by C. J. Archer
"I once called you a coward for not wanting to remember your past. Do you remember that?"
I nodded. "You told me that our fears are what kept us safe."
"True, and they do. But they can also stop us from living a full life."
"I believe I noted that at the time."
"It's a fine line," he went on.
"One which I'm trying my best to navigate."
"Navigate or avoid altogether?"
I crossed my arms. "I don't think you're in any position to lecture me on avoidance, Mr. Langley, locked away as you are in your laboratory most of the time."
Bollard's eyes widened and I suddenly felt sick. Why couldn't I have kept my mouth shut? Why had I spoken out of turn like that, to August Langley of all people? He would surely throw me out now, or scold me, or…
"It would seem you're not afraid of speaking your mind to all men, then," Langley said, lightly.
I lowered my head, but peered up at him, wary. "I…I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I like your forthrightness."
My only response was to blink. I didn't want to say the wrong thing again.
He pressed his lips together in a fleshy pout as he regarded me. Behind him, Bollard did too, his face once more a blank mask. "Are you truly afraid of me, Charity? Of any of us? Or is your fear merely an excuse to hide behind?"
"An excuse!"
My outburst brought a smile to his face and I wondered if his provocative words had been a tactic to get me to speak. "Go on," he said.
"My fears are grounded in facts, sir." My confidence grew with every word. I could trust this man, and Bollard too. Neither had shown violent tendencies. Unlike Samuel. "There are reasons for those fears."
"Of course. No one is denying that, or expecting you to cast them aside as if they never existed. We know that's not possible. But you need to face up to what happened to you, so you can move on."
I hadn't been entirely referring to my past with the master. The facts surrounding Samuel and the discovery of the amulet in his belongings still played on my mind.
Bollard suddenly moved, as if he'd been wound up and let go. He pointed to his chest and formed rapid signals with his nimble fingers.
"What is he saying?" I asked.
Langley twisted in his chair and watched his man repeat the motions then he turned back to me. "He wants you to know that he agrees with me."
Bollard cleared his throat.
Langley rolled his eyes and sighed. "He says you need to come to terms with your past so that you can love again."
My pulse throbbed in my veins and my face heated. I wanted to tell these men that they knew nothing about love, or about me. How could they? Neither was married. If Langley loved his niece, he didn't show it. He seemed to merely accept her presence in his household. I'd never seen him show her any affection.
Without a word from his master, Bollard turned the wheelchair around and wheeled Langley out of the room. I drew in several deep breaths, until I was certain my emotions were under control, then sat at the piano. I began to play the tune Sylvia had taught me. I had to concentrate to get it right. I was determined to get it right. Determined for it to be perfect. After a few stumbles, the notes and rhythm filled my head, expelling all other thoughts and obliterating my conversation with Langley entirely.
I finished the piece to a round of applause. "Beautiful playing," Sylvia said, coming up alongside me.
I shifted over on the seat to accommodate her more voluminous skirt. "How much did you hear?"
"A little," she said, evasive. I hazarded a guess that she'd heard some, if not all, of my conversation with her uncle. "Now that you've thoroughly mastered that piece, let's find another." She flicked through the music book, humming as she did so.
A loud thump made her stop. We both twisted around, looking for the source.
"Did something just fall?" I asked.
"It was probably one of the servants," she said, returning to the book. "I do hope nothing's broken."
Another thump, louder, then another and another.
"It's coming from outside," I said.
Sylvia rose, but I grabbed her arm and jerked her back down to the seat. She stared wide-eyed at me. "The demon," she whispered.
"You may be right."
"What do we do?"
"Alert the servants and then we all move upstairs to your uncle's laboratory," I said, eyeing the window. The music room was on the ground floor, as was the service area. The demon could break one of the windows and enter the house. We couldn't watch them all.
I stood and clasped her hand, just as a large, dark object was flung at the window. The glass cracked but didn't break.
Sylvia screamed.
