by C. J. Archer
"And Jack's knife is the only way to kill them?"
"Kill, yes, but they can be sent back to their own realm, too."
"How?"
"By chanting an incantation while the amulet is held near the demon. The chanter and amulet holder do not need to be one and the same person, but they do need to be very close."
"I've heard you speak of an amulet before," I said, hardly breathing.
"It's the same device used by the summoner to bring the demon here."
"What does it look like?"
"Like, well, like an amulet of course. A basic piece of jewelry with a pattern carved into it."
I nodded, numb. There was no doubt in my mind that the disc in Samuel's possession was an amulet. The question was, had it been the one used to summon the demon now terrorizing Frakingham?
It must have been. The coincidence of it appearing now, hardly a week after the demon first appeared, was too great for it to be otherwise.
"How common are these amulets to come by?" I asked.
"I think they're extremely rare. Mr. Culvert, the demonologist, seems to think he knows of all the ones in existence."
Oh God. A wave of nausea slammed into me. I pressed my hand to my stomach and concentrated on controlling my breathing. It came in short, sharp gasps, keeping apace with the rapid beat of my heart.
"Charity?" Sylvia prompted, peering into my face. "Are you all right? You've gone quite pale."
"I…I'm fine."
"Did you hear my question?"
"I, uh, no. I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"I asked if that was at all helpful."
"Yes, thank you." I tried to speak normally so as not to alarm her, but still my voice quivered.
Thankfully she didn't seem to notice. "Who'd have thought I knew all of that?" she said, sounding pleased. "I suppose I was listening when Mr. Culvert came to visit a few months ago, after all."
"Excuse me," I said, rising.
"Your nerves again?" she asked.
I nodded.
"Would you like me to help you? Or get you something? How about a soothing cup of tea?"
"No, thank you."
She gave me a sympathetic look. "It's all this demon talk, isn't it? I find it unsettling as well."
"It is rather overwhelming. I just need to rest awhile." I left before she could ask more questions. I wasn't up to answering them.
I hurried to my room and closed the door. I lay on the bed and stared up at the canopy. My stomach still rolled as if I were on a boat, and my mind was a jumble of thoughts. I tried to pick each one apart and sift through all the possible scenarios that could explain why Samuel was in possession of an amulet. But, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't disregard the most obvious one.
Samuel had used the amulet to summon the demon that killed his father.
CHAPTER 11
I tried to tell myself that my logic was flawed, the notion absurd. Samuel was a good man.
Yet the logic wasn't flawed and the notion not absurd at all. He was not the same man he had been mere weeks ago. He had changed almost beyond recognition since he saw my memories. The new Samuel Gladstone was troubled to the point of madness, and a madman was capable of acting on dark emotions. The question remained whether he was capable of murdering his own father.
I did not go downstairs for the rest of the day, even when I saw Samuel and Tommy return from my window. Nor when Sylvia came to see why I hid away.
I told her I didn't feel up to joining the rest of the household for dinner. She accepted my excuse of a headache without question.
Samuel did not.
I opened the door to his knock, thinking it was the maid come to collect my dinner tray. I fell back a step upon seeing him standing there in shirt and trousers, his tie askew and his eyes as dark as night. The light from the small gas lamp on the wall behind him burnished his hair and outlined him with a devilish glow.
"Are you all right?" he asked. "Sylvia said you were unwell."
"I have a headache."
"Can I get you anything?"
"No, thank you." I went to shut the door, but he put his hand out to stop it.
"I want to talk to you," he said.
I waited, even though my heart hammered out a warning in my chest. Even though every piece of me wanted to shut the door and lock it.
It was a long time before he spoke again. He seemed to be warring with himself, or choosing his words carefully. "You're avoiding me," he eventually said. It wasn't a question. This man knew me so well it was frightening.
I shook my head rapidly. "I have a headache."
He frowned. "Something's wrong. You've changed since I went out."
Be calm, Charity, don't let him see your fear. Don't let him know what you're thinking. "Have I?"
"You've not even asked if we managed to procure any more food for the demon."
Everything inside me tightened, preparing to spring back out of the way if necessary. "Did you?"
"Only two lambs. Not enough to satisfy it for long. We'll visit another farm tomorrow and buy more, even if the animals aren't diseased." He ran his hand through his hair, messing it up. "I don't know how long a few sheep will satisfy it, but it seems like the best choice until it can be killed."
I waited, hoping he would mention the amulet and how he'd found it somewhere by chance. But he didn't. He let me continue to think our only chances of defeating the demon lay in Jack's knife.
Part of me wanted to confront him, but that part was easily drowned out by the terrified girl inside, screaming silently in fear.
He leaned against the doorframe and looked past me into my room. Then he suddenly straightened. "Your bag is packed. You're leaving?"
I said nothing. I didn't dare lie, not to a madman who could read me like a book. But I didn't dare tell the truth either; he would only try to stop me going.
I folded my arms to hide my shaking and eyed him closely for any sudden lunges in my direction.
"Charity?" He stared at me and I felt like I was falling into his eyes, drowning in their dark intensity. "Are you leaving because of me?"
