The Wrong Girl

by CJ Archer

Bollard opened the door on my knock and gave a formal, curt bow. When he straightened, he raised his eyebrows in question, but did not step aside.

  "I need to speak to Mr. Langley," I said.

  "She may enter," came Langley's voice from within.

  Bollard opened the door wider and I went through. It took me a moment to realize Langley wasn't in the immediate part of the room furnished as a parlor, but in the end that served as a laboratory. He sat at a low table, his head bent over a microscope.

  "Mr. Langley, I—"

  He held up his forefinger for silence, and I dutifully shut my mouth, biting my tongue in the process. I waited as he wrote something down then wheeled his chair out and turned to look at me.

  "I'm glad you've come to see me, Violet," he said. "We need to speak about London again. It'll be easier without Jack here." He moved his chair forward, pushing the wheels with his hands. It looked arduous and progress was slow until Bollard rescued him. Once he was near me, Langley indicated I should sit.

  "Refreshments, Bollard," he said. When the servant hesitated, he added in a softer voice, "I'll be all right."

  Bollard left, but the exchange piqued my curiosity. It was almost as if Bollard's concern went beyond that of a master for his servant. I supposed they'd been together a long time, and Bollard did do more than a mere valet or laboratory assistant. He was Langley's legs too, and, it seemed, his eyes and ears. Why he thought I'd hurt Langley was a mystery though.

  "I'm sorry the hypnotist couldn't help," Langley said. "Truly sorry. We'll have to continue your training. Is Jack making progress?"

  "A little," I hedged.

  "Good. It was a shame you had to witness his temper, Violet. Jack can be very...passionate. I do hope you realize that it was entirely directed at me and had nothing to do with you."

  "Why does he dislike you so?"

  He rubbed the palm of his hands along the arms of his wheelchair. "You would have to ask him that."

  "I find it strange considering you rescued him from the streets and have given him a comfortable life here at Frakingham. Shouldn't he be grateful?"

  "To repeat: you should be asking him."

  "I followed him into the slums of London, although I suspect you know that already." He blinked slowly and I took that as confirmation. "He knew his way in the darkness, which is remarkable since my escort and I got lost on the way back to Claridges."

  "What are you getting at, Violet?"

  It was difficult to speak of the matter without implicating Tommy. I needed to tread carefully. "Is Jack originally from that very slum where he met the man named Patrick?"

  He didn't answer.

  "He's not your nephew, is he?"

  "Isn't he?"

  "Mr. Langley, I have agreed to remain here until Christmas, against my better judgment. If you continue to evade sensible questions, then I may not be able to keep that promise." I don't know where I got the courage to speak so boldly to such a man as August Langley. The fact that I had seemed to trouble him less than me. I swallowed and hoped I hadn't overstepped the mark.

  "If you want to find out about Jack's past, ask him. Now, if you came here to waste my time then we're finished. You may go. It seems we don't have much to say to one another after all." He shifted his wheelchair backwards, away from me. He was dismissing me as casually as he'd dismissed Bollard. It irked me that he could disregard such an important point.

  I stood abruptly and caught the arm of his chair. "I am asking you, Mr. Langley." I suddenly wasn't afraid of him anymore. What could a crippled man do to me? If Bollard were there it may be a different matter, but he wasn't. If Langley turned me out, I'd return to Windamere. "Is Jack your blood relative?"

  "Let go of my chair, Violet."

  "Answer me, Mr. Langley."

  He caught my sleeve and dragged me down to his level. His face was a distorted mask of anger, his mouth a twisted gash. "You do not tell me what to do."

  Something inside me shattered, and I jerked free of his grip. I did not step back. I did not look away or run for the door. I would not fear this man, nor would I endure any more of his lies and threats. If I wanted to walk away, I would. I had been kept prisoner at Windamere for fifteen years. I'd been denied a life, and even if that life had turned out to be a dire, desperate one, at least it would have been mine to make of it what I could.

  I'd had enough of being told what to do and how to conduct myself. Enough of being told to accept my condition and situation, that I ought to consider myself lucky. I wasn't lucky. I was a prisoner, and I'd be damned if I would endure it on anyone else's terms anymore, especially someone as nasty as Langley.

  "You let Jack think I told you about his visit to Patrick," I said, choosing the one thing I knew the answer to. The one thing I could absolutely blame him for without a doubt. "Why? Why didn't you tell him it was Bollard?"

