by C. J. Archer
CHAPTER 4
I know what you did. The five words scribbled on the piece of singed paper sent a chill rippling down my spine.
"What does this mean?" I asked Samuel.
He shook his head slowly. "I don't know. There's no indication of who it's from. There was a waste basket near the writing desk," he added.
"So why burn it?" I muttered.
He took the paper back. "It wasn't burned completely."
Curious. "Have you shown it to your mother?"
"Not yet."
"Perhaps you shouldn't. It might upset her more."
"You're very kind to think of her, Charity. Particularly when she hasn't been so kind to you in return."
"She hasn't said anything I haven't heard before."
He closed his eyes. His chest expanded with his deep breath. "That's precisely why I think we should marry. I can protect you from such cruelty."
"Oh, Samuel. That's noble of you, but you can't. Marriage will only make it worse, and not just for me, but for you and your family. Can you imagine what your mother's friends will say behind her back? Or perhaps even to her face?"
"If they do, then they're not true friends," he spat. "She'd be better off without them."
I wanted to chide him for not understanding his mother's position, but didn't. Our relationship wasn't like that. In the brief few days in which my memory had been blocked, perhaps I could have. I had more courage then. Now, just the thought of speaking my mind to a man—any man—had my insides twisting into knots.
He suddenly sat on the chaise beside me and grabbed my hand. He held it firmly. Too firmly. I did not try to pull away. Resisting had only ever made the master's grip harder.
But Samuel was not the master. I needed to remember that.
"Will you not reconsider, Charity?" he urged. "I can make you happy, and I know you will make me happy."
Given our circumstances, I doubted that very much. "I've said my piece. Please let's not discuss it again." I tugged and he let go.
He paced to the window and back, twice, before standing before me once more. "Everything has changed now that Father has gone," he said, fixing me with a steady gaze.
"Has it?"
"I won't be cut off, for one thing."
"Bert wouldn't follow through on your father's wishes?"
"No. He's too fond of me."
If he were so fond of his brother, why would he try to buy the woman Samuel loved?
"Nothing has changed, as far as I'm concerned," I told him. "Now please, let's end this discussion. It's too upsetting for both of us."
He stared at me. Really stared. "If you didn't care, how could it upset you?"
"I never said I don't care!" My outburst startled me. I bit my lip and watched him closely for signs of backlash for my impertinence. "I'm sorry," I mumbled.
"Don't apologize." The corner of his mouth lifted. "I like to see you fire up, on occasion. I know you say what you're thinking when you speak so vehemently, and I want to know what you're thinking, Charity. I want to know everything about you."
"You already do."
He shook his head. "I know your memories and the emotions associated with them—joy, fear, hope. But I don't know what you want for the future, or what you're thinking now."
I said nothing. I couldn't. My nerves were too raw, my heart sore, not only for him, but for me, too. For what might have been if my past had been different and I'd never succumbed to the master's charms.
"Damnation," he muttered. He scrubbed his hands down his face. When he removed them, there seemed to be more creases around his eyes and deeper shadows within. "Why is it I never know what to say to you? I admit to being at a loss, here. That's not something I'm used to where women are concerned. There, now you know more about my current state of mind than I do about yours."
I smiled at his candid admission. It was more charming than any form of flattery.
Samuel leaned against the window frame with a sigh and stared out at the solid expanse of gray sky. His face was in profile, but I could see it fully in the reflection. His lips pinched together and his nostrils flared. He was trying hard not to let his emotions get the better of him.
I considered going to him, but decided to remain seated. A simple gesture such as a hand on his arm could too easily lead to a comforting embrace. I couldn't risk that.
"I know you didn't get along with your father, of late," I said, "but it's still a terrible thing to lose him. I can't imagine what you're going through."
"You lost both your parents."
"I never knew my father and hardly knew my mother. Her death wasn't a big loss. You have my utmost sympathies, Samuel."
He gave me a flat smile in the window's reflection. "Thank you. I'll be all right. It's Mother I'm worried about, and Bert. His health worsens."
