by C. J. Archer
"I won't."
"I don't know 'is name."
Jack's hands glowed but no sparks shot from them. "You must know something. Where can I find him? What does he look like?"
"I met 'im down at The Boar. Spoke like a toff, 'e did, and 'ad white 'air and only one arm."
"One arm?"
"Aye. And a shiny, pale face."
Jack nodded. "Anything else?"
"Nope. You goin' to the rozzers?"
"Not unless you do it again. Tommy begged me to keep your name to myself, for old time's sake."
Patrick grinned. "Them old times were a laugh, weren't they, Jack-o'-lantern? When you used to set stuff on fire—"
"Don't," Jack bit off. "Don't tell a soul about those days. Understand? My charity extends only so far."
Patrick nodded quickly. "Speakin' o' charity..." He jerked his head at the window where the lad had peeked out. "Winter's almost 'ere, and there's more comin' every day than I know what to do wiv."
"I'll send money and warm clothes as soon as I can. You only had to send word, Patrick. No need to take to thieving again."
"Once a thief, always a thief, eh, Jack-o'-lantern? We can't change 'oo we are deep down."
Jack stared at the window. "Don't lead any of those children along that path. And don't steal from Langley again."
He strode toward us, and Samuel and I ducked further into the shadows as he passed. When I looked up again, Patrick had gone inside. The street was cold and quiet, the darkness almost complete except for the single lamp fading in and out near Patrick's door.
"Let's go," Samuel said. "Walk fast and don't make eye contact with anyone. We might just get out of here without being accosted."
I allowed him to lead me away as I considered what I'd just learned. One thing I was sure about now—Jack hadn't been involved in the theft of the papers from Langley. But I was even more certain that he was trying to deceive his so-called uncle by pretending to be his heir. As Patrick had said, Jack wasn't a Langley.
Someone reached out of the shadows and jerked me to a stop. I screamed and a hand clamped over my mouth. It stank, and I gagged into the palm. The other hand held a blade to my throat. It's cool metal bit into my skin but didn't cut.
Samuel stopped too. "Let her go," he said. His voice was steady, commanding. If he were afraid, he didn't show it. I, on the other hand, quivered like jelly.
"Give me yer money, sir, and she won't come to no 'arm."
"I haven't got any," Samuel said. "I gave it all away."
Brittle laughter filled my ear. Foul breath made me gag. I tried to shove the man off, but his grip tightened. Oh God, Oh God, Oh God.
"Then I want yer coat," he said.
Samuel removed his coat, and the attacker let go of my mouth to take it. But instead of handing it over, Samuel threw it. The man caught it, but he lowered the knife in that brief moment of confusion, and I ducked out of the way. Samuel stepped up and punched him in the nose. Blood sprayed over the coat and cobbles, but thankfully not on me.
Samuel grabbed my hand. We ran until we were out of the slum and back on the main street. We paused for breath within the circle of light cast by a lamp. I put a hand to my chest and sucked in air.
Samuel gripped my shoulders and searched my face. "Are you all right, Violet? Are you hurt?"
"No, I'm fine. Thank you, Samuel. You saved me."
His fingers kneaded my shoulders, but I got the feeling it was as much to reassure himself that I was unharmed than to comfort me. "I'm glad I was able to help."
I felt sick to my stomach. It was my fault entirely. He'd only agreed to accompany me because I'd insisted. What had I been thinking? "I'm so sorry, Samuel. I didn't know it would be like that. Those people...they're so...desperate."
"Starvation does that."
"I should have known. I've read the stories of Mr. Dickens."
He laughed and patted my hand. "Then you are indeed a woman of the world."
We walked off in what I assumed was the direction of Claridges, but in truth I couldn't be certain. The fog had become so thick it shrouded the entire street and I could see no landmarks, let alone recognize them. The clip clop of hooves and the rattle of wheels on the road signaled that a vehicle had gone past, but it could have been a spectral carriage for all I knew. It was nowhere to be seen. Behind us, footsteps echoed. I turned, but could see no one. The footsteps continued.
