Page 10 of Ashes To Ashes
The woman who was conspicuous by her absence.
"Is Charlie not with you?" Julia asked, peering past him to the door.
He braced himself. "She's gone."
Julia's breath hitched. Her eyes widened ever so slightly as she once again peered past Lincoln, as if she expected him to be joking.
"Gone?" Both Marchbank and Eastbrooke repeated.
"What do you mean, gone?" Gillingham said. "Gone where?"
"She no longer lives here." Lincoln settled on a chair by the window, where it was coldest. The drawing room was larger than the parlor, and not even the blazing fire warmed the entire room. It was the first time he'd spent more than a few moments in it, and already he disliked it. He couldn't put his finger on why.
"Where is she now?" Eastbrooke asked.
"That is not your affair," Lincoln said.
As he suspected, Gillingham's protest was the loudest and involved a spray of spittle. "It most certainly is! We are the committee. It's our right to know everything that goes on in the ministry, including the location of the most dangerous supernatural."
Lincoln didn't bother responding. If he walked out now, would they pursue him? Probably.
"Agreed," the general said, pushing to his feet in a show of superiority. He had always liked to display his physical strength in one way or another. He could no longer beat Lincoln, or order anyone to beat him, but it had never stopped the general from trying to manage him. The man hadn't realized that he couldn't control Lincoln—or the other committee members—anymore. It would come as a rude shock one day.
"Why won't you tell us?" Julia asked, all innocence. "We're as invested in her safety as you are."
He knew her well enough to know when she was lying. Did the others detect it, or was he more in tune with her because he'd made the mistake of being intimate with her?
"Is she in London?" Gillingham asked when Lincoln still didn't answer.
"She is not at Lichfield. That's all you need to know."
Gillingham smashed the end of his walking stick into the floor. "Damn it, man! We must be informed."
"No, you must not."
Gillingham swore, completely disregarding Julia's presence. Not that she seemed to notice or care. She'd probably heard worse. She'd certainly said worse. She had quite a filthy tongue when she shed her noble façade.
Eastbrooke sat again with a loud click of his tongue, but he didn't protest or ask for more information. Of all of them, he knew how useless it was to swear at Lincoln or cajole, beg, or trick him into capitulating once he'd made up his mind about something. When Lincoln was a child, his stubbornness had earned him punishments that ranged from insults, isolation, and finally physical violence, mostly from his tutors but sometimes from the general himself, when he returned home from his military campaigns. Even after Lincoln grew strong enough to fight back, and his skills surpassed even those of his tutors, the general would still try to "knock some sense" into him, one way or another. He finally ceased trying to break Lincoln's stubbornness after Lincoln killed Gurry, one of his tutors.
"Keep your secret, if you like," Marchbank said. "I'm simply glad you came to your senses, finally."
The other three turned to him, once again protesting at being left out of the decision making process. Lincoln wondered which of them really wanted to know where he'd sent Charlie, and which simply resented him overruling their authority.
It was Julia who finally called for calm. Nobody spoke as she poured tea into a cup, got up and handed it to Lincoln. The perfect hostess. Except it wasn't her place to act as mistress of the house.
Lincoln considered refusing the cup, but decided that would be petty.
"Did you send her away, or did she go of her own accord?" she asked.
"That is irrelevant." Charlie was gone, and that was that.
She blew out a frustrated breath. "There is no need for this secrecy. We're satisfied that she's gone. It's what we all wanted."
He did not remind her that at least one member would have preferred Charlie be eliminated altogether. He eyed Gillingham over the rim of his teacup as he sipped. The coward flushed and looked away.
Julia returned to the sofa and perched on the edge, her hands placed in her lap, the picture of a well brought up lady. Few knew that a snake lurked beneath that respectable, poised exterior. Lincoln knew better than anyone. What he didn't know was how much of her waspishness stemmed from her jealousy over Charlie, and how much was innate. Each private discussion between he and Julia since Charlie's arrival had become more and more uncomfortable, as she'd allowed her mask of pleasantness and respectability to slip. She'd thrown herself at him, begged him, threatened him, and once, tried to claw at his face, all because he refused to resume their liaison. Finally, shortly before he and Charlie had left for Paris, she had calmly pointed out every reason why he should send her away. None of those reasons were ones he hadn't already considered. No doubt Julia would see Charlie's banishment as a victory.
He tapped the side of his cup and counted the ripples on the tea's surface. After a moment, his temper had dampened enough that he could discuss recent events. "I assume you are here because of the death reported in this morning's papers," he said. At their nods, he added, "I've already begun my investigation. It's unclear whether this death is linked to those of Drinkwater and Brumley—"