The object moved into view outside. I could just make out two eyes amid a hairy, distorted face. It had no nose or ears and didn't resemble either man or dog. Its tongue lolled out of the gash for its mouth, as if it saw a tasty feast.
But it didn't attack. It drew back from the window.
Sylvia stopped screaming. "Is it leaving?" she whispered, voice cracking.
The creature paused. Its lash-less yellow eyes blinked, as if it were considering what to do next. Then it bared jagged, crooked teeth in a snarl and ran right at us. It bore down on the weakened window like a train under full steam.
Sylvia opened her mouth and screamed again.
CHAPTER 12
I pulled the derringer pistol out of my skirt pocket, aimed and fired. Glass shattered, spraying shards in all directions and over the demon itself. The creature jerked and bucked, then slammed into the window frame instead of diving through. It whimpered like a wounded dog.
Then it disappeared from sight.
I kept the gun level, but my hand shook so much my aim wouldn't be true if I had to fire again.
Seconds passed. Nothing happened. Sylvia stopped screaming and an unnatural silence descended on us for what felt like an age. She clutched my arm and I clutched hers. We both trembled. I could feel her pulse racing, the rhythm matching my own.
Pounding footsteps from within the house preceded Bollard bursting through the door, his face etched with concern. His gaze took in both of us and the broken window.
"It was here," Sylvia said, voice quivering. "The demon. Charity shot it."
I stared at the little gun in my hand. Mrs. Peeble had given it to me to keep me safe. It had not failed me yet. "I didn't kill it," I said, rather stupidly. Of course I hadn't killed it. Only Jack's knife could do that. But I had frightened it away. For now.
Mrs. Moore, Maud and the stable boy entered the music room. The lanky youth carried a long kitchen knife and looked as if he'd gladly use it on a wild dog. Maud began to cry.
"Hush, girl," Mrs. Moore scolded. "You're all right." She put her arm around the young maid's shoulders and clucked over her.
"Everyone's all right," Sylvia said with a determined tone as if she could convince us. "It's gone."
"If only Tommy and Mr. Gladstone were here," Mrs. Moore muttered as she steered Maud out of the room.
"They'll be back soon," the lad said. He headed toward the window, but Bollard grabbed him by the collar and hauled him toward the door. "All right," the lad said. "I'm going."
"Bollard?" Langley shouted from somewhere deeper in the house. "Bollard?"
"I'll speak to him," Sylvia said and left too.
"The window needs to be boarded up," I told Bollard. "Until then, we ought to shut off this room. If the…creature returns this way, it'll get no further."
I went to follow Sylvia, but Bollard stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. He arched his brows in question.
"I'm all right," I said. "A little shaken."
He glanced down at the gun in my hand. I'd forgotten I was still holding it. I flexed my fingers around the handle. They felt stiff and achy from gripping it so tightly. It was a good thing that I still carried the weapon. The attack was a timely lesson in not becoming complacent.
Bollard fetched the key f
or the music room door from Mrs. Moore while I kept watch on the window, pistol in hand. Fortunately the demon didn't return and we locked the door. Bollard dragged a marble-topped table in front of it. The table wasn't large but it must have been heavy because the big man struggled.
We were admiring his handiwork when we heard the crunch of wheels on gravel outside. Jack and Tommy had returned.
Sylvia barreled down the stairs like an out of control boulder. "They're back! Quick, we must alert them to the danger."
"They have Jack's knife," I said. And the amulet. "They're safer than we were."
"They need to know."
Bollard and I followed her to the service area and we exited the house at the cobbled courtyard. The cart drove past the arched entrance and headed toward the stable block. We raced after it and caught up with them as they pulled the horses to a stop.
"Get back inside," Samuel growled upon seeing us. "It's not safe for you out here."
"You don't need to tell us!" Sylvia said in between her deep breaths. "We've come to warn you. There was an attack just a few minutes ago. It almost broke through the music room window."
