The Wrong Girl (Freak House)

by C. J. Archer

  "Mama?" the girl whispered. "What's wrong?"

  The mother's voice was too low for me to hear her entire answer. The only words I could make out were "Freak House." It was enough to explain her change in behavior.

  Sylvia bought two hats in different shades of gray, and Jack carried the boxes out to the carriage and bundled them into the storage compartment with the others. "Satisfied now, Cousin?" he asked Sylvia as he settled opposite us on the seat.

  "Why are those women looking at us like we have two heads?" she said.

  I followed her gaze to the woman who'd questioned Jack and her daughter. They did indeed eye us from beneath their hat brims. "You were right about them," I told her. "The mother wished to throw her daughter into Jack's path at any parties he might deign to attend."

  Jack rolled his eyes.

  "Yes, but why does she look as if she wants to run in the other direction to get away from us?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "What did you say to her?"

  "Nothing," he said. "I gave her my name and place of residence, that's all."

  Sylvia flounced back into the seat and crossed her arms. "How could you?" One corner of his mouth lifted and her glare sharpened. "It's not amusing."

  "I'm sorry," he said, sobering. "I know it matters to you. I just wish you knew that they don't matter to me."

  "What doesn't?" I said. "I don't understand."

  "Whenever we go anywhere, which isn't often, Jack likes to tell people where we're from."

  "It's called introducing myself, Syl. It's what people do when they meet."

  "Yes, but can't you lie? Why do you have to tell them we're from Frakingham?"

  "Because we are. The sooner you come to accept that, the happier you'll be."

  "I doubt I could ever be happy to be associated with Freak House."

  Jack looked quite unnerved by her misery. "Those people aren't for the likes of us," he said quietly.

  "You shouldn't let them bother you," I said to her. "I agree with Jack. They don't seem like the sort of people you'd want to be friends with anyway."

  "That's easy for you to say. You and Jack are the freaks. I'm the freak by association. It's not fair."

  Her remark cut through me to the bone. I'd thought we'd become friends of sorts, but to say something so offhandedly callous proved there was still an ocean of differences between us. She was right, of course. I wasn't normal. Now I knew I was also very much alone.

  We arrived at Claridges, and instead of coming inside with us, Jack bid us farewell. "I'm going for a walk," he said.

  "Where to?" Sylvia asked.

  "Nowhere in particular. I need to stretch my legs."

  "You've been walking all day."

  "You object to me wanting to spend some time alone?"

  "Do whatever you want," she said huffily, striding off.

  I watched Jack go and chewed my lip. Should I follow him? If I did, would I learn more about him? I knew he was going to see Patrick, the person he suspected of breaking into Frakingham House, and I desperately wanted to find out who Patrick was and how Jack knew him. But I would have to follow him surreptitiously, and that meant being alone, more or less. I didn't consider myself a fearful person in general, but being on my own in a city the size of London set my nerves on edge. What if I lost Jack? What if I wandered into one of the less appealing areas I'd seen on our journey in?

  "Lady Violet!" called a familiar voice.

  "Mr. Gladstone!" I said as he came up to me. "Are you here to see me?"

  "I am. May we talk?"

  Down the street, Jack turned the corner, unaware of the medical student's presence. I made up my mind then and there. "Yes! Excellent. Let's talk and walk at the same time. I have a mind to be out and about in this fresh air."

  He pulled a face. "It's cold and growing dark."

  "The lamps will be lit soon. I've always wanted to see London in the evening." I hooked my arm through his and hailed one of the Claridges' footmen hovering nearby. "Please inform Miss Langley that I've gone for a walk," I told him. To Mr. Gladstone I said, "Quickly now. A swift walk is a good one." We rounded a corner, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Jack up ahead. "Now, what is it you wanted to say to me, Mr. Gladstone?"

  CHAPTER 8

  "Lady Violet, is everything all right?" Mr. Gladstone asked. "You seem distracted."

  "Just enjoying the walk. And please, let's not be so formal with one another. You may call me Violet." Hannah, part of me shouted inside. I so wished to hear my real name again.

