by C. J. Archer
I lifted the pistol, aimed and fired.
The bullet punched the wall, sending puffs of plaster dust into the room. My aim had been true; I had no intention of hurting Tommy, but wanted to use the sound of gunfire to bring Samuel to our room. We needed him to break the hypnosis controlling Tommy.
The gunfire had no effect on him whatsoever. He continued to draw closer, like an automaton wound up with a key. It was horrifying, seeing my childhood friend suddenly behave like a brainless enemy intent on killing us.
"Stop!" Sylvia ordered, her voice shrill. "What are you doing?"
"It's no use," I said. "He can't hear you." I got ready to shove her out of the way if necessary. Gunfire wasn't going to work unless I was prepared to kill or maim him. I might have to shoot him in the leg, but I hoped not. My hand trembled too much to shoot straight and I didn't trust my skill anyway. "When I give you word," I told her, sounding more courageous than I felt, "you must roll under the bed."
"But why—" She didn't finish her question. Tommy plunged the knife downward.
"Roll!"
She rolled and the knife bit into the floor where she'd been lying only a second ago. Tommy switched his focus to me. I was completely exposed, vulnerable. The bed was just a little too far away for me to hide there with Sylvia. He wrenched the blade, freeing the point from the floorboards, and raised it once again.
My heart hammered against my ribs. My fingers ached around the pistol's handle, trying to hold it steady. I aimed at his lower leg.
"Stop, Tommy." Samuel's voice had never sounded so good. He stood on the other side of the bed, another shadowy figure in the darkness. "Wake up. You're with friends."
Tommy started. He blinked and stared down at the knife in his hand. "What…what's this?"
Samuel touched his shoulder and prized the knife from Tommy's grip. I slumped forward and buried my face in my hands. I slowed my breathing until my heart calmed and my body stopped trembling. Sylvia huddled up against me and I threw my arms around her. We sat together on the floor, dumbstruck, as the room was suddenly illuminated. Cara and Mrs. Gladstone were both there, candles in hand.
"What happened?" Mrs. Gladstone asked. "Samuel, are you all right?"
"Yes." He crouched before me and touched my shoulder. "Charity?"
"I'm all right."
He blew out a breath. "I need the key."
I had attached it to my chatelaine and placed it on the dressing table. I fetched the chatelaine and handed the entire thing to Samuel. He headed out the door.
Tommy didn't follow. He stood in the same spot, staring at Sylvia sitting on the floor, hugging her drawn-up knees. "Christ," he muttered. "What did I do?"
"It wasn't you," I assured him. "Nobody was harmed. Go help Samuel. He needs you."
He nodded, still somewhat numb I suspected, and trailed after Samuel. "I'm coming wiff you," he called out in his London slum accent. Like mine, it seemed to appear at moments of great distress. "That bloody toff ain't getting away wiff this."
I threw a shawl around my shoulders and went after them.
"You're going too?" Sylvia cried.
I nodded and ran down the dark corridor, around the corner to where Lords Malborough and Frakingham were housed in two separate guest rooms. It was a little brighter in this wing, with the window at the end of the long corridor letting in the moonlight. I could distinctly see Tommy and Samuel standing at one of the doors, about to insert the key into the lock.
"Charity, go back to your room," Samuel said when he saw me. "This could get dangerous."
I shook my head. "I'll stay out of sight, but somebody needs to stop you both from thrashing him."
"Better let her stay," Tommy said. "She's got a temper when you try and stop her doing what she wants."
"Besides, what if it wasn't Malborough?" I said. "It could have been Myer, bent on retribution."
"How would he have gotten in?" Samuel said.
"How would Malborough have gotten out?"
The next door down suddenly opened. Lord Frakingham peered out and rubbed his eyes. "Did I hear a gunshot?"
"Your son hypnotized Tommy the footman," I told him. "He directed him to kill Sylvia and myself."
His head lowered and he pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eye sockets. "Damn," he murmured. "I'm so sorry, Miss Charity."
Samuel unlocked the door and charged in before I could warn him to be cautious. Tommy was on his heels.
