The Wrong Girl

by CJ Archer

  ***

  We trained for the remainder of the day. Jack tried various techniques to help me 'feel the heat' through my body, as he put it. Nothing worked, of course, and we ended our session at dinnertime. He seemed quite frustrated by our lack of progress, and I admit I was growing anxious about telling him the truth. The longer I lied, the harder it would be to admit that I wasn't Violet Jamieson and the worse his reaction would be.

  I resolved to speak to Langley after dinner and confront him over his motives for kidnapping me. His reactions to a few direct questions should prove once and for all if he was lying about his intentions.

  I dressed for dinner and met Sylvia and Jack in the dining room. She looked particularly lovely in a crimson and white gown with bows down the front and I told her so.

  "This old thing," she said with a crinkle of her nose. "I'm so tired of it. Do you want it?"

  "Thank you, but it's not my color."

  "Perhaps not," she said, sitting. "I can't wait for our new dresses to arrive. Pity we don't have anything to wear them to except dinner with Jack."

  "Something wrong with dining with me?" he asked as he too sat.

  "You're hardly an excellent catch for either of us. Violet is the daughter of an earl and I am...more particular. No offense meant."

  "And how could I take offense when you put it so eloquently?" It was difficult to tell if he were teasing or a little bitter.

  "Perhaps you ought to ask some neighbors to a dinner party," I said.

  Both Jack and Sylvia looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "Dinner at Freak House?" Sylvia said. "How they will be falling over themselves to attend."

  "Why do they call this place Freak House? Do they know that Jack can start fires?"

  "No," he said. "It's not that."

  "It's Uncle August and Bollard." Sylvia served herself from the dish of Pheasant Mandarin that Tommy offered her. "One is mute and the other is crippled and...reclusive."

  "August hasn't courted either the neighbors or the villagers so they distrust him," Jack said. "By secluding himself in the house, he's turned himself into an object of curiosity and gossip. I'm sure the servants have gossiped about his temper and how he keeps to his rooms."

  "And there's the house's past, of course," Sylvia said.

  "Its past?" I asked.

  Jack cast a warning glare at Sylvia. "I'm not sure we need to hear this now."

  "Nonsense. There are rumors that a hundred years or so ago, the then Lord Frakingham kept some of his offspring locked in the dungeon."

  My stomach rolled. "Oh. How..." Familiar. "Horrid. Whatever for?"

  "They were...imperfect," Jack said. "Due to centuries of inbreeding, it was said that most of the Frakingham children were born abnormal, some with physical deformities, others mad or simple."

  "Freaks," I whispered.

  Sylvia snorted as she picked at her pheasant. "It's not true. There is no dungeon. I've searched everywhere. Of course this house isn't as old as the stories. Who knows what the previous one on this site looked like. Perhaps it had a dungeon."

  "The rumors have persisted anyway," Jack said.

  What a strange coincidence that I should be kept in an attic almost my entire life only to be rescued, in a manner of speaking, and end up in a place where something similar occurred years earlier.

  Over dinner, we discussed the viability of organizing a party with some of the well-to-do families in the area, but decided it had to be done with Langley's blessing. Sylvia was adamant she wouldn't have one without him present, and although Jack was less enthusiastic, he did agree that Langley should be kept informed.

  His reaction only deepened my curiosity about his relationship with his uncle, if indeed that's what Langley was. While the two of them seemed to be in frequent conflict—and occasionally I was even convinced that Jack despised him—he always gave Langley due respect as master of the household. I admired him all the more for it.

  Tommy brought out a dessert of jelly and served a portion to each of us, but when he got to Jack, he almost dropped the plate when Jack accidentally bumped him.

  "Bloody hell, Tommy," Jack said, catching the footman's elbow to steady the plate.

  "Sorry, Jackie. No harm done, eh?" He seemed to realize what he'd said as soon as the words left his mouth. He flushed and glanced at me. Jack pretended nothing was out of the ordinary and avoided my gaze altogether.

  If I hadn't overheard their conversation a few nights earlier, I would have been confused by the informal exchange. It did get me thinking, however.

  After dinner, I pretended I had a headache, but instead of retiring to my room, I went in search of Tommy in the service area. I found him in the large kitchen polishing a silver tray as the maids cleaned up after dinner. When they saw me, their chatter died and they stopped what they were doing.

  "Lady Violet!" Tommy pushed back his chair to stand, toppling it over. "Is everything all right?"

  "Yes, thank you. Tommy, is there somewhere we can talk?"

  He covered a nervous little cough with his hand and led me to a sitting room nearby. Neither of us sat and he remained by the door, his hands behind his back, chin out. It was his footman's stance, the one he used when he stood in the dining room as we ate.

  "Tommy, I have some questions for you."

  "Yes, my lady."

  "Tell me about the first time you met Jack."

  There was a slight twitching of muscle in his cheek, a faltering of his steady gaze. "I can't rightly remember, my lady."

  "I know you knew him before he came to Frakingham."

