The Wrong Girl (Freak House)

by C. J. Archer

  "They don't actually hang people in public anymore, Syl."

  "You know what I mean. They deserve to be hanged. You shouldn't have gotten Tate out, Jack."

  He lowered his gaze and said nothing.

  "And now that I think about it," she went on, "why didn't you throw one of those fireballs at the thug, Ham? You could have saved yourself all those bruises."

  Jack fingered his swollen lip. The cut above his eye had closed, but it still looked raw and would be for some time. His knuckles too were grazed and must be sore.

  "That's a good question," I said to Jack. "You threw one at Tate, but not Ham. Why?"

  "It would set his clothes alight and burn him," he said.

  "So?" Sylvia said. "The man was horrible. He doesn't deserve our sympathies or your consideration."

  "You think that now," he said. "But if you were the one inflicting the fireball and you had to watch a man burn alive, would you think the same then?"

  "Yes."

  He shook his head and turned to the window. From the distant gaze reflected in the glass, I guessed that he wasn't actually seeing any of the scenery that slipped past. "It's the screaming that gets to you first," he said. "Even a man as large and strong as Ham has a high-pitched scream when his skin is exposed to intense heat. After the screams comes the smell. Burning flesh has a distinctive odor, Syl. It's not very pleasant. You wouldn't like it."

  She fell silent and pulled the collar of her new fur coat closed at the throat.

  "I saw someone burn to death once," he went on. "I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy."

  "You, Hannah and Tate can't burn though, can you?" Sylvia asked.

  Jack shook his head. "I know I can't. Hannah? Did you feel anything in there? Did your skin hurt?"

  I shook my head. "I felt nothing on the outside, only the inside when Tate touched me." The memory of him stroking my face made me want to scrub myself clean again. There had been no desire in the touch, not the sort between a man and a woman, but it had been filled with a kind of longing that I'd never seen before and had not known could exist. "He was boiling. To me he felt hotter than the fire."

  Jack leaned forward and lifted a hand. He stroked a strand of my hair that had fallen out of the pins and dangled near my face. Although I instantly warmed, there were no sparks. It seemed it was only actual contact between us that produced those.

  I smiled and he smiled back. "Thank you for rescuing me," I said.

  "My pleasure." He continued to stroke my hair. I liked it, liked him near me, but it took every ounce of self-control not to lean into that hand and feel it cupping my cheek, caressing my lips.

  Sylvia, not looking at us, shuddered. "Thank goodness Tate's gone. Finally we can resume some normalcy at Freak House."

  "Normalcy," Jack said with a lopsided smile. "Is that what you're calling it now?"

  CHAPTER 15

  Langley met us in the courtyard on our arrival. He sat in his wheelchair, his hands folded in his lap. Bollard stood behind him, staring straight ahead. When we strolled up to them, Langley's hands moved from his lap to the wheels as if he would push himself forward, but quickly returned to his lap again. He scrutinized each of us in turn before finally settling on Jack's swollen lip.

  "You're back," was all he said. "Tommy told me you were successful in your endeavors."

  "Oh Uncle, it was awful!" Sylvia bent down and hugged him. It was awkward with him sitting, and she seemed not to know where to put her arms. Langley was equally ill at ease. He patted her back as if she were a puppy that had just fetched his slippers for the first time.

  She wiped the tears from her cheeks then went to move away. He caught her hand and kept her at his side.

  "It's cold out here," he said. "Mrs. Moore will bring tea to us in the parlor. Tell me everything there."

  He continued to hold Sylvia's hand as Bollard wheeled him inside. He must have been concerned after all and relieved to see us again. The only time I'd seen him outside, or indeed downstairs, was on the night of the fire. Neither his old room nor his new one were on the ground floor. He must have seen us coming up the drive and had Bollard bring both him and the wheelchair down to meet us. My eyes pricked with tears, until I realized that he hadn't been eager to see us again, only his niece and nephew. Or perhaps only Sylvia. Aside from frowning at Jack's cuts and bruises, he'd not paid his nephew much attention.

