The Wrong Girl

by CJ Archer

  ***

  Fortunately my mind was kept from wandering back to Dr. Werner's rooms and the hypnosis by an afternoon of shopping. An entire afternoon. By four o'clock, Jack declared he'd had enough and insisted we return to the hotel. "You've been into every milliner, dressmaker and perfumer on Oxford Street and beyond, some of them twice," he said. "There's only so much a man can stand. Besides, Violet's feet are sore."

  "Don't stop on my account," I said.

  "You're limping."

  So he'd noticed that. My feet ached like the devil, and if I had to suffer through one more shop assistant uttering false sympathies about my hair color or bust size, I'd scream. I knew pink didn't suit me, but did they need to hold a swathe of silk in that color up to my face at every turn then tsk tsk over the effect? It was as if they delighted in revealing how unfashionable I was. Perhaps that was the whole point. An uncommon number of them seemed to be trying to catch Jack's attention, and once they learned I was a friend and not a relation like Sylvia, the claws came out. It made me long for the attic and solitude. Well, perhaps it wasn't quite that bad, but I'd stopped enjoying myself hours earlier.

  "Just one more shop," said Sylvia. "I'm yet to find a hat in just the right shade of gray."

  Jack looked heavenward and sighed.

  "You could wait in the carriage," I said. Olson had followed us along Oxford Street, our purchases in the storage compartment at the back of the carriage. We had, however, decided to walk so that Sylvia could have a closer look through the windows and see which shops she wanted to enter. It turned out that she wanted to enter every single one.

  "I'll come with you," Jack said. "Here's a milliner's you haven't been to yet. Let's get it over with."

  He held the door open and we entered. Several heads swiveled toward us, some belonging to the shop assistants, and others to the shoppers. It seemed we were quite the objects of curiosity wherever we went, and this time was no exception. Their gazes quickly took in both Sylvia and I before settling upon Jack. Then the flirting began. Some simply stared at him, but the more outgoing girls sidled close, pretending to be interested in something nearby. One or two even spoke to him outright, which I thought incredibly forward since they hadn't been introduced.

  "Jack does appear to be popular here in London," I said to Sylvia as we inspected the hats on display.

  "Of course," she said with a laugh. "He's young, single, handsome and clearly a gentleman of means. Most of these women have been watching us all afternoon, some even following us."

  I watched Jack standing by the door, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, including me. If he knew he was being ogled, he didn't show it. His ignorance didn't last long, however. A woman shopping with her daughter approached, smiling like a clown at a circus.

  "Excuse me, but you're Mr. Bellamy, aren't you?" she said to Jack.

  He bowed. "No, madam. My name is Langley."

  The woman's smile didn't waver. "Indeed? I do apologize. You resemble my friend Bellamy to a certain degree."

  "I'm sure he doesn't," Sylvia muttered.

  "You think she lied?" I whispered back.

  "If Bellamy were indeed her friend, she'd know what he looked like."

  "Then why the ruse?"

  "She has a daughter of marriageable age." She nodded at the girl of seventeen or so who observed her mother out of the corner of her eye. "They probably think Jack is a potential suitor, and the mother wants to be the first of her acquaintance to engage his interest. Keep listening."

  A shop girl approached and Sylvia left me to be shown some hats at the back. I continued to watch Jack from beneath lowered lashes as I strolled between tables and hat stands.

  "You must be new to London, Mr. Langley," the woman said. "I've never seen you at any of the parties."

  "I come to the city rarely, and only for business. I live in Hertfordshire, madam, with my uncle, August Langley."

  A small crease connected her thin eyebrows. "That name sounds familiar. Where in Hertfordshire is your uncle's house, Mr. Langley? Perhaps that will refresh my memory."

  "Frakingham House, near Harborough."

  The woman's mouth pursed as if she'd tasted something bitter. "Oh." She stepped away. "Good day to you, sir. My apologies for mistaking you for my friend. I can see now that you're nothing like Mr. Bellamy." She scuttled away and rejoined her daughter.

