by C. J. Archer
"Did you ever hear about me again?" Jack asked.
She shook her head. "Both Langley and Tate tried to find you for a while. They never did, nor did they learn of my involvement, thank goodness. I would have lost my position, and I did like working for them. They were kind and generous for the most part."
"What about when I arrived?" I asked.
"By then the fires weren't as frequent, although they still occurred from time to time. You weren't there for long anyway," she said.
"What of my parents? Mr. Langley told me my father died in one of the factories and my mother died soon after putting me in their care."
"That's right. Terrible business, it was. That poor woman. She was desperate. I knew her a little. Our husbands had worked together before Mr. Dodd died. When she came to the house, I promised her I'd look after you, and so did Mr. Langley and Mr. Tate. I was shocked when Mr. Langley informed me one day that he'd given you away to a nice family. Shocked and a little saddened, but I knew in my heart it was best for you. Were they kind to you?"
"They were." I saw no reason to tell her otherwise. Her life had been sad enough. There was no reason to add the burden of my confinement to it.
"Mr. Tate was shocked too," she went on. "Indeed, he was furious and ranted for days. He searched everywhere for you, but to no avail. Mr. Langley refused to tell him where you'd gone, and I didn't know either. Mr. Tate never really gave up looking for you entirely. He employed private enquiry agents all over the country, but none found you. I began to think he'd cared for you like a father, he was so persistent. And now you say he's trying to kidnap you. How awful. I still find what he did in the factory a few weeks ago quite unfathomable. I admit that I don't understand him at all."
"His mind isn't right," I said. There simply was no other explanation for it without going into details.
"Indeed it's not." She shook her head. "He's changed dramatically these past few months."
"In what way?" Jack asked.
"Ever since he found out he was dying—"
"Dying!" the three of us said as one.
"Oh yes. Didn't you know? He told me so himself. Ever since then he's been like a man possessed, trying to cure himself. It's all he thinks about."
"Dying?" I frowned. "What from?"
She shrugged. "He never told me. But I noticed him getting more and more tired, and he seemed to always have a fever. He was burning up. Couldn't you tell?"
My heart ground to a halt. I looked to Jack. He stared back at me. Samuel too. I could feel their eyes on me even when I looked down at my hands resting on the table. My hot hands. I swallowed the lump in my throat, but another replaced it. My face heated. Exhaustion clawed at me, trying to drag me down.
Tate was dying, and if I had to guess, I'd say he was dying from the fire within him. It was consuming him. Growing hotter and hotter, drawing on his energy. He'd infected himself with the fire years ago, and now he was paying the price for his desire to be powerful. A much higher price than not being able to control it when he grew angry.
He had infected me with the same compound.
I was dying too.
CHAPTER 12
"Are you all right, Miss Smith?" Mrs. Dodd said. "You look quite flushed all of a sudden."
I stared at her. My heart hurt. My mouth was dry. I felt heavy, as if I would sink through the chair and disappear into the floor.
Dying.
"Jack," I whispered.
He must have made the connection too. He reached across the table, but his fingers curled up into a ball before he touched me. "Hannah." The green of his eyes darkened and a muscle high up in his jaw clenched. His lips formed the word 'no' and he shook his head over and over as he stared at me. As if the harder he stared, the better I'd feel and it would turn out that nothing was wrong with me after all.
Yet he could not will me to be well. I knew with complete certainty that death had wrapped its arms around me and was pulling me to its breast.
Samuel cleared his throat. "She's had a long day."
"You need an early night," Mrs. Dodd said. "Take some laudanum and go to bed early."
"Thank you," Samuel said when I failed to answer.
Mrs. Dodd checked the small pocket watch she kept in her reticule. "I must go. Thank you for the drink. It was nice to meet you two again after all this time." She looked first to Jack then to me. He didn't seem to notice, he was still staring at me. "Just lovely to see you both grown up and looking well."
I think I managed to say something in response. I don't know. I wasn't fully aware of everything. Just that I felt so hot and tired, and that Jack appeared stricken. Did I look like that too?