I dared not speak in case I said the wrong thing, so I simply gave my head a little shake.
"Don't go," he murmured. "I don't want you to leave."
I remained silent.
"Say something!" he snapped. "Talk to me."
I inched closer to the door, to put a barrier between us if necessary. All I could think about, all I wanted to do, was get away from this madman who could get me to do whatever he wanted with a few words.
His frown deepened. He pressed a hand to the doorframe at shoulder height as if he were propping himself up. His fingers curled into a fist against the wood. I kept my gaze on it.
"Why are you suddenly so afraid of me?" His voice had risen, but he wasn't quite shouting. He didn't need to shout to show his anger. It vibrated off him and slammed into me with the force of a tidal wave against the shore.
A trickle of sweat trailed down my spine, but I felt cold, my hands clammy as if I were in a fever. I swallowed and swallowed again, but the lump in my throat would not go away.
He suddenly thumped the doorframe with his palm. "Why, Charity?"
I jumped. My heart felt like it would leap out of my chest. I stepped back from the door, staring at him. That violent reaction right there was why, I wanted to tell him. But I couldn't. I couldn't speak aloud, couldn't form sentences. My fear was too consuming.
His face suddenly softened. The flushed angry color drained away, his eyes widened. There was fear in them too, but I couldn't fathom what he had to be afraid of.
"Charity." The ache in that single moaned word tugged at my heart. "Charity, please. I won't hurt you."
He stepped into my room. I stepped back.
He winced as if in pain. "I can't bear it if you're afraid of me."
Still I said nothing. He wasn't asking a direct question, and I'd learned the hard way not to speak unless specifically questioned.
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"Charity, there's no need to fear me." His voice changed. The plea disappeared, replaced by a smoother, richer tone that had my head feeling light and dizzy. "I would never do anything to harm you. You must believe that." His words slipped over my skin and chased away the chill that had settled into my bones.
"I do," I said, taking an involuntary step closer to him. "I believe every word you say." My heartbeat quickened, not in fear, but something just as primal. Desire. I lifted my arms and circled them around his neck. I skimmed my lips across his throat, drawing the delicious masculine scent of him deep into my lungs. I lightly kissed his shoulder through his shirt. The muscles flexed. I pressed my palm against his chest and relished the rapid beat of his heart. It pounded like that for me. All for me.
"Charity?" he said on a groan.
"Don't talk."
A small sigh escaped his lips. "I'm going to regret this, but…stop!"
Awareness breezed through my mind, blowing away the dizziness. I gasped and stumbled backward until my legs hit the bed. I scrambled across the bedcovers to the far side and grabbed the pillow. I put it in front of me as if it could protect me.
"Charity…I'm sorry." He ran his hands over his face, behind his neck and then finally stared at them as if he'd wondered how they'd got there. "I don't know how that happened. I don't know…" He shook his head and closed his eyes. "Forgive me."
I clenched my jaw to stop my teeth chattering.
He opened his eyes. They were shadowy, haunted orbs. "You must know that I didn't do that on purpose."
I knew he hadn't, but it didn't make it any easier to bear. I nodded in the hope it would encourage him to stop talking and leave.
"Something seems to happen when I…when my emotions…" He swore softly and lowered his head. Jagged ends of his hair hung over his forehead and obscured his eyes. "I hate that you're afraid of me," he muttered. "I hate that you won't even talk to me now. I hate that you want to be far away from me." He lifted his head, but I still could not see his eyes through his hair. "I'll go now. But please don't leave Frakingham. You're safer here than in London while the master's ghost is there. I promise not to come near you, even though it'll kill me to stay away. You have nothing to fear from me, Charity, and I'm going to prove it to you, even if it takes me a lifetime."
His words clawed at my heart. I wanted to go to him, hold him, kiss him, and not because I was hypnotized but because I wanted to. Yet the frightened girl in me forbade it. She didn't trust him, especially now after finding the amulet. And she always won.
He pushed the hair off his forehead and settled his soft gaze on me. With a sigh, he shut the door. His footsteps retreated down the hall and finally faded altogether.
I climbed off the bed and raced to the door. I turned the key in the lock. It wasn't until that moment that I realized I'd been holding my breath. I let it out slowly and returned to the bed. I lay on top of the covers and fought back tears.
When would it ever end? When could I go home to London and away from this place and that man? The sooner I put some distance between us, the sooner I could forget him, and forget the fact that I wanted to be with him, even now, knowing that he had such power over me. And knowing that he had most likely summoned the demon that killed his father.
***
I prepared to leave early the following morning. I had my valise packed and my gloves on. Unfortunately, I needed someone to drive me to the station. With the demon about, that meant one driver and at least another armed man to keep watch.
Tommy refused. "You can't leave now," he said when I approached him, early, in the kitchen.
I stood near the door, out of the way of the staff as they prepared breakfast for the household. The smells of bacon and sausages made my stomach growl. I tried not to hanker for the delicious morsels as they were piled onto platters, but I failed miserably.