  "Mama?" the girl whispered. "What's wrong?"

  The mother's voice was too low for me to hear her entire answer. The only words I could make out were "Freak House." It was enough to explain her change in behavior.

  Sylvia bought two hats in different shades of gray, and Jack carried the boxes out to the carriage and bundled them into the storage compartment with the others. "Satisfied now, Cousin?" he asked Sylvia as he settled opposite us on the seat.

  "Why are those women looking at us like we have two heads?" she said.

  I followed her gaze to the woman who'd questioned Jack and her daughter. They did indeed eye us from beneath their hat brims. "You were right about them," I told her. "The mother wished to throw her daughter into Jack's path at any parties he might deign to attend."

  Jack rolled his eyes.

  "Yes, but why does she look as if she wants to run in the other direction to get away from us?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "What did you say to her?"

  "Nothing," he said. "I gave her my name and place of residence, that's all."

  Sylvia flounced back into the seat and crossed her arms. "How could you?" One corner of his mouth lifted and her glare sharpened. "It's not amusing."

  "I'm sorry," he said, sobering. "I know it matters to you. I just wish you knew that they don't matter to me."

  "What doesn't?" I said. "I don't understand."

  "Whenever we go anywhere, which isn't often, Jack likes to tell people where we're from."

  "It's called introducing myself, Syl. It's what people do when they meet."

  "Yes, but can't you lie? Why do you have to tell them we're from Frakingham?"

  "Because we are. The sooner you come to accept that, the happier you'll be."

  "I doubt I could ever be happy to be associated with Freak House."

  Jack looked quite unnerved by her misery. "Those people aren't for the likes of us," he said quietly.

  "You shouldn't let them bother you," I said to her. "I agree with Jack. They don't seem like the sort of people you'd want to be friends with anyway."

  "That's easy for you to say. You and Jack are the freaks. I'm the freak by association. It's not fair."

  Her remark cut through me to the bone. I'd thought we'd become friends of sorts, but to say something so offhandedly callous proved there was still an ocean of differences between us. She was right, of course. I wasn't normal. Now I knew I was also very much alone.

  We arrived at Claridges, and instead of coming inside with us, Jack bid us farewell. "I'm going for a walk," he said.

  "Where to?" Sylvia asked.

  "Nowhere in particular. I need to stretch my legs."

  "You've been walking all day."

  "You object to me wanting to spend some time alone?"

  "Do whatever you want," she said huffily, striding off.

  I watched Jack go and chewed my lip. Should I follow him? If I did, would I learn more about him? I knew he was going to see Patrick, the person he suspected of breaking into Frakingham House, and I desperately wanted to find out who Patrick was and how Jack knew him. But I would have to follow him surreptitiously, and that meant being alone, more or less. I didn't consider myself a fearful person in general, but being on my own in a city the size of London set my nerves on edge. What if I lost Jack? What if I wandered into one of the less appealing areas I'd seen on our journey in?

  "Lady Violet!" called a familiar voice.

  "Mr. Gladstone!" I said as he came up to me. "Are you here to see me?"

  "I am. May we talk?"

  Down the street, Jack turned the corner, unaware of the medica
l student's presence. I made up my mind then and there. "Yes! Excellent. Let's talk and walk at the same time. I have a mind to be out and about in this fresh air."

  He pulled a face. "It's cold and growing dark."

  "The lamps will be lit soon. I've always wanted to see London in the evening." I hooked my arm through his and hailed one of the Claridges' footmen hovering nearby. "Please inform Miss Langley that I've gone for a walk," I told him. To Mr. Gladstone I said, "Quickly now. A swift walk is a good one." We rounded a corner, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Jack up ahead. "Now, what is it you wanted to say to me, Mr. Gladstone?"

  CHAPTER 8