by C. J. Archer
"He was worried I would set fire to something! And we lacked nothing."
"How do you know? Did you see what he gave your younger sister? Did you?"
His words would have hurt if I really were Lady Violet Jamieson. I knew she loved her father, despite everything. I think she secretly hoped he would remove her from the attic one day and introduce her to Society. She'd been bitterly disappointed after her eighteenth birthday when it became obvious her position, and mine, wouldn't change. She'd been sad—sadder—for weeks.
"That's enough, August," Jack said, his voice ominously low. "We don't want to rile her."
"Let's go downstairs," Sylvia said rather too brightly. "It must be almost dinnertime and I've a grand feast planned for our guest." She beamed at me so hard her cheeks must have ached from the effort.
"A good idea." Jack held out his hand to me, but quickly withdrew it with a glance in Langley's direction.
Langley scowled at him. "I believe Violet has one last question to ask me."
"I do," I said. "Why is Jack going to be the one to train me?"
"Do you care to answer this?" Langley pointed his chin at his nephew.
"Perhaps she shouldn't be overwhelmed just yet," Jack said.
"Come now. I know you're desperate to tell her."
"August. Don't. It's too soon."
"I'm ordering you to tell her!"
Jack stretched his fingers then closed them into fists. "Very well." He turned to me, and I was shocked at the feverish color of his green eyes, the mocking set of his mouth. "We're two of a kind, you and I, Lady Violet. As far as I know, we're the only two fire starters in England. Perhaps the world. I don't know why or 'ow, but we just is. We should join a travelin' sideshow. Or per'aps not travelin'. We could stay put. Make the customers come to us. Fleece 'em of every penny while we set their 'ats on fire."
"That's enough, Jack," Langley warned.
"Be famous, we would," Jack went on, his chest rising and falling with his hard breathing. "So what you fink, Vi?"
"I said, enough!"
"Jack," Sylvia whispered. She hesitantly reached for his hand, but when their fingers touched, she sprang back with a yelp. A spark shot from Jack's fingertip, but Sylvia stamped on it before it could scorch the rug.
I rose out of the chair and stared at Jack. I couldn't take my eyes off him. I'd never witnessed Vi during one of her episodes, my narcolepsy having shielded me from that, and to see actual sparks erupt from his bare skin was incredible. Not frightening, but...curiously thrilling.
It wasn't the only thing that shocked me. His outburst had been unexpected, but not nearly as much as his accent. It had changed from the cultured tones of a gentleman to something altogether different. Something I'd never heard before, but had read about in books. Indeed, some of the characters in Mr. Dickens' novels spoke like that in my head when I read their dialogue. It was only the poor characters, however—laborers, beggars, thieves, murderers and street urchins.
Which category did Jack Langley fit into?
"Are you all right?" Sylvia asked him.
Jack nodded without taking his gaze off me. He seemed calm, his face expressionless. It was his eyes that gave away his true feelings. They were as wild as a stormy sea, but just before he turned away, I caught a glimpse of something else in their depths. Something that made him look as lost as a little boy.
He strode out of the room, leaving the door open.
"Well." Sylvia huffed. "Is there anything else, Uncle?"
Langley lifted a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Jack knows what to do." He spoke heavily, as if the little scene had sapped his strength. "The window, Bollard."
The servant wheeled him toward the window and positioned the chair so that Langley could see out.
"Shall we dine, Violet?" Sylvia asked, smiling. Did she ever not smile?
I wanted to make a quip to prove that I was unaffected by everything I'd seen and heard, but nothing came to mind. I allowed Sylvia to lead me down the stairs to the dining room.
The long table was set for three, but the third place was empty. A footman brought in a soup tureen and set it on the sideboard. He hovered until Sylvia asked him to serve.
"Jack will come when he's ready," she said as the footman ladled soup into her bowl.
"His accent changed up there," I said. "Why is that?"
