The Complete 1st Freak House Trilogy: Box set (The 1st Freak House Trilogy)

by C. J. Archer

  When dinner was over and we'd adjourned to the parlor, she brought the mistake up again. "When will Tommy return to his regular duties? Uncle was right when he said he only has a few scratches. You said yourself they weren't deep, Hannah. Couldn't he return to light duties tomorrow?"

  "Miss him, do you?" Samuel teased, sitting down with a glass of whiskey.

  "Of course I do. I miss him standing on my left. Maud is a good girl and is trying hard, but it's not the same."

  "She's not a girl," I said. "She's older than us."

  "All housemaids are girls to their employers, Hannah. If they rise to the rank of housekeeper, then we call them women. I know it's not your fault that you don't understand since you didn't have much contact with the servants at Windamere, but there you have it."

  I had no contact with the servants at Windamere Manor, unless the governess Miss Levine counted. "Thank you for educating me," I said wryly. "The world would come to an end if we let social mores lapse."

  She narrowed her gaze. "I know you think that's amusing, but I don't."

  "Tommy should rest for a few more days," Jack said, standing by the window.

  Sylvia sighed. "I didn't want to say it in front of the poor girl, but Tommy is a much better footman than Maud."

  "You do say the stupidest things sometimes, Syl." He turned back to the window and crossed his arms, settling into an evening of surveillance. It was too dark to see much, but he still kept watch for the demon anyway.

  The demon and Reuben Tate.

  ***

  "But I need to deliver them," Sylvia wailed. She and I had spent the evening writing out invitations to our Christmas dinner party, but in the cold light of day, she'd realized she had no way of taking them into the village. She couldn't even ask one of the servants to go since Langley had forbade them to leave while the demon was still on the loose.

  "Surely the invitations can wait a few days," Jack said.

  "What makes you think any of this will be over in a few days?" she asked, hand on hip. "Honestly, Jack, you are far too optimistic for your own good."

  "And you are petulant and irritating. The invitations will have to wait. I'm the only one who can deliver them, and I have to stay here with Hannah."

  She clicked her tongue. "Stop being a martyr. If Tommy were up and about he'd not hesitate to do it."

  "That's because Tommy can't say no to anything you ask of him. I'm not such a fool."

  Jack was about to go out and walk around the house to check that everything was as it should be now that it was morning. After a restless night, I'd gotten out of bed early. Why lie in and worry alone when I could worry in company? I'd come across Sylvia and Jack arguing in the entrance hall.

  "Jack's right," I said. "It's too dangerous for anyone to leave the house. The invitations can wait."

  "Nonsense," August Langley said as he rolled in, Bollard pushing him. He looked as tired as I felt. Jack and Sylvia also sported dark shadows under their eyes. Clearly no one had slept very well.

  "See!" Sylvia cried. "Uncle agrees. The invitations are important. If we don't get them out soon, our guests will receive others and accept those instead."

  "I don't care about the dinner party," Langley said.

  Sylvia's face fell. "Then why?" Her question was echoed by Jack.

  "You need some time away from Frakingham."

  "Precisely," Sylvia said triumphantly.

  "Why?" Jack hedged.

  I looked for any sign that Langley was joking, but there was none. The only movement he made was to jerk his head to the side when Bollard cleared his throat, as if he went to glance over his shoulder at his valet but stopped himself.

  "Being confined here day in and day out is not good for you young people," Langley said. "You'll be safe if you all go together. Indeed, the village may be the best place for you right now. The demon is in the woods, not near the village, and Tate will come straight here to look for you. Yes." He gave an emphatic nod. "A day in the village it shall be."

  Bollard wheeled him away, leaving the three of us staring after him.

  "That was very considerate of him," Jack said, clearly skeptical of his uncle's motives if his wary tone was any indication.

  "Remarkably so," I said.

  "Uncle can be a very considerate man," Sylvia said, but didn't sound convinced by her own words. "Do you think he's right and we'll be safe?"

  "As long as I'm with Hannah," Jack said. "Besides, we'll be armed."

  He left to check the perimeter of the house, and Samuel joined Sylvia and me in the dining room for breakfast. We told him about our trip into the village, and he agreed it was a good idea, but was rather surprised that Langley had come up with it.

