Page 2 of Grave Expectations
His gaze turned cool. The topic was not up for discussion. Or so he thought. I would finish the discussion out of the matron's hearing.
"Bien sur," she said.
"Send it toLe Grand Hôtel,on theBoulevard des Capucines."
Her eyes flared ever-so slightly at the salubrious address. "I'll write it today. Goodbye,monsieur et mademoiselle. Good fortune to you both."
She escorted us through the orphanage's labyrinth of stone corridors to the front door, but Lincoln paused before passing through the giant arched doorway. "Do you know where Ellen Mercier went after she left here?" he asked.
"I am afraid I do not," the matron said. "She was too ill and would not have survived long." She gave me a pitying look.
"Why did you ask that?" I whispered to Lincoln as he escorted me down the orphanage steps. "Do you want to make sure she's dead?"
"Yes."
His bluntness shouldn't have surprised me. He was, after all, not only here for me, but as the leader of the Ministry of Curiosities. The file on Ellen Mercier was open. Until we had proof of her death, he couldn't close it.
Lincoln spoke to the coachman who'd waited for us and paid him. I took Lincoln's offered hand and climbed into the hackney. Our fingers lingered longer than necessary, the touch sending a tiny shockwave through my body.
"Why did you ask for a letter of…?" What was such a letter called?
"Authenticity?"
I swear the corners of his mouth kicked up in a smile, even though his lips didn't seem to move at all. I laughed. "I suppose it could be called that. But why?"
The contours of his face changed, and a small line appeared between his brows. "Holloway made it seem as though he is your real father. When he brought you to England as a baby, he pretended you were their natural child, born in France. As far as English law is concerned, he is your legal guardian. A letter from the matron will go some way to proving that you are not his legitimate child. You do not wish him to be your legal guardian, do you?"
"No, certainly not. But he has disowned me. Surely any legal claim on me is now irrelevant."
"What if he decides to no longer disown you? What if he exerts his legal right, perhaps in the hope of curing you?" His jaw hardened. "I can't risk it."
"I see," I murmured. "Do you think the matron's letter will stand up in court, if it came to that?"
"If not, I will bring the matron herself to England to testify on your behalf."
"Failing that?"
His gaze shifted to the window. "I will do anything in my power to insure you are not under that man's guardianship."
I didn't ask how he would accomplish that; I didn't want to hear the answer. Hopefully, it could be settled legally and without violence. "Unless Holloway demands I return home with him, there is no need for my guardianship to become an issue at all. And I cannot imagine he wants me near him now. I'm quite sure I terrify him."
Lincoln frowned again. "Charlie, I don't think you understand."
"I do. I understand that he can exercise his legal claim over me, but only for three years. Two, in fact. I will be nineteen soon. But why would he? I have no fortune and nothing of value for him to take from me. If he wishes to remove my freedom, I will simply run away again, and you can hide me. Besides, he's in jail. He can do no harm from there."
The coach rolled to a stop outside our hotel. Instead of alighting, Lincoln leaned forward and grasped my hand in both of his. His dark, earnest gaze penetrated mine. "Charlie—"
He was cut off by the driver's barked order. With a pursing of lips, he got out and assisted me down the step. The hotel porter gave me a friendly smile and asked, in terrible English, how I had enjoyed Paris.
"Very much, thank you, but I have not seen a great deal yet. Hopefully tomorrow."
"You did not see my beautiful city?" He clicked his tongue. "But you must!"
"We had an errand to run this afternoon."
"It is late. Mademoiselle is tired,oui?"
"Oui. It's been a long day."