  We sat in the small parlor that we'd been using since the night of the fire. It no longer smelled musty. A low fire warmed it, keeping the chill out of the air I suppose, although I'd never known what a chill really felt like. Some of Sylvia's paintings now decorated the walls and her embroidered cushions sat plump and inviting on the sofa. Tea arrived shortly after us, brought in by Tommy, not Mrs. Moore. It was odd to see him all stiff and formal again. Aside from a quick glance at each of us, he resumed his blank, footman's gaze. I found it most irritating.

  "It's good to see you, Tommy," I said, smiling. "Have you suffered any ill effects from the fire?"

  "No, Miss Smith."

  "I thought we agreed you would call me Hannah now."

  He splashed tea over the side of a cup and looked at Langley. "I, uh, don't feel right calling you anything other than what's proper."

  "I agree," Sylvia said. She lifted her chin, but it didn't hide the quick glance she shot at Tommy and the slight blush to her cheeks. "Whatever transpired in London should remain there."

  "How can you say that?" I said. "The four of us formed a bond at Tate's factory. You can't deny it."

  "She'll try her hardest," Jack muttered.

  "Circumstances in London were...unique," she said. "Never to be repeated. Besides, just because we all endured a nasty experience together doesn't mean we can allow social mores to lapse. I know you don't fully understand the importance of keeping everyone in their place, Hannah, having lived your entire life in an attic among a total of two people. You'll simply have to trust me. It's important. Isn't that right, Uncle?" She faced her uncle, but her gaze slid between him and Tommy.

  The footman was too busy pouring the tea to notice, but he did seem more rigid than usual.

  "Social order is everything," Langley agreed. "The opposite is chaos."

  Behind him, Bollard's nostrils flared. Tommy left, carrying the tray with him.

  "Tell me what happened," Langley said. "Tommy informs me they arrived before you, Jack. Where were you?"

  "I'd gone to the Harborough constabulary immediately after leaving here," Jack said. "I had to wait for that fool of an inspector to return, and then I wasted more time trying to convince him to come with me to London. He refused." He shook his head. "I wish I hadn't bothered."

  "You tried to do the right thing," I said. Sylvia and I had already told him so in the carriage when he spoke of his reasons for his delay, but he hadn't accepted it then and it still seemed to rankle now.

  "I went to the Hackney Wick authorities as soon as I arrived in London," he went on. "There was no point confronting Tate without a witness. I had to wait at the police station there too, and then when the inspector did return, I spent some time apprising him of the case against Tate. He agreed to come with me, albeit reluctantly."

  "It was a good thing he did," I said.

  "When we arrived, we heard noises coming from the factory. The fire had already taken hold, and Tate..." He swallowed heavily and looked at me.

  "Tell me about the fire," Langley asked.

  "Tate started that," I said. "He accidentally emitted sparks from his fingers. You didn't tell us he was a fire starter too. It would have helped, you know."

  "Perhaps," Langley said and sipped his tea. I was reminded of Tate casually drinking tea in his parlor and avoiding our questions. The similarity sent a shiver down my spine.

  "That's why he wanted Hannah, isn't it?" Jack asked. "Because he's a fire starter too and he wanted to...study her." From the lack of shock on his face, I suspected he'd been thinking about it the entire journey home. As had I.

/>   Sylvia, however, gasped and almost dropped her teacup. "You think he wanted to dissect her to find a cure?" She turned quite pale. "Now I regret reading that book on biology last year."

  "I'm not sure about dissection," Langley said. "But I do think he wanted to use her in some way." He frowned into his teacup. Something troubled him and from the look on his face, I'd wager he'd just thought of something he didn't know the answer to. The scientist in him must hate it.

  Jack rose and stood over his uncle, his clenched fists at his sides. When he spoke, it was low and his jaw hardly moved. "You knew Tate wanted to use Hannah and yet you let her come after me?"

  "I didn't let Hannah go," Langley said. "She went without permission. In case you haven't noticed, the girl has a will of her own and tends to follow it without thinking things through."