Had Jack doubled back and now followed us? Or had someone been following the entire time and I'd been too distracted to notice?
"I've just had a thought," Samuel said, apparently oblivious to the footsteps.
"Oh?" I looked back over my shoulder, but the tap tap of shoes on the pavement had ceased. "What about?" If it were about Jack, I already had a response in mind. I might not know everything about him, but I didn't want to divulge his fire-starting secret to Samuel. Not yet.
"Do you recall how you said your narcolepsy may be caused by fear?"
"Yes."
"I don't think it is, or you would have suffered an episode just now. You were terrified, weren't you?"
"More than I've ever been in my life." It was quite true, I realized. I'd not even been that afraid when I woke up in the carriage after Jack abducted me.
"Yet you didn't fall asleep."
"Good lord. You're right!"
"That means it has another trigger."
"Yes," I muttered. "Yes it does."
We reached the front door of Claridges, and a footman opened it for me. Before I had a chance to thank Samuel for his help and say goodbye, Sylvia barreled up and threw her arms around my neck.
"Thank goodness you're back," she said on a small sob. "I've been so worried."
"I sent word that I was going for a walk," I said.
She held me at arm's length. "Yes, but I knew you didn't know your way around London, and I've heard such dreadful things about girls getting lost and never being seen again." She smothered another sob with her hand. "I had a dim hope that you'd gone with Jack, but then he returned without you. We've been out of our minds with worry. Jack was just on his way out again to search for you."
Jack stood to one side in the foyer of the hotel. A desolate, bleak shadow passed across his face before he turned away, presenting me with a view of his back. He drew in several deep breaths and his fingers gripped the marble tabletop, his knuckles white.
"I'll speak to him," Samuel said.
"No!" Sylvia and I cried.
"Jack's temper is not to be trifled with," I added.
"He's not angry," Sylvia said, blinking at me. "He's as relieved as I am to have you back safely."
"In that case, perhaps I should be the one to speak to him." But I didn't get the chance. He strode off and up the stairs, taking two at a time. I sighed. "Perhaps tomorrow."
"Where did you go?" Sylvia asked.
"For a walk with Samuel."
She lifted a brow. "Samuel? I see. Well. I admit I thought a man of your profession would have better manners than to go walking in the dark with a young lady. I must admit, I'm very disappointed in you, Mr. Gladstone."
"Don't blame him," I said. "It was all my fault. I insisted."
"But...why? Where did you go?"
"Nowhere in particular. I needed some fresh air."
"Fresh air? In London?" Her gaze flicked to Samuel then back to me again. "I see."
"I'd better be on my way." Samuel bowed to both of us. "Good night, ladies. I'm glad I could be of service, Lady Violet."
"You were. Thank you, Samuel, from the bottom of my heart. Good bye."
He grinned and walked out the door. I hooked my arm through Sylvia's, and we headed for the stairs.
"Are you quite sure Jack isn't angry?" I asked. "He looked rather tempestuous just now."
"If he were angry, he'd have sparks spitting from his fingertips."
"I suppose so. Then why did he storm off without speaking to me?"
"Can't you see? He was sick with worry, then you re
turned and it was obvious you'd spent the last little while walking with a man in the dark. A man that wasn't him."
"Oh." But there'd been something more in his eyes as he gazed at me. Not jealousy, but bitter disappointment too.
CHAPTER 9
Jack rode with Olson on the driver's seat on the way back to Hertfordshire, not inside the carriage cabin with Sylvia and me. I saw him only briefly when we arrived at Frakingham, and it wasn't until the next day when we were summoned to his uncle's rooms that we spoke.
"Jack, may we talk?" I said as he held the door open for me. "I don't like...this."
His jaw became a little less rigid, his eyes a little less vivid in color. "I hate it too. You and that Gladstone fellow..."
"It was just a walk, Jack, nothing more. I'm not interested in him in that way."
