The Memory Keeper

by C. J. Archer

  "He's here," I said, voicing what I suspected everyone was thinking. "The master is nearby."

  Sylvia pulled her shawl closed at her throat. "How can you be sure? Perhaps he simply sent his man and he's still in London."

  "Perhaps," I murmured. The truth was, I knew him to be close yet I couldn't explain how I knew it. I just did.

  Tommy gave me the first cup of chocolate. He rested a hand on my shoulder and gently squeezed, reassuring. I smiled up at him as best as I could, but it was difficult to be positive when faced with the worry in his eyes.

  He returned to the stove. Samuel traced a knot in the wood on the table surface, his gaze intent on his task. Sylvia's focus switched to Tommy then back to me. She pressed her lips together and also looked down at the table.

  Tommy, oblivious, set a cup of chocolate in front of each of them then fetched his own and joined us. I wanted to tell Sylvia and Samuel that nothing untoward was happening between Tommy and me, but I didn't. There were more important events to discuss, and I was a little miffed that it should enter their heads at all. I may not have been too discriminate with my bedfellows in the past, but I didn't have an affair with every man I met.

  Thinking of men in that way had me once again focusing on the master and the girl. My head ached and I thought for a moment I would experience a vision, but I didn't. I did, however, remember.

  Not all of it, just pieces. The sharp sting of the belt across my back and the ache of the wound afterwards. The desperate scrabble at the door in an attempt to escape. The thrashing I received from the master's brute after almost succeeding in getting out through the window, one time.

  I concentrated hard on exploring the broken memories, but could only manage an objective view of the pieces, as an outsider would see them. A deeper exploration eluded me. I didn't want to remember everything, yet I needed to. As Langley had said, fear kept us safe, and fear was borne from our memories. Without remembering, I would never be safe from the master again.

  Nor could I fully move forward.

  "We cannot be sure where he is," Samuel said. "Until we are, we must assume that he's here. We know his man is. Charity must be protected from him."

  "Sylvia, too," Tommy said. On her gasp, he added, "We don't know if he'll take anyone in Charity's place or not. I'd rather be safe than sorry."

  "As would I," I said.

  "The question is," Samuel added, "how did he know where to find you?"

  "Could someone from the school have told him?" Sylvia asked.

  Tommy grunted. "If they did, I'll be sure to have words with them when next I'm in London."

  "No one knew where to find me," I said. "Mrs. Peeble knew I was going to a friend's house in Hertfordshire, but not the name or exact location."

  "Then who else?" Sylvia asked.

  Samuel's fingers whitened around his cup. "Myer."

  I shrugged. "How could he? He doesn't know the man."

  "So he says."

  "You don't believe him?" It was so sinister, so horrible, that I didn't want to believe him. How could Myer lie about such a thing? He was slippery, but not monstrous. Was he?

  "His motives are certainly not pure. I think he would do almost anything to gain information on the supernatural world. If the master went to him and asked how to find you in exchange for knowledge, I have no doubt that Myer would tell him about me and my link to Frakingham."

  "How would the master know that you two are acquainted with Myer?" Sylvia asked.

  "Perhaps it was a stroke of luck," I whispered. Oh lord. I saw the connections now. "It would be natural to ask the head of the Society for Supernatural Activity about the visions he was suddenly experiencing. Myer may have told him about ours, and how to find me, in exchange for information." As a ghost in possession of a living body, the master would have access to the Waiting Area, other spirits and supernatural information not privy to us. A gold mine, for someone like Myer.

  "I detest that man," Sylvia spat. Her vehemence quickly vanished with another shudder of her thin shoulders.

  "It's almost daylight," Samuel said, nodding at the window. "We'll pay Myer a visit at the Butterworths' immediately after breakfast."

  "That's a little early," Sylvia said.

  "I don't care if I have to drag him out of bed myself. He's going to bloody well answer us properly, this time."

  "And if he doesn't?" I asked.

  He said nothing. He didn't need to. We all understood what he'd do. It was written into every groove around his pursed lips and every wretched shadow in his eyes. He would hurt him.

