The Wrong Girl (Freak House)

by C. J. Archer

  "I suppose you couldn't hear them from in here, but Jack and Uncle August argued over what to do with you as soon as Jack returned. Uncle wanted to keep you imprisoned in this room, but Jack refused to train you if that happened. Their voices became so loud I could hear them from downstairs. Uncle was still terribly upset by the break in, you see, and then your attempted escape and now this. He was most shaken."

  "Jack didn't back down?"

  "Oh no. He was most, uh, vehement in his response. I think Uncle grew quite afraid of him after his own temper cooled, and just gave in."

  That surprised me, until I remembered what Jack was capable of doing if he chose to. I swallowed. It was a good reminder that Jack Langley was not to be crossed. If his own uncle feared what he'd do, then so must I.

  "I'll have to remember to thank him," I said.

  "I doubt he wants thanks for doing something he sees as right. He has the strongest morals, my cousin. Odd really, considering his past. Anyway." She clasped my hands in both of her own. "You and I will become great friends. I know it."

  "It's only until Christmas." As soon as I said it, I wished I could take it back. Her face fell, her smile wobbled and finally slipped off altogether. Her hands retreated back to her lap.

  "Oh. Of course." She stood and smoothed down the front of her skirt. "Only until Christmas."

  "I hope there'll be many opportunities for us to go into the village together before then."

  That seemed to appease her somewhat and her face lifted. "That's if Jack's training isn't so rigorous that he'll keep you all to himself."

  The thought rather thrilled me, but I didn't think Sylvia needed to hear that.

  ***

  Training began immediately after luncheon. Jack took me to a room on the first floor that had a horribly familiar furnishing arrangement. It was bare except for a table, two chairs and a lot of woolen rugs and hangings covering every inch of wood. Three pails of water stood near the fireplace as they did in every attic room at Windamere. It was the strangest thing to be in a similar room at another house that it quite took my breath away.

  "I'm sorry it's not more comfortable," Jack said.

  "That's all right. But why the caution here? My bedroom isn't set up like this, nor are the parlor or other rooms. You're not afraid I'll set those alight?"

  "I didn't want you to suffer the indignity of stark conditions everywhere you went, so I told Sylvia we're not to upset you. If we appease you, then everything should be fine."

  It was like listening to only half a conversation. "I don't understand. Appease me?"

  "Keep you calm. Not make you angry." He looked at me askance. "You do understand what I'm saying, don't you? I know you can't control it, but you do realize that your talent is linked to your temper?"

  I toyed with the idea of agreeing with him, and saying nothing, but I decided a little bit of the truth would lend credence to the lie I was living. "Are you saying that your ability to set things on fire comes about when you're angry?"

  "Of course. But I can control my temper." He frowned. "Yours has a different trigger?"

  "It's brought on by fear. Grave fear. For my loved ones." The choker at my throat suddenly felt too tight, and I stretched my neck, but it did little to relieve the constriction. I'd thought lying would be easy, but I suddenly felt as if Jack knew my every thought. Those green eyes drilled into me, and I eventually had to sit down and avoid his gaze altogether. If I hadn't, I may have found myself telling him everything.

  "Jack, forgive me, but...you seem to know very little about this affliction," I said, rather boldly considering my weakened knees and racing heart.

  "It's not an affliction. Don't ever call it that, Violet, or people will see you as a candidate for the asylum." He sat in the other chair without taking his eyes off me. "Fear, you say. Fear for your loved ones. But...that doesn't quite make sense. Firstly, I thought you had no loved ones at Windamere."

  "I had a companion."

  He nodded slowly. "I saw her with you on your walks. Hannah Smith, isn't it?"

  Hearing him say my name for the first time shook me to the core. "You've not answered my question," I said.

  "You're right. I know only my own case. I'd assumed yours was exactly the same."

  "How did you—we—get this way?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know. I've been like this for as long as I can remember, so I suppose I was born with it. You?"

  "The same. Do you know anyone else who can set things alight?"