The muscles in his face relaxed. "Then—"
"Not now," Langley interrupted. "Both of you, come." He sat facing us, Bollard at his side like a guard dog. But it was the floor that caught my attention. Several small blackened scorch marks pockmarked the wood. They looked like they'd been put there by sparks that had been quickly doused. Jack must have done it when he and his uncle had argued over me being kept prisoner in the house a few days earlier. It was a shocking reminder that his temper was never far away, and of the damage it could cause.
"Is there anything you want to tell me, Jack?" Langley asked.
"The hypnotist did indeed say Violet's memories were blocked, but he could do nothing to clear it," Jack said. "It was a wasted journey, I'm afraid. Sylvia, however, might say differently."
I smiled, and he winked at me. It was such a relief to be friends again.
"Nothing else?" Langley asked. At Jack's shrug, he added, "Is there something more you should be telling me?"
"No."
Langley heaved a great sigh. His face was pale and pinched, the wrinkles fanning out from the corners of his eyes deeper. "After everything I've done for you, everything I've given you, you lie to my face."
Jack's lips parted, and I heard him expel a small hiss. "What are you talking about?" His voice grew dark, ominous. He no longer looked at his uncle, but at me.
I frowned, shrugged, but a sense of dread settled in my chest. I knew what this was about. We both did.
"You saw someone while you were in London," Langley said. "An old friend of yours."
"And?"
"Don't treat me like a fool." He thumped his fist on the arm of his wheelchair. "He stole my papers, and you weren't going to tell me, or the police."
"I—"
"Were you?"
A muscle in Jack's cheek pulsed. "No."
"Why not?"
"I don't want him to get into trouble."
"It is not for you to make that decision!" Langley's shout reverberated around the room, and I jumped. I took a step back, not wanting to be anywhere near this man and his explosive temper.
Jack went very still, then slowly curled his fingers into a fist, but not before I noticed the tips glowing. "Patrick is not the one you want," he said.
"I know that."
He took a few breaths before saying, "I'm sure you do."
Langley's nostrils flared. "Dismissed. Both of you."
I hurried to the door, but Jack didn't move. "What are you going to do about Patrick?"
"He's a thief. He'll get what he deserves."
Jack leaned forward and clamped his hands down on the wheelchair arms, pinning Langley's hands. Bollard grabbed his shoulder and tried to pull him off, but Jack snarled at him and the servant backed away.
The expression on Langley's face changed from rage to horror to fear. "Let go!" he cried. "My hands...!"
Jack stepped back and Langley plunged his hands into a basin of water that Bollard had retrieved from the table near the window. Langley's eyelids fluttered shut in relief.
I covered my gasp and stared at Jack. Sparks flew from his fingertips and Bollard stamped on them before they could catch alight.
"Jack?" I whispered.
He seemed not to have heard me. His chest rose and fell with his seething anger, and he glared at his uncle. "Whatever you've done to Patrick, undo it. He's a pawn, and those children need him. If you don't...I won't remain here any longer."
He didn't wait to see if Langley agreed. He turned and fixed a glare on me that had me more confused than ever. His rage vanished almost instantly, replaced with such wretchedness that I wanted to reach for him. He blinked rapidly and hurried out of the room.
And that's when I realized he blamed me for telling his uncle about his visit to Patrick.
***
I searched for Jack everywhere. After checking with Olson at the stables, I found him at the abbey ruins, his horse grazing nearby. From a distance, he cut a lonely figure against the gray sky. He looked up when I approached and for a brief moment I was afraid he'd walk off in the other direction, but he didn't. He did, however, watch me with frightening intensity from beneath half-closed lids.
"You're still mad," I said.
He folded his arms and tucked away his hands, but not before I saw the pink flesh on his fingertips.
"I thought you said you could control your anger." I nodded at his hands. "And...that."
"I can."
Which meant he'd wanted to hurt Langley. And me? I swallowed heavily.
He unfolded his arms and his shoulders sagged. "You don't need to fear me, Violet. Not ever. I wouldn't deliberately hurt you."