"He told me he's dying."
He jerked around to face me fully. "He did? When?"
"We spoke yesterday." I smoothed my skirts over my lap, but my hands trembled, so I dug my fingernails into my palms. "He said you have to return home so you can learn to manage the estate. It's even more urgent now."
"I wish he wouldn't speak as if his death were close. The doctors don't know how long he has left."
The doctors may not know, but Bert might have some notion. He knew himself better than anyone. But I didn't tell Samuel that. He had enough burdens and loss to bear for the time being.
"Nevertheless, you'll need to take on a greater responsibility," I said.
"I'll cross that bridge when the time comes."
I didn't push it further. He seemed to be in denial about the gravity of Bert's illness. Perhaps after the shock of his father's death wore off, he could come to terms with it better.
"I have to return home, for now," he said. "But I won't stay more than a few days. I can't leave you and the others alone here for long while there's a demon on the loose."
The mention of the demon set my mind bending in that direction again. Essentially, the person who'd summoned the demon was a murderer. If it turned out to somehow be the master's doing, I wouldn't be surprised. He was a cruel man with no morals. Myer didn't seem quite so ruthless, just selfish and single-minded in pursuit of the supernatural.
"Your family must come first," I said. "We have Tommy and Bollard to protect us, and Jack's knife."
"It's not enough!"
His growled words startled me. The wildness of his eyes hammered home how fragile his mind had become since becoming privy to my memories.
"You need to take some time away from here," I said firmly. "Be with your family and friends."
"This is my family now. You are my friends. All of you."
"You don't really think that. I've seen how close you and Bert are. Your mother loves you too. Don't throw that away."
He heaved a ragged sigh. "I need to be here, Charity. I need to protect you." He tapped his chest. "It hurts me in here to know that I can't."
I sprang to my feet before I knew what I was doing. I couldn't listen anymore. Couldn't hear his sweet words or look into the whirlpools of his eyes. His tender sentiments were hammering against the wall around my heart. One more blow might shatter it.
I couldn't afford that. Not after I'd tried so hard to build it.
"Go home, Samuel," I said, my voice trembling. "We'll be fine without you." I turned and left, not daring to look back. I couldn't bear to see the damage my words caused.
***
I ate luncheon in my room. I intended to remain there, alone, for the rest of the day, but Tommy disturbed my peace mid-afternoon.
"Sylvia sent me to tell you that the Butterworths are here," he said. "They've brought Myer with them."
I groaned. "Is she with them now?"
"Yes, as is Samuel. Mrs. Gladstone and Mr. Albert remain in their rooms."
"Then why am I needed?"
"They thought you might like to hear what Myer has to say about summoning the demon. They haven't asked him yet."
&
nbsp; "Sylvia can relay anything pertinent from the interview."
He rolled his eyes. "For God's sake, Charity, stop hiding away up here. It's cowardly."
I blinked back hot tears. It was one thing to be called a coward by someone I didn't know well, as August Langley had once done, but from a long-time friend such as Tommy, it hurt.
He sighed and came further into the room. "I only meant it's not like you to cower in your room. You've always been one to confront matters."
I shook my head and dabbed at my eyes. "The old me did. But you don't know me anymore, Tommy. I've changed in recent years. You're right. I have become cowardly."
His gaze lowered. "I wish Jack were here."
"So do I."
"He'd be straight with you. He'd tell you direct what he thought of your behavior. But it looks like it's up to me and I know you're going to hate me for it."
"I could never hate you or Jack. We've been friends too long to let a few words come between us."
"You haven't heard what I'm going to say yet."
"I thought calling me cowardly was the extent of it."
That almost produced a smile, but it would seem the task he'd set himself was too grave to allow it to flourish. "You've become a shadow of the girl you once were."
He paused, perhaps waiting for my response. I said nothing. There was nothing to say.
