by C. J. Archer
Butterworth's face fell. His cold, dead eyes fixed on me. "Bitch," he snarled. He'd barely even gotten the word out when Samuel grasped his jacket lapels and shook him violently.
"Gladstone!" Mr. Beaufort shouted. "Are you mad? Let him go!"
Samuel pulled back his fist to take a swing at Butterworth.
Tommy grabbed it. "He'll possess you!" he shouted. "Move away!"
Samuel shook him off and landed a punch on Butterworth's nose. Butterworth swayed backwards as blood spurted down his face and onto his collar. He swiped at it with the back of his hand, smearing blood over his cuff.
He laughed. "You're the fellow who's been enjoying my Charity. You should thank me for training her good and proper."
Samuel bared his teeth. A low growl rumbled in the base of his chest, primal and fierce. He pulled back his fist to throw another punch, but Butterworth suddenly crumpled. He sat heavily on the floor and rolled onto his side, groaning into his hands.
It was over. The master's spirit was gone.
So why was Mrs. Beaufort still chanting?
Samuel approached me and held out his hand. "Come with me, my love." It was Samuel's voice yet not. It didn't have the same cadence, the same lyrical, rich tones. And his eyes weren't Samuel's. They were harder, colder, deader.
The master was now inside him.
I stumbled backward, away from him. Away from Samuel. Beyond him, Tommy seemed unaware of what had happened. He looked down at Butterworth, still on the floor. Only the Beauforts seemed to know that the spirit had transferred. Mrs. Beaufort continued to concentrate, but her husband appeared torn between staying near his wife and helping me.
I stopped and squared up to my tormentor. My voice shook, but I spoke as firmly as possible. "Who are you? What's your name?"
He merely grinned. "My name isn't important, but I was once a powerful man, Charity. You remember that, don't you? The power of my belt on your back. You loved it. You wanted it."
I held myself tight, keeping my fears inside. Fear would cripple me and I needed to know one more thing. "Who is the medium who helped you?"
Samuel's beautiful mouth twisted into a slick sneer. "We had an agreement. I won't tell if she won't."
Mrs. Beaufort stopped. Her last words drifted away on the breeze blowing through the building. Samuel staggered a little. His shoulders drooped, his head hung low.
"It's done," she said. "He's gone."
My weak legs couldn't hold me anymore. I plopped down on the floor and buried my face in my skirts. My tears flowed freely, but I made no sound. It's how I'd cried when living with him.
Mrs. Beaufort's arm circled my shoulders. "It's over, now. You can return home."
Home. The school. The children. My heart lifted a little, but it still felt so heavy. Would that heaviness ever completely go away?
She helped me to stand. Tommy assisted a dazed Butterworth to his feet. The mayor blinked at the faces around him and asked question after question. Mr. Beaufort told him he'd suffered an illness that had caused him to lose his memory.
"And my nose to bleed?" He touched his nose and winced in pain. "My head aches like the devil."
"You fell."
He looked around, taking in his surroundings. "What are we doing at my future house?"
"Inspecting it," Tommy said, steering Butterworth out of the building. "Come with me, sir. We'll take you home."
They walked out, followed by the Beauforts, his arm around her waist as if he didn't want to let her go. He kissed her forehead and she smiled up at him.
They seemed to think that I would want Samuel to walk me out. He hadn't moved since the spirit had left him. He still stood there with his head hanging low, but he watched me from behind the strands of his hair.
"Are you all right?" I asked.
"I should be asking you that."
I tucked my injured hand behind my back before I realized what I was doing. I didn't want his tenderness and concern. Didn't want him to touch me.
Yet, at the same time, I did.
I swallowed and turned away to follow the others out to the coach.
"Charity." I stopped and glanced back at him over my shoulder. His chest rose with his breathing. "You've remembered, haven't you? The block has worn off?"
I nodded.
"Where's the brute? Smith?"
