Seared With Scars (The 2nd Freak House Trilogy)

by C. J. Archer

  "Why did you summon it?" I persisted.

  Her chuckle grated on my taut nerves. I clenched my hands together and tried to stop my intense frustration from boiling over. "Good day, ladies. Miss Langley, I'll be dining in my room this evening. I feel a headache blooming."

  Sylvia made a gurgling sound of acknowledgement as Mrs. Gladstone picked up her skirts. I was not prepared to let her go just yet.

  "Did Mr. Myer write that note to you?" I asked.

  She arched her brow. "What note?"

  "A note written by his hand was found in your husband's room the morning after his death. 'I know what you did,' it said. Myer must have been referring to you summoning the demon. Is that because he knew you had an amulet at your disposal?"

  "Once again, Miss Evans, you prove yourself to be not very bright. If the note you speak of was in my husband's room, then it must have been intended for him, not me. How you do leap to conclusions."

  "Charity," Sylvia whispered. "Enough."

  I bit my tongue. She was right. I'd gone too far. Mrs. Gladstone was not going to give me the answers I sought. My ire would only grow if I continued our fruitless conversation and my blood boiled enough as it was.

  "Good day, Mrs. Gladstone," I said with a curt nod. "I hope your headache eases before you leave us. How long are you intending to stay?"

  "As long as necessary." She strode out of the room with a swish of her heavy skirt. The tap tap of her shoes finally faded and I slumped against the sofa back. Sparring with dragons was exhausting.

  "Thank goodness that's over," Sylvia murmured. "You ought not to rile her like that, Charity."

  "Why not? She thoroughly deserved that interrogation, particularly now that we know she summoned the demon."

  "Yes, but she is still a grand lady."

  "She's just a woman, like any other, capable of doing great good or great harm if she chooses." I only hoped she didn't attempt to control the demon and set it on me. I'd thought of that much too late. I poured myself a cup of tea. I needed one quite badly.

  "She is Samuel's mother," Sylvia said as if that explained everything.

  "And?"

  "And he is your friend. You ought not drive a wedge between them."

  "Not only did she bring her own wedge, but she has firmly shoved it in the crack and is the one leveraging it, not me." I left the 'friend' part of her comment alone. I wasn't sure what category Samuel fit into, anymore.

  She lowered her cup to her saucer. "Charity, you and I both know what it's like to be motherless. Don't wish that on Samuel, too."

  Sometimes I thought being motherless was preferable to having a dragon for a parent, but I didn't say so. I suspected Sylvia wouldn't agree with me. Sometimes I forgot that she too lacked first-hand knowledge of the bond between mother and child.

  "I'm sorry, Sylvia. I behaved appallingly just now to your guest. I hope you can forgive me."

  "Hmmm. I think I can, as long as you promise not to do it again."

  She sipped her tea and didn't seem to notice that I didn't acquiesce. I could make no such promise where Mrs. Gladstone was concerned. Not now that I knew she was responsible for her husband's death.

  ***

  Dinner was a tense affair. Not because of my conversation with Mrs. Gladstone—true to her word, she didn't join us—but because Tommy, Samuel and even Bollard were poised to lay siege to the demon. Langley, Sylvia and I could hardly concentrate on our food, so anxious were we. We jumped at every footstep and ate hardly a thing.

  The creature had consumed its fill of the food the men had supplied and was due to return for more. According to Tommy, it usually looked for another helping after dusk. This time, however, nothing had been left for it. They wanted it hungry and hunting, so that it would come close enough for them to kill it. Kill it, not send it back. Samuel had not told anyone about the amulet. Neither Sylvia nor I mentioned it either, or Mrs. Gladstone's involvement in summoning the demon in the first place.

  I was surprised by Sylvia's silence on the matter. She wasn't known for discretion. I suppose it had more to do with her fear of the lady than a change of character. It was understandable, considering what Mrs. Gladstone had done.

  After dinner I went in search of Samuel. I found him with Tommy in the tower room, standing by the window, the room in darkness to eliminate the reflection on the glass. They did not look around when I entered and continued to scan the countryside. Bollard was preparing weapons in the gun room.

