend with Cook."
"And you? How do you spend your evenings?"
"Reading. Writing correspondence and reports. Scientific experiments. Exercising. Thinking."
I stopped and he stopped beside me. "You mean all you do is work?"
"Sometimes I sleep." He continued past me.
I laughed. "That was a joke. Wasn't it?" I trotted after him. "Tell me you at least read for pleasure. You said you've read my book, so you must."
"On occasion. And yes, I have read
your
book."
My face heated. "I didn't mean it like that."
We returned to his rooms and I picked up the book. I finished it in the afternoon and spent another hour or so watching him as he mixed liquids together in little bottles and set them over a tiny gas burner. He took copious notes in a complicated scrawl that appeared to be some kind of code. It made no sense to me, but I liked watching the experiments and trying to guess what would happen. He answered my questions when I asked them, but mostly we didn't speak. It didn't feel in the least awkward or strained, and I began to like his quiet company. It made a nice change to the constant, inane chatter of the boys.
Seth and Gus brought our meals in for an early dinner, and gave Fitzroy their report. I wasn't concerned before they began and I still wasn't concerned when they finished. They'd traced my life back some three years. The following day they planned to continue.
They were about to leave when I stopped them. "You two got any cards?" I asked. "Or dice?"
"Can't gamble with what you don't have, boy," Gus said.
"I don't want to gamble, I just want to do something other than read and watch the machine work."
Gus and Seth glanced nervously at Fitzroy.
"You may play cards," Fitzroy said, turning back to the notes Seth had handed him along with his dinner tray.
"So kind," I said, bowing.
Gus suppressed a snigger and both men left. They returned after I'd finished my meal—a small portion of game pie and a salad—and deposited a deck of cards on the table. Gus arranged three chairs around it.
"What do you know how to play?" he asked me.
"Very little." Card games had been forbidden in our house by Father, but I'd seen the boys play when they could get hold of a deck. "Teach me something."
"We'll start with Loo." As Seth dealt, I surreptitiously glanced in Fitzroy's direction. He was watching us from beneath hooded lids.
"Are you joining us?" I asked him.
He turned back to the papers on his desk. "I have work to do."
"All work and no play makes Sir a very dull fellow indeed," I whispered.
Seth grinned and Gus snorted a laugh. "You better mind he don't hear you say that," Gus whispered back.
"He won't hurt me. Not while he thinks I'm a necromancer."
"And if you're not, like you say?" Seth drawled. "What do you think he'll do then? Simply allow you to walk away so you can blab about the ministry all over London? Think again, lad."
I swallowed hard. I hadn't considered that. "I ain't seen no evidence of him being cruel."
"I didn't say he was cruel. Just that he will do whatever it takes to stop you talking."
"By bribing me?"
"Or threatening you."
"And if I don't take his threats seriously?"
Seth met my gaze over the top of his cards. "Then you take your life into your own hands."
Gus leaned forward. "You see," he whispered, "telling people about the ministry and Lichfield Towers brings danger to his door. And when Death feels like he's in danger…" He sliced a finger across his throat.
I remembered how he'd rendered me unconscious to capture me, then quickly disarmed me when I’d shot him. He hadn't hurt me on either occasion, but if he no longer needed me…would he?
I lost every round and ended the evening by telling them I was too tired to play anymore. They left, taking their cards with them. I wasn't tired, however, and started a new book. At around nine, Fitzroy removed himself to the bedroom and re-emerged wearing his loose fitting exercise clothes.
He began with the same routine of jumping on the spot, drawing his knees high, then practicing kicking and punching moves. He varied it after that by grasping the top of the open bedroom door and pulling himself up to his chin then slowly lowering himself again. I lost count of how many after fifty.
Instead of using the handles connected by a chain next, he found a walking stick from somewhere in the bedroom and used it like a sword against an imaginary opponent. His actions were sleek and smooth, yet I imagined they would be lethal if he struck anyone. His face was rigid with concentration, his eyes fixed on his invisible foe with murderous intent.
I sat transfixed by the power in his graceful moves and the seriousness with which he practiced. What would distract him? A tickle? A kiss? My nakedness?
The mischief-maker in me was tempted to try, but I remained where I was, watching. When he finally finished and returned to the bedroom, I blew out a long, measured breath. It was shaky. Blood rushed through my veins and my heart pounded. The sight of him had affected me, the way a woman should be affected by a handsome, powerful man.
But not this woman, and not that man.
I tried to concentrate on my book to calm my tingling nerves and slow my heart, but I'd read barely a few lines by the time he emerged, wearing only a towel wrapped around his hips. That chest, those shoulders and arms…it was all too much, too overwhelming, too
male
. And I was weak.
I sprang up and rushed past him, catching a whiff of the spicy scent of his soap. Whether he thought my behavior strange or not, I didn't turn around to see. I shut the door with my foot and threw myself on the trundle bed. I pounded my fist into the pillow, but it did nothing to dampen the desire coiling within me. Perhaps I ought to take up exercising too and remove my frustrations that way.
Some time later, my blood had calmed but my head was still filled with images of a naked Lincoln Fitzroy, towel drying his hair, and then a naked Fitzroy exercising. Oh Lord, this had to be punishment for my sins. My one true sin was the necromancy, the devil's work according to Father.