So he did know his name. "Down there. He's dead." I rushed out of the building, not wanting to have a conversation with him alone. But I didn't turn away fast enough, and saw the sadness touch his eyes and the shadows return.
I hurried to the coach. Samuel took a few more minutes to join us. I suspected he'd gone down to the basement to check Smith. He emerged from the building and sat outside with the driver and Tommy. There was only room for the Beauforts, Mr. Butterworth and me in the cabin. The last time I'd been in a coach with the mayor, I'd been terrified. Now I saw him for the pathetic man he was without the master possessing him.
The building site was indeed not far from Harborough. We must have driven around the village on our way to it, but I'd not seen, cowering as I was on the floor. We deposited Butterworth at his home, giving his wife instructions to call the doctor. With him gone, Samuel could once more sit inside and we were able to talk freely.
"Jacob and I arrived a short while ago, by train," Mrs. Beaufort told me. "We were met at the station by Samuel and Tommy—they were frantic. Apparently they'd returned from investigating a house in the village to find you kidnapped."
"Mrs. Turner's," Samuel said. He seemed somewhat calmer than before, more in control of his emotions. He did not look directly at me, however. "We found a very dazed gentleman there. He claimed to have been missing a few years of his memory."
"Years?" I whispered. "The poor man."
"It was the master in his guise who lured that girl in," Samuel said.
"Wendy. You found her? Is she all right?"
He nodded. "She wandered into the village around the time we met the Beauforts at the station. She told us how to find you and I sent her on to Frakingham. Sylvia will take care of her."
I was relieved beyond measure to know she was safe and well. "She saved me, saved us both. She dropped a brick on Butterworth's head."
Mrs. Beaufort's brows rose. "That explains the egg on his temple and the blood."
"What of the other man?" her husband asked.
"He's dead," Samuel said. "Shot."
"Shot!" Mrs. Beaufort's big brown eyes turned to me. "You had a gun?"
I retrieved the derringer from my pocket. "Mrs. Peeble gave it to me before I left London, with strict instructions to have it on me at all times. I didn't heed her advice that night Smith tried to kidnap me from my room at Frakingham. I have ever since."
"Mrs. Peeble is rather an indomitable woman," Mrs. Beaufort said on a sigh. "I suppose I shouldn't chastise her for having a weapon in the school, since it worked out for the best, but it is dangerous near the children."
"She doesn't keep it loaded and it's in her room the entire time."
"Thank goodness for that."
***
Sylvia, Myer, Langley and Bollard met us in the entrance hall when we arrived at the house. "Thank God," Sylvia murmured, hugging me. "You're in one piece. I was so worried. We all were. Poor Samuel was beside himself when he returned to find you gone." She touched a hand to the back of her head and winced.
"Are you all right?" I asked.
"I have a headache that feels like it's trying to crack my skull open. But it will pass."
"Where's Wendy?"
"Having a bath, then she's going to bed. She's exhausted, poor thing."
To my surprise, Langley wheeled himself over and clasped my hand in his. "I am glad to see you looking well, Charity. You gave us quite a scare."
Bollard, standing behind him, gave me a smile that crinkled his eyes and softened his mouth. Even Myer's equine features drew together in concern. Tommy headed to the service area while we made our way into the drawing room.
She nodded.
"Did you recognize him?"
It was a question I was curious to know the answer to myself. I knew the master only by that name, but he could very well have been someone from their circle. He certainly lived in comfort.
"No," Mrs. Beaufort said. "Whoever he was, he has returned to the Waiting Area, where the Administrators will keep a better eye on him until he crosses. He shouldn't cause any more harm."
"Shouldn't?" Samuel echoed. "That doesn't sound definitive."
"Nothing is definitive when it comes to the supernatural," Myer said. "You ought to know that, Gladstone. Your memory block, for one thing. Has it completely worn off now, Miss Evans?"
"Yes." I stared down at my folded hands. The injured one still throbbed a little.
