Page 118 of Of Fate and Phantoms
It was positively glowing praise. Did he go to such lengths because Lincoln was his son, and this was his only way of showing his pride?
The queen held out her hand to Lincoln. She seemed to have recovered from her disappointment, or at least covered it with a regal façade. Lincoln took her hand and bowed over it.
"You're a remarkable young man," she said as he rose. "And you, Miss Holloway, are quite remarkable too. Would you mind remaining behind and summoning my husband again?"
"She can't," Lincoln said before I had a chance to think of an excuse. "I have need of her this afternoon."
"Another time. Soon."
I could not let her go on in hope forever. "Your majesty," I said, approaching her. "The dead don't like their afterlife being disturbed. Your husband wishes to be here with you, of course, but every time he returns, it pains him. He is best left where he is, in peace, waiting for you."
Her chin and jowls wobbled, and she dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. For a moment I thought she might order me. "If that is his wish, then I must abide by it." She lifted her hand to dismiss us. "Good day to you both."
A footman escorted us outside where Doyle waited with the coach. Once settled, I mentioned the prince's response to King's death. "It was as if he already knew."
"Yes," Lincoln said drily. "It was."
"Do you think…" I leaned toward him and whispered, even though we were quite alone in the carriage. "Do you think he had a hand in it?"
He considered his answer for a moment before replying. "It's possible Gillingham informed him last night, perhaps suspecting the prince would take care of King."
"So he didn't have to do the horrid task himself."
"Or they may have colluded to remove King."
We didn't speak further on that matter, or any other, for the rest of the journey back to Lichfield. My heart felt too full, for one thing, and I couldn't stop thinking about the pride in the prince's eyes as he praised Lincoln. Any doubts I'd had about whether he knew Lincoln was his son were dashed entirely. But I couldn't talk about that with him. He wouldn't want to hear it.
"So?" Gus asked upon our return. "You getting a knighthood now?" He winked at me. "Be worth getting a broken hand for a knighthood."
Lincoln closed the parlor door, piquing the curiosity of Lady Vickers, Alice, Seth and Gus. "What's happened?" Seth asked.
"The Prince of Wales is considering giving the ministry a more formal role," Lincoln announced.
"Blimey," Gus muttered.
"Madness," Seth said, tapping his temple above his cut eye. It was almost completely closed today, and the surrounding flesh sported a rainbow of colors. He looked terrible, and I'd even caught Alice giving him a sympathetic glance.
"What did you say to him?" Lady Vickers asked.
"We managed to convince him that keeping the ministry secret for now was in England's best interests," Lincoln said. "But I suspect he wants us to be more official than we have been."
"To give us access to funds and resources," I clarified.
"He'll tell people," Seth said with certainty. "Let's just hope the people he tells are liberal-minded."
"You mean more like Lord Marchbank than Lord Gillingham."
"Precisely."
Gus sat forward, his eyes bright. "We need a symbol."
"What?" Seth scoffed.
"If the ministry becomes more official, it needs a symbol, an emblem. We can get paper printed with it, and get it etched in the silverware."
"Did your brain get squashed yesterday?"
Gus's enthusiasm would not be curtailed. "We could get it painted on the coach door."