Samuel stood and thanked Mrs. Dodd for coming. He seemed to be the only one of us capable of speaking.
"Do be careful, Miss Smith," Mrs. Dodd said and waved goodbye.
Once she was gone, Samuel sat back down. "Don't even think it," he said. "Just because Tate is dying doesn't mean Hannah is."
Jack looked up and nodded. "You're right, Gladstone, for once." His eyes were bright and hard, his mouth a determined line. "We won't jump to conclusions yet."
If it made him happier to believe that, then so be it. But I knew. I knew in my heart, my soul and in my hot blood. I was dying from the fire Tate had injected into me, and there was no cure.
I spread my hands on the tabletop to steady myself. I felt unbalanced, like I was spinning, or perhaps the room was. Jack watched me intently, his gaze making me hotter.
"Hannah…" The ache in his voice cut through me.
I closed my eyes. Breathed. Opened them again. "Samuel's right," I said more cheerfully than I felt. "Tate's situation and mine are different."
Jack said nothing. His moment of fortitude had vanished entirely. It had been brief and not altogether convincing anyway. He clutched his tankard between both hands and gazed at the golden ale.
"Good." Samuel gave an emphatic nod, as if he'd made a decision that I was well and that was that. "So why do you think Hannah was named after the other Hannah Smith? And who was she?"
"And is she linked to Jack in some way?" I said. "What do you think, Jack?"
He drained the rest of his ale. "I think I need another drink. Something stronger." He went to get up, but Samuel grabbed his forearm and pulled him back to the seat.
"Don't," Samuel said.
"I'll drink if I bloody well want to."
"Jack," I pleaded.
He raked his hand through his hair and turned his face away from us. His breathing became shallow and quick, his shoulders hunched. Samuel looked to me and I saw the concern in his eyes, and the uncertainty. He was at a loss for what to say and do.
"Jack?" I said.
He pressed his thumb and finger into his eyes and a shudder wracked him. His other hand reached across the table to me, but of course I didn't take it. God how I wanted to. I ached for his touch.
"Try and get through the meeting with Culvert before falling apart," Samuel said to him. "Can you do that?"
"I need you to be strong," I added.
He looked at me. Misery streaked through his eyes, shadowed his jaw, tugged at his mouth. He sucked in two deep breaths then finally nodded. "We'd better go then." His voice shook and he cleared his throat again. "Come on."
We drove to George Culvert's house in silence. Samuel was outside on the driver's seat while Jack remained in the cabin with me. Neither of us spoke. It was as if talking about it would somehow make it more real. He sat opposite me and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands very close to mine.
I stared out the window, but it was dark, and I wasn't really concentrating anyway. Thousands of thoughts and questions raced through my mind. Was I really dying? Could I be cured? Should I see a doctor? There were no answers, of course. The questions became more jumbled up and tangled as the glowing gas lamps slipped by.
"We'll have an early night," Jack said when we arrived at the Culvert residence. "You need to rest."
Rest would not come easily to me now. There were too many questions, too many things to think about. Too much to do.
How much time did I have left?
The butler showed us into the parlor where a pregnant Mrs. Culvert and her husband greeted us.
"Forgive us, we're poor company tonight," I said after initial polite chatter came to an abrupt stop.
"Of course," Mrs. Culvert said. "You've been traveling and have a lot on your minds."
She had no idea.
"Dinner will be served soon. George, perhaps you ought to give them the incantation now, so you don't forget." She laughed and it was so good to hear. She was a delightful lady, very handsome and fair. The only resemblance between her and her brother, Jacob Beaufort, was their bright blue eyes. Hers sparkled at her husband as he fished in his pocket.
"Here it is." Mr. Culvert gave a piece of paper to Jack. "Memorize it and say the words in the presence of the demon. Ensure you also have the amulet on you. Keep it in your pocket at all times."
"Do you have any more thoughts on why it may have been summoned?" Samuel asked.
Mr. Culvert shook his head. "It's not for doing good, I can assure you that much."
