Page 52 of Her Majesty's Necromancer
"Wait a moment," I called out to him as he went to walk on.
He blinked at me then at the snowy haired man. "What is it?" asked the older man at the desk in a bored monotone. "We're very busy."
"I'd like to make an enquiry about one more birth." I smiled my sweetest smile at them both. The younger man moved closer and returned my smile. The older one grunted, but he handed me a blank form to complete. I entered Lincoln's name in the space left for the baby's name section before I lost my nerve. I handed it directly to the assistant and laid a hand on his wrist. "Thank you so much, sir. I appreciate you waiting for me."
"It could take a little while," said the older fellow.
"Oh."
"Yours are at the top, miss," said the younger man. He winked at me and headed off.
I sat with several other people who were also waiting and instantly regretted my hasty decision to inquire after Lincoln's birth. It had been made on a whim, and not one I felt proud of now that I'd had time to think about it. He would hate me going behind his back again. I hated myself. I resolved not to look at the response.
I had to wait only half an hour before the young assistant came looking for me. He smiled and fiddled with his tie, but I had no inclination for flirting.
"What did you learn?" I asked.
He spread out his hands in front of him. They were empty. "Nothing, I'm afraid. There are no births registered under the name of Frankenstein."
I smiled through my disappointment, but it felt forced, and he seemed to know it too. His own smile slipped. "I'm not interested in the other matter anymore," I told him as I rose. "Whatever you learned you may keep to yourself."
His face brightened. "That's a relief because I learned nothing anyway. There were no babies named Lincoln Fitzroy born in the last fifty years."
I left the registry office and walked along the Strand in a daze. It wasn't the lack of information on my own birth that confused me, since I suspected my mother was trying to keep Frankenstein from me and, as such, wouldn't have recorded his name on the birth entry. But not finding a record of Lincoln was a little more surprising. I'd assumed his parents were poor and couldn't keep him. If that were the case, there should still be a record of him.
I dismissed any further questions I had on the matter. I was glad to have learned nothing useful from my thoughtlessness. The sickening sensation I'd felt in my gut ever since sending the fellow off with the inquiry began to ease.
I caught an omnibus from the city to Highgate. Instead of heading straight home, I detoured via the cemetery. The costermonger and his cart weren't there today, thank goodness, and no other passengers alighted behind me. I was satisfied that I had not been followed and was no longer being watched. It was a considerable relief.
I couldn't find Mr. Tucker, so I sought out the chap with the port wine birthmark. I found him sitting under a tree munching on his lunch. He scrambled to his feet, doffed his cap and tucked his chin into his chest.
"I'm sorry to interrupt you." It was like talking to a stray cat. I had to keep both my movements and voice gentle, soothing. "I hope you can answer a question for me about the grave that was dug up."
He nodded.
"Have you been near there since the body was reburied?"
He nodded.
"Is it still buried?"
Another nod.
"Are you aware of anyone taking an interest in the grave since then?"
"No, miss," he mumbled.
"Thank you. That's all. Please continue to enjoy your lunch."
So it would seem we were right; the captain hadn't wanted to risk digging up Gordon again. Our only way to find the man was at Mr. Lee's—if he paid the den another visit.
***
Despite having the day off, I completed some chores after lunch. Lincoln had returned while I was out and was resting in his rooms, while Gus kept watch at Lee's. It was quite late in the day when Lincoln joined me in the parlor as I rubbed beeswax into one of the tabletops.
"We can get an hour of training in before I head out again," he said.
I glanced out the window. The sun's final rays cast a sepia glow over the front garden. It would be dark soon. "Not today, if that's all right with you. I want to talk instead."
