by CJ Archer
I slept more soundly than I'd expected. The mattress was so comfortable and the room so quiet that I didn't wake until mid-morning. I'd fleetingly thought about trying to escape before nodding off, but dismissed the idea almost instantly. It's what they'd expect me to do, and they'd be watching me far too closely the first night.
I rose and opened the heavy drapes, letting in the light. The sky was mostly blue with some high clouds scudding quickly across it thanks to what appeared to be a strong wind. The trees nearest the house swayed drunkenly, and two men who stood talking to one another in earnest held their hats on their heads. Or at least, one of them did. The other had a sturdy looking tall helmet. A military man?
It was odd that the two visitors were at the side of the house, not the front where they could be greeted. I briefly considered trying to catch their attention and begging their assistance in getting away from Frakingham, but it was likely they were friends of the Langleys and would be disinclined to believe me.
Besides, I wasn't appropriately dressed. I opened the cupboard and selected a simple morning dress of cream and green that fastened up the front. The cotton felt lovely and soft, and I spent a good minute or so just petting it and rubbing it against my cheek. It was perhaps a little flimsy for the cool weather, but I didn't care. It wasn't made of wool and that was all that mattered.
I dressed without a corset since I had no one to help and arranged my hair as best as I could. Without Vi, it was difficult to wrestle it all up into an elegant style, but I managed to pin some of it back so that I at least didn't look like a lion. I also found a silk choker in the same shade of green as the dress and fixed it around my throat.
Miracle of miracles, I found my way downstairs, only getting lost once and winding up at a locked door, which I assumed led to the disused part of the house. I found Sylvia in the small parlor looking out the window, her arms crossed as if hugging herself.
"Good morning," I said.
She turned and a smile quickly chased away her frown. "Good morning," she said, coming toward me. "Did you sleep well? I didn't want you woken until you were quite ready. You looked exhausted last night."
"Thank you. I slept like a log."
She studied me from head to toe, and her smile slipped a little. "You should have rung for one of the maids to help you dress."
"I...I'm not used to being dressed by a maid." Indeed, none of the Windamere attic rooms had been fitted with bell-pulls to summon the servants. They cleaned our bedroom when we were in the parlor, and they cleaned the parlor when we were in our bedroom or out walking. I rarely saw them and never rang for them.
"Really?" Sylvia looked quite shocked.
"My friend helped me and I helped her." An ache lodged in my heart at the thought of Vi, alone and sad in the attic. Dear lord, take care of her. Don't let her fret too much.
I must have looked quite forlorn because Sylvia took both my hands and gave them a squeeze. "Lucky you don't need a corset."
"I couldn't put it on by myself, and this dress was the only one with buttons down the front."
"It is a lovely dress and I hoped you'd like it, but it is more suited to warmer days."
"I'll be warm enough."
"Yes, of course." She tugged on the bell-pull near the fireplace. A small fire burned in the grate, but it was all the cozy room required. "You've missed breakfast, but I'll have Tommy fetch you something."
"Tommy?"
"The footman."
"You have only the one?"
"We live simply here and have no need of more. Uncle has Bollard to see to his needs, Tommy sees to ours, and there is the housekeeper, Mrs. Moore, two upstairs maids, the cook and a scullery maid. Oh, and Olson the carriageman who oversees the grooms. There are some gardeners too of course, but I don't know how many. Did you have much more at Windamere? I imagine you did, your father being the grand earl that he is."
"I don't know."
"Oh. No. Of course not." She cleared her throat and looked relieved when Tommy the footman entered. She requested a light breakfast be brought to me in the parlor, then indicated I should sit next to her on the settee. "Jack should be ready for you by the time you finish. Something unexpected has arisen this morning that required his attention. He's with Uncle now."
I didn't sit but went to the window instead. Nobody was about outside in the wind. "Does it have something to do with those visitors this morning?"
"You saw them?"
"Yes. Who were they?" I turned back to her, but she was looking down at an embroidery hoop in her lap. A sewing basket lay open at her feet. "Well?" I prompted.
"I'm not sure I'm at liberty to say." She picked up the hoop but didn't stitch. "Let's wait for Jack to arrive."