"Bloody hell!" Tommy focused on Sylvia and half-rose from the seat. "Are you hurt, Miss Langley?"
"No, thank goodness, but it gave Charity and me an awful fright. We were playing the piano at the time."
Samuel jumped down, completely letting go of the reins. He came to me, as silent as Bollard, and rested his hands on my shoulders. They were solid, capable, reassuring hands. His thumbs brushed the underside of my jaw. He dipped his head to peer into my face and I was sucked into the endless depths of his eyes.
Hot tears threatened to spill. My chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. No man had ever looked at me with quite so much concern and relief all mixed together.
A small voice begged me to move away, but it was drowned out by my thumping heartbeat. It was as if my fear of him had been numbed, suppressed. Perhaps Samuel had hypnotized me again. Yet he couldn't have; he'd not said a word.
"Are you all right?" he finally asked in a hoarse rasp.
His voice snapped me out of my stupor, having the opposite effect to what it usually did. I stepped back, out of his reach. My skin prickled. A cold shiver washed over me. The fear hadn't entirely gone, it would seem. It had just been lurking, waiting for the right moment to return and conquer.
He lowered his hands to his sides. "I'm sorry," he whispered, so quietly that no one else could have heard. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you."
I wanted to tell him that he couldn't be everywhere or that I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself, but my voice failed me. I tore my gaze away from his. I didn't want to know what he was feeling. I was too much of a coward to face that.
"Quickly, come inside," Sylvia said, beckoning us.
Tommy climbed down and slapped Samuel's shoulder the way men who'd faced battle together did. I'd never seen them so friendly and comfortable with one another. "We'll lock the horses up first," he said. "Can't leave the poor creatures out here to get eaten."
They removed some crates from the back of the cart while Sylvia and I kept watch. The putrid smell of dead meat burned my nostrils and the back of my throat. The demon would have something to eat tonight, at least.
The men unhitched the cart and led the horses into their stalls, then they carried one of the crates between them, to the edge of the woods. They would not let us come, but we kept watch until they rejoined us and together we four returned to the house.
Langley met us at the door to the locked music room. "You've returned," he said to the men. "Were you successful?"
Samuel nodded. "We took some food down to the woods. It should be satisfied for a little longer."
"We hope," Sylvia muttered.
Bollard unlocked the music room door and Samuel entered first. "Bloody hell," he said upon seeing the broken window. "How many times did it hit the glass?"
"Just once," Sylvia said. "It was going to try again, but Charity shot it."
Tommy swung round to face me. He looked rather impressed. Samuel didn't turn. He went very still. His fists closed at his sides. His shoulders squared as if he were about to pound an opponent in the boxing ring.
"We need to board it up," Langley said. "Dawson, search of some supplies. Everyone else, out. We'll keep the door locked until this thing is gone. Hopefully it won't try again now it has something to eat, but I want to be safe."
Everyone except Samuel followed him out. He stood with his back to us, his shoulders rising and falling with his deep breathing.
"Samuel," Sylvia called to him. "What are you doing?"
He dug in his pocket and pulled out Jack's knife. "It has to go," he muttered as he joined us. "And it has to go now."
Langley grabbed his arm. "We need a plan first. And you're not doing it alone."
"I'll help him, sir," Tommy said.
Langley nodded at Samuel. "Have you gotten any more information out of Myer about who may have summoned it?"
"Bloody Myer," Samuel growled, watching Bollard lock the door to the music room. "He came to my father's funeral. I questioned him, but he's still claiming it wasn't him."
Langley drummed his fingers on the arm of his wheelchair. "Do you believe him?"
"The man is a liar and a snake."
Samuel's vehemence surprised me. I knew he disliked Myer, but that dislike seemed to have deepened into hatred. What had Myer said or done at the funeral to incur Samuel's wrath?
Langley grunted. "We must find out who brought it here and why. We can't have that thing causing havoc. The household has been disrupted enough. The servants are nervous and my tests have fallen behind." His drumming fingers stilled. He blinked up at Bollard. "Perhaps that's the intention. Perhaps someone wanted to sabotage my experiments and sent the demon to bring chaos."