  "In that case, you may call me Samuel."

  Up ahead, Jack turned another corner. He walked swiftly, his strides long and purposeful. He didn't look back, and since it was becoming darker, we didn't need to hide. London's ever-present fog had already begun to settle in the dim depths of the alleys, and it wasn't yet four o'clock.

  "Now, Samuel, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

  "May we slow down?"

  "No."

  "Right." He cleared this throat. "Ever since you left Dr. Werner's rooms this morning, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. I mean, your situation."

  "Oh?" Jack turned another corner and I sped up. I didn't want to lose him when we'd gotten this far.

  "I think there may be another possibility to explain the blocking of your memories."

  "Something other than a traumatic event? That is a relief." Indeed it was. I'd felt unnerved at the thought ever since he'd suggested it.

  "Yes, but..." He sighed. "There's no easy way to tell you this. Someone may have deliberately tampered with your mind."

  I stumbled, but with our arms linked, he was able to steady me. I stared up at him, my heart in my throat, beating like a drum. "You'd better tell me what you mean."

  "We'll lose him if we don't keep walking," he said.

  "Pardon?"

  He nodded in the direction of Jack. "Mr. Langley. We are following him, aren't we?"

  I pressed a hand to my head. "Yes," I murmured. "But this is...important."

  "Then I'll tell you as we go. Come on."

  I allowed him to lead me a few paces until I regained my wits. "Samuel, tell me, please. What do you mean someone has tampered with my mind? Do you mean they've blocked off my memories on purpose?"

  "May have blocked them. It's simply another possibility. One I didn't want to mention in front of Dr. Werner."

  "Why not?"

  "Because he doesn't believe in it."

  "Believe in what? Samuel, you're not making sense."

  He huffed out a breath. "This is complicated, but I'll try to explain it. I've been able to hypnotize people ever since I can remember. Medical professionals like Dr. Werner have had to learn to do it, but I've always had the ability."

  "Really? Have you been hypnotizing unsuspecting people since you were a child?"

  He gave me a crooked smile. "Yes, much to my parents' dismay, until..." He cleared his throat. "Never mind. Suffice it to say, I learned not to use hypnosis unless the subject agreed. I decided the best way to use my ability was to become a neurologist and hypnotize patients in a professional capacity."

  "When did you discover that memories could be blocked? Is that something you can do?"

  "Do you always ask so many questions?"

  "Yes. The Langleys find it irritating too."

  He chuckled. "Come on, walk faster. He's going into that alley."

  Jack had indeed entered a narrow street through an archway. We paused at its entrance, then when we saw him walking up ahead, we continued on. The houses changed. They were smaller and squashed together like cold, ragged children. Their windows and stoops, however, were clean and those people still outside appeared to have somewhere to go, although there was hollow resignation on their faces.

  I drew closer to Samuel. "Are you all right, Violet? Do you want to turn back?"

  "No. I expected we would be entering one of the worst areas of London."

  "This isn't the worst," he said quietly. "Not by far
." If he were afraid, he didn't show it. He did seem particularly alert, scanning to left and right as we walked.

  "Go on, Samuel. Tell me about purposefully blocking memories using hypnosis."

  "I stumbled upon the process in my teens. I was, uh, experimenting with my abilities, and unfortunately instead of hypnotizing someone and making him think he was a woman, I blocked his memory of the entire day."

  "You tried to make a man think he was a woman?" I giggled. "You can do that?"

  "There are many things a hypnotist can do while a subject is in a hypnotized state. That was one of my favorites when I was about fifteen."

  "How wicked of you."

  "I can assure you, my wickedness is in the past. These days I mostly cure ladies of melancholy or hysteria," he said with a sigh. "You are a welcome change."

  The street narrowed again and the air grew dank, dark. Very little light filtered through the fog from the setting sun. There were few gas lamps, and even fewer of them were lit. Those that were lit glowed in the miasma like disembodied orbs.

  "So what happened after you tried to hypnotize that man into thinking he was a woman?"