  "You are all so cynical. Uncle can be very kind." Sylvia paused with bacon halfway to her mouth. "Moderately kind. On the odd occasion."

  "I feel sorry for Tommy," Samuel said, buttering his toast. "He would have liked to come. It's not much fun for him in his room all day on his own. Perhaps later he can join us for a game of cribbage."

  Sylvia shook her head until she'd swallowed her mouthful of bacon. "Absolutely not. Our circumstances may be unusual at the moment, but rules are rules. A footman simply cannot sit and play cards with us."

  "You are such a stickler, Sylvia," Samuel said. "Have a heart. He's terribly bored."

  "Perhaps I'll read to him." Her face brightened and her curls bounced with her excitement. "Yes. I will. It's what nurses do for their patients and I am, in essence, his nurse."

  "He's quite capable of reading to himself," I said. "His eyes aren't damaged."

  She leaned closer to me and whispered, "But can he read?"

  "He can," I said. "Jack taught him. I'm surprised you weren't aware of that already. After all, I knew and how long have you known him compared to me?" I was teasing, but she didn't take it very well at all. She spluttered an excuse about being too busy to notice footmen. Her face turned a bright shade of red too, all the way to the tips of her ears.

  She didn't speak to me again until it was time to head into the village. We met in the entrance hall, and she seemed as bright and cheerful as always. Clearly she'd decided to forgive me. That was one good thing about Sylvia. Her sulks rarely lasted long.

  ***

  We traveled in the coach to Harborough. Samuel sat inside with us, a loaded pistol in his lap. Jack sat on the driver's seat with Olsen, another loaded pistol beside him and his knife tucked in his pocket. Thankfully we didn't need the weapons, and both pistols were stored away in a box beneath our seat when we reached the village.

  I always loved our visits to Harborough despite the curious looks we attracted. It was a sizeable village, but pretty with a main central High Street along which almost anything could be found in one of the shops. It followed the course of a stream that babbled its way beneath old stone bridges. Apparently people enjoyed picnics on its banks in summer, but at the moment the banks were more muddy than grassy, and most people kept indoors. I loved the crispness of the air down in the valley and the faint woody scent of smoke frothing out of the chimneys. It was the smell of freedom and seemed to blow away the cobwebs that had taken up residence in my head of late. I felt refreshed, invigorated, and ready to meet new people.

  Olsen parked outside the mayor's house, a rather grand-looking building with a gabled roof and bay windows. A child's face appeared at one of the upstairs windows then quickly disappeared again, replaced by the face of a woman wearing a white cap.

  Samuel assisted us ladies down the coach steps. Jack soon joined us. He and I wore coats like the others, and I even pulled on my gloves. The Harborough villagers already thought we were odd. We didn't need to confirm it by not wearing appropriate clothing for wintertime.

  "Ready?" Jack asked.

  "Ready," Sylvia said. She marched up to the front door and knocked. Samuel, Jack and I stood behind her.

  We'd decided to pay informal calls upon our intended guests and deliver our invitations. The Harborough m
ayor and his wife were the first on our list. Samuel and I were new to them, so Sylvia suggested we introduce ourselves with the hope they'd see how normal we were. She'd also decided that I was a friend of hers who'd come to visit until Christmas. Samuel at least didn't need to lie about his background. He was a neurology student from London taking a sabbatical at Frakingham to conduct research. It was only necessary to avoid the question of how we'd come to know him.

  A maid answered the door and showed us through to a parlor that was far too warm for me. A few moments later, Mr. and Mrs. Butterworth entered, identical smiles plastered across their faces. She was a tall woman with a long neck and what could politely be termed strong bone structure. I pegged her to be in her forties, although her dark mourning clothes made her seem older. Mr. Butterworth was shorter than his wife and seemed to have no neck to speak of and soft features. As a couple, they were opposites, or perhaps it would be more polite to say they complemented each other.

  Sylvia introduced Samuel and me and handed the invitation to Mrs. Butterworth. She was all bubbling excitement as the mayor's wife opened the thick cream envelope.