  "No." He shook his head slowly. "I admit I don't understand why it's only you and I."

  "How did you become aware that Lady Violet Jamieson was like you? Considering I've been locked away for so long, it could hardly have been local gossip. Not even the servants knew."

  "Are you sure they didn't? If you had servants attending your rooms at all, then they would have seen the burn marks and formed a conclusion of their own."

  "Yes, but the right conclusion? That is rather a big leap to take, don't you think?"

  Another shrug, but he made no further comment.

  "So was it gossip that made you aware of me?"

  His gaze shifted away. "August told me about you."

  "Your uncle? How did he learn of my existence?"

  "I don't know. He wouldn't say."

  "I see. When did he tell you?"

  A brief smile touched his lips. "The day before I came to Windamere as a new gardener. I couldn't start quickly enough once I heard."

  "You were that eager to spy on me?"

  "Of course. I thought I was the only one like this. I thought I was alone." He raised his gaze to mine, and heat shimmered down my body all the way to my toes. "Do you know how relieved I was to find out about you? How happy?" He gave me a grim smile. "Yes, I suppose you do."

  My breath came in shallow bursts so that my next words came out as a whisper. "But you weren't alone. You had your uncle and Sylvia."

  "It's not the same."

  "Isn't it?" I was genuinely curious. Is that how Vi felt? All alone despite having me for company? It explained her melancholy and all those forlorn gazes out the window.

  "Not nearly the same." His murmur vibrated through me. He spoke as if I were the only person in the entire world who could ever understand him, and that was a heady, thrilling thing. To be cherished by such an enigmatic, handsome man would make any woman giddy.

  I could not let it affect me. I was all too aware that I was not the one who understood him. It was Vi. She deserved his attentions, not me. I felt quite terrible that I was responsible for keeping them apart, in a way, yet I felt even more terrible at the jealousy brewing inside me. A very big part of me wanted to keep this man to myself.

  "So," I said in an attempt to shatter the thick silence that had enveloped us. "You said your uncle told you about me."

  "He did." He shifted in the chair, stretching out his long legs to the side, away from me. The movement did indeed break the last remaining strain of tension, but it was unfortunately replaced with awkwardness.

  "It's odd that you and I live in the same county as one another," I said.

  "Is it?"

  "And that there are none others like us in all of England."

  "Isn't there? There may be, but we may not be aware of them yet."

  "Surely you would have heard."

  "I'd not heard of you two weeks ago."

  "Your uncle had."

  He lifted one shoulder. "I'd wager there are a great many things in this world that exist, but nobody knows about them."

  "Like what?"

  "Spirits, for one thing."

  "Ghosts?" I scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. Ghosts don't exist."

  "If you say so." He stood suddenly. "We ought to begin."

  "I have more questions."

  "I thought you might." He winked. "Try saving them until later when we have more time."

  "But I'd like to ask them now."

  "Lady Violet, I do believe you're stalling."


  I crossed my arms and tried not to let him see that he was right. "Very well. Let's begin. What should I do?"

  He put his hands on his hips and studied me. "We begin with you answering some questions. I need to understand your talent better. If there are more differences between us than the trigger then I may need to change my methods. Tell me, where do you feel hottest?"

  "Whatever do you mean?"

  "Your fingers, your feet, or inside you?"

  "I don't know. I've never really thought about it."

  "Think about it now."

  I shrugged. "I couldn't really say right now."

  "Do you feel it coming on?"

  "Coming on?"

  "Like a wave, a surge through your body."

  "Yes," I lied. I thought it best to agree with his own symptoms since Vi had never confided in me about hers.

  "And you can't stop it from bursting out of you?"

  "You already know I can't."

  "Have you ever tried?"

  "Tried?"

  "Have you tried to control your fear? For me, it's a matter of dampening my temper, but for you, it'll be overcoming your fear since that's what you think is your trigger. You could try breathing exercises or counting backwards whenever you feel scared."

  "I can't say I've ever tried to quell my fears like that."

  "Shall we attempt to now?"