"Show yourself," Samuel ordered. There was no response. The room brightened a little as Tommy lit some candles on the mantel. They checked under the bed, behind curtains, in cupboards. "He's not here," he finally declared with a huff of frustration.
"Where could he be?" Tommy asked. "Charity had the key. There's no other way in or out."
"Ah," Lord Frakingham said from the doorway. He stood in a gray smoking jacket, a gray tasseled sash tied around his waist. "There might be."
Everyone stared at him. Cara and Mrs. Gladstone had joined us. Sylvia wasn't there and I wondered if she'd gone to speak to her uncle. Her absence, along with Malborough's, made me uneasy.
Frakingham shrugged sheepishly. "Do you know about the passages within the walls?"
I blinked. "Secret passages? As in escape routes?"
He nodded.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Samuel cried. "We locked him in here thinking it was secure."
Frakingham put his hands up in surrender. "I thought it would be too! I only know about the passage linking the master and mistress's bedchambers, and two others. That passage leads downstairs and directly outside. I suspect it was put there in case of an emergency, allowing the family to escape." He looked around the room. "This chamber was only ever used for guests in my time. I rarely came in here. If it has a passageway, I'm not aware of one." He felt around a wall sconce that held an unlit candle. Nothing happened. "If there is a secret door, it's likely one of these sconces opens it. That's how it works elsewhere."
Samuel, Tommy and I began touching all the sconces, and anything else jutting out from the walls.
"Don't pull on them," Lord Frakingham said, inspecting another. "There should be a hidden trigger to release a catch."
"Bloody hell," Samuel murmured, as part of the bookshelf he'd been checking opened up like a door. "The trigger was released when I pulled out Chaucer's Canterbury Tales." We all crowded around him and held candles up high to see into the yawning darkness beyond. But there was just more darkness.
Samuel took the candle Cara offered and held Tommy's knife in his good hand. I had left my pistol on the dressing table in my bedroom.
"Wait until the morning," Mrs. Gladstone pleaded. "We'll call the police."
"No police," Frakingham said.
"This is much too dangerous," she whined. "Samuel, step back."
He ignored her.
"I agree," I said. She blinked, as if she couldn't believe she had an ally in me. "At least let me fetch my pistol before you enter."
"You can't shoot him!" Frakingham cried.
"Why not?" came the sneering voice of Malborough from the dark tunnel ahead. "Wouldn't that be a convenient way to get rid of your wayward son?" He emerged from the shadows into the dim light, pistol in hand, a twisted grin on his face. "As you can see, I am armed."
"Where did you get that weapon?" Frakingham asked. "It's not one of ours."
His son ignored him and leveled the gun at Samuel. My stomach dropped. Bile rose. I felt Cara press herself against me and take my hand. Her palm was damp and hot.
"Don't shoot!" Mrs. Gladstone whimpered, trying to push past us. "Don't shoot my son."
Cara and I used our bodies to block her. I wanted to tell her to calm down, not to distract Samuel as he edged closer to Malborough, but my mouth was too dry. My heart pounded in my chest.
"Stay back," Malborough shouted. He waved the gun at Samuel, but Samuel continued to move forward, inch by inch.
"Gladstone," Tommy hissed. "Are you mad?"
Mrs. G
ladstone pushed against us. "Samuel!" she screamed. "Stay there!"
Malborough straightened his arm. "Do as she says and don't come any closer. I will kill you."
My stomach, my chest, my entire body clenched as fear flooded me, ice-cold and paralyzing. I wanted to scream at Malborough and scratch his eyes out. I wanted to drag Samuel back to safety. I wanted to step in front of him, protect him. But I couldn't move. I could only watch in horror as he inched ever closer to the madman and his gun.
Malborough cocked the pistol. The paralysis left me. I lunged forward only to find that I was being held back. I didn't know by whom. I didn't care. I needed to get to Samuel, needed to stop him. Needed to let him know that I couldn't bear to lose him now. Not when I had learned something very important about myself.
I fought off the hands grabbing me, but strong arms circled my waist and grounded me. It must have been Tommy; he was the only one strong enough. I kicked out, but it was useless. I couldn't go to Samuel. Couldn't protect him.
"No," I sobbed. "Samuel, please. Please, stay there. Stay with me."