  "When the subject awoke from his hypnosis, something very odd happened. He became a narcoleptic."

  "What!"

  "Shhh."

  Up ahead, Jack stopped. Samuel pulled me into a recessed doorway as Jack turned. My face pressed into Samuel's chest. I could feel his chin above my head, his heart thumping against my ear despite the layers of clothing. It beat in time to the rhythm of my blood.

  He peered round the edge of the brickwork. "He's walking again."

  We followed. "Did your subject fall asleep at particular moments, or did the narcoleptic episodes occur with no pattern whatsoever?"

  "He fell asleep at...moments of great...excitement."

  "How interesting. Does he still suffer from the episodes?"

  "No."

  "Did you cure him?"

  "I tried but couldn't. He was cured in another way."

  "How?"

  A few heartbeats passed before he answered. "It's not something I can discuss with a lady."

  "Samuel, you have to tell me. Whatever it is, I can assure you I won't be shocked."

  He cleared his throat. "Very well. Yes, it took another event of great excitement to cure him. Excitement of a...male nature."

  "You mean when he was aroused by a woman?"

  He made a strangled sound that I took as embarrassed affirmation.

  "I do believe you're blushing, Samuel." As was I, rather fiercely. Despite my attempt to sound worldly, I was very far from it. I knew in theory what happened between a man and a woman when they grew aroused, thanks to a book our biology tutor smuggled in one day while Miss Levine wasn't looking, but my practical knowledge was nil.

  "Well," he said. "So. In conclusion, whatever produces narcolepsy within you, is the very thing that will cure you of it, albeit in a larger dose. My subject fell asleep when he was aroused, but it was the same emotion that ended his narcolepsy once and for all."

  "A larger dose?"

  "My subject was cured by excessive, ah, stimulation. There happened to be two women with him at the time."

  "Two! Is that even possible?"

  Poor Samuel ran his finger inside his collar and stretched his neck. "Please don't ask any more questions. There are some things a lady shouldn't hear."

  What about a lady's companion?

  "You need to expose yourself to whatever emotion it is that sets off your narcolepsy," he said. "Do you know what it is?"

  "Fear, I think."

  "Good. All you need now is to experience heightened terror, and you may be cured."

  "That's something to look forward to," I said dryly.

  "Who do you think did this to you? You must know someone capable of hypnosis. Someone with the natural talent for it like me, not learned as in Dr. Werner's case. Do you know who that might be?"

  "No. Nor do I know why they would do this to me."

  "Tell me about the Langleys. Perhaps it was one of them."

  "It wasn't. I've only known them a few days, and I've been a narcoleptic all my life."

  "Indeed? What about your family?"

  "I'm not in contact with them at the moment. When I see them again I'll ask."

  "A good idea."

  "You say Dr. Werner doesn't believe in this kind of blockage, as put there by a hypnotist. That means you must have discussed it with him at some point."

  "I have, but he tried to replicate it and it didn't work. When I suggested that only natural hypnotists could do it, he scoffed and said there were no such people."

  "How odd."

  "Very. I don't know of others, you see, and have heard of none. You don't know what it's like to be the only one who suffers from something."

  How wrong he was.

  "You're the first person I've mentioned my ability to," he said. "I have to say, it's such a relief that you're not laughing at me, or have run screaming in the other direction."

  "I wouldn't do that. I may need you if I fall asleep out here."

  We hurried after Jack, getting further and further into the depths of London's web of alleys. "I'm beginning to think we ought to turn back," Samuel said. "This part of London isn't safe, particularly after dark."

  We had indeed walked into an even grimier part of the city. The cobbled streets were covered in some sort of slippery sludge. I had to hold onto Samuel's arm or I'd slip over. A sickly smell mingled with the fog that hung in the air. Dirty children's faces peered out of windows at us, their eyes sunken, their hair matted. Men and women sat or lay on the filthy ground, their hands buried in their too-thin clothes, their feet and heads bare, despite winter being in the air. One or two clutched my hem as I passed, begging for food, and Samuel quickly obliged with a few coins until he had no more to give.

