The Memory Keeper

by C. J. Archer

  "You are quite well, now?" I asked, somewhat hesitantly. It wasn't polite conversation to discuss illness, particularly of the nature that Hannah's had been. She seemed quite open about it, and indeed spoke freely of the events that led to the cure when I'd last seen her at the Beauforts' townhouse. Until then, I hadn't been aware of her fire starting. They'd kept that information from me, to protect me. Jack knew her ability would frighten me, as his had of late.

  "Yes, thank you," she said. "Fortunately there's been no relapse. Mr. Langley—August—has ordered me to remain here for a few more days, so that he can observe me, but as soon as he gives me a clean bill of health, Jack and I will be off on our honeymoon."

  "I'm so happy for you," I said. "For you both. I've never seen Jack more content."

  She took my hands in her own. I let her, something I rarely did. "Thank you, Charity. It means a lot to hear you say it. I know how much he means to you, and you to him. I promise to take good care of him."

  I laughed. "He led me to believe he's the one taking care of you."

  "He would say that. He's a man." She winked. "I'll have Samuel escort you down to dinner at eight. Will that give you long enough?"

  "Ample, but… please just send a maid. There's no need to trouble Samuel. Or anyone else," I quickly added. "Indeed, I'm sure I'll find my way on my own." Dear lord, could I sound more like a dim-wit? I blamed Samuel. He was making me nervous and he wasn't even there.

  She winked again and smiled. My entire body cringed in horror; she thought I liked Samuel. I wanted to tell her that it wasn't the case and that he made me anxious, but then I would have to tell her why. And I didn't know why. It wasn't something I could fathom, let alone explain.

  "I hope my early arrival hasn't upset the household," I said. "The mix-up was entirely my fault. I was sure I wrote the eighteenth in my letter to Jack, but I must have written the nineteenth."

  "Eighteenth, nineteenth, what's one day? We're glad you're here. All of us." She winked again.

  Time to change the subject. "Hannah, may I ask you something?"

  "Of course."

  "Samuel hypnotized you once, didn't he?"

  She nodded. "When he worked for a London hypnotist. It was how we met. It turned out that Dr. Werner was a fraud, but Samuel is quite legitimate."

  "Did he… did it hurt?"

  "Not at all. I didn't feel anything. It was like falling asleep then waking up again."

  "But… were you aware of Samuel? Could you… feel him inside your head?"

  "No, nothing. Charity, are you quite sure you want to do this?"

  "Yes. My mind is even more made up, now that you've assured me you didn’t even know he was there."

  "We-ell." She bit her lip and winced. "I should confess that when Samuel hypnotized me, he could not get into my mind. Not like he can with other people. He told me he was met with a wall that he couldn't break through. You see, a memory block had already been put there and that stopped any further exploration under hypnosis. Your mind will be open to Samuel. If you're not prepared for him to see your memories, then you shouldn't go through with it."

  I touched the scar on the back of my right hand. It was the worst of the two. The skin from my knuckles to my wrist puckered like a prune. It had been painful at the time, but not as painful as watching a man die. The man who'd been my lover, my benefactor, my tormentor. The man who would soon be obliterated from my memories.

  CHAPTER 2

  "I'm ready," I assured Hannah. "It doesn't matter what Samuel discovers, anyway. I'll never see him again, after I leave."

  She frowned. "Why do you think that?"

  "We're unlikely to cross paths again. There's simply no reason to."

  "But…" She sighed. "Never mind." She gently clasped my arm. "If you have any doubts about the process, you should speak to Samuel beforehand. And Charity, you must be absolutely certain that you want to block the memories. There will be consequences. If you want to discuss it further, you must seek me out."

  "Thank you, but I've thought it through and this is what I want."

  "Well, then. I'm glad." She left and I was finally alone again. I'd hardly had five minutes to myself since closing the door to my bedroom at the school. It was less than half the size of the guest bedroom I now found myself in, and far less opulent. The curtains alone were of better quality than any of my dresses, and the fireplace was enormous, with a heavily carved black mantel surrounding it. I was grateful the maid had lit only a small fire in it; perhaps the servants had been warned about my aversion to them.