Sylvia gasped. "Why would anyone go to such elaborate lengths to do such a thing? Surely there are easier ways."
"I agree," I said, daring to speak up. There was no better time to confront Samuel than in front of everybody. It was safer and there was too much at stake to keep quiet. "If the creature was summoned by someone to interfere then they would be here directing it now. Yet the demon seems to be unsupervised."
"True, true," Langley muttered, thoughtful. "The next logical question is why was it brought here? To kill your father on purpose?" he asked Samuel.
"It's a possibility," was all Samuel said. He did not look shocked by the suggestion, nor particularly upset that someone had wanted to murder his father.
"Good lord!" Sylvia pressed her hand to her stomach. "If it were Myer, what reason could he have to do such a thing to Mr. Gladstone?"
Nobody answered. Perhaps nobody dared share what was on their mind—that it might not have been Myer at all, but one of the Gladstone family. I'd wager that I was the only one who suspected Samuel, however.
"It could have been a stranger," she went on. "Even someone from the village."
"If only we could find the amulet," I said, watching Samuel out of the corner of my eye.
He flinched but said nothing. He didn't look at me. If he suspected that I knew he had it in his possession, he didn't show it. He certainly wasn't about to confess.
"Let's not discount Myer yet." Langley pushed the wheels of his chair forward and rolled across the tiles. "We'll be upstairs if needed."
Bollard took over and pushed the wheelchair to the staircase. He then picked his master up in his arms and carried him up the stairs.
Langley and Bollard's departure took my resolve with them. My nerves jangled. I didn't dare tell Samuel I knew about the amulet now. Sylvia walked off without warning and I made to head up the stairs too, but Samuel called after me. He kept his distance, however, and did not come too close. He was being true to his word that he would avoid me when possible.
"It doesn't belong to me," he said in a quiet voice. "Nor did I use it to summon the demon."
"How…?" My question dissolve
d on my tongue.
"How did I know that you knew? I guessed from your statement just now. Did Mrs. Moore show it to you?"
I backed up the stairs, slowly so as not to draw attention to myself. Blood throbbed in my veins, but I managed to keep my pace deliberate, careful. I couldn't outrun him unless I had a head start.
He put up his hands. "I don't mind that you know. In fact I'm relieved. It's been a burden to carry it around when all I wanted to do was tell you." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I didn't because I was afraid it would give you reason to fear me more than you already do."
He was right on that score.
"Say something, Charity. Ask me the questions I know you have, or just tell me I'm a fool for not owning up in front of everyone. Just say something."
There was a long silence in which he watched me and I tried to pretend I didn't notice. I knew this trick. He was hoping the silence would force me to talk. I pressed my lips together, determined not to crack.
"I was afraid," he said. "That's why I said nothing. If they know I have the amulet, they'll think I used it to summon the demon. They'll think I killed my father. They'll think less of me, perhaps even fear me." His gaze locked with mine. "Just like you do."
Why was he telling me these things and not anyone else? Was it because he trusted only me? Because he wanted to inveigle himself back into my good graces? Or for some other reason?
"I don't think you summoned it," I lied.
"Why not? It's the first assumption I'd make if I found the amulet in someone's belongings."
"Where did you get it?"
He shook his head. "That's the one question I won't answer. Not even for you. I'm sorry, Charity."
"You don't need to apologize to me."
He grunted a humorless laugh. "You couldn't be more wrong. I feel like I must apologize all the time, lately."
"I wish you wouldn't," I said, turning to go. "You owe me nothing."
"Then why do I feel so bloody guilty all the time?" The black despair in his voice surrounded me, enthralled me. I didn't want him to feel guilty. I wanted to trust him.
But I could not. I wasn't ready. I picked up my skirts and hurried up the stairs. When I turned to look down at him from the half landing, he was gone.