  "Is it wise to do this at night?" I asked them. "Shouldn't you wait for the morning?"

  "No time like the present," Tommy said without taking his gaze off the window. "If it doesn't come out then we'll try again in the morning."

  "Samuel," I said, "may we speak?"

  He swung around. "You wish to speak to me?" He finger brushed his hair as if to make himself more presentable. It was an endearing trait that almost had me smiling. But then I remembered what I needed to say to him and what I had to admit to overhearing.

  I swallowed heavily and hoped he would forgive my eavesdropping.

  He indicated I should go ahead of him out of the room, but I wanted to remain near Tommy. "In here is suitable," I said. If we stood near the door and spoke softly, Tommy might not hear us. If he did, then so be it. I wasn't going to risk Samuel's wrath alone.

  "I have a confession to make," I said, steeling myself.

  Samuel leaned against the wall near the door and crossed his arms. It was too dark to make out much of his face, but I could feel his intense gaze on me as surely as if I could see his eyes.

  "I overheard your conversation with your mother in the drawing room today," I said, keeping my voice low, even though Tommy gave no indication that he could hear. "I know the amulet belonged to her."

  "I see," he murmured. It was impossible to tell from those two words what he thought of my behavior.

  "Sylvia was with me," I added. "We didn't intend to listen in, it just happened. I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive us."

  I hadn't noticed that I'd submissively lowered my head until he lifted my chin with his finger. His touch was gentle and he pulled back almost immediately as if he'd just realized what he'd done. "There's nothing to forgive," he said. "It saves me from telling you myself." He crossed his arms and tucked his hands high up under his armpits, as if he were trying to stop himself from touching me again. "I meant to," he added. "Several times I've almost sought you out to tell you."

  "Why didn't you?" I ventured.

  "I suppose I didn't want you to think any worse of her than you already do."

  I couldn't think why. Liking her was an impossibility now. Not that it was very likely before.

  "I wanted to apologize for accusing you," I said. "When I found the amulet in your things, I thought you'd used it to summon the demon. I shouldn't have assumed the worst. I'm sorry."

  "You don't need to apologize. It was a logical conclusion to make. And I should have told you then and there that it was my mother's. I found it in her things at home, just like you found it in my things here." He shook his head. "I couldn't believe it when I saw it just lying on her dressing table, as if it were a piece of jewelry she'd just removed. It knocked the wind out of me."

  "I'm sure it did. It's quite shocking."

  He snorted softly. "That's an understatement."

  "Have you asked her why she did it?"

  He turned his face into profile, but I couldn't make out his eyes anyway in the dark. "You mean whether she did it to kill my father on purpose or not?" He sounded strung out, stretched thin, as if he were barely holding himself together.

  "Yes," I whispered.

  "She claims it was an accident."

  "Do you believe her?"

  "I think so." He suddenly turned back to face me. His eyes glistened in the darkness. "I want to, very much. The whole thing…it's overwhelming, Charity. I feel like I'm drowning in mud. It's sucking me down and I can't get out. I can't breathe."

  My hand twitched, aching
to touch him, but I held it in check at my side. There was nothing to say to ease his pain, and I didn't want to give him the wrong idea by comforting him physically. I simply stood there and waited for him to say something more.

  "I have to live with the knowledge that my mother killed my father," he said.

  "But if it was an accident…"

  He simply grunted.

  "What did she want to bring a demon here for in the first place?"

  "To study the supernatural. She claims to have an interest in the science."

  Like Myer. "Did you know about this interest?"

  "It's news to me."

  I couldn't tell if he believed his mother or not. The darkness hid his face too well. I certainly didn't believe her, based on those answers. Why would she suddenly show an interest in demons now? Why summon one now? There were too many unanswered questions to satisfy me.

  "Why did she summon the demon then let it roam about uncontrolled?" I asked. "Surely she knew how dangerous that would be. Why didn't she try to send it back after it…did its worst?"

  His broad shoulders slumped. "I asked her that and she said it couldn't be controlled."

  "Why not?"