  ***

  I cornered Samuel alone at the coach as we waited for Sylvia, but he spoke before I had a chance to say anything.

  "Are you all right?" he asked, his gaze flicking over me. "Any ill effects?"

  "Some, but none that can be seen."

  He frowned and half shook his head in question.

  "The memory block isn't working anymore."

  The muscle in his jaw corded, but he made no other movement. "You've remembered everything?"

  "Not quite everything. Only a few actual memories and some… instincts I suppose you'd call them."

  He blew out a breath and his eyes briefly fluttered closed. "Good."

  "I want to remember all of it."

  "Why? It won't help you identify him."

  "I know. But I need to know the rest of it, Samuel."

  "You don't. I assure you, it's best if you don't remember."

  I sighed. I suspected this would be a difficult task. "I don't expect you to fully understand, but please, just give me my memories back."

  "No."

  "Samuel, they're my memories and I want them unblocked."

  "No. It's a bad idea."

  "It's not working, anyway."

  He looked skyward. "Charity," he said heavily, "you don't yet recall everything and I think that's as it should be."

  I crossed my arms. "You're bloody stubborn."

  "I only have your best interests at heart."

  Tommy escorted Sylvia down the steps of the house. I watched them, but spoke to Samuel through my clenched jaw. "I assure you I'm capable of being mistress of my own life as well as my own memories."

  "If that were the case, why did you have me block them in the first place?"

  I didn't say anything. There was no answer that didn't make me feel like a coward, running from my fears instead of facing them.

  "Why do you want them back, anyway?" he asked quietly so the others couldn't hear.

  "Because you're troubled by them and a problem shared is a problem halved, as the proverb says."

  "Perhaps," he said. "But I won't be sharing that problem with you."

  ***

  The Butterworths' house wasn't a manor house on the scale of Frakingham, but it was a pretty place nevertheless, with pitched roofs and gabled windows. Situated on a rise at one end of Harborough, it had a magnificent vista over countryside, village and babbling stream. A curtain fluttered in one of the windows on the top floor, but I couldn't see anyone.

  "Little Jane up to her tricks again," Samuel said, following my gaze. He, Sylvia and I had driven to the village in the Langley coach. Tommy rode beside the driver. He wouldn't allow us to go without him.

  "Who's Jane?" I asked.

  "The youngest Butterworth girl. She's quite the brave little thing."

  "She has a head for mysteries and adventures," Sylvia said with a disapproving scowl. "Quite the handful, I would think."

  "What are the names of the twins again?" I asked. They'd told me all about them, but I'd already forgotten. My mind kept wandering to other things. Darker things.

  "Julia and Jennifer," Sylvia said. "I do hope they're not home. They're such silly creatures."

  Samuel flashed me a tired smirk. Clearly he thought the same as me—how silly must the girls be if Sylvia disparaged them?

  Our arrival seemed to throw the household into turmoil. It was definitely too early for callers. Although Mrs.
Butterworth was having breakfast, her husband and daughters were not up yet, it would seem.

  "My apologies," she said as she bustled into the drawing room where we waited. Indeed, we'd waited for almost fifteen minutes before she arrived, which made me think she hadn't actually been at breakfast but still abed. Her hair appeared to be hastily arranged too and the ribbons of her cap weren't yet tied up under her chin. "Such lazy creatures."

  "We do apologize for our early visit," Sylvia said. "We wouldn't have come if it wasn't vitally important to speak to your guest, Mr. Myer."

  "Hmmm?" Mrs. Butterworth hardly seemed to hear her. She was staring at me. Sylvia apologized again and introduced us. "My goodness," Mrs. Butterworth murmured. "Aren't you a pretty creature? Quite something extraordinary."

  I felt my face heat. I was used to people thinking me pretty, but it certainly didn't get easier to hear, even when their comments were kind. Whether hers were meant as a kindness or not, I couldn't be sure.

  Samuel cleared his throat. "Is Mr. Myer here this morning?"