  They must think me odd. Indeed, most people probably thought me strange. I was too tall and too thin, for one thing. For another, I wasn't a typical teacher. I didn't have any formal education, never having gone to school myself, and I couldn't remember much of my family. Jack, Tommy and the others had been my family growing up, and now the school and students meant everything to me. All of them were orphans, like myself, and all of them were in need of love and support. I was capable of giving them the latter, but it was the former that eluded me. It hadn't always, I'd loved my little family of fellow orphans growing up, and they'd loved me in return. I lost the ability to love after that. He'd destroyed that part of me.

  Tomorrow I was going to reclaim it, with Samuel's help.

  ***

  August Langley had the soft, insipid features of a man unfamiliar with the outdoors. Apparently he rarely left his rooms, even to greet visitors, and I could believe it; he hardly spoke to anyone at dinner, let alone me. He was polite enough, asking me about my journey and the school, but I didn't think he was listening to my answers. Perhaps that was how geniuses behaved, as nobody else at the table seemed particularly embarrassed by his lack of manners, although Sylvia did cough rather loudly when he went for a long stretch without even a nod of acknowledgement.

  The hulking, silent assistant didn't help matters. Bollard served his wheelchair-bound master then remained behind him for the rest of the meal, as still and blank-faced as a Tower of London guard. My gaze kept wandering to him, hoping to catch him looking at me or smiling at the lively conversation between Jack, Hannah and Samuel, but he never flinched.

  What made the meal even more uncomfortable was that Tommy served us. It felt awkward. He was my friend, and Jack's too; we had known each other a long time. He used to pull my hair and teach me rude jokes. We'd worked as a team to steal bread and apples to fill our bellies. We'd seen the worst of each other, and the best, and there'd been no secrets between us, back then. The only time he'd served me was when I'd twisted my ankle at age thirteen and he'd handed me a plate laden with whatever food could be scrounged that day. It was not only odd to have him serve me like this, but just as odd that it seemed to bother neither him nor Jack. Perhaps it was an arrangement they'd simply grown accustomed to. It had been years since they'd moved here, Jack as Langley's nephew and Tommy as the footman. Jack had offered to find me a place as a maid, but I'd refused. I wasn't interested in being anyone's servant then, and I still wasn't.

  Sometimes I wonder how different my life would have been if I'd accepted his offer. I wouldn't be in a permanent state of anxiety, for one thing, but then I wouldn't have ended up a teacher at the orphan school either.

  "I must return to my work," August Langley announced, almost as soon as he'd swallowed his final mouthful of pudding. "Before I go, I need to ask you if you fully understand what you're asking Samuel to do, Miss Evans?"

  His statement took me by surprise. Not only did it have nothing to do with him, but he'd shown no interest in my welfare all evening. "I have thoroughly thought it through," I told him. "I know that losing some memories may change my perspective on life. You must understand, Mr. Langley, that is precisely the reason I wish to go through with this." I chose my words carefully. I wasn't sure whether Jack had told anyone the sort of memories I was going to have erased. I doubted it. He knew how important privacy was to me in this matter. Besides, he didn't know the full extent of it himself. No on
e did.

  "Our memories are what make us, Miss Evans. The good and the bad. They remind us of the mistakes we've made and help guide which paths we choose in the future. If we only have good memories, we may be destined to repeat those mistakes."

  "Or we may not, now that we're older and wiser." Although I knew he meant well, I bristled at his lecture. I was two and twenty years of age. I'd been taking care of myself since I was nine. I didn't need the advice of someone who hardly knew me and knew nothing of my situation. "Jack, you understand, don't you?"

  "I think so," he said. He shifted in his chair and looked down at his empty bowl. "But there could be ramifications that we haven't yet thought of. I just hope it's worth it."

  I blinked at him. How could he not think me worth it? Because that was what was at stake. Me. My life. My future. My ability to love and be loved. I wanted to feel again. Wanted to feel happiness and wholeness so very much that it burned within me. But, no matter how hard I tried, I could not. I knew the capacity was in me somewhere, but it was deeply buried under the horrible memories. Hot tears stung my eyes. I looked away so no one could see them.