  His lips peeled back and he bared his teeth. "I already told you I don't answer to you." He spat out each word as if they were poison on his tongue. "Your father may be an earl, but here, that means nothing. You're nobody. Your opinion means nothing, your questions even less. You are our prisoner, and I do not answer your questions."

  His voice rang in my ears, throbbed in my veins. My blood rose like a tidal wave, rushed through me, fast and fierce. Hot. It was so loud that I hardly heard the door open, but I turned just in time to see Jack enter, Bollard at his heels.

  "No!" Jack shouted. His brows crashed together in a deep frown. "Stop it, August. Are you mad?" Sparks flew from his fingers onto the floor, but he quickly stomped them out as he approached us. "Tell her she's not a prisoner. Tell her she can come and go. Tell her!"

  Langley laughed, the sound like fingernails down a blackboard. "Of course she can't leave. You know that as well as I do."

  "Jack!" I cried. "Is that true?"

  But Jack's gaze was fixed on his uncle. It was filled with such fury that I was amazed his fingers didn't explode. "I will not be a party to this." His voice was quiet, cold, and filled me with dread.

  "You can't leave, Violet," Langley said. "Jack has known this all along. He's been keeping an eye on you. Lying to you. We all have."

  Everything dimmed, and I thought I was going to fall asleep at the worst possible moment, but then my vision cleared, only to see sparks spraying around the room like fireworks. So many of them. Too many.

  They landed on the curtain, the floor, the table and even in Langley's lap. He yelped and swatted them just as the curtain went up in a whoosh of flames. Some of the furniture had caught alight, the floorboards too.

  We had to get out.

  "My research!" Langley cried, wheeling himself toward the laboratory.

  "Not now!" Jack cried. "Bollard!"

  Bollard rushed past me, and I stumbled forward, my body suddenly heavy, my head filled with cotton wool. Jack caught me and picked me up. We didn't combust. That was something. I was a rag doll in his arms. Exhaustion dragged at me, pulling me into a slumber. But I did not fall asleep.

  "Get out!" Jack shouted. "Forget the papers!"

  But Bollard didn't listen. He scooped up some notebooks and stuffed them into his jacket, then he returned and picked up Langley. They followed us to the door, but flames were already licking up the doorframe. Wood cracked and popped in the heat, and I felt that I might do the same. I burned as if I had a fever.

  Jack held me tighter then ran through the doorway onto the landing. "Tommy!" he shouted. "Water!"

  My head bumped against Jack's shoulder as he ran down the stairs, giving orders to the servants to put out the flames. "Don't endanger yourselves."

  He carried me outside where the crisp evening air slammed against my hot face. It was raining and I was so glad I almost cried. The rain would help put the fire out. Bollard and Langley followed us, and the female servants weren't far behind, carrying silver and other valuables. Sylvia wasn't among them.

  "We have to find her," I said, clawing at Jack's shirt.

  He gla
nced down at me. He seemed shocked to see me still awake. "I'll do it," he said, but as he set me gently on the ground, Tommy ran out of the house, Sylvia tucked into his side.

  He brought her to us, and she flopped down beside me and drew me into a hug. She sobbed against my throat.

  I held her close, so relieved she was all right. She was shaking and crying, but seemed unharmed.

  Tommy and Jack raced off to join the male servants fighting the fire. Smoke billowed out of the windows and rose into the wet night. I heard Jack give orders to protect the rest of the house, and I closed my eyes and prayed for the first time in a long time. I just hoped God remembered me and listened.

  "Sylvia?" said Langley. He was still in Bollard's arms. The servant held him as if he weighed nothing and seemed in no mind to put him down. "Sylvia, are you harmed?"

  She shook her head and wiped her cheeks. "I'm all right, Uncle. I'd gone to bed early, but Tommy rescued me. If he hadn't..." She sobbed again and I circled her shoulders with my arm. "He's so brave."

  "It will all be over soon," I said, eyeing the top floor of the house. "Perhaps I should go and help."

  "No!" Sylvia and Langley cried.

  "Stay here with me," Sylvia said. "Let the men do it."

  "But I ought to help."

  "It's not your fault," Langley said. He sounded surprisingly humble and kind. There was none of the anger and taunting of earlier. The fire must have shocked him into sensitivity. It must certainly be a shocking thing to watch as one's house went up in flames.

  "I know that," I said. "But I don't like to do nothing when I'm needed."