"You used to be lively, happy. You had strength of spirit and a quick wit. You used to laugh all the time, and make us laugh. But you've lost all of your vitality. It's like you've given up since…since that man did what he did. It's like he took the essence of what made up Charity Evans, and never gave it back after you escaped."
My throat burned with the tears clogging it. He was right. The master had stolen my spirit and not even his death had seen its return to me. He'd crushed it beneath his boot until it was nothing but dust. There was no getting it back now, after all this time and all that he'd done. It was lost forever.
"What do you expect of me?" A whisper was all I could manage without breaking the bank that held back my tears.
"I expect you to fight to take back that essence. I want to see you enjoy what you do have, not what you lost."
"The girl I once was is gone, never to return."
He clicked his tongue and bobbed down in front of me. I didn't meet his gaze. Couldn't. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. Fight for her. Fight to get her back. You have to try, Charity, and I'm not seeing you try anything stuck away in here." He touched my hand, but I snatched it away and buried it, scar and all, under my skirts.
"You don't know anything," I snapped. "You weren't there. Now, kindly keep your opinions to yourself. Besides, I don't see what any of this has to do with me staying in here. I'm avoiding Mrs. Gladstone." Bert too, but I didn't tell him that. "It has nothing to do with me having changed, or turning into a shadow, as you put it."
"Doesn't it?"
"Of course not. Mrs. Gladstone is grieving. She doesn't need to meet me around every corner, reminding her that her son has sunk so low as to want to marry a scarlet woman. I don't consider myself cowardly at all in this instance. I'm simply being considerate of her feelings."
"Nonsense. You could be there for her son, or even for her. See this as an opportunity to show her the real Charity Evans, the kind-hearted and capable woman. Given time, she will grow to like you. The real you."
"Now is not the time for grasping at opportunities to inveigle myself."
"I don't mean inveigle—"
"Besides, having her like me only applies if I want to marry Samuel. I don't. And since I don't, the Gladstones mean nothing to me. They can think what they wish. I simply don't care."
"You don't mean that."
"I do. And since you can't see it, then you don't know me anymore, Tommy. Now, kindly leave me alone."
"Not until you come downstairs and listen to what Myer has to say. And hurry up about it. They're waiting for you."
I did so want to hear Myer's response, but I'd dug my heels in so deep I wasn't sure I could dig them out again. "Sylvia can relay the conversation."
"She'll forget something important."
"You, then."
"I'll refuse."
I sighed. "You're the most stubborn, pig-headed man I know. Besides Jack."
He suddenly grinned and I was grateful beyond words to see it. It meant we were still friends, despite everything we'd said to one another.
"Are you sure Mrs. Gladstone isn't there?" I asked.
"She isn't. Neither is Mr. Albert. Come on, or I'll have to send Sylvia up to fetch you. She'll be far more insistent."
I sighed. "Very well."
We went downstairs together, but parted at the bottom of the staircase. He headed to the service area and I made my way to the drawing room, but avoided looking directly at Samuel. Our last conversation had been upsetting for me. I didn't want to see how it had affected him.
Mr. Myer sat in an armchair near the unlit fireplace, and the Butterworths sat together on one of the sofas. It was quite a shock seeing the dough-faced Harborough mayor again. The last time I'd seen Mr. Butterworth, he'd been possessed by the spirit of the master. Fortunately he knew nothing about that time and gave me an open smile. I smiled back politely, but took a seat as far away from him as possible.
Mrs. Butterworth peered down her equine nose and appraised my outfit. From the look on her face, she thought it as dreary as the sky outside. She dismissed me with a casual glance in Sylvia's direction. That suited me. I didn't want her notice.
Sylvia handed me a cup of tea. "Samuel was just telling the Butterworths and Mr. Myer that they shouldn't have come," she said with a wink. "Because of the wild dog."
So it would seem the Butterworths weren't to know about the demon. A wise decision. The fewer people who knew about the supernatural, the better. Besides, I wasn't so sure either of the Butterworths were the sort to keep such information to themselves. Mrs. Butterworth was quite the chatterbox.
