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

by C. J. Archer

  "Come in out of the cold before you catch your…" She swallowed, and her eyes dulled. "Well, come in."

  She accepted the basket of pies, preserves and canned soup I'd brought with profuse thanks and led us to the front room. A fire burned in the grate, throwing out enough heat to make me feel like I was suffocating in the small parlor. A chair sat close to the hearth, a piece of brown woolen fabric on the seat and a sewing basket on the floor beside it. Mrs. Mott scooped up the fabric, but not before I saw it was a pair of men's trousers that she was shortening.

  "Are your children at school, Mrs. Mott?" I'd seen the three children at the funeral, two lanky boys in their teens and a young girl. It had torn my heart as they'd watched their father's coffin descend into his grave. The girl and one of the boys had cried, but the older one did not. The modified trousers were probably for him, having belonged to his father.

  "Aye, they are."

  Jack and I sat in the only two other chairs in the bare room and Mrs. Mott sat in the one beside the fire. She self-consciously tucked her dark brown hair under her cap and smiled uncertainly at us.

  "Would you like tea?" she asked.

  "No thank you," Jack said. "This is a quick visit. We're sorry to disturb you at this time, but we wanted to express once again how sorry we are for your loss."

  "Thank you." She blushed a little at Jack's sympathetic smile.

  He didn't often show his gentler side, but when he did, I was reminded of just how charming he could be when he tried. With his dark good looks and bright green eyes, he was achingly handsome. It was no wonder Mrs. Mott blushed when all he did was give her his full attention.

  "Do you have everything you need?" I asked her. "Is there anything we can do for you and your children?" I wasn't sure what to say. I'd already given her my sympathies on the loss of her husband at the funeral, but I still felt awkward sitting in her house mere days after his death. I wasn't sure of the etiquette for bereavement. Should I have brought flowers instead of the food? I wished I'd asked Sylvia before we left.

  "That's kind of you, Miss Smith, and I thank you." She turned adoring eyes on Jack. "But Mr. Langley has already done so much for me and the children. I don't know where we'd be without his generosity."

  "I'll pass your gratitude on to my uncle," Jack said.

  Mrs. Mott's smile slipped a little, although mine broadened. I covered it discreetly with my hand. I knew the annuity had been all Jack's idea, and that he'd implemented it too. August was probably not even aware of it, although it was his money. It was just like Jack to downplay his own role and let someone else receive the gratitude.

  "Right then," Mrs. Mott said. She rubbed her dry, cracked hands together and blew on them. "Sorry it's a mite cold in here. I'll add some more coal."

  "Not on our account," I said. "We're warm enough."

  "I insist," Mrs. Mott said, pouring coal from the scuttle onto the fire. "Don't know why I was savin' it anyway. We've got coal to last us through the winter and into spring. Mr. Mott saw to that just before he died." She set the scuttle back down and sat again.

  That was something at least. I felt relieved knowing the family would be comfortable despite the icy temperatures.

  "Mrs. Mott," Jack began, "we need to ask you something regarding your husband's recent behavior."

  "Oh?"

  "Was he acting any differently in the weeks before he died?"

  Her bottom lip protruded as she thought. "In what way?"

  "Did he become friendly with anyone new, for example? Anyone not from Harborough?"

  She shook her head. "The only time he left the village was to work on Freak— I mean Frakin'ham House." She made an elaborate show of tucking her hair under her cap again, avoiding our gazes.

  "How about new acquaintances in Harborough?" I asked.

  "I couldn't say, Miss Smith. He might have met someone down at the Lion. That's the Red Lion, on High Street. Mr. Mott drank there twice a week, sometimes more. If he met anyone new, it would have been there."

  I sighed, unable to hide my disappointment. We would have to traipse down to the Red Lion and ask more questions of the proprietor. It wasn't that I didn't want to. It was more that weariness was beginning to pull at me. Not that I would tell Jack. He would insist on returning home, and I didn't want to waste the opportunity of learning more.

  "Thank you, Mrs. Mott," Jack said, rising. "You've been most helpful."

  Mrs. Mott tucked her hair away again, although it looked neat enough to me. "It's good of you to visit me, Mr. Langley. You and Miss Smith. But, forgive me, why are you askin' about my husband's friends? Did he do somethin' wrong?"

  "No," I said quickly. I didn't want her to know about the terrible thing her husband had unleashed up at the house. For one thing, she might think us mad, and for another, he probably didn't fully understand what he was doing. It was best that she remembered her husband fondly. What was done was done, and he'd paid a terrible price for his actions.

  "Mr. Mott mentioned that he was doing some work for another builder," Jack said, lying through his teeth. "The plans sounded impressive, and I wanted to see them. I have an interest in architecture. That's all." He gave her a smile.

  She smiled back, but it soon turned into a frown. "Well, that would explain the coal."

  "Pardon?" Jack and I said together.

  She waved a hand at the full coal scuttle. "He came home with sacks full of coal about two weeks ago. He shared it with our neighbors, and so pleased they were too. Another building job, you say?" Her frown disappeared, and she looked relieved. "Thank the lord. I don't mind tellin' you both now that I worried where the coal came from. Mr. Mott has always provided for this family, but I knew him well enough to know his work weren't always honest." She pressed a hand to her chest. "I am mighty relieved to hear you speak of another proper job. He must have been paid already."