  "There's a well out the back and a pump and hoses stored in the service area for just such an emergency. They'll cope without you."

  It was a long way from the service area to the well and up to Langley's rooms, but I didn't say so.

  Sylvia held my hand and snuggled closer. Her body shook. She must have been freezing in her nightshift and shawl. I tried to keep her warm by rubbing her arms and feet, but her shaking didn't subside even when one of the maids brought her a blanket.

  It seemed to take all night for the fire to die down completely, but in truth it was probably less than an hour. From where we sat on the front lawn, it was clear that Langley's room had been destroyed, but beyond that, we couldn't tell.

  When Jack joined us, Sylvia was half asleep against me. She leapt to her feet as he approached and ran to him. "Where's Tommy? Is he all right?"

  "Everyone's fine." Jack wiped the back of his hand across his brow, smearing it with soot.

  "The house?" Langley said. Bollard had held him the entire time and still did not look as if he wanted to put him down.

  "The eastern wing may be unstable, but the service area and rest of the house are fine."

  "But our rooms are on the eastern side," Sylvia said, pulling the blanket to her chin. "Where shall we go?"

  "We'll open up the southern wing," Langley said. "Come, before we freeze to death."

  Bollard led the way with Langley in his arms. Sylvia and I followed, Jack behind us. I heard him question each of the servants, asking if they were all right, reassuring the frightened maids that the fire would not flare again.

  "Boil as much water as you can as quickly as you can," Jack told the housekeeper, Mrs. Moore. "Bring water bottles and hot tea to the parlor in the southern wing then see to your own comfort. Everyone is to avoid the eastern wing until further notice."

  "But none of the rooms are ready in the southern wing, sir," said Mrs. Moore.

  "Prepare rooms for the ladies and Mr. Langley. I'll remain in the parlor until the morning."

  We skirted the front of the house and the housekeeper unlocked a side door with one of the keys hanging at her waist. We followed Bollard and Langley into a small room that smelled musty and stale, with only a hint of lingering smokiness. Pale mounds loomed out of the darkness, but as my eyes adjusted, I realized they were dust sheets covering the furniture. Nothing hung on the wood-paneled walls, not even wallpaper. It was a cheerless, bland room.

  Jack lit two candles on the mantel with a single touch of his forefinger, while Sylvia and I whipped off the sheets. Bollard finally lowered Langley onto one of the chairs and stretched the muscles in his arms. Tommy entered carrying wood and a box of kindling. A maid trailed behind, laden with hot water bottles. Sylvia grabbed one and cuddled it to her chest. He watched as Tommy set the wood box down.

  "You're a savior," she said to him. Tommy smiled sheepishly and dipped his head. Sylvia appeared not to see him blush as she blew on her bare hands. "It's freezing in here."

  Tommy placed the wood in the grate and Jack lit the fire. Sylvia sighed and spread her fingers in front of the flickering flames. "That's better," she muttered.

  "Go get some rest, Tommy," Jack said. "You deserve it."

  "But you need—"

  "Never mind us," Langley said. "Mrs. Moore will bring in the tea and we can serve ourselves."

  Tommy left and silence blanketed our little group. I watched the flames flicker around the wood, their dance seductive as they ate their fill. We all seemed mesmerized by it, but I for one felt quite sick. The fire had destroyed part of the house, and it had almost destroyed us too. If we hadn't got out of Langley's rooms...

  I shuddered to think what may have happened.

  I glanced at Jack and was startled to see that he was watching me. He offered a small smile, but I didn't return it. The shock of what he'd done was too fresh. His anger was far more volatile than I'd thought, and more dangerous. He'd said he could control it, but clearly he could not.

  And of course, I knew now that he'd lied to me all along. There'd never been any agreement to let me go at Christmas. Langley had intended to keep me prisoner no matter what. And Jack knew it.

  Langley also watched me, but with a gravity that was at odds with his earlier nastiness. Ever since then, he'd been quiet, reflective, and not at all the confrontational man I'd come to expect.

  Mrs. Moore entered with a tray of tea things and left us to serve ourselves. Sylvia poured and handed out cups. She drank hers quickly and gave a deep sigh, then refilled it from the pot.

  "Well, this is awkward," she said, setting the pot down with a loud clank. "Would someone care to tell me what caused the fire? I take it that one of you couldn't control yourselves," she said with a pointed glare at first me then Jack.