Myer remained silent and still. Of the three of them, he alone knew the wild dog story was simply that—a story.
"We're well armed," Mr. Butterworth said. "Nothing could—"
"How large is it?" Mrs. Butterworth interrupted. Mr. Butterworth narrowed his gaze at his wife, but did not try to wrestle the conversation back.
"Huge," Sylvia told her. "Quite the monster."
"You've seen it, Miss Langley?"
"Uh, no. Samuel has."
I found my gaze automatically wandering to Samuel, sitting in an armchair off to the side. Thankfully, he wasn't looking at me, but at Myer. He inclined his head. "It was foolish of you to come."
"We wanted to see if there's anything we can do," Myer said.
"Not unless you've brought some device with you to defeat it."
"I told you," Mr. Butterworth cut in. "We're armed."
"Are you armed, Mr. Myer?" Samuel asked.
"I have a gun, but no other weapons," Myer said. Meaning he had no amulet to send the creature back.
It was a conversation inside another conversation with the inner one being the real one. It was all so strange to listen to,watching for a reaction from the Butterworths. They were the only ones not privy to what we were really talking about. So far, they seemed oblivious to the strained undercurrents and the double meanings.
"Everett wants to know how long it will be before you kill the creature," Mrs. Butterworth said. "He wants to resume his research. He does find those abbey ruins fascinating, what with his interest in the supernatural. Don't you, Everett?"
Her mention of Myer's given name reminded me of their adultery. It would seem Mr. Butterworth was quite unaware of the liaison, although his acceptance of Myer as a frequent guest in his home could have meant he knew of it and didn't care. Of course, there was always the possibility that Myer had coerced Mrs. Butterworth through hypnosis and then wiped her memory of it afterwards. According to Sylvia, they'd discovered that Myer had hypnotized Mrs. Butteworth at least once to inst
igate the liaison, but only at her request. Apparently it was to calm her nerves.
The entire affair seemed much too sordid for such well-to-do people. It lowered them in my eyes, and yet it was not lost on me that they considered me baser still, despite me never having been with a married man.
"Are you quite sure your father's death was a result of a…wild dog attack?" Myer asked Samuel. "Were the wounds similar in nature to the last victims?"
"Come now, Myer," Mr. Butterworth scolded. "There are ladies present and Mr. Gladstone is in mourning."
"These things should be discussed," Samuel told him. "I'm very interested to hear Mr. Myer's opinion."
The folds on Mr. Butterworth's face scrunched. He opened his mouth to speak, but his wife got in first. "Why?" she asked. "What has it got to do with Everett?"
"Nothing," Sylvia said with a wave of her hand. "Nothing at all. Isn't that right, Samuel?"
Samuel smiled tightly. He hadn't taken his gaze off Myer the entire time. Myer stared straight back.
"Well?" Myer asked. "Were they the same?"
Samuel nodded. "There's no doubt in my mind they were caused by the same sort of animal."
"But you caught and killed the last one," Mr. Butterworth said.
"This one may have come from the same pack."
"This is awful," Mrs. Butterworth whimpered. "I do hope it stays in your woods and doesn't venture into the village."
"We all hope that," Sylvia agreed.
"Poor Mr. Gladstone," Mrs. Butterworth muttered. "Poor, poor man. What an awful thing to happen. Yet I am glad you got to see your father again, Mr. Gladstone. He said he'd not seen you for some time."
That got everyone's attention. Sylvia, Samuel and I stared at her. "You met him? When?" Samuel asked.
"Oh, I've never met him. Have you, dear?" She didn't wait for her husband's response before continuing on. "At least I don't think I have." She frowned as if trying to recall a distant memory. "Anyhow, he wrote to us. He wanted to know the history of Frakingham House."
"Whatever for?" Sylvia blurted out.
Mrs. Butterworth shrugged her large shoulders. "He didn't say. I suspect he chose us because we're the most important family in the village." She puffed out her considerable chest, testing the seams of her jacket. "He asked if we knew of any strange goings-on up here in the past."