But he didn't listen. His only response was to glance back over his shoulder at me with those beautiful, gentle blue eyes of his, and offer me an encouraging smile. "It's all right"
Malborough took advantage of his distraction and lunged. He smashed the butt of the gun against Samuel's head.
Samuel stumbled to his knees, dropping the knife on the floor. Mrs. Gladstone screamed. I screamed.
But there was no gunfire. Malborough used the gun like a club, once more bringing it down on Samuel. But Samuel shifted out of the way at the last moment and Malborough careened forward, landing in front of me.
I kicked him in the shin, but without shoes it wasn't nearly hard enough. My toe hurt like the devil, but I prepared for another kick.
Malborough scrambled back out of the way. Samuel dragged himself to his feet and stood, swaying. Blood poured from the gash in his temple and there was blood on the left side of his shirt, too. The wounds inflicted by the demon had opened up.
Tommy let me go and reached Malborough a moment later than Samuel. With a grunt of effort, Samuel punched Malborough, first in the stomach then in the chin, both with his uninjured right hand. Malborough fell back into Tommy's waiting arms. Samuel wrenched the gun from Malborough's fingers then slumped against the wall. His face was white, his breathing unsteady, and the blood kept flowing.
Tommy jerked Malborough's arms behind his back and Malborough roared with pain. "Let me go, scum! I'm unarmed."
"You'll bloody have no arms left when I'm finished with you," Tommy snarled.
Samuel rifled through Malborough's pockets. "Let him go," he said. "He's not hiding any weapons."
Tommy released him, but not before shoving Malborough into the wall, hard. "I should gut you. I should skin you and gut you like the slippery fish you are."
"Here," said Lord Frakingham, stepping around me. He held up the cord from his smoking jacket. "Use this to tie him up."
Tommy half carried, half dragged Malborough back into the bedroom and threw him onto the bed. Before Malborough could realize what had happened, Tommy had him trussed up like a roasting chicken.
Mrs. Gladstone rushed past me and knelt beside Samuel. She checked him over then beckoned Tommy. "Help him to stand. We must get him to bed."
Samuel shook his head. "I'm all right." He fixed his gaze on me. It was intense and hot and wonderful. "Charity?"
"Yes?" I whispered.
"Are you all right?"
I nodded.
"Then why are you crying?"
I swiped the back of my hand over my cheeks. It came away wet. I hadn't noticed my tears. Had only been aware of Samuel and the fierce need to keep him safe.
I shrugged in response. It was all I could manage. My heart was in my throat, clogging it, its rhythm erratic. I felt mad, or at least, not altogether there. A fog had descended, clouding my head, so that I couldn't think, could only feel. And what I felt was an overwhelming love for the man bleeding on the floor.
"You're shaking," Cara said gently. "Come and sit down."
She steered me into the room and sat me down on a chair while she sat on another. I glanced back and saw Mrs. Gladstone helping Samuel out of the secret passage. He limped terribly and blood smeared his clothes on his left side.
"Tommy," I said, finding my voice. "Fetch fresh bandages and warm water."
He passed Sylvia wheeling Langley into the room. She stopped short and stared at Malborough, sitting on the bed, his hands tied to the bedpost.
"Pig," she spat, pushing the wheelchair forward.
"You're injured," Langley said to Samuel who eased himself into an armchair.
"Just my old wounds." He touched his forehead. "And one new one."
I watched him from beneath lowered lashes. He watched me too, and our glances felt like a secret between the two of us. Nobody else seemed to notice. I did not offer him a smile, and he didn't give me one. His intense, silent gazes were enough. I drank them in, devouring the sight of him, injured but alive.
"How did you know that gun wasn't loaded?" Cara asked him, breaking our connection.
He emitted a small sigh and focused on her. "I recognized it as one of ours. We keep our weapons unloaded and locked away in the gun room. Only Tommy and Bollard—Mr. Langley—have a key. Malborough must have gotten the key from Tommy when he hypnotized him."
"That was a singularly low act," Sylvia growled in a harsh voice that sounded nothing like her usual sweet one.
Malborough ignored her.
"How did you know he didn't direct Tommy to give him bullets?" Cara asked.