  He shrugged. "I wish I knew."

  "Where do you think she got the amulet?"

  "Myer." His voice was a low growl deep within his chest. It had Tommy turning to look at us before once more keeping watch out the window.

  "Do you know that for sure?"

  "Suspicion only, but I must be right. They've known each other for years and he's mad enough to supply her with one in his possession. Perhaps he did it for old times’ sake."

  "That sounds rather cavalier," I said cautiously. He seemed determined to blame Myer and I wasn't sure if trying to prove otherwise was going to turn his ire in my direction.

  "The man has few morals and he likes to experiment with the supernatural. This way he gets to see the results of an experiment without taking the blame for it himself."

  If it had been almost anyone else who'd said that, I would have reminded them that handing someone a gun does not force them to pull the trigger. Even if Myer had given her the amulet, Mrs. Gladstone was responsible for using it. But I didn't have enough trust in Samuel to tell him that. Besides, he seemed to need to think his mother not altogether blameworthy.

  "Could it have been anyone else who gave it to her?" I asked. "Perhaps another member of the society? Someone from that daguerreotype, perhaps?"

  He shook his head. "The note I found in my father's fireplace would suggest that it was Myer, since he authored it. I think he must have sent it to her instead of Father, after his death, and she put it there so it couldn't be found in her possession."

  "I asked her about it and she claimed not to know of its existence."

  "You spoke to her?"

  I nodded. "After we learned the amulet belonged to her. I…I meant to tell you earlier. I'm sorry, I got distracted."

  "Charity," he purred. "Don't fret. It's all right. Tell me, did you receive any answers to your questions?"

  "None. She claimed not to know anything about a note from Myer, however. She suggested that it must have been sent to your father, since it was found in his fireplace."

  He stroked his chin in thought. "She could be lying. She's committed so many sins, why not add that one to the ledger?"

  I wasn't entirely convinced. She'd not answered all my other questions, yet she'd answered that one. Why? "Could it be possible that Myer sent the note to your father, but was referring to something else? Something Mr. Gladstone did in the past. Something that your mother learned of just recently and disapproves of highly."

  I felt his gaze boring into me, even through the veil of darkness. "You mean she had the demon kill Father deliberately as…revenge for this past crime?"

  "Yes," I whispered, suddenly wishing I hadn't told him my theory. He was too volatile at the moment, too unpredictable. Too violent.

  "It's a possibility," he said. "But one I find difficult to entertain. She and my father cared for one another. It made them unusual, in their set. She certainly has her faults, but I cannot imagine Mother murdering Father. That's why I think it was an accident. As to him having done something wrong, that is likely. He was no saint."

  "What did your mother say when you discovered she killed your father?"

  "She was upset, to say the least. She pleaded for my forgiveness and begged me not to tell Bert, or anyone else. It's why I'm doubly glad that I can share the burden with you. I…need to speak about it with somebody or I'll go completely mad."

  I folded my arms against a chill creeping across my skin. I didn't want to be the one thing standing between Samuel and madness. It was too much of a burden, particularly when I wanted nothing to do with him. I would return to London and be far away from him, as soon as the master's ghost crossed over.

  "Thank you," he murmured in those deep, rich tones that had me tensing and instinctively moving away.

  "What for?" I whispered.

  "For being on speaking terms with me again."

  I relaxed. His voice was normal once more, perhaps because he sensed my unease.

  "And thank you for apologizing," he said. "Even though it was unnecessary. Charity…does this mean you're no longer afraid of me?"

  I shook my head, but wasn't sure if he would have seen it in the darkness. "I always will be. I'm sorry, Samuel. It's just the way it is. Nothing can change that."

  "Because of my hypnosis?"

  "Yes." I didn't add that it was also because of the reason he'd been sent to Newgate. The reason his family had all but abandoned him during that time, and why the older members were still hesitant to allow their daughters near him.

  There were some things that could not be voiced, particularly to a man already standing on the brink of an abyss.

  "It's here!" Tommy's shout reverberated off the walls and shattered my nerves. He ran between us and out the door. "Come on, Gladstone! Stop flirting, and come with me."