Tommy entered and passed around cups of warm chocolate. He did not immediately let go of Sylvia's, but allowed their fingers to touch longer than appropriate. I didn't have the energy to scowl my disapproval at him. He wasn't looking at me anyway, only at her.
"There is one odd thing," Myer said. When Myer said something was odd, it must definitely be strange. We all looked to him.
"What is it?" Mr. Beaufort asked, somewhat impatiently. I got the impression he and his wife didn't particularly like the man.
"I recognized him," Myer said.
"Who?" Samuel asked.
"The man at Mrs. Turner's house. It took me a while to place him, and indeed I had to ask him his name to fully solve the puzzle. He's Charles Clement, the general manager of Clement and Co."
"The bank?" Mr. Beaufort sat forward. "I know him. He belongs to my club, but he's rarely been there of late. Indeed, he's not been there for two or three years."
"Since the possession," I muttered. I shivered and Sylvia pressed her hand over mine, reassuring.
"It was rumored that he'd gone a little mad," Mr. Beaufort went on. "He'd been making some poor business decisions of late too, erratic ones, when before he'd been careful and clever."
"The master was not a banker, then," Mrs. Beaufort said. "Nor did he have any interest in the company, it would seem."
"Or any interest in keeping Mr. Clement's reputation in good standing."
"Mr. Clement is going to have quite a shock when he re-enters his old life," Sylvia said. "His work will have altered dramatically, for one thing."
"Clement and Co. is a rival bank to your own, Myer, is it not?" Samuel asked.
Myer nodded. "I'd heard the same rumors as Mr. Beaufort. The general manager was making poor decisions, sending the bank into decline, that sort of thing. He'll have an enormous task ahead of him to rectify the situation and redeem himself."
"Indeed," Mrs. Beaufort echoed.
"That's if he can recover from what has happened to him at all," Myer said quietly. "There are some things that, no matter how hard we try, we will never be free from."
He wasn't looking at me, but I knew with deep certainty that he was talking about my situation. I wanted to disagree with him. I wanted to tell him that people could recover from anything if they desired it enough and worked toward that end.
But I was proof that even a strong spirit could collapse under the weight of horrific memories and never fully recover. I had changed, unutterably, at the master's hands. No matter how hard I tried, I could never go back to being that carefree girl I'd been before he trapped me.
Not even erasing those memories had freed me entirely. Nor had his death. I would never be capable of trusting a man, never be able to offer love or fully accept it in return. Never be free of the nightmares that haunted me.
CHAPTER 15
The morning dawned clear, despite overnight rain. Drops hung like crystals from the leaves of the weeping willows down by the lake. It was a morning that promised a beautiful spring day ahead. A morning for fresh starts and bright futures. The morning on which I would leave Frakingham.
I walked from the lake to the ruins, contemplating my future. I wanted to wander around them before Myer arrived to continue his studies. It was peaceful in the still air, the sweet smell of blossoms and damp earth making me regret that I would be departing the countryside and once more returning to the smoke-choked city. Sylvia and Tommy had both begged me to stay longer, but I didn't like to impose, and I wanted to see the children again.
Samuel had said nothing after I announced I would catch the train back to London with the Beauforts and Wendy, a mere two days after Mrs. Beaufort had sent the master away. He had seemed on edge ever since, and had hardly spoken to me. Indeed, he rarely even looked at me. I was beginning to think he was avoiding my presence altogether, until he followed me down to the ruins.
I knew it was he, even at a distance, from the fairness of his head and the bright white of his shirt. He'd taken to not wearing a waistcoat or jacket around the house, preferring to don only his shirt, despite Sylvia's pleas that he dress appropriately around the guests. I thought the disregard for convention very unlike him. It had me worried, although not worried enough to question him over it. In truth, I was avoiding him, too.
But there would be no avoiding him now. His step had purpose. He wanted to speak to me. I braced myself, and prepared my own little speech. There were things that needed to be said before I could return home.