"What about the dungeon? How did it get in there?"
"I think it accidentally ended up in the dungeon instead of where the summoner intended. Recently too I might add."
"Why?"
"It wouldn't have survived any length of time after consuming the spirits if it couldn't escape. It requires ongoing sustenance. Perhaps a few days at the most."
Jack and Samuel exchanged a worried glance.
"You already know someone capable of summoning a demon and intent on doing you harm," Mr. Culvert said. "Do you think it was him?"
"Who?" Mrs. Culvert asked, slowly rubbing her belly. "What happened?"
Her husband pushed his glasses up his nose. "I was going to tell you when, uh, your nerves were stronger."
"My nerves are perfectly all right, thank you, George. Don't force me to ask Emily. You know she'll tell me. Unlike you, she doesn't think me weak."
"I don't think you weak. Merely…" He colored and looked away.
"Female," she finished for him. She rolled her eyes. "Miss Smith, do you find men underestimate your strength?"
"On occasion," I said and tried to smile.
"There is a man after Miss Smith here," Mr. Culvert told his wife. "He made himself known when we were at Frakingham. Never fear, we frightened him off."
She bit her lip and blinked at her husband. Despite her teasing, she was clearly worried about him. "That's awful," she murmured.
"It may have been Tate who summoned it," Jack said. "He's certainly capable."
"So the incantation will be enough to send it back?" Samuel asked. "I don't want to chant it and find the demon doesn't respond."
"It will. Just make sure you're holding the amulet." Mr. Culvert sighed. "There are a lot of rules in this business. My life would be a great deal easier if I owned a blade forged in the Otherworld."
"I'm not sure my nerves would be any happier," Mrs. Culvert said. "You're very good with books and theories, George, but weapons aren't really your specialty."
He laughed. She smiled too and patted her large belly.
"If it must be held by someone," Jack said, "and I found that amulet in the trench, half buried in the soil…I wonder if the builder summoned it."
"The one who died?" I asked. "It seems possible. He was the closest to the dungeon, but there were others."
"Two more builders and Yardley the foreman."
"He was the one who alerted us," I said. "I doubt it was him."
"And the other two builders seemed absolutely terrified," Samuel said. "The one who died was the only person showing no real fear."
"He was more curious that anything," Jack agreed.
"Why would he want to summon a demon?" I asked.
Mr. Culvert pushed his glasses up his nose. "Perhaps a more apt question would be who paid him to do it?"
***
The journey home to Frakingham seemed to take forever. I slept part of the way as Jack drove and Samuel kept him company. I suspected they'd left me so that I could rest, but despite the odd nap here and there, sleep remained elusive. A sense of numb disbelief had settled over me and that helped distance me from the facts.
Finally we arrived back at the house in the late afternoon. It was quiet. Too quiet. No one greeted us. No faces appeared at the windows.
I opened the carriage door myself and hopped out without letting the step down. Jack and Samuel looked to one another then scanned the area.
"Something's wrong," I said.
"We'll take the horses to the stables," Jack said. "All of us together."
I climbed up beside them onto the driver's seat and Jack drove the horses round to the back of the house. The men unhitched the carriage and settled the horses in their stalls with feed. They needed more care before nightfall, but that would have to wait. We had to find out where everyone had gone.
Dread gnawed at me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and despite the ever-present heat within, a shiver trickled down my spine. We crossed the courtyard and entered the house.
"Hello?" Samuel called. The shout bounced between the archways and walls. No one answered.
We stood. Waited. I wasn't sure whether to check the bedrooms first, the parlor, or the kitchen area, so instead I did nothing. None of us moved. It was as if taking a step in one direction would shatter the hope we all still held onto.
"It is you!" Sylvia cried.
I looked up the stairs to see her running down them.
"Oh, thank God." She was crying and running, almost tripping over her skirts. She ran straight into Jack's arms and sobbed into his chest.
"Shhh," he whispered. "Calm yourself, Syl. Tell us what happened."