"It happens when he's...upset." She glanced at the door, then at the footman. He'd paused in his duties and stared at me. "You mustn't speak of it to him," she went on. "He doesn't like talking about it."
"First your uncle and his legs, and now Jack and his accent. Is there anything in this house that we can discuss?"
"The weather?" said Jack, striding in. He looked and sounded quite composed again. He sat at the vacant seat opposite us. "I'm starving. You must be too, Violet. We both missed our luncheon today." It seemed he was going to pretend nothing untoward had happened in his uncle's rooms.
"I'm not feeling particularly hungry." I waved away the second ladle of soup. "It's amazing what being abducted can do to one's appetite. I highly recommend it for ladies wishing to shrink their waists."
"Your waist is already tiny," Sylvia said.
"I think Violet was being sarcastic," Jack said.
"I know that. Forgive me if I'd prefer to gloss over the nastier events of the day while I'm eating."
"Speaking of which, I'm sorry to say that your reticule couldn't be saved, Syl."
"That's quite all right. I didn't like it anymore anyway." She suddenly brightened. "Perhaps we can go shopping together to buy a new one," she said to me. I was so taken aback that I spilled some soup on the tablecloth.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Jack said.
"But Uncle August told me she's free to come and go."
I witnessed a silent exchange between the cousins as they communicated without words. Jack's glare was quite stern, and Sylvia's smile changed from genuinely hopeful to falsely polite. She was not the sort who could hide her feelings.
"Perhaps we'll go when you've settled in," she said to me. "In a week or more."
"She won't have time before then anyway," Jack said. "Training begins tomorrow. I can't spare her."
"Ah yes, training," I said. "Your uncle stated that I was brought here so that you could help me learn to control my...affliction."
"It's not an affliction," Sylvia said. Her response sounded automatic, as if she were repeating something often said.
I grunted. "That's easy for you to say. As to the training, forgive me if I don't believe Mr. Langley."
Sylvia blinked her wide blue eyes. "Why wouldn't you believe him?"
"Because I was kidnapped."
"I don't understand."
"You knew I lived in the attic, which meant Lord Wade—my father—obviously cared little for me. It would also be a natural supposition that I was eager to leave the attic. My removal to your uncle's care could have gone ahead without this fuss if you'd simply asked to have me. All of which implies that your reasons are less pure, and you didn't wish to explain them to Lord Wade."
Sylvia continued to stare at me, her spoon drooping over her bowl, the soup forgotten.
"You make a lot of assumptions," Jack said.
"What does Langley really want with me?" I asked.
Jack returned to his soup, and it was left to Sylvia to answer. "Uncle August truly does want to help you." She glanced at Jack then back at me. "He's not a bad man."
I said nothing to that, and neither did Jack. The irony was, if they'd gone about the task as I'd suggested and asked Lord Wade's permission, they would have gotten the correct Violet Jamieson. As it was, they had an imposter. And this imposter was going to have to lie convincingly to make Jack believe she had the power to start fires.
Either that, or avoid lying altogether and simply escape.
CHAPTER 4
I slept more soundly than I'd expected. The mattress was so comfortable and the room so quiet that I didn't wake until mid-
morning. I'd fleetingly thought about trying to escape before nodding off, but dismissed the idea almost instantly. It's what they'd expect me to do, and they'd be watching me far too closely the first night.
I rose and opened the heavy drapes, letting in the light. The sky was mostly blue with some high clouds scudding quickly across it thanks to what appeared to be a strong wind. The trees nearest the house swayed drunkenly, and two men who stood talking to one another in earnest held their hats on their heads. Or at least, one of them did. The other had a sturdy looking tall helmet. A military man?
It was odd that the two visitors were at the side of the house, not the front where they could be greeted. I briefly considered trying to catch their attention and begging their assistance in getting away from Frakingham, but it was likely they were friends of the Langleys and would be disinclined to believe me.