"He probably did," Samuel said. "Tommy wouldn't have found them. I hid the bullets after Malborough's hypnotism first came to light. I told no one, just in case this happened."
"That was clever of you," Mrs. Gladstone said with pride. She kissed the top of his head. Ordinarily he would have moved away or asked her not to do it, but this time he didn't.
"How did you know about that secret passage?" Sylvia asked Malborough. "I didn't even know it existed."
"You forget, you silly twit, I've lived here longer than you. This was my house long before it became yours. I had no brothers and sisters and wasn't allowed to play with the village children. My amusement was this house." He looked wistfully at the rose ceiling medallion and wallpapered walls as if he was imagining himself a child once more, exploring the house's secrets. "I know every inch of it. Every passage, every hidden door. I even know what's in the attic."
His father grunted. "That would be why you haven't helped me."
"It's all rubbish," Malborough said. "Langley is welcome to it. I don't want any of that."
"You only want the house," I said quietly.
He lowered his head and shoulders, and said nothing. He looked like a defeated man. With none of his scheming bearing fruit, it was no wonder.
"The house will never be yours," Langley said. "I'll put provisions in my will to ensure it's not sold to you or your descendants." He glanced at Lord Frakingham and the older nobleman nodded, agreeing to the plan. "I'll have your coach brought around immediately and send your valet in to pack while Samuel is here. It's still dark, but I don't care. You're not staying in my house a moment longer." He wheeled himself around, but stopped near the door. He swallowed heavily. "Did you hypnotize my man, Bollard?"
Malborough cast him a slick grin. "I thought if your work was destroyed, you'd have no money to maintain the estate and need to sell it."
"I wouldn't have bought it back," Frakingham told him. "I can't afford to."
"I had to try something!"
"It was a pointless exercise," Langley agreed. "I don't rely on the money from my work anymore."
"I didn't know that at the time," Malborough snapped. "Once I did, I switched my efforts to Sylvia. She seemed like the next best option. More work, though."
"I am not work!" she declared, hands on hips.
Langley whee
led himself out of the room, and I wondered how he was going to get Bollard back. We'd not had a telegram in response to ours. He could be anywhere.
***
Frakingham and Malborough departed just as dawn peeked over the horizon. The household seemed to heave a collective sigh as their coach rolled away. I, for one, finally felt as if I could breathe freely again. Sylvia too. She was in remarkably good spirits during breakfast and afterward, when we all retreated to the drawing room. All of us, that is, except Mr. Langley and Bert.
"Bert and I are going home too," Mrs. Gladstone announced, sitting on the edge of the sofa next to Samuel. He'd refused to lie in his bed and insisted on joining everyone in the drawing room after breakfast. He'd settled on the sofa, propping his injured leg on a footstool, and endured his mother's fussing with minimal complaint. I was surprised that she was leaving, seeing as she was so concerned about him.
"Bert ought to be at home," she said with calm detachment. "He's more comfortable there."
"I'm not coming with you," Samuel told her gently.
"I know." She did not look at me, but I felt as though she wanted to. "I'm resigned to it."
Samuel folded his bandaged hand over hers and she gave him a fleeting, uncertain smile. "Send for me if he gets worse," he said.
She nodded. "You must not exert yourself here," she ordered him, rallying. "Ladies, I'm relying on you to see that he rests. All of you," she added, with a glance at me.
"We'll see that he's pampered back to full health," Charity said. "Won't we, Cara?"
"Hmmm?" Cara murmured. Then she yawned. The poor thing ought to have returned to bed. She looked exhausted. It had been a long night for everyone, although I felt quite awake. My body hummed with awareness and I had difficulty sitting still. There was no chance that I could have fallen asleep again.
Mrs. Gladstone and Bert left a short time later. Samuel's farewell to his brother was jovial enough, but I could sense the anxiety in him over Bert's declining health. He had slept through the events of the night before, proving just how draining his illness was.
Once their coach was out of sight, Sylvia and Cara disappeared, leaving me alone with Samuel in the drawing room. There were so many things I wanted to say to him, yet I knew it would be wrong to give voice to them. It would only complicate matters. Nothing had changed between us—and yet everything had, too.