My heart thudded once then ground to a halt. Oh God. I put my hand to her back. "Sylvia," I said gently. "Talk to us."
She pulled away from Jack and clutched my hand. Samuel offered her a handkerchief and she wiped her eyes. They were swollen from crying.
"Tommy?" Jack muttered. His face was ravaged with shadows and lines. It had been like that all day. He'd not slept a wink and now this.
Sylvia shook her head. "Olsen." A fresh bout of tears streamed down her cheeks. "He's dead."
I pressed a hand to my stomach as tears pricked my eyes. Sylvia drew me into a fierce hug, her damp cheeks against mine.
"It was awful," she said. "Just awful. The demon got him."
"Ham?" Samuel asked.
"The other one."
"Where's Tommy?" Jack asked. "Why isn't he here? And the other servants and August, where are they?"
"The servants have all been dismissed and are safe in the village. Uncle is in his rooms with Bollard, and Tommy is upstairs in his bedroom. I've just come from there."
She'd been alone with a male servant in his room? Sylvia would never do that. Something must be very wrong.
"What's happened to him?" Jack asked, urgent. "Is he…?"
"He's injured," she said.
"Yes, we know," Samuel said. "He hurt his leg before we left."
She shook her head. "It got him again. He tried to save Olsen, but couldn't. The demon struck him in the shoulder." She started crying again. "There was blood everywhere."
Jack raced up the stairs and was soon gone from sight. I would let him talk to Tommy for a few minutes before I joined them.
"Has a doctor seen him?" Samuel asked.
"It's too dangerous to get one up here. I've tended to his wounds myself."
"Your uncle?" I asked. "Is he all right?"
"The same as always. Bollard too. It's just been the four of us here since we sent the servants away yesterday after…" She drew in a shuddery breath. "After Olsen was attacked."
"How did it happen?"
"Olsen and Tommy went to feed the horses, and the demon came out of the woods. It was so fast." She pressed her
fingers to her mouth and shook her head. "They both had fire and guns, but it didn't seem as frightened of them this time. Tommy actually burned it and that sent it scurrying, but before that, it didn't seem to care."
"Perhaps it's learned that bullets can't kill it," I said.
"Oh, Hannah," she whispered. "Poor Olsen."
I hugged her again until she calmed, then Samuel and I went upstairs to Tommy's room while Sylvia went to fetch her uncle. Tommy sat on top of the bedcovers, the bandaged shoulder clearly visible beneath his white shirt. He wore no waistcoat or jacket, and he held his arm stiffly against his body.
"I'm very glad to see you three," he said with a glance at the door. "Miss Langley needs your company, Miss Smith."
"Driving you mad is she?" Jack asked, attempting to be light.
"She fusses and won't let me get up to do my duty."
"You're injured!" I cried.
"I still have one good arm."
"For Heaven's sake, Tommy, enjoy the peace while you can. You deserve a rest."
"Not sure how much peace he's getting up here with Sylvia mothering him," Jack said. "Or should that be smothering."
"She does talk a lot," Tommy said with a small smile. "But she's good company. When she's not crying."
She entered the room then, Bollard and Langley behind her. "I thought I heard your arrival," Langley said to us. "Why didn't you come to see me immediately?"
"We heard about Tommy," Jack said.
"As you can see, he's well enough. He should be working. With the rest of the staff gone, there's a lot to do."
"I agree, sir," Tommy said.
"No!" Sylvia cried, stamping a hand on her hip. "You need to rest. There'll be no more talk of you getting out of bed until you're healed. We can manage without you."
I had to commend her. I hadn't expected Sylvia to rise to the challenge of doing servants' work. It would seem she wasn't as spoiled as she appeared, although I wasn't looking forward to dinner.
"Well done, Syl," Jack said. He looked at his cousin as if he'd never quite seen her before. "You've kept everything in order in our absence. It hasn't been easy for you."
Langley grunted. "We'll speak later, Sylvia. Jack, tell us what you learned in London. We need to get rid of this creature, and Tate too. We can't live like this for much longer. You'll all go mad."