I was beginning to think Sylvia was very much like Vi. Neither wished to say or do the wrong thing, and both saw their position in the household as a lowly one compared to the other members. At least Sylvia put herself above the servants if her direct manner with Tommy was any indication. Vi had never given Miss Levine an order when she was perfectly within her rights to do so.
"I will take you shopping, you know," Sylvia said.
"Shopping?"
"After you've...settled in."
"I wouldn't hold out much hope. Your cousin doesn't want me to run off. Understandable considering the trouble he went to abducting me. I can't imagine how awful it must have been for him to pretend to be a gardener for two whole weeks."
"Is that sarcasm again?" Sylvia chuckled. "I dare you to say that to his face."
"Be careful. I rarely back down from a dare."
She dropped her needle, and her eyes widened. "It was only a joke. Don't tell him I suggested it."
"Why not? Are you afraid of him?"
She concentrated on her stitching for a long moment, then said, "He can be unpredictable."
Unpredictable. The word was like a siren song to me. I'd lived with routine and order my entire life. I did the same thing, day in and day out, saw the same people, walked the same paths. As much I would do anything to see Vi again, I was missing my life at Windamere less and less with each passing hour. Sylvia was different enough to be interesting, but her cousin was positively exciting. He was a mystery I wanted to solve. That morning, I'd looked for him around every corner, hoped to see him in every room I'd passed through.
"He never complained, you know," she said.
"Jack? About what?"
"About being a gardener. He only returned home once during that time, and all he spoke about was how poorly treated you were. It was he who discovered you were kept in the attic not of your own volition, but on Lord Wade's order."
"How could he possibly have learned that?"
"He said your governess tailed you everywhere on your walks, and that a free woman would not be in need of such close guard."
I was taken aback by this keen observation and rendered quite speechless.
Tommy arrived with my breakfast. I ate toast and poached eggs at the table by the window. Unlike the previous night, I was terribly hungry, and I was intent on finishing everything on my plate when Jack arrived.
"Good morning, ladies," he said. "Sleep well, Violet?"
My mouth was too full to respond in any manner other than a nod. I pressed a napkin to my lips to cover my chewing and to dab away any crumbs. It would be too embarrassing to have such a man as he see me with half my breakfast on my chin. He was too handsome, too self-assured, and I was the naive madwoman kept in an attic most of her life.
That didn't stop me from looking at him. It seemed that every time I set eyes on him, I noticed something new and intriguing. The intensity of his green eyes, the bow-like curve of his mouth, or the small scars on his upper lip and above his right eyebrow. With the sunlight streaming through the window, I saw that his hair had different shades of brown through it. Some light strands, some so dark to be almost black and everything in between.
"Yes, thank you," I finally said, sounding a little breathy.
"I'm afraid
our training will have to wait. I must leave for Harborough immediately. I won't be back until this afternoon."
Sylvia set down her embroidery hoop. "Why?"
"August's business."
"Oh."
"Does it have anything to do with those men who were here?" I asked.
"The constabulary?" Sylvia said.
"Police!"
Jack scowled at her. "Syl, hold your tongue."
"If you wish me to live here," I said, "then I expect to be treated as you treat each other. I won't be kept in the dark. Is that understood?"
Jack's eyes narrowed. "Quite," he bit off.
Sylvia made a small choking sound in the back of her throat, but when I glanced at her, she was intent on her embroidery.
"Were they both policemen?" I asked. "One wore a helmet."
"He was a constable in uniform," Jack said. "The plainly dressed gentleman was a detective inspector."
I set the napkin down and met those all-seeing green eyes. "Were they looking for me?"
"No." Was it my imagination, or did sympathy flicker across his face? "Someone broke in last night. Some of August's papers were stolen, and he's in a bit of a state about it. August in a state is not a pretty sight."
"What sort of papers?"
"I don't know. He wouldn't tell me. The inspector was called for this morning, and he and his constable asked some questions, took some notes and generally poked about. The only thing they achieved was making an inconvenience of themselves. They even failed to question all the staff, which means they missed a vital clue."
"What clue?"
"The imprint of a muddy boot was left on the floor in the scullery."
"How thrilling," Sylvia said. "Just like in a novel."