"Then—"
"Why did you do it?" he asked. "Why did you tell him where I went?"
"So you did see me?"
"You and Gladstone. I lost you on the way home, however, so tell me...why?"
"I didn't tell him anything. What could I possibly gain?"
"Perhaps you're still angry at me for kidnapping you."
"I'm not. How could you think such a thing after..." After the connection we'd made. "Why didn't you tell me you'd seen me?"
"I hoped you'd talk to me of your own accord. But you didn't, and when August confronted me just now, I assumed you'd gone straight to him." He blew out a measured breath. "I'm sorry, Violet. Forgive me?"
I nodded. How could I not when he peered at me through the hair that had flopped over his eyes? He looked like a scolded puppy.
"So if it wasn't you," he said, "it must have been Gladstone."
"What reason would Samuel have to tell Langley? And how would he have gotten word to Frakingham so quickly?"
"So it's Samuel now, is it?"
"I call you Jack."
I wanted him to tell me that it was different between us, that the bond we'd forged so quickly made everything different. He did not.
"Why was he there at all?" he asked instead.
I decided it was better to be honest with him than skirt the issue. Well, partially honest. "He wanted to tell me that my memory block may have been deliberately put there by a hypnotist."
His jaw dropped. "Who would do such a thing?"
I told him what Samuel had told me about his own natural gift for hypnosis, and how he'd stumbled upon the ability by accident.
"What did Dr. Werner have to say about this suggestion?" Jack asked.
"He doesn't believe natural hypnotists exist, and so doesn't endorse the notion of deliberately blocking memories. That's why Samuel came to me at Claridges. He wanted to speak to me away from Dr. Werner."
He leaned against the stones that formed one of the crumbling arches. "It sounds too extraordinary to be true."
"So does shooting sparks from your fingers."
"Can Gladstone remove this block for you?"
"No. He thinks it can only be done through stimulating the same emotion that triggers my narcolepsy...and my fire starting. A very strong stimulation that is, more than usual."
"Hmmm."
"Hmmm? What does that mean?"
"It means that I'm not sure I entirely trust Samuel Gladstone. In many ways, the ability to hypnotize someone is far more dangerous
than our talent. I admit that I don't like it."
"Don't like his talent or don't like him?"
His gaze slid away. "They're one and the same."
"So you still think he's the one who told your uncle?"
"Who else could have? I want to believe it wasn't you," he added in a whisper.
"It wasn't. I give you my word."
"Then it must have been him. A fast rider carrying a message would have easily reached Frakingham before us." He pushed off from the stones. "We should return to the house and resume your training."
"Is there any point now that we know about the blockage?"
"We can only keep trying."
He took his horse's reins, and we walked together back to the house. The gray clouds hung low overhead, and the air felt charged, thick, although that could have been due to the silence between us.
When I could stand it no longer, I said, "How do you know Patrick?"
"I just do."
"But—"
"Do you need to know everything, Violet?"
We'd reached the point where we needed to go our separate ways. He directed his horse off to the stables, and I headed for the main house. Yes, I wanted to tell him. Yes, I do need to know everything about you. Even though I couldn't tell him everything about myself. Not yet.
One day, however, he would know it all. And I would know every detail of Jack Langley's life, even if it meant finding out things I didn't like.
***
We trained for the remainder of the day. Jack tried various techniques to help me 'feel the heat' through my body, as he put it. Nothing worked, of course, and we ended our session at dinnertime. He seemed quite frustrated by our lack of progress, and I admit I was growing anxious about telling him the truth. The longer I lied, the harder it would be to admit that I wasn't Violet Jamieson and the worse his reaction would be.
I resolved to speak to Langley after dinner and confront him over his motives for kidnapping me. His reactions to a few direct questions should prove once and for all if he was lying about his intentions.
I dressed for dinner and met Sylvia and Jack in the dining room. She looked particularly lovely in a crimson and white gown with bows down the front and I told her so.
"This old thing," she said with a crinkle of her nose. "I'm so tired of it. Do you want it?"