  "A dinner party!" Mrs. Butterworth said, her eyebrows creeping up her forehead as she read.

  "Well," said Mr. Butterworth. "That's—"

  "Intriguing," Mrs. Butterworth cut in.

  Mr. Butterworth's smile slipped, and he rubbed his hands down his trouser pants. He did not look at his wife.

  "Intriguing?" Sylvia prompted.

  "What my wife means—"

  "What I mean is that there hasn't been a dinner party at Frakingham House in a very long time." Mrs. Butterworth folded the invitation and set it on the table between a framed dried floral picture and a stuffed cat. "A very long time."

  Mr. Butterworth coughed and rubbed his hands down his trousers again. If he were annoyed that his wife kept cutting him off, he didn't show it. He continued to smile with what could only be described as fervor. I wondered if that's how he'd won the office of mayor or whether his wife had some influence there. I couldn't imagine him having the constitution required to canvas councilors.

  "That's all going to change now that I'm of age," Sylvia said.

  "Oh? Have you come out?" Mrs. Butterworth asked.

  Sylvia glanced at me in a bit of a panic. "I, uh…"

  "Our uncle doesn't go in for ceremony," Jack said, coming to her rescue. "And since Cousin Sylvia has no mother or aunts, there has been no opportunity to organize a coming out occasion."

  "Oh." Mrs. Butterworth's thoughts on that could be discerned from the sympathetic gaze. I decided I liked her. She had kind eyes, and although there was curiosity in them too, it did not override more tender feelings. As to her husband, I didn't know what to make of him. He was still smiling in that odd, false way, and he seemed unable to get a full sentence in. I wasn't sure whether to feel sorry for him or irritated that he didn't stand up to her.

  "And you, Miss Smith?" Mrs. Butterworth asked. "Have you been presented at court?"

  "Alas, my family are not so fortunate to have those lofty connections," I said. "I am out, though. Very, very out."

  I could feel Samuel stiffen beside me, and was Jack trying not to smile? Sylvia looked positively horrified, but I was rather pleased with my explanation. I was 'out' of the Windamere Manor attic and that was as 'out' as I would ever be. There would be no balls or afternoon teas for me. I had no family to organize such things. I wasn't even of the right class.

  "Where are you from, Miss Smith?" the mayor asked, speaking quickly. No doubt he wanted to get the words out before his wife cut him off.

  "Yorkshire," I said, picking a distant county in the hopes they'd not be familiar with it.

  "That's—"

  "Your accent is remarkably similar to ours," Mrs. Butterworth said.

  Oh dear. I had not thought about accents, nor did I know what a Yorkshire one sounded like. That's what I got for lying—a great big mess. "I'm a quick learner," I said. "I've been practicing ever since I arrived."

  "Remarkable." I couldn't tell whether she believed me or not, but she didn't ask more questions. She'd already switched her attention to Samuel. "What about you, Mr. Gladstone? You're a doctor?"

  "Still studying," he said.

  "And you're staying at Frakingham House to research…what exactly are you researching?"

  "A neuroscientific hypothesis."

  "How curious. What does that entail?"

  I was impressed with Mrs. Butterworth's tenacity. Detective Inspector Weeks should employ her to question his suspects. I enjoyed watching Samuel try to avoid answering while remaining polite. It led to a lot of charming smiles in her direction and complicated scientific talk. Her own smile broadened as he spoke, but I was under no illusion that it was due to the mention of lobes and cortexes. Samuel's honey-thick voice and dashing eyes were enough to mesmerize most females. He didn't need to use hypnosis on her.

  I caught Jack looking at me and I rolled my eyes. He bit his lip, but it didn't stop his smirk.

  "That's nice," Mrs. Butterworth said. "What a clever man you are, Mr. Gladstone. Your parents must be terribly proud."

  "They were," he said.

  Mrs. Butterworth didn't seem to notice the past tense. I certainly did, and I also knew that his parents were alive. So why were they no longer proud of their son? "Our son is away at Oxford reading law," the mayor's wife said with a proud thrust of her prominent chin.

  "A worthy career. Do you have other children? Daughters perhaps? I saw a little girl looking at us through a window when we arrived."