  "I resent the accusation," I said. "I would not have gone if I'd known Tate was a fire starter himself." Probably not. Maybe. "Perhaps you ought to keep us all apprised of the villains you've fallen out with, Mr. Langley. Keeping secrets helps no one."

  "Are you quite finished?" he said.

  I sipped my tea. Jack moved to the window and leaned against the sill. He stared out to the abbey ruins beyond. Perhaps he was desperate to get into the cool air, to exercise the stiffness from his joints and the demons from his mind.

  "How did Tate know about me?" I asked Langley. "When I introduced myself, he seemed to recognize my name, as I think you did when I first told you I was Hannah Smith. But if Tate connected me to being a fire starter, shouldn't he have thought my name was Violet, as you presumed?"

  "Hannah Smith was the name of...someone we used to know. I didn't know you'd been given that name too. You were a baby when Reuben Tate and I first met you. You had no name then."

  What parents didn't give their child a name? My parents, it seemed. Parents who died soon after the birth of their child.

  "Is Hannah Smith my mother?"

  "No."

  "Then who is she?"

  He didn't answer and I let the matter drop. There were more pressing questions to ask. "Is that why you want me? To study me and find a cure for Jack?"

  "You are different than Jack. There'd be no point." It wasn't quite a no. "Tell me, was Reuben interested in Jack? Did he...want him the way he wanted you?"

  I shook my head. "Just me."

  Jack looked from me to Langley. He crossed his arms. "Why is that significant?"

  "Your abilities are different than Reuben's and Hannah's," Langley said. "You can control your fire. They cannot."

  "You've led us to believe that Hannah will learn."

  "That's because I think she will, in time."

  "But I didn't need to learn," Jack said quietly. "It's always been instinctive. I never questioned it too much, never thought too deeply about how it happened. Until I met you," he said to me. "Now I question everything."

  "Why are we different?" I asked Langley. "Why did Tate want me and not Jack?"

  "I can only guess it's because he thinks the cure for it is within you, not Jack. As to why Jack is different..." He sipped his tea. "I cannot say."

  "He said he knew Jack as a baby. That means you did too. Is that because Jack really is your nephew or because he was part of an experiment?"

  "I don't owe you an explanation about Jack, Hannah."

  I expected Jack to question him further, but he did not. Why?

  "Why does Tate want to be cured?" Sylvia asked, speaking after a long silence.

  "I suppose because of the unpredictability of it. It can make going about one's daily business difficult."

  "That is rather an understatement," I muttered. "Do you know why we three have this ability in the first place? There must be a reason."

  Langley shrugged one shoulder. "I cannot say."

  "Did you perform tests on us as children?"

  "No."

  "Was it something to do with a drug you were developing? Did you...change us somehow?"

  "I did nothing of the sort. You've read too many of those horror novels Sylvia likes so much. I am not Dr. Frankenstein."

  No, but sometimes I had the feeling I was the monster of the story.

  "Did it have something to do with the Society For Supernatural Activity?" Jack asked, moving back toward our cluster of chairs.

  Langley inclined his head. "He told you about it?"

  "Who are they?"

  "A group of men and women interested in the paranormal, those things which can't be explained by scientific means. Yet."

  "You don't believe in the supernatural?" I asked.

  He lifted his gaze to mine and held it. "I do believe, Hannah. I also think science can help us understand strange phenomena. It was an area I wanted to explore when I belonged to the Society years ago. Tate also belonged, and we researched some matters together. That's how we met."

  "What matters?"

  "The existence of spirits, angels, demons, that sort of thing."

  "Demons!" Sylvia cried. Her hand fluttered to her chest. "Good lord. Ghosts I can accept, but demons? Surely not."

  Langley didn't look at her. He didn't look at any of us. Bollard's hand curled around one handle of the wheelchair. The knuckles went white for a moment then he pulled away.

  "Do they exist?" I asked. My heart raced. I didn't know when it had begun to beat so furiously, but it seemed to want to know the answer to the question very badly.

  "I've found no proof to indicate they don't."

  "Isn't that the wrong way around? Shouldn't you be proving that they do?"