  "Counting backwards? You're beginning to sound like Miss Levine. Will I receive a rap across the knuckles if I falter?"

  "Will that induce enough fear to set off the sparks?"

  I gave him a withering glare, and he gave me that now familiar almost-smile.

  "You're right," he said. "There's no point in doing breathing exercises if we don't first study how it's triggered."

  "Are you going to leap out from behind a cupboard and shout 'Boo'?"

  He didn't even laugh at that, although I couldn't help smirking. I'd be checking around corners for the next five weeks.

  "You don't strike me as the fearful sort." He continued to look at me, twisting his mouth in thought as he studied me. "It's very odd that your talent would be triggered in that manner when it's not something you appear to suffer from overmuch. Besides, you must have been afraid when I abducted you, yet nothing happened."

  "You drugged me! And anyway, how do you know it's odd? For all we know, you may be the odd one and everyone else with our afflic—talent—has the same trigger as me."

  "You may be right. The question still stands—how am I going to frighten you?"

  "You could get Bollard to chase me with a shovel again." My joke fell flat, and I shuddered at the memory of stumbling across the mute in the woods.

  Jack was at my side in an instant. He touched my hands, and sparks zapped between us. I felt a shock through to my bones. It was as if every part of me had been struck by lightning and even after he drew back, my nerves continued to sizzle.

  He stood and shook out his hands. "Bloody hell," he muttered. "I'm sorry. Are you all right?"

  I expected to see burns on his hands, but they appeared perfectly fine. As did mine. They did, however, feel hot. Indeed, I felt hot all over. I removed the choker from around my neck, but it did little to alleviate my discomfort.

  "Why did that happen?" I asked. "I thought you only started fires when you were angry."

  He lifted one shoulder in a shrug and turned away.

  "You touched me when you kidnapped me, yet that didn't happen," I said, talking more to myself than him. I didn't expect an explanation and nor did he offer one.

  He made a great fuss with the pails, kicking them gently and watching the water ripple on the surface.

  I studied my palms again. They were still hot, as was the rest of me, but they no longer tingled. Remarkable. "There seems to be so much that we don't know about this. Jack, I must ask...what makes you think I can be trained at all?"

  He stopped kicking the buckets and knelt on one knee in front of me. There was resignation in his eyes, and a deep sadness, but I did not touch him like I wanted to. "We have to try, Violet." His voice was smooth and chocolaty thick. Despite my confusion and uncertainty, it instantly lifted my spirits. "Otherwise you'll be a prisoner for the rest of your life. Now." He stood again and removed his waistcoat and rolled up his sleeves.

  "Jack!" I shielded my eyes with my hand, but peeked through the fingers. "I may have lived a sheltered life, but I do know undressing in company is not appropriate."

  "To hell with propriety. I'm boiling inside."

  I quite understood, and I thanked God that I wasn't wearing a corset and had chosen a light dress for the day. "If you're trying to frighten me, it's not working."

  He laughed. "I'm not trying to frighten you. Not yet. Let's begin with some breathing exercises you can employ for when you're feeling afraid."

  ***

  I couldn't sleep that night. Thoughts of Jack whirled through my head. I couldn't block them out, nor did I want to. I liked how he looked at me. I liked how he made me feel. Except when he zapped me, that is. It had taken the rest of the day before my body cooled enough to feel comfortable again. Indeed, I was still a little warm, so I rose to open the window. The air was cold but didn't alleviate the heat throbbing through me. Jack's touch had indeed been powerful, and the effects long-lasting.

  Voices drifted up to me from below. In the moonlight, I could just make out two figures standing side by side. One wore a long overcoat and hat. The other did not. Both had the stance and size of men.

  "He'll be in a lot of trouble if Langley finds out," said a voice I instantly recognized as Jack's. Why was he referring to his uncle by his surname?

  "We don't know it's 'im." Good lord, it was Tommy, speaking in a slum accent similar to what I'd heard Jack use that one time in Langley's rooms. His tones had been cultured earlier as befitted a footman in a grand house, so why the slip now?