  He blinked, but said nothing.

  "I know that Jack came from a London slum, and that you did too. What I don't know, and what I want you to tell me, is what led him here."

  "I couldn't say."

  The man was loyal, I'd give him that. "Why are you protecting him?"

  "He don't need my protection. But a man is entitled to his privacy, ma'am. If he don't want you to know about his past, then I've got no right to tell you."

  "If he didn't want me to know?" I stepped up to him. He was much taller than me, but not as tall as Jack. "Why not me specifically?"

  Sweat beaded on his brow, yet he didn't answer.

  "If you don't tell me, Tommy, I'm afraid I'll have to go to Mr. August Langley and inform him that you knew about Patrick breaking into the house too. I doubt he'll be pleased to hear that. He might not throw his nephew out, but I doubt his mercy will extend to you. Do you like your job here?"

  Tommy gawped slack-jawed at me. "You...you'd chirp to Mr. Langley?"

  "I don't want to." I turned away, so he couldn't see me cringe as I lied. "But if I had to..."

  "Bloody hell," Tommy muttered. "He'll kill me."

  I wasn't sure whether he meant Jack or Langley. "I won't tell either of them what is said between us now. It'll be our secret."

  He muttered something under his breath then sighed. "Promise you won't tell Jack I said this."

  "I promise."

  His body lost some of its stiffness, as if he'd decided to shed his footman persona and put on his real one. "His name's Jack Cutler, not Langley. I met him when he came to join our family."

  "Family?"

  "Not a real one, but that's what our little group called ourselves. We were orphans, him and me. Patrick too, and some others. We looked after one another. We had to or we'd starve to death, or be taken by the rozzers and be sent to the workhouses. Or worse."

  "Worse than the workhouses?" I'd heard about the terrible conditions of workhouses. How the food was riddled with maggots, the beds and clothes with lice, and the children forced to work inhuman hours or suffer a beating.

  "There were Haymarket Hectors out to get boys and girls like us," he said. "Prostitution," he clarified when I shook my head.

  Oh my God. I felt sick to my stomach, and suddenly so very lucky that I'd only had to endure the solitude of an attic for fifteen years. There was much worse out there for orphans. I'd been fo
rtunate, as had Jack, Tommy and their friends.

  "We got by," Tommy said. "Stealing mostly, sometimes finding work doing the jobs no one else wanted. We never froze in winter though. Jack and his...fingers saw to that. Then that big mute comes up and hands Jack a letter one day. Jack can't read, so he takes it to the baker down the street who can. The letter says he's the nephew of August Langley and that he wanted to adopt him."

  "And then?"

  Tommy shrugged. "Then he came here, bringing me with him. Langley didn't want me though, so he made me a footman because Jack says he's not staying if I don't too. He's a good friend. Like a brother. We've always taken care of each other."

  "So...is he August Langley's nephew? You said his name was Cutler, but now he goes by Langley."

  Tommy shrugged. "Maybe he is, maybe he isn't. All I know is, the old man gave Jack an education, horses, an allowance. Why would he be so generous if he weren't a relation?"

  "I suppose." Yet it didn't make sense. According to Sylvia, there'd been three Langley brothers—her father, Jack's father, and August himself. Yet Jack had been a Cutler not a Langley. And what of Tommy's and Patrick's doubts on the matter?

  I thought about asking him if Jack had a more nefarious motive for staying, but decided not to. He was as loyal to Jack as he could be, and if he did know anything, I was sure he'd deny it.

  "Thank you, Tommy. I'm sorry to have put you through this."

  He sighed. "I suppose it had to come out sooner or later. You'll keep your promise, won't you, m'lady? You won't tell Jack you and me spoke?"

  "I won't. Are you afraid of him?"

  "No, but I don't want him to be disappointed in me. He trusts me, and that's the way I want it to stay."

  I squeezed his arm and he dipped his head, but not before I saw his cheeks redden. "Don't worry, I won't say anything. Believe me, I understand what it's like to have Jack disappointed in me."

  He blinked. "You do?"

  I nodded. "I followed him in London when he went to see Patrick. He thought I told Langley about the meeting, but I wouldn't tell that man anything if I could help it."

  His frown drew his thick brows together into a single line. "I think I know who it was who told Mr. Langley."

  "Who?"

  "Bollard."

  I gasped. "How do you know?"

  "I can't be sure, but he left Frakingham just after you and got back just before. Maybe he went to London."

  I nodded slowly. "Perhaps he did. Do you think he might have followed Jack too and overhead the conversation?"

  "P'haps."

  "But surely I would have noticed." And yet, I had heard footsteps following us, although not until we were almost back at Claridges. It was entirely possible that I was too distracted earlier to hear them.

  "He can read lips, you know," Tommy said.

  "Bollard? I thought he was a mute, not deaf."

  He shrugged. "He's not deaf, but I know he can read lips like a deaf person. I wouldn't put it past him to have told Mr. Langley what he saw and heard."

  "No. Nor would I."

  CHAPTER 10