  "Hmmm? Oh yes, Everett." Her cheeks colored and she touched a hand to the hair curling out from beneath the cap. She looked very much like a debutante in love. I hadn't quite accepted the fact that she was having a liaison with Myer, but it seemed that I'd been wrong. I suddenly felt ill at ease. Although I was no innocent when it came to the tangled relationships between men and women, I drew the line at adultery.

  "His valet is attending him now. He'll be down shortly."

  Indeed, he arrived almost as soon as she'd finished speaking. He bowed to us, smiling. He didn't look in the least concerned about the early hour. He was impeccably dressed as usual, but his whiskers were a little wayward when ordinarily they were smoothed down with wax.

  "You wished to see me?" he asked.

  "Did you tell that man where to find Charity?" Samuel said with a quietly ominous tone.

  Myer frowned. "Who?"

  "The third person sharing our visions."

  Mrs. Butterworth gasped. "Visions?"

  "Perhaps you could see to bringing us some tea, Mrs. Butterworth," Myer said to her.

  "Yes," she muttered. "I think we require tea." Instead of tugging on the bell pull, she left the drawing room altogether.

  "Don't mind her," Myer said, watching her go. "I can erase this meeting from her memory."

  Samuel stepped up to him and gripped Myer's vest at his chest. Myer flinched. "Don't use your hypnosis on innocents unless they ask for it. Understand?"

  "Calm down, Gladstone. I would think you have suitably impressed the ladies with your bravado by now."

  "Let him go, Samuel," I said quietly. "We want to talk to him, not start a brawl."

  Samuel obeyed and stepped back, but did not take his fierce gaze off Myer.

  "Well?" I prompted. "Did you tell anyone about my link to Frakingham?"

  Myer tugged on his vest to iron out the creases. "I most certainly did not. I don't know who the fellow is, and even if I did, I would have no reason to divulge your whereabouts. What makes you think I did it?"

  "He sent his man after me last night."

  Myer swore under his breath. "Thank goodness you're all right."

  "I received nothing more than a fright. But the thing is, he now knows where to find me. How could he have possibly done that if he doesn't know where I am?"

  "Surely someone from the school told him."

  "None knew where I went."

  Myer stroked his side whiskers in thought. "A vision, perhaps? Could he have seen Frakingham through your eyes and recognized it? Or someone spoke of the house while you were under the influence of a vision?"

  Samuel and I exchanged glances. "Yesterday, when you met with your parents," I said. "If you saw through my eyes then he probably saw through yours. Did either of your parents happen to mention where they were at that particular moment?"

  He shrugged. "I can't recall. Although I can see what you're seeing, I cannot hear. Besides, I was preoccupied with being inside your eyes, so to speak."

  "Oh my God." Sylvia flounced onto the sofa. She stared at me, her mouth ajar. "Mr. Gladstone did indeed give away a clue. He said something like, 'They call this place Freak House! You must be as mad as Langley himself to want to live here.'"

  "That would be enough," Myer said. "Freak House is rather a well-known name for Frakingham, among certain circles."

  Sylvia sighed. "Here, too."

  Samuel sat beside her and groaned.

  "At least we know, now," I said. "Our apologies, Mr. Myer. We shouldn't have accused you like that."

  "I understand." He gave us a tight smile. "Now, is there anything else? I'm rather famished and my breakfast awaits."

  "Thank you, no. We'll be on our way."

  "Did you contact the Beauforts?" he asked as we headed out. There was no one about in the entrance hall, not even a footman or maid. Mrs. Butterworth had not returned either, with or without tea. I wondered how much she knew about the paranormal, or if she knew anything at all. She must have been aware of Myer's interest. Perhaps she was keeping the servants away so they wouldn't overhear our strange conversation. Nevertheless, we kept our voices low.

  "We sent a telegram," Samuel said. "They know of no other mediums, but will ask about any known possessions."

  "Good, good."

  "We'll send another telegram today," Samuel said, more to me than anyone else. "They need to come out here and help remove the master's spirit."

  I nodded. I felt some comfort at the thought of having the Beauforts join us. They were a knowledgeable family when it came to the supernatural. I felt my own lack of information keenly.

  "Indeed," Myer intoned. "They'll know an incantation to oust the ghost."