That earned another glare from Jack. "I measured it and sketched the sole pattern. I'll ride into Harborough to deliver it to the inspector."
"Are you certain the boot doesn't belong to one of the staff?"
"It was larger than mine or any of the staff."
To think, the authorities had been to Frakingham, and I'd missed them! I could have thrown myself upon their mercy and pleaded my case. Would they have taken my word over Langley's? I didn't know, but it galled that I had missed the opportunity to try.
"I'm sorry, Violet," Jack said. "I wanted to begin training today."
"Never mind." Another daring plan had already begun to form. I was desperate enough to carry it out too, despite the fear almost overriding my determination. Almost, but not quite.
"Just be sure not to have an episode in my absence. Or try to escape."
"I'll try not to, but alas I may not be able to control myself."
There was that twist of his mouth again, that almost smile. "Syl, will you be all right?"
"Of course."
"Tommy is here if you need anything."
I would have asked what he meant by that, but he excused himself and left. So I asked Sylvia instead. "Why did he mention Tommy?"
"I couldn't say."
"Is your footman going to restrain me if I try to leave?"
"Of course not."
I finished my breakfast and when I got up, she quickly rose too, toppling her embroidery hoop to the floor.
"I only wish to look out the window," I said. She sat again, her relief obvious.
I stood by the bay window and watched Jack ride down the drive on horseback. He was unaccompanied, which I thought a little unwise until I remembered he could set a man on fire if he found himself in trouble. He turned back suddenly as if he realized I'd been watching, and our gazes locked. He lifted his hand, and I thought he was about to wave, then he gathered up the reins again and turned away. The horse broke into a gallop and Jack was soon gone from sight.
Now all I had to do was avoid Tommy and I would be free.
I waited until he had removed my breakfast dishes and been gone for some time before yawning. Sylvia didn't notice, so intent was she on her sewing. I yawned again and stretched.
"Still tired?" she said, looking up.
"I think I'll retreat to my room for a rest."
"Of course. I'll wake you for luncheon."
"I hope you don't mind, but I won't be joining you. Breakfast was quite sufficient to see me through the rest of the day."
Sylvia's face fell a little. "Oh. It'll just be me then."
I almost felt sorry for her, but her loneliness was not my concern. I left her and headed toward the staircase. Instead of going up, however, I walked straight past and through an arch that led to a short corridor and a number of closed doors. I bypassed those and headed along another corridor before reaching what appeared to be a door leading outside.
I glanced behind me. All silent. No one followed. I pushed the door open and found myself in an empty, graveled courtyard bordered on three sides by the house. I paused. Listened. Still nothing.
I half walked, half ran across the courtyard, looking left and right and back over my shoulder. The wind battered at my skirt and made a mockery of my attempt at arranging my own hair. By the time I'd exited the courtyard, my hair had broken free of its pins and whipped across my face as I glanced this way and that.
The benefit to finding myself at the rear of the house was that there was a wood nearby. Parks and formal gardens provided a pretty vista from the front and eastern side of Frakingham, but those open spaces weren't of much benefit for an escapee.
There was a graveled road and small grassy patch to cross before I entered the safety of the trees. I checked once more behind me, then lifted my skirts and ran.
My heeled boots weren't made for running fast, but I didn't slow until I reached a dense clutch of trees that couldn't be seen from the wood's edge. I hid behind a large oak and leaned against the trunk to catch my breath.
Safe. No one had followed.
I pushed on, wanting to get far away from Frakingham and whatever the Langleys had in store for me. They might seem pleasant enough on the outside, but there was certainly something odd going on. Something besides Jack's ability to start fires. Perhaps if I really did have the same affliction as he, I would be more inclined to see if they really could help me control it, but I couldn't let them discover that I didn't and Vi did. I didn't trust them, and Vi was my one true friend, a sister in every sense of the word except biological. I would protect her with every last breath in my body.
To my sickening horror, I realized that meant I couldn't return to Windamere. The Langleys would look for me there. I had to steer them away from Vi and disappear forever.
Tears pricked my eyes, but I forced them back as I pushed on along a narrow, winding path. My mind and heart, however, remained in turmoil.
Perhaps that's why I didn't see Bollard until it was too late. He stepped out from behind a tree and grabbed my arm.