Besides, I wasn't appropriately dressed. I opened the cupboard and selected a simple morning dress of cream and green that fastened up the front. The cotton felt lovely and soft, and I spent a good minute or so just petting it and rubbing it against my cheek. It was perhaps a little flimsy for the cool weather, but I didn't care. It wasn't made of wool and that was all that mattered.
I dressed without a corset since I had no one to help and arranged my hair as best as I could. Without Vi, it was difficult to wrestle it all up into an elegant style, but I managed to pin some of it back so that I at least didn't look like a lion. I also found a silk choker in the same shade of green as the dress and fixed it around my throat.
Miracle of miracles, I found my way downstairs, only getting lost once and winding up at a locked door, which I assumed led to the disused part of the house. I found Sylvia in the small parlor looking out the window, her arms crossed as if hugging herself.
"Good morning," I said.
She turned and a smile quickly chased away her frown. "Good morning," she said, coming toward me. "Did you sleep well? I didn't want you woken until you were quite ready. You looked exhausted last night."
"Thank you. I slept like a log."
She studied me from head to toe, and her smile slipped a little. "You should have rung for one of the maids to help you dress."
"I...I'm not used to being dressed by a maid." Indeed, none of the Windamere attic rooms had been fitted with bell-pulls to summon the servants. They cleaned our bedroom when we were in the parlor, and they cleaned the parlor when we were in our bedroom or out walking. I rarely saw them and never rang for them.
"Really?" Sylvia looked quite shocked.
"My friend helped me and I helped her." An ache lodged in my heart at the thought of Vi, alone and sad in the attic. Dear lord, take care of her. Don't let her fret too much.
I must have looked quite forlorn because Sylvia took both my hands and gave them a squeeze. "Lucky you don't need a corset."
"I couldn't put it on by myself, and this dress was the only one with buttons down the front."
"It is a lovely dress and I hoped you'd like it, but it is more suited to warmer days."
"I'll be warm enough."
"Yes, of course." She tugged on the bell-pull near the fireplace. A small fire burned in the grate, but it was all the cozy room required. "You've missed breakfast, but I'll have Tommy fetch you something."
"Tommy?"
"The footman."
"You have only the one?"
"We live simply here and have no need of more. Uncle has Bollard to see to his needs, Tommy sees to ours, and there is the housekeeper, Mrs. Moore, two upstairs maids, the cook and a scullery maid. Oh, and Olson the carriageman who oversees the grooms. There are some gardeners too of course, but I don't know how many. Did you have much more at Windamere? I imagine you did, your father being the grand earl that he is."
"I don't know."
"Oh. No. Of course not." She cleared her throat and looked relieved when Tommy the footman entered. She requested a light breakfast be brought to me in the parlor, then indicated I should sit next to her on the settee. "Jack should be ready for you by the time you finish. Something unexpected has arisen this morning that required his attention. He's with Uncle now."
I didn't sit but went to the window instead. Nobody was about outside in the wind. "Does it have something to do with those visitors this morning?"
"You saw them?"
"Yes. Who were they?" I turned back to her, but she was looking down at an embroidery hoop in her lap. A sewing basket lay open at her feet. "Well?" I prompted.
"I'm not sure I'm at liberty to say." She picked up the hoop but didn't stitch. "Let's wait for Jack to arrive."
I was beginning to think Sylvia was very much like Vi. Neither wished to say or do the wrong thing, and both saw their position in the household as a lowly one compared to the other members. At least Sylvia put herself above the servants if her direct manner with Tommy was any indication. Vi had never given Miss Levine an order when she was perfectly within her rights to do so.
"I will take you shopping, you know," Sylvia said.
"Shopping?"
"After you've...settled in."
"I wouldn't hold out much hope. Your cousin doesn't want me to run off. Understandable considering the trouble he went to abducting me. I can't imagine how awful it must have been for him to pretend to be a gardener for two whole weeks."
"Is that sarcasm again?" Sylvia chuckled. "I dare you to say that to his face."
"Be careful. I rarely back down from a dare."