  "I understand," Hannah said, somewhat vehemently. "Don't blame the men for their lack of empathy."

  "Don't lump me in with your ignorant husband," Samuel said, cheerfully. I had to applaud him for trying to steer the conversation away from the heated turn it had taken, but his chivalry may have come too late.

  "Perhaps there are some things only a woman can comprehend," Hannah said to me. "The world is, after all, controlled by men. How can they fully understand what it's like to have no control, and no means of protection against the more unscrupulous of their sex?"

  She did understand. I should have known she would. She'd been held prisoner, for most of her life, in an attic by her guardian—a man. In some ways, it was good to see that she'd come through her ordeal unscathed. It meant there was hope for me.

  "I'm not sure I want to be in control of everything," Sylvia said, with a toss of her blonde curls. "I know I don't want to drive a coach, for example. Or manage investments and estates. Too many numbers give me a headache."

  "Do you want to choose whom you marry?" Hannah challenged. "Or what you do with your money?"

  "I don't have any money."

  "If you had control over your own life, you could earn it."

  She wrinkled her nose. "Good lord, Hannah, you do say the oddest things. Why would I want to work?"

  Hannah sighed heavily and appealed to Tommy, oddly enough. He stood by the sideboard awaiting instructions and didn't flicker so much as an eyelash.

  "I pity your future husband, Syl," Jack said with a chuckle.

  "You're the one who should be pitied. Hannah's got some radical ideas."

  He laughed and placed his hand over his wife's, diffusing the tension in the room. Sylvia still pouted, but I at least felt easier.

  Langley beckoned his servant with a crook of his finger. The mute took the handles of the wheelchair and backed it away from the table.

  "It's an interesting experiment," Langley said, as he was steered towards the door. "I'll be there as an observer. You don't mind if I make notes, Miss Evans?"

  "I, uh, was hoping that I would be alone with Samuel and Jack," I said. Samuel had to be there, of course, since he was the only one who could perform the trick, but I wanted Jack there too. I trusted him more than I trusted anyone in the world. Certainly more than I trusted the too-charming Samuel Gladstone. I needed Jack there to ensure Samuel only performed the job he'd been tasked to do.

  Langley put a hand up and Bollard stopped. I'd turned to watch them go and now had my back to the other diners. Langley frowned at me, then his gaze shifted behind me to where Jack and Hannah sat. He nodded. "As you wish. Go, Bollard."

  Bollard wheeled him out. It seemed as if everyone in the room took a deep breath at the same time.

  "I'm sorry about my uncle," Jack said. "He's not used to guests. He doesn't leave the house much and we get few visitors."

  "Pitifully few," Sylvia muttered. "Come with me, Hannah, Charity. We'll retreat to the drawing room while Jack and Samuel smoke and drink."

  "I think we'll dispense with the usual formalities," Jack said. "We hardly ever separate after dinner anymore and it's only Charity, after all."

  I smiled. It was so like Jack to treat me as one of the family and not a guest. I much preferred it too.

  Sylvia huffed. "Can we please maintain some standards? You and Hannah may prefer informality, but Samuel and I do not."

  "Speak for yourself," Samuel said. "I'd much rather stay and talk to the ladies than Jack. Believe me, the conversation is more riveting."

  "Really?" Hannah's tone was teasing. "You wish to discuss petticoats and fashion?"

  Sylvia made a choking sound and blushed. "Hannah, really. Not in front of the men."

  Samuel laughed. "We are sorry, Charity," he said. "We've settled into our ways here and habits are hard to break. Jack's right. We're not used to company."

  "Particularly not your sort," Sylvia said.

  Hannah glared at her. Jack quickly apologized for her and Samuel echoed it. Sylvia blinked owlishly, and then finally seemed to comprehend that her flippant comment had sounded a little cruel.

  "I meant teachers," she protested. "We're not used to teachers here. When we do entertain, it’s the mayor and his family, or the Beauforts and Culverts. Not… teachers." She swallowed heavily and picked up her glass to take a long sip of wine.