  When neither Jack nor Langley answered, I said, "Your uncle said something rather shocking to me. Something that Jack didn't want me to know."

  You can't leave, Violet.

  The words sliced through me like a blade. I sucked in a breath to try to steady my nerves, but it was no use. Unlike earlier, I wasn't angry anymore. That moment had passed. Now...now, I was terrified.

  "What didn't Jack want you to know?" Sylvia looked so innocent, so untouched and honest. Yet she knew the truth too. She and her cousin—if that's what he was—were part of Langley's plan to keep me prisoner at Freak House.

  "It's not important," Langley said. "The important thing is that you didn't fall asleep, Violet. You were close, weren't you, but you didn't. It's a triumph."

  "Is that what that was all about?" Jack said. A thread of steel ran through his otherwise calm voice. "That's low, August. Even for you."

  "Will someone tell me what's going on?" Sylvia asked. "Who set the house on fire? Violet?"

  "Yes," Jack said at the same time that I said, "No."

  He blinked at me. Langley lowered his cup to his saucer. "You don't know?" he murmured.

  "All I know is that you are a pack of wolves and I despise you. If I must stay here, then I will, but I will not be a party to your charade. I'll not pretend all is well. You'll have to lock me up if you wish to keep me here." My voice shook. My hands too and I had to set the cup down lest the tea spill.

  "Violet?" Sylvia was at my side, crouching on the floor near my feet. Her gaze searched mine before she turned it on Langley. "What have you said to her, Uncle?"r />
  "Wait." Jack held up his hand. He shook his head, his brow deeply furrowed. "Tell us what happened up there, Violet. What happened within you, I mean."

  "I'll not tell you a thing," I snapped. "If you and your mad uncle wish to learn anything about me, you'll have to dissect my cadaver in his laboratory. I'm sure it'll give you much pleasure."

  "Violet, stop," he whispered, kneeling in front of me beside his cousin. "It's not what you think."

  "Isn't it? You heard him as clearly as I did. I'm a prisoner, and you and your cousin are aiding him. You are a liar, a kidnapper and much more besides."

  "What?" Sylvia straightened. "That's ridiculous. We have an agreement. You're to stay until Christmas, but then you're free to go. You're certainly not a prisoner."

  "Wait, Syl." Jack laid a hand on her arm, but he continued to stare at me. "You got angry, Violet. Remember? You were furious with August and me, perhaps more than you've ever been in your life. You felt tired, and usually you would fall asleep, but not this time. This time you stayed awake, so you know what happened next. You know, Violet. Remember?"

  His melodic voice soothed me somewhat and tears welled in my eyes. How could he have lied to me? After his kindness, his affection. "I believed you," I whispered as tears spilled down my cheeks. "I trusted you." Sylvia reached for me and I pushed her away. "Both of you."

  "How could you?" Sylvia wailed at Langley.

  Her uncle sat stoically, unmoved.

  "Tell me what happened next, Violet," Jack said, his voice urgent. "The sparks. Do you remember those?"

  "This is absurd," I muttered. "Very well, if you want to relive it then I'll recount the events. You grew angry with your uncle because you didn't want him to tell me what was really going on—that I am a prisoner and you all know it. It seems you couldn't control your temper this time, Jack. Perhaps you're the one who needs training, not me." I sounded bitter, but I didn't care. My energy had leached from me, and I was too tired to play their game. It was the truth or nothing. They were mad and I truly was their prisoner.

  But not forever. I would escape and warn Violet. They couldn't be allowed to win. There was only one way to beat them, and that was admit the truth, or part of it. I would not admit it all and put Vi in danger.

  "No, Violet," Langley said, his thick brows plunging into a frown. "You're incorrect. It wasn't Jack. It was you."

  "Impossible," I snapped.

  "You'd better explain why," Jack said.

  "I can't start fires, you see. I never could." There. I'd said it and I felt relieved beyond measure. They'd not want me now that they knew I was of no use to them. All I had to do was convince them that Vi couldn't do it either and they'd just let me go. Dear God.

  Jack sat back on his haunches. "Yes," he said, reaching for me then pulling away. "You can. August, Bollard and I just witnessed it. Those sparks didn't come from me. They came from you. Don't you remember?"

  My laughter came out harsh, but even as my head thought he was lying, my heart knew the reality. It drummed out a different tune in my chest. It was time I listened.

  He was right. I was a fire starter.

  CHAPTER 11