"I have to," I told him as he placed the domed lid on one of the platters. I hadn't wanted to talk to him in front of everyone, but he'd given me no choice. He refused to stop work to speak to me alone and instead I'd had to beg him in front of the cook, her assistant, Maud and Mrs. Moore. It was all hands on deck for mealtimes.
He was too intent on balancing a second platter on his other hand to answer me. I doubted he'd even heard me. He headed toward the door. I stepped in front of him, blocking his exit.
"Move aside, Charity," he said, glaring at me. "I've got work to do."
"Not until you promise to accompany the driver."
He huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes to the ceiling.
"Go! Go!" the cook cried, shooing him with her apron. "Mr. Langley likes his sausages hot."
Tommy side-stepped around me. "I'll take you to the station if Miss Langley and Mr. Gladstone agree to it," he tossed over his shoulder.
I sighed. They wouldn't agree to it. I had to find another way. After breakfast. "May I have a tray of bacon, sausages and a piece of toast, please," I said to the cook. "I'll take it up to my room myself."
Maud bustled past me carrying a teapot. The cook muttered to herself as she organized my food on a tray. She handed the tray to me, but did not let go when I took it.
"It's dangerous out there," she said, her eyes alert beneath fat eyelids. "You shouldn't put yourself at risk, nor Tommy and Fray neither. You shouldn't ask that of them."
I nodded quickly and she let go of the tray and returned to her stove. I blinked back hot tears and turned to go. She was right and I thoroughly deserved that rebuke.
I took the service stairs up to my room to avoid seeing anyone. Or, more specifically, avoid Samuel. I ate my breakfast alone, something I thought I wanted. But it was lonely. I was used to the childish chatter of my charges in the mornings, not this smothering silence.
I was finishing off my tea when Sylvia knocked on my door. "It's me," she called out.
I opened the door and she swept into my room like a blustering wind. "You're not leaving," she said with all the majesty of a queen. "It's too dangerous."
"I know. I've decided to stay a while longer."
Her bluster vanished and she smiled. "Oh. Good. I am pleased. You had me worried for a moment. You've done nothing but hide away in here since yesterday and then all this talk of leaving… I must say you've been terribly selfish to deny us your company."
"I'm sure you hardly noticed my absence."
"Tosh. Of course we did. Uncle commented on it himself. Even Bollard asked why you weren't at breakfast. Samuel too."
"Samuel asked after me?"
"No, I mean he wasn't at breakfast. He ate in his rooms, Tommy said. Bollard was asking why you were both absent."
Samuel must have deliberately kept to his rooms so that I could join the family at breakfast and not be upset by his presence. It was just like him to be considerate. I bit the inside of my lip and regretted my harsh thoughts about him. Then I recalled why I'd thought them and stopped regretting.
"Shall we resume our piano lessons this morning?" Sylvia asked.
"We might as well. There's little else to do. When are Tommy and Samuel going out to see the farmers?" I asked idly.
"Soon. They're with Fray now, in the stables, preparing the cart and horses."
"Then let's go now, shall we?"
She clapped her hands. "Excellent. I'll meet you in the music room in ten minutes."
Ten minutes later I made my way down to the music room. I was intercepted by Bollard and Langley before I reached it. The servant wheeled his master out of the shadowy corner into my path. It was as if they'd been waiting for me.
"Good morning, Charity," Langley said. "May we have a word?"
We? I wasn't sure how he expected Bollard to 'have a word' with me. "Of course," I said, feigning enthusiasm. "What about?"
"Come into the music room."
I walked ahead and waited for Bollard to wheel Langley in after me. The mute servant then stood behind his master, his hands behind his back, looking every inch like a thug I knew from my days on the
streets.
"I believe you no longer plan to leave Frakingham today," Langley said.
"That is correct. I changed my mind." How did he know I'd been planning to stay? Had Sylvia told him after she'd come to see me? Or had he used some other method? Sometimes Langley seemed omniscient, and at other times he was blissfully unaware of everything except his experiments. I was yet to understand him.
"Good," he said. "It's safer here."
"So everybody keeps telling me," I muttered.
Bollard's gaze shifted to mine. His blank face didn't change. He was completely unreadable, yet that simple movement of his eyes unnerved me. The big, silent man was no fool.
"You may be wondering why I wanted to speak to you now," Langley said.
"I am curious," I said. "I hope I've done nothing wrong."
"Not that I know of." His lips curled in what almost resembled a smile. Bollard cleared his throat and Langley's mouth flattened again. "I'm talking to you now because you can't understand sign language."
Was Langley implying that it was actually his servant who wished to speak to me? How odd. The men had a most unusual relationship if the servant could have the master communicate on his behalf.
Langley breathed in deeply and puffed out his chest as if he were fortifying himself. "You need to stop letting your fears conquer you," he told me. "It's time you learned to conquer them."
I waited for him to say something more, but that was it. He seemed to think there was nothing more to be said. "That's rather profound," I said before he could order Bollard to wheel him away. "But I can assure you, you're quite wrong."
"No, I don't think so."
His casual disregard for my struggle irritated me. What did this pampered, rich man know about my fears? "You're entitled to your opinion," I said with far more nonchalance than I felt.