  Tommy, who'd been tidying away the dishes, snatched the glass from her, causing some of the red wine to spill onto the table and her dress. She stared down at the splash and mumbled an apology into her chest. "I didn't mean to offend."

  While I knew Jack very well, I knew his cousin hardly at all. I wasn't even sure if she knew of my existence until quite recently. Whether she knew Jack had been my lover or not, I couldn't say.

  "I'm not offended," I told her. "How can I be when you only spoke the truth?"

  "That's not the point," Jack ground out.

  "Nonsense. If I am not offended then you have no right to scold her on my behalf. She meant no harm by it, and I am not harmed. End of story."

  Jack muttered something I couldn't hear under his breath. Hannah bit her lip and wisely stayed silent. She knew how Jack and I could clash on occasion, although seeing each other so rarely of late meant that our exchanges were usually more polite.

  Samuel began to laugh. "So there is some fire in you, after all, Charity." He raised his glass to me. "I'm glad to see it."

  My insides tensed at his words. Whereas Sylvia's slight had not hurt me in the least, his made me recoil. I knew it wasn't his intention. I knew he was trying to get me to relax, but that was the problem. Why did he want me to relax? Why did he want to be my friend?

  Only a naive woman would not know the answer to that. And I was certainly not naive when it came to relations between men and women. He must think me a fool.

  I liked him less and less.

  Tommy handed Sylvia a cloth to wipe her skirt. She took it and dabbed at the splash, but it made no difference. The wine would leave a stain. She did not admonish him. Indeed, she seemed rather mollified by his impertinent action. That wasn't something I'd expected from the condescending Sylvia at all.

  "Shall we retreat to the drawing room for a game of cribbage?" Hannah said, rising. "Will you join us, Tommy?"

  Sylvia stiffened. "Really, Hannah? Can we not maintain some sort of order in front of our guest?"

  "You said yourself that she's not our usual sort of guest. Besides, she and Tommy are friends, they have been for years. I'm sure they want to talk."

  Sylvia's narrowed gaze slid to me. She scrunched the cloth up into a tight ball and shoved it into Tommy's chest. "I had forgotten how well they knew each other." She stalked out of the room.

  I stared after her. She may not be able to start fires like Jack or hypnotize like Samuel, nor was she a genius like Langley or a mute like Bollard
, but she was the oddest of them all.

  ***

  The nightmares woke me. I lay on the bed and tried to breathe deeply to calm my frayed nerves, something I did most nights. I listened to the sounds of the night and was surprised to learn that the countryside was not as quiet as the city. In London, the occasional rumble of wheels could be heard, but mostly the dense fog smothered any noises. There were no owls announcing their presence, no insects or frogs providing a background rhythm.

  After what seemed like an age of tossing and turning, I got up and threw a shawl around my shoulders. I lit a candle and checked the clock on the mantel. Three AM. Too early for the servants to be up preparing breakfast, but I was starving. Lying awake doing nothing made me hungry and I often raided Cook's pantry for bread and cheese back home. Hopefully the Frakingham cook would be as understanding.

  I didn't know my way around the house, but I managed to find the service area after taking a few wrong turns. From there, it was easy to locate the kitchen and scullery. I was about to enter the pantry when I heard footsteps on the flagstone floor.

  My breath caught in my throat and my heart ground to a halt. I couldn't move. Someone was coming and I would be caught in a place where I shouldn't be. I would be punished.

  But that was a foolish notion; I was in a house among friends. The worst that could happen would be the cook becoming upset that I'd entered her domain uninvited.

  I was wrong. The worst that could happen would be Samuel Gladstone appearing. He stood in the doorway, smiling. Always smiling. A small chill crept down my spine, but at least my heart restarted.

  "It's you," he said. "I thought it might be Jack, checking on things."

  I swallowed and forced myself to speak normally, as if I hadn't just received a fright. "He checks on things in the middle of the night?"

  "Sometimes. He doesn't always sleep well after the events of a few months ago. Neither of us do."