  He opened the door for us. Sylvia and I exited, but Samuel did not. "What happens if the body the ghost is possessing is rendered useless?" he asked Myer. "Say he's knocked unconscious or dies?"

  Sylvia's gulp was audible. "I think I need air." She pressed her fingers to her temple then stepped down to the drive and joined Tommy at the coach.

  "The ghost could jump from its host into a nearby body, but he must do it in the moment between consciousness and sleep, or death. Otherwise he would be trapped inside the host until either the body recovers or the medium summons the spirit out."

  Samuel nodded. "Good to know."

  "If you plan on knocking him out, then I advise you to move away very quickly or the spirit will end up possessing you."

  It was an interesting idea, and one that could work if we got caught without a medium. Even if the Beauforts raced out of London, it would take them much of the day to reach us by train; longer, by coach. "Thank you, Mr. Myer," I said. "You've been a great help.

  Samuel put out his arm to escort me down the steps, but I shook my head. "If you don't mind, I have a question I'd like to ask Mr. Myer in private."

  He blinked at me. I thought he was going to ask me what it was, but then he gave a perfunctory bow and headed down the steps alone. He did not join Sylvia in the cabin, but waited with Tommy. Although he wasn't looking directly at me, I suspected he was watching me out of the corner of his eye.

  "What can I do for you, Miss Evans?"

  "I would like to know if you can remove the memory block Samuel placed on me."

  "Ah. No, I can't. He placed it, so only he can remove it."

  "He's refusing to."

  "Then you must ask again and again until he does. It is your memory, after all. He has no right to keep it from you if you want it back."

  "I think I made a mistake in asking him to block it. I thought it would make everything better, make me better, but…" I shrugged, unsure how much I wanted to tell this man.

  "But now you feel incomplete without it."

  It was as if he saw right into me and knew what I was thinking. "I've been recalling things, lately. Sometimes it's only a feeling, other times it's actually pieces of the puzzle. It happens whenever I experience a vision or at extreme moments. Las
t night, during the attempted kidnap, for example."

  His whiskers twitched as he moved his mouth from side to side in thought. "I have a suggestion for you," he finally said. "It won't be an easy thing to do, but it might help you remember everything if Gladstone continues to refuse."

  "What is it?"

  "If pieces of your memory are slotting into place whenever you experience a vision or turmoil related to that man, then you should experience them more often. Please, hear me out before you protest." He glanced past me to Samuel, now openly watching us, his arms crossed over his chest. "I suggest you immerse yourself in the quest to find the man."

  "I will do that anyway."

  "Yes, but be an active participant, not a bystander. You must experience the emotions that have so far triggered the return of the memory pieces. Do you know which emotion has the most influence?"

  "Fear," I whispered.

  "Then my suggestion is that you experience fear. It won't be easy, as I said."

  "No." I looked to Samuel. He glared back. "Nor do I think putting myself in danger will be a good idea. I don't want to worry anyone." Indeed, it was an odd suggestion for a gentleman to make of a young woman, knowing the circumstances. I couldn't imagine Jack, Samuel or any man of my acquaintance advising me to put myself at risk.

  "Ah, well," Myer said. "It's up to you to decide if the cost is worth the outcome. Perhaps you're right and you should wait for Gladstone to give you the memory back. Given time, I'm sure he'll understand."

  I thanked him and joined Samuel at the coach. He held the door open for me then followed me into the cabin. Tommy folded up the step then climbed onto the driver's seat.

  "All three girls are there, now," Sylvia said, peering out the window and up to the top floor of the house. "How curious. I wonder why they didn't come and say hello."

  "I think their mother may not have liked our conversation," I told her. "It's not something young girls should hear."

  "It's not something anyone should hear. It's bad enough that Mrs. Butterworth is aware of your visions, but I am glad she didn't hear our talk of possession. She already thinks us all mad."

  I tried to catch Samuel's attention, but he did not look at me.

  Our journey was a short one. We stopped at the post office, where Samuel went inside to send another telegram to the Beauforts, requesting their company to help us in our ghostly matter.