Page 79 of From the Ashes
"He may have."
"So now what do we do?"
"Marchbank will visit soon to collect the files and my report. I want to question him about his father."
"Won't he be suspicious?"
"I'll be subtle."
Seth, Gus and I exchanged glances. Lincoln sipped his tea.
Marchbank arrived later that morning with two of his footmen. Gus and Seth led the servants up the stairs to assist them with moving the files. None of us were particularly concerned with the files leaving the house. Lincoln had memorized their contents, and could easily reproduce them. Marchbank mustn't know that Lincoln's mind acted as a trap for information or he wouldn't have bothered.
Lincoln led Marchbank into the sitting room. "I'm glad you're both here," Marchbank said. "I wanted to tell you how much I didn't enjoy yesterday. It's not what I wanted."
"You voted for his dismissal," I pointed out.
"I had no choice. You'll be reinstated once you bring those people back, Fitzroy."
"Gillingham won't agree," Lincoln said.
"Gilly is a fool, but he's only one and we're three. Julia can be talked around, particularly if you speak to her. Eastbrooke is already on your side, of course." He crossed his legs and tapped his finger on the chair arm. "You know, he does see you like a son, in his own way."
I watched Lincoln closely, but he gave no sign that Marchbank's words affected him. "He never treated me as a father treats a child."
"Do you mean affection? Not all men are that way inclined."
"I mean with respect, as a person with an opinion, as an equal. He gave me little guidance and hardly any of his time. I didn't want his affection, I wanted—" His voice grew increasingly louder, tighter, and he must have heard it. "I wanted his friendship," he added quietly.
I'd never seen him discuss his childhood or the general with such vehemence before. It was always with indifference, as if he didn't care, until now.
I curled my hand into a fist on my lap to stop myself reaching for him.
"He was a better father-figure when you were very small," Marchbank said. "You wouldn't remember, but he liked spending time with you in the garden, exploring, playing hiding games."
"Why did he stop?" I asked.
Marchbank shrugged. "I don't know."
"You never asked?"
"You don't ask a man like the general why he no longer treats his ward like a son."
"I suppose not." I couldn't imagine how such a conversation would even begin.
"Since we're discussing the past," Lincoln said, "there's something I've always wondered aboutyourfather."
I had to applaud him on his rather seamless transition. Nicely done.
"Ah. I was wondering when you'd ask." At Lincoln's raised brows, Marchbank added, "I knew you'd find out about it sooner or later."
"I've known for some time," Lincoln said, lying through his teeth and not looking even a little bit guilty.
"Have you now?" Marchbank didn't look like he believed him. "I suppose you want to know if my father's death at the hands of a hypnotist means I now hate all supernaturals enough to kill them."
He'd caught us, and after such a good attempt at lying, too. "Well?" Lincoln prompted. "Do you?"
"It was a long time ago, Fitzroy. Why would I wait until now for vengeance?"