  Samuel grasped my shoulders and bent his head to my level. My heart leapt into my throat, but he did not hurt me. "Stay inside, Charity. Lock the doors and keep away from the windows. If we don't return, fetch the amulet from my room."

  "Now, Gladstone!" Tommy shouted as he barreled down the stairs.

  Samuel let me go and raced after him.

  CHAPTER 15

  I trailed some distance behind Tommy and Samuel, thanks to my petticoats and skirt almost tripping me up as I ran down the stairs. I heard their progress well enough. Their shouts for "Bollard!" caused the entire household to materialize as if from the woodwork, servants and all. Even Mr. Langley wheeled himself to the foot of the staircase. I caught up to them there, Mrs. Gladstone at my heels.

  "Don't do this," she ordered. "It's madness."

  "I am already mad, Mother." Samuel accepted a shotgun from Bollard. "Have you not noticed?"

  She grasped his arm above the elbow with both hands. "Please, Samuel. Don't go out there. It's not safe."

  He shook her off as if she were a troublesome insect.

  "Samuel, please." She clasped her hands in front of her and hovered at his side. "You are my son. If you're harmed…or worse…"

  "I have to do this, Mother. You of all people ought to understand why." The wretchedness in his eyes was equal to her own, but for different reasons.

  "No. You don't. Let someone else do it. You're too important."

  He cut his icy gaze to her. "Pardon?"

  She let out a single sob. "Too important to me," she whispered. "Please, I'm begging you. Don't go out there. Your family needs you. I need you."

  He turned his back on her. Her face crumpled, but she made no sound. She lowered her veil and her shoulders silently shook.

  Sylvia wrung her hands and blinked at Tommy as if she too wished to grasp him and beg him to stay. She had more sense than Mrs. Gladstone, however, and refrained.

  "Jack's knife?" Tommy said to Samuel.

  "Strapped to
my forearm," Samuel replied. "Ready?"

  Tommy hoisted up his shotgun. "Ready. Bollard?"

  The big mute gave his master a quick glance. Langley responded with a grim smile. Bollard picked up the lantern glowing on the nearby table and, pistol in his other hand, headed for the front door.

  "Can't I come, sir?" the stable lad appealed.

  "No," Samuel said without pausing. "Lock the door after us, Syl." And then he and the other men disappeared into the darkness.

  Sylvia remained rooted to the spot so I slammed the bolt home, locking them outside.

  Mrs. Gladstone flew at the door and scrabbled at the iron bolt. "Open it! What if they need to return? Open it at once!"

  "No, Mrs. Gladstone." Mr. Langley's stern order invited no dispute.

  Even so, she disputed. "That's my son. My boy." I caught her arm and Sylvia her other. She tried to shake us off, but we held firm. She was a slight woman and perhaps her grief made her weak. We were able to hold her back.

  "We can watch them from an upstairs window," Sylvia soothed. "I have opera glasses."

  I didn't know if watching them would achieve much satisfaction, but I thought it a good idea to placate the distraught woman. I was in two minds regarding her. On the one hand, I felt sorry for her. On the other, the demon was only present because of her. She'd brought this problem down on the estate, and now she must deal with the consequences. Samuel felt responsible, thanks to her. He wanted to be the one to kill it, and rightly so.

  "Keep away from the windows," Langley directed the staff. "Try to remain calm. It'll all be over soon."

  "I hate this place," Maud muttered. She pressed her apron hem to her mouth to stifle her sobs. Mrs. Moore clicked her tongue and directed her and Mrs. Gladstone's trembling maid away from us.

  Langley rolled himself off, while Mrs. Gladstone allowed Sylvia to lead her up the stairs. I followed behind and stared at the slumped shoulders of the woman I'd pegged as stiff, uncompromising and, more recently, foolish for summoning a demon. She cared for her sons. That had never been in question, but after viewing her hysterical display as Samuel prepared to leave, I believed I understood better what it meant for a mother to love her children. She would do anything to keep them safe. Knowing they were near danger made her sick with worry and behave irrationally.