  I clung to his arm and slowed. "You're right. We should go back."

  Just as I said it, Jack stopped to talk to a boy shivering in a recessed doorway. He nodded, and the lad disappeared inside, only to return a moment later with a tall man. A man with a big, crooked nose and a scar over one eye. He clamped Jack on the shoulder and Jack nodded a greeting. The thin lad scampered back inside and shut the door.

  I looked around for closer hiding places and spotted an arched bridge nearby. If we stood beneath it, we would be able to hear their conversation. "Keep your head down and stay close to the walls where it's darker," I said to Samuel.

  "What if he sees us?"

  "He won't harm us, if that's your concern. I am quite sure of that."

  "He won't harm you. I doubt any feelings of mercy will extend to me."

  "Are you afraid of him?"

  "No, I just don't want to have to fight him. I put those days behind me when I started at University College."

  "You were a fighter?"

  "I got into scrapes regularly and found the need to defend myself." He put a hand to his hat to shield his face. It didn't matter because Jack was too intent on his conversation to notice us. We tucked ourselves into the shadows of the archway and strained to hear.

  "I confess," said Jack's companion. "It were me that done it. You goin' to drag me off to the rozzers then?" He sounded amused, cock-sure.

  "I should. Or better yet, I'll take you home with me. August Langley will have a fitting punishment in mind."

  "Stop speakin' like a toff." The man, Patrick I assumed, wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "You ain't one of 'em. Never will be. Think you're all 'igh and mighty livin' in the big 'ouse while we starve down 'ere in this rat-pit." He hawked and spat on the ground at Jack's feet.

  Jack didn't move, but his shoulders stiffened slightly, and his hands closed into fists at his sides. "What did you take from his rooms?"

  "I dunno, do I. Just some papers. I was told where to find 'em and find 'em I did."

  "Papers about what?"

  "That some kind of joke? You know I can't read."

  Jack tipped h
is head back, sighed. "Who are you working for?"

  "I can't tell you that now, Jack-o'-Lantern. Ain't none o' your business no more."

  "It is my business. I live there."

  Patrick snorted a harsh laugh. "And what right 'ave you got to live there? Eh? You fink that man's yer uncle? Because I ain't so sure you're any more a Langley than me."

  Jack shoved Patrick in the chest, slamming him back against the door with such force that I heard a crack of wood. Beside me, Samuel bristled and his hand took mine, reassuring me that he would not let anything happen to me. I appreciated the gesture, although I wasn't scared. Jack's anger was directed at Patrick and the man looked terrified. He held up his hands in surrender.

  "S-sorry, Jack, I meant no 'arm."

  "Who you been sayin' that to?" Jack's voice was a low growl, just audible through the invading fog. "You don't know me no more," he went on. "Got that, Patrick? Now, tell me 'oo paid you to take them papers from Langley."

  Patrick shook his head. "Can't say."

  Jack slammed him back against the door again. The window nearby opened and the young boy's head popped out. "What's that racket?" When Jack glared at him, the lad ducked back inside and slammed the window shut.

  "Tell me, Patrick," Jack snarled. "I ain't got time for this."

  "I can't! Said 'e'd kill me if I told, 'e did."

  "I'll bloody kill you if you don't." Two sparks flared in the darkness and one landed on Patrick's jacket. He yelped and patted it, and it quickly fizzled out.

  "What was that?" Samuel whispered. "Did those sparks came from Jack's hands? Is he holding some sort of ignition device?"

  "Whoa," said Patrick, breathing hard. "Careful, Jack-o'-lantern. It's just business. It ain't personal."

  "It is to me." Jack's voice was once more cultured, gentlemanly, but it was no less threatening. "They hang thieves."

  "You wouldn't turn me in." Patrick's voice trembled. "We was friends once, don't that mean somethin' now?"

  "Not if you cross me. Tell me who you work for, and I'll leave you alone. If you don't..." He patted the burned patch on Patrick's jacket. "I may not be able to control my temper next time."

  Patrick's swallow could be heard clear across the street. "Don't tell 'im I told you."