  I leaned further out the window to hear more.

  "Of course it's him," Jack said. "The maid said—"

  "She 'as a name, Jack. Maud. You mighta risen up 'igh now, but you better not f'get where you came from. Wouldna want that pretty lady knowin' what you really is, would ya?"

  Something flared in the darkness, and I realized with a start that it was Jack's fingers. There were no sparks, but they did glow.

  "Jesus bloody Christ, Jack-o'-lantern!" Tommy backed away. "I don' mean no 'arm. I won' tell 'er nuffin'. Put yer 'ands away."

  The glow went out. "Maud said the intruder she saw was a tall man with a big nose and a scar across one eye. Unless you know of another fitting that description, then I'd wager it was Patrick."

  "But Patrick's in London with the others."

  "It would seem he's made at least one trip into the country recently. I'll go to London and warn him to keep low."

  "What? You not gonna let the Bobbies deal wiv 'im? My, my, seems you ain't f'got us after all."

  "Of course I haven't forgotten you, you know that. You're my family. Always have been, always will be." Jack gave Tommy a slap on the back, and Tommy briefly clasped Jack's arm.

  "You got anuvver family now," Tommy said. "An uncle and a cousin. Don' fink they'd like 'earin' you talk about the likes o' Patrick and me as closer to you than them."

  Jack tipped his head back as if he were about to look up. I ducked inside and flattened myself against the wall. My heart thundered in my chest and I closed my eyes, held my breath.

  "They're not my family," I heard Jack say, and I breathed out again. It would appear he hadn't seen me.

  "Aye. No need to feel bad about what Patrick stole then, is it? Langley's just anuvver toff." The gravel crunched beneath their boots as the two men walked away.

  I breathed deeply several times. I still couldn't believe what I'd just heard, yet I must. Jack not only knew the thief, he was protecting him.

  They're not my family, he'd said. If that were the case, why was he living at Frakingham House at all?

  To fleece Langley of his wealth by pretending to be
his nephew? Or was there something more sinister going on?

  CHAPTER 6

  "Try focusing inward," said Jack.

  "How do I do that?" I sat in the training room with my eyes shut. When Jack had asked me to close them I'd thought he was going to frighten me in some way, but he hadn't.

  "Try to imagine your insides," he said.

  I pulled a face. "Do I have to?"

  "Not your innards, but the flow of energy. Your essence, if you like." He must have been circling my chair because his voice sounded like it was surrounding me. I felt completely immersed in its rich honey-thick tones. "Can you feel it, Violet? The flow of heat beneath your skin, the quiet thump of warm blood through your veins."

  My breath came in short bursts, and I had to fight for every one. I could only manage a nod, but I couldn't explain that what I felt was perhaps as a result of his close proximity and the lilt of his voice. Heat did indeed swell inside me.

  I opened my eyes and stood up, almost bumping into him. He managed to back away just in time.

  "What's wrong?" he asked.

  I put a hand to my forehead. "I'm tired. This has been an exhausting day and I didn't—" I was about to tell him I hadn't slept well, but I didn't want to plant the suspicion that I'd overheard his conversation with Tommy. "I didn't think we'd be training all morning."

  "Would you prefer to sit and embroider with Sylvia?"

  "Actually, I would. Perhaps we can resume later?"

  He frowned. "Are you sure you're all right? You do look tired."

  "I'm fine," I said brightly. "But all this anatomical talk is quite overwhelming. My poor head can't cope."

  His gaze narrowed. "You seemed to comprehend it well enough. Did you have a tutor?"

  "Four. They each came regularly, but never at the same time."

  "I saw them. I'd assumed they were there to teach your sister."

  "Perhaps they did. I don't know. It was Mr. Upworth who taught us about biology of plants and animals. Humans weren't included in our education, thankfully."

  "The basic structure is the same between many animals and humans."

  "Oh?"

  "Don't look so horrified. I haven't cut up dead bodies to discover that fact. Like you, I had tutors. And books."