  "That's our ten year-old. We also have twin girls, both seventeen. They're visiting friends this morning. What a shame they're not here. They do like to meet new people, and go to parties and afternoon teas and things. There aren't many in this village worthy to be their friends." Mrs. Butterworth sat up straighter, and I could swear her nose twitched as if she could smell an eligible gentleman. "Not like you and your young friends."

  Mr. Butterworth frowned at his wife. "There are several—"

  "None of Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Langley's ilk," she said through a hard smile. "They're educated and well-connected, and such charming gentlemen. It is a shame there have been so few opportunities for them to meet Frakingham's newcomers."

  This seemed to be aimed directly at Sylvia and Jack and the lack of invitations to Frakingham. Indeed, I began to wonder why the girls hadn't been invited to our dinner party too. Sylvia had only invited older people. The Butterworths, the vicar and his wife, and another couple. Why not people her own age?

  "If you'd brought them to church, our daughters could have made their acquaintance," Mrs. Butterworth said pointedly.

  "Ah, yes." Sylvia chewed her lip. "The last few weeks have been busy. The vicar understands, as does God, I'm sure."

  We refused tea and passed a few more minutes in polite chat with Mrs. Butterworth while her husband seemed to have deflated somewhat and tuned out of the conversation altogether. When finally we made our excuses, he perked up a little and thanked us for stopping by.

  We drove back through the village on our way to the vicarage. People stopped to stare and point, something that I was growing used to, but still didn't particularly like. I supposed our visits were infrequent enough that we had become a curiosity. Perhaps the dinner party would put an end to that. I certainly hoped Sylvia was right and that our guests would see how normal we were. That is, how normal we appeared to be on the surface. Hopefully August Langley would realize how important the affair was for his niece and be on his best behavior.

  The carriage slowed to a stop outside a butcher's shop, nowhere near the vicarage. "What is Olsen doing?" Sylvia asked, peering out the window.

  I looked out too and saw another coach just ahead of us. It was a grand, bright red landau with a black top. I'd never seen one like it.

  Sylvia pulled the window down and called out to Jack. "Why have we stopped here?"

  He hopped down from the driver's seat and approac
hed our window. "They're pointing at us."

  "Everyone points at us."

  "This is different. The butcher's boy was talking to the driver and pointing along the road out of the village as if he were giving directions. Then he saw us and pointed this way instead. I think the occupants of that landau are on their way to Frakingham to see us."

  As he said it, the carriage door opened and a tall gentleman emerged. He held out his hand and a woman's gloved fingers took it. The most elegantly dressed lady I'd ever seen stepped out, followed by another in equally fine attire. Both wore veils over their faces and the perkiest little hats that failed to hide the midnight black of their hair.

  "Oh," breathed Sylvia. "Look at her coat, Hannah. I adore that shade of peacock blue. Is that braiding across the shoulders? So striking. So modern. Take it all in, so we can sketch them when we get home. I must have something similar made up next time we're in London."

  Another gentleman alighted behind the ladies. He wasn't as tall as the first and wore glasses, but I could see his beaming smile even at a distance. Indeed, the other gentleman smiled too. I couldn't see if the ladies did or not. The veils covered their entire faces.

  Jack opened the door and we piled out as they came up to us. As they drew closer, I could see how handsome the first gentleman was, and how small the two veiled ladies were next to him. It was impossible to tell their age, eye color or whether they were pleased to see us.

  "Mr. Langley?" the tall gentleman said, switching his gaze between Jack and Samuel.

  "I am Jack Langley," Jack said. "This is Mr. Samuel Gladstone, my cousin Miss Sylvia Langley, and her companion, Miss Hannah Smith."

  The gentleman smiled and bowed. "I'm sorry to confront you in the street like this, but the butcher's lad saw your carriage, and we decided we couldn't wait to meet you."

  The lady closest to him cleared her throat.

  "Forgive me," he said. "I should have introduced myself first. I am Jacob Beaufort. This is my wife, Mrs. Emily Beaufort, her aunt, Miss Cara Moreau, and my brother-in-law, Mr. George Culvert. We're very pleased to meet you, despite the circumstances."