She dropped her needle, and her eyes widened. "It was only a joke. Don't tell him I suggested it."
"Why not? Are you afraid of him?"
She concentrated on her stitching for a long moment, then said, "He can be unpredictable."
Unpredictable. The word was like a siren song to me. I'd lived with routine and order my entire life. I did the same thing, day in and day out, saw the same people, walked the same paths. As much I would do anything to see Vi again, I was missing my life at Windamere less and less with each passing hour. Sylvia was different enough to be interesting, but her cousin was positively exciting. He was a mystery I wanted to solve. That morning, I'd looked for him around every corner, hoped to see him in every room I'd passed through.
"He never complained, you know," she said.
"Jack? About what?"
"About being a gardener. He only returned home once during that time, and all he spoke about was how poorly treated you were. It was he who discovered you were kept in the attic not of your own volition, but on Lord Wade's order."
"How could he possibly have learned that?"
"He said your governess tailed you everywhere on your walks, and that a free woman would not be in need of such close guard."
I was taken aback by this keen observation and rendered quite speechless.
Tommy arrived with my breakfast. I ate toast and poached eggs at the table by the window. Unlike the previous night, I was terribly hungry, and I was intent on finishing everything on my plate when Jack arrived.
"Good morning, ladies," he said. "Sleep well, Violet?"
My mouth was too full to respond in any manner other than a nod. I pressed a napkin to my lips to cover my chewing and to dab away any crumbs. It would be too embarrassing to have such a man as he see me with half my breakfast on my chin. He was too handsome, too self-assured, and I was the naive madwoman kept in an attic most of her life.
That didn't stop me from looking at him. It seemed that every time I set eyes on him, I noticed something new and intriguing. The intensity of his green eyes, the bow-like curve of his mouth, or the small scars on his upper lip and above his right eyebrow. With the sunlight streaming through the window, I saw that his hair had different shades of brown through it. Some light strands, some so dark to be almost black and everything in between.
"Yes, thank you," I finally said, sounding a little breathy.
"I'm afraid our training will have to wait. I must leave for Harborough immediately. I won't be back until this afternoon."
&nb
sp; Sylvia set down her embroidery hoop. "Why?"
"August's business."
"Oh."
"Does it have anything to do with those men who were here?" I asked.
"The constabulary?" Sylvia said.
"Police!"
Jack scowled at her. "Syl, hold your tongue."
"If you wish me to live here," I said, "then I expect to be treated as you treat each other. I won't be kept in the dark. Is that understood?"
Jack's eyes narrowed. "Quite," he bit off.
Sylvia made a small choking sound in the back of her throat, but when I glanced at her, she was intent on her embroidery.
"Were they both policemen?" I asked. "One wore a helmet."
"He was a constable in uniform," Jack said. "The plainly dressed gentleman was a detective inspector."
I set the napkin down and met those all-seeing green eyes. "Were they looking for me?"
"No." Was it my imagination, or did sympathy flicker across his face? "Someone broke in last night. Some of August's papers were stolen, and he's in a bit of a state about it. August in a state is not a pretty sight."
"What sort of papers?"
"I don't know. He wouldn't tell me. The inspector was called for this morning, and he and his constable asked some questions, took some notes and generally poked about. The only thing they achieved was making an inconvenience of themselves. They even failed to question all the staff, which means they missed a vital clue."
"What clue?"
"The imprint of a muddy boot was left on the floor in the scullery."
"How thrilling," Sylvia said. "Just like in a novel."
That earned another glare from Jack. "I measured it and sketched the sole pattern. I'll ride into Harborough to deliver it to the inspector."
"Are you certain the boot doesn't belong to one of the staff?"
"It was larger than mine or any of the staff."
To think, the authorities had been to Frakingham, and I'd missed them! I could have thrown myself upon their mercy and pleaded my case. Would they have taken my word over Langley's? I didn't know, but it galled that I had missed the opportunity to try.