"Good morning," I said. "It's a beautiful morning for a walk."
He squinted into the sky and blinked rapidly as if the sun hurt his eyes. "When do you leave?"
"In an hour."
He inclined his head in a nod. I waited for him to speak again, but he said nothing more. He folded his arms over his chest then unfolded them and let them hang loose at his sides again. He flicked his fingernail, over and over, with his thumb. It was a maddening habit and after a while I could focus on nothing else.
I caught his hand to still it. The connection arrowed his intense gaze onto me. I felt like I could see through to his soul and he into mine. I saw his weariness, his desire, his fears.
They were my fears, reflected back at me.
I withdrew my hand. He closed his fist like a sunflower going to sleep at night. "I don't want you to be afraid of me," he whispered, as if he were reluctant to say it aloud.
I was about to tell him I wasn't, but we both knew it wasn't true. There was no point lying to Samuel. He knew me too well. Of course I was afraid of him. He had almost hypnotized me without even trying.
"I'll never hurt you, Charity."
I should tell him that I knew that. I should tell him a great many things. I'd prepared a speech… "Samuel, I'm sorry I asked you to block my memories. If I'd known—"
"Don't. Don't apologize. It's not your fault."
"But I've given you a burden you shouldn't have to carry. It was selfish of me to ask such a thing of you. Cowardly."
He put up his hands, warding off my words. "It's not your memories that shock or burden me, it's your memories and mine together."
He'd said a similar thing before, but he'd been reluctant to elaborate. "What do you mean?"
He shook his head, dismissing my question. He was still reluctant then.
"Tell me, Samuel. It's only fair that I should carry your burden since you are helping to carry mine."
The corner of his mouth kicked up in a tired smile. "I'm not sure I've been any help at all."
"You have. You brought me here and sheltered me. You protected me from… from him."
He shook his head. "You did that. You w
ere very brave, Charity. But I wish you'd informed me of your plan."
It didn't feel like bravery, just necessity. "I knew you wouldn't allow me to go ahead with it. Besides, I thought it the best way to save Wendy and capture the master. Even so, he did catch me unawares in the guise of Butterworth. Informing you of my plan wouldn't have made any difference. He tricked us both."
"I've known fear before, but never fear on that scale. When I realized what had happened…" He swallowed heavily and twisted his head to the side as if he were turning away from a gruesome sight.
I wanted to reach for him, comfort him, but hung back. Touching him would open up a flood of emotions, for both him and me, and I couldn’t cope with that sort of intimacy between us.
There was nothing more to say and it was time for me to prepare to leave Frakingham. "Goodbye, Samuel. Thank you, for everything."
I went to walk off, but he stepped in front of me. His eyes were two dark swirling orbs, his breathing labored. He reached out to take my hand, but seemed to collect himself at the last moment and dashed his fingers through his hair instead. "Don't," he choked out. "Don't say goodbye. This isn't goodbye."
"Please don't make this harder than it already is." My whispered plea caught me by surprise. I thought I wanted to return to London—and I did, in part. But there was a piece of me that wanted to remain within the safe walls of Frakingham, with people I'd grown to like, if not fully trust.
But that was hiding away, and I'd had enough of hiding and running. Besides, the children needed me and I needed them.
"You must understand that I'll do everything I can to protect you," he said.
"Thank you," I said, my throat tight. "But you've done enough. Don't worry about me. I'll be all right. He's gone now."
"What if he's not?" His shouted words forced me backwards. "Well? What if his spirit comes back?"
"He's gone," I whispered.
"Mrs. Beaufort isn't sure."
Tears sprang to my eyes. What if he was right? What if the master came back?
"Bollocks," he muttered. "This isn't coming out right." He sucked in a deep breath. It seemed to calm him a little, although the wildness didn't completely vanish from his eyes. "Even if he doesn't return, there are other dangers for a woman alone. I don't want them to touch you, Charity," he said softly. "I want to protect you, not only from physical harm, but all ills."