I screamed.
He clamped a hand over my mouth, dragging me back against his body. He smelled like damp earth and moldy leaves, and he carried a shovel. I struggled, but he was much too strong. I bit his hand.
He grunted and let go. I scampered away, but my heel was higher than what I was used to, and I toppled over and fell on my hands and knees in the decaying leaves. Bollard caught me again and shook the shovel in my face. His lips pulled back in a snarl. I turned my head and tried to jerk myself free, but his long fingers locked around my arm.
"Let me go!"
He shook his head but said nothing.
"I have a right to go where I please."
Another shake of his head. Why didn't he speak? Was the man a mute? No wonder the manor was dubbed Freak House. I was beginning to think Sylvia was the only normal one there, although even she had an excessively sunny disposition that didn't seem natural.
Bollard pulled me along with him back to the house. I resisted every step of the way, but of course it achieved nothing. It was like a bee flying into a gale—utterly pointless.
Bees could sting, though. When we reached the courtyard, I threw the most terrible, ear-spli
tting tantrum, complete with colorful curses and the most awful names I could think of to call him.
It didn't halt Bollard's progress in the least, but it did draw the attention of the servants and Sylvia. Three of the former peered out of the ground floor service windows as we passed, their eyes as wide as saucers. Sylvia burst out the same door I'd used to escape and ran across the courtyard to us. Her face was a picture of pale horror, her bottom lip quivering. She blinked back tears.
What she had to cry about, I'd no idea. I ought to be the one in tears. Yet I had no intention of crying, nor any inclination. The shouting must have got it all out of my system, and I quieted when Sylvia grabbed my other arm. She let it go again with a gasp.
"Be calm, Violet, for Heaven's sake!"
"I'm finding that rather difficult at the moment," I spat. "All things considered."
She edged away from me. "What happened? Violet, did you...?" She glanced up at the rooms on the top floor of the eastern wing, and a shiver wracked her. I followed her gaze and saw August Langley watching us from a window. "Did you try to escape?" she whispered.
I lifted my chin. "Of course. Unfortunately Bollard here was doing a bit of gardening in the woods. What were you doing, Bollard? Digging a grave?"
Sylvia gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. She eyed Bollard's shovel with horror.
Oh God, if she were frightened, then perhaps my off-handed remark wasn't so absurd.
Where before I'd felt hot from my exercise and anger, now icy cold fingers wrapped around my heart. I couldn't dislodge the notion from my head. But if he was digging a grave at his master's behest...whose was it?
Mine?
Bollard marched me to the house and up the stairs to Langley's rooms. Sylvia didn't follow.
"Aren't you coming?" I called back to her.
She shook her head. "I haven't been summoned."
I'd been right about her. That sunny disposition was all a façade. She was as afraid of her uncle as I was. I swallowed the lump in my throat. I could do this alone. There was nothing to fear. Indeed, I had every right to be furious, and damnation, I would be!
One look at the anger in Langley's eyes had my heart in my throat again and my nerves jangling. If he'd been able to stand and approach me, I'd no doubt he would have slapped me. He still might order Bollard to do it. The servant held his shovel like a weapon and stood between me and the door.
"Stupid, stupid girl," Langley spat. "I'd thought you more sensible than that."
"Then it seems you were quite wrong." Wrong about more things than he knew.
Color flushed his cheeks, but his lips turned stark white. "Did I give you permission to speak?"
As if being kept prisoner weren't enough, he wanted to make me as mute as Bollard too! "I don't need your permission, Mr. Langley," I snapped. "I have a tongue and will use it." Something inside me rose with my anger and filled me up until I was brimming with it. Something familiar yet wrong. Something terrible and ill-timed. My limbs became heavy, my mind dulled so that I could no longer form words. My skin felt like a thousand needles had been injected into it.
Langley's eyes widened. "Move, Bollard!" He wheeled himself away from me so fast he backed into the occasional table, knocking it over and sending the two books that had been open upon it to the floor. Bollard retreated to the door. To stop me from leaving?
It didn't matter. I knew what was about to happen, and I wouldn't be going anywhere.
The last thing I remembered was falling to the floor.
CHAPTER 5
