Page 17 of Her Majesty's Necromancer
"What's he want to know about cemeteries for?" asked the other patron with a shiver.
"Jimmy Duggan is my brother," I told them, sitting forward on the stool. "Do you know where he went after the fight?"
"No," said the innkeeper. "He left with his friend."
"What was his friend's name?"
"Don't know."
"Pete Foster," said the man on my right. He was being particularly helpful so I touched his arm to encourage him. "Do you know him too, miss?"
"No. He must be the one encouraging Jimmy to get up to no good." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Jimmy's a good fellow, and he wouldn't do anything wrong on purpose. Mother and I are so worried. Is there anything else you can tell me about them? Do they have other friends?"
"They came in alone and left alone." The innkeeper shrugged. "That's all I know."
"Sorry, miss," said the man on my right. "If he stops by again tonight, I'll tell him you were looking for him."
I doubted Jimmy and Pete would be back so soon, now that they knew Lincoln was after them. I thanked him and hopped off the stool. It all seemed rather hopeless. I'd learned their names, but not where to find them. Perhaps Lincoln could do something with the information.
"Did the man with the black eyes leave after Jimmy?" I asked.
They glanced at one another and shrugged. "I didn't see him go," the innkeeper said. "Did you?"
The man beside me shook his head. "Must have slipped out when we weren't looking."
I bought them each another round, thanked them again then left. With a sigh, I trudged up the street. On the one hand, it had been a waste of time visiting The Red Lion, but on the other, I'd at least learned both grave robbers' names. I'd also learned something else just as important—I was capable of getting answers if I asked the right questions in the right way. It was a small victory, but only in the war against myself.
I was close to the destination of my third stop for the day, so I decided to leave luncheon until afterward. I'd passed by the handsome red brick Kentish Town orphanage many times when I lived in a nearby lane, but had taken very little notice of it. It was a large building compared to the others in the wide street, and had perhaps belonged to a wealthy merchant in the days when the land was used for farming. It now looked odd, set back from the street amid a row of joined townhouses, but impressive for the same reason.
It was the third orphanage I'd visited since learning of my adoption, but I went in with high hopes. Kentish Town wasn't too far from Tufnell Park, where my adopted parents had lived. I was shown into a small office with a poorly rendered painting of the queen hanging on the wall. The balding bespectacled man at the desk looked annoyed by the interruption. He steepled his fingers and blinked at me over the top of his glasses. According to the carved wooden plaque on his desk, his name was Mr. Hogan.
"Do you have an appointment?" he asked.
"No, but I hope you can help me anyway."
"You need to make an appointment." He returned to the open ledger on his desk. "I'm very busy."
"I understand, but I'm also very busy and can't come back. Please," I added when he gave no reaction. "I was adopted as a baby by a couple named Holloway—"
He glanced up. "Holloway?"
My heart skid to a halt. "Do you remember them?"
"Of course not." He frowned. "But you're the second person in two days to ask about a baby adopted by them."
"The second? Who was the first?"
He steepled his fingers again. "I received the request by letter, and I won't divulge the name on the correspondence. It's unethical."
"Of course." It must be Lincoln, also trying to discover my real mother's name and if she was still alive. She was, after all, a necromancer too, and the ministry needed to know if she still lived.
"I can tell you what I wrote back, however. There are no records of any babies adopted from here by a Mr. and Mrs. Holloway. Now, if you don't mind…"
"Of course. Thank you for your time, Mr. Hogan."
He was once more looking down at his ledger before I even rose from the chair.
I saw myself out into the windy, grim street and was contemplating whether to catch an omnibus or walk home when I spotted a man watching me from the other side of the road. He quickly walked off, but not before I saw that it was the same man who'd stepped off the omnibus outside The Red Lion along with me. I clutched my reticule tighter and hurried away. I checked over my shoulder every few steps, but he seemed to have gone. Perhaps I was silly to worry. He might simply have business in the area too. My recent experiences had made me over-anxious.