  "Members of the Society begin with the viewpoint that the supernatural is real."

  "Do you still belong to the Society?" Jack asked.

  "No. However, I have kept in touch with some current members. They come to me with questions every now and again."

  "Why you?"

  "I am the foremost microbiologist in the country."

  And the one with the highest opinion of himself.

  "Enough questions," he said, setting his teacup down on the table beside him. "Bollard."

  "Wait." I leapt off the sofa and rested my hand on his wheelchair arm. If Bollard wanted to push forward, he could, but he did not. "How did you know I was at Windamere Manor when Tate didn't?"

  He shook his head. "Bollard. Forward."

  Jack put his hand on the other wheelchair arm. Bollard didn't try to move off. It seemed I wasn't the only one who wanted to know the answer, but to have Bollard on my side in this was a complete surprise.

  Langley drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I sent you there to keep you away from Tate when you were a baby. I knew I couldn't trust him with you, knew he wanted to use you. I gave you to Lord Wade. He was a member of our Society and one of the few I could trust with a child's welfare."

  "His way of caring for a child included locking her in the attic for years," Jack said. "Perhaps you should have tried harder to find someone else."

  "I didn't expect him to do that, nor did I find out until very recently."

  "Why did Lord Wade keep me and his daughter locked up in the attic?" I asked. "Me, I understand. I was dangerous and I wasn't his child. But Violet? It doesn't make sense."

  "You'd have to ask him that. She's nothing to do with me."

  "Very well." One day I would do exactly that. "Did you hypnotize me and give me narcolepsy?"

  "No."

  I sighed. Another thing to ask Wade. "So why kidnap me now, Mr. Langley? Does it have anything to do with Tate suddenly needing me?"

  "He's always needed you. There's nothing sudden about it."

  I was a little shocked and withdrew my hand from the chair arm.

  "But not quite as badly as he needs her now," Jack muttered. "Because he's known where you live for some time, August, yet he only stole your papers a few nights ago. He was looking for her, wasn't he? Looking for some way to find her? Isn't that right?"

  "I don't know. You'd have to ask Tate that question."

  I didn't pla
n on going anywhere near Tate. He would have to hang before I would completely relax again. "He thought I was dead," I said, recalling his words. "So I don't think he stole your papers in the hope of finding me. I think he was looking for a way to cure himself. He hoped you'd kept working on it. Indeed, he assumed you had."

  Langley looked surprised that I knew that much. "Perhaps."

  "So why did you send Jack to kidnap me now?" I asked.

  "The governess contacted me and asked me to remove you."

  "Miss Levine?" I'd known she was party to the secret that had been kept from me, but I'd not known she was aware of the connection to Langley.

  "She claimed that living in the attic was no life for either you or your friend."

  "That seems rather too kind of her," I muttered. And yet she didn't hate me, nor I her. We'd clashed often, but hate was a strong word that didn't fit our relationship.

  "I wish she'd told me you were the companion and not the daughter," he said, shaking his head. "When Bollard told me that he'd heard there were two of you confined to the attic, I naturally assumed you were being passed off as his daughter, and she the companion."

  "Is Vi his daughter?"

  "I don't know."

  "She may be illegitimate," Sylvia said. "Perhaps he's ashamed of her and what he did. What do you know of Lady Wade, Hannah? Did she look like Lady Violet?"

  "I don't know anything about her." Indeed I was beginning to question everything I thought I did know.

  "It was fortunate that you got the right girl in the end, Jack," Sylvia said cheerfully. "I'm certainly glad we have Hannah and not the other one. She sounds like she can't be trusted if she was indeed part of Hannah's kidnapping." The fact that most of the people in the room had been part of my kidnapping seemed to have escaped her notice.

  "That's not what you first thought when you found out we didn't have an earl's daughter under our roof," Jack said.

  She sniffed. "Don't be ridiculous." She smiled at me and patted my arm. "Hannah is delightful company. I can't imagine anyone else I'd rather have as my friend."

  I smiled at her, but it wavered a little when I recalled Vi saying something very similar.