  "So you don't know who that employer may have been? Did Mr. Mott mention anything about another job to you?"

  "I think I do recall somethin' like that." Her smile was quite false, and I didn't believe she'd suddenly remembered something important. Her reluctance to tell us earlier was understandable. If her husband had indeed gotten the coal by illegal means, she would have had to give it back. She might be an honest woman, but she was a widow with three children. Who could blame her for being cautious? At least now she was telling the truth.

  "Oh?" I prompted. "Did Mr. Mott give you a name for the other builder?"

  "Not a person's name," she said. "He just spoke of 'the Society.'"

  Good lord. Surely not. The only society I knew was the Society For Supernatural Activity, a group that Langley and Tate had once belonged to. They had interests in all things paranormal and would certainly know how to summon demons.

  "Does that mean anything to you?" Mrs. Mott asked.

  "Not really," Jack said idly, without meeting Mrs. Mott's gaze. He had obviously made the same connection I did.

  We said our goodbyes and thanked her. I waved at her from the carriage window and didn't turn to Jack until she was gone from view.

  "Well," I said, settling back in the leather seat. "How do you think Mr. Mott came to be involved with the Society?"

  Jack's finger skimmed across his top lip as he thought. "More importantly," he said, "why was the Society paying Mott to summon a demon onto Frakingham?"

  CHAPTER 2

  Jack insisted that I eat luncheon in my bedroom and nap afterward. I grumbled half-heartedly, but obliged. I awoke two hours later a little more refreshed. The internal heat still raged, however. I was always warm now, unless I took a dip in the ice-cold lake. Rest helped, but I refused to lie down any more than necessary. Time was too precious to waste it sleeping.

  I found Sylvia downstairs in the drawing room. She was staring out the window, her lips plumped into a pout. I followed her gaze and saw Jack and Samuel standing off to the side, surveying the scaffolding frame that covered part of the house like an external skeleton. No work had be
en done on the renovations since the builders had run off in fear at the first sign of the demon a week earlier.

  "Is something the matter?" I asked, standing beside her. "It's not falling down, is it?"

  "Good lord, I hope not." She turned away with a sigh. "They're discussing what's to be done next. Jack is not having much luck enticing the builders back."

  "Not even with extra wages?"

  "Some, yes, but not enough. He and Samuel are considering whether to offer them more money or get others in from further away."

  "People who aren't afraid of Freak House you mean," I said wryly. "He didn't tell me he was having difficulty finding builders."

  "He's trying to spare you the mundane details of day-to-day life."

  "I wish he wouldn't. There are so few things to focus on aside from…aside from Tate and the cure, that any detail, no matter how minute, is a welcome distraction."

  She took my hand and squeezed it. "I'll be sure to tell you everything about my day from now on. Shall we start with what I ate for luncheon?"

  "That's quite unnecessary," I said quickly. "Let's discuss your dancing practice instead. Was Samuel a capable dancer?"

  "Oh yes. Not quite up to Monsieur Bourgogne's standard, but very good. I'm sure I improved. I wouldn't expect anything less from a gentleman though."

  I refrained from rolling my eyes, but only just. "I'm sure he'll be very popular at the ball if that's the case. Indeed, if you have any interest in him at all, you may want to secure him before then." I watched her closely for any signs of infatuation.

  She burst out laughing. "Don't be ridiculous. The man can hypnotize people with mere words. I want a husband I can wrap around my little finger, not the other way round, thank you."

  I giggled, relieved. I was quite sure Samuel had no interest in Sylvia, but I was a little worried that she was beginning to like him in that way. He was, after all, very handsome and charming. Thank goodness I'd been wrong. They would have made a terribly unsuitable couple.

  "It's nice that he's taking such an interest in the house," I said, watching the men. "He's certainly made himself at home here."

  "Why wouldn't he?" She sat down with a flounce on the sofa, her skirts billowing before settling around her. "He's living here for free."

  "I don't think money is an issue. His family is wealthy." His family also didn't know he was at Frakingham. He'd let that piece of news slip some time ago but never explained why he'd not told them. Nor was I completely satisfied with his explanation for being at the house at all. He'd claimed to be studying us as some sort of experiment on cognitive processes and behavior. Perhaps it was the truth. Perhaps it had nothing to do with his ability to hypnotize and more to do with his neuroscience interests. He had been a student of the subject before he'd left University College and come to Frakingham.

  A more interesting question for me, however, was why was August Langley allowing him to stay?

  "At least he and Jack seem to be getting along now," I said. Jack hadn't warmed to Samuel at first. Not until Samuel had risked his own life to save us. Since then, they'd become friends.

  "He no longer sees Samuel as a rival." Sylvia pulled her sewing out of her basket and inspected her stitching.

  "A rival? Over me?" I laughed. "He never was."

  "Jack thought differently, believe me, particularly when Uncle continued to push you and Samuel together."

  "At least he's stopped doing that."

  Sylvia pressed her lips into a disapproving line. "He's been very busy and distracted. I wouldn't assume that he's given up entirely."

  August Langley was full of mysteries, but his desire to keep Jack and I apart was the one that bothered me the most. Why didn't he want us to be together? The only explanation I could come up with was that I wasn't good enough for Jack. He might not be Langley's true nephew, but Langley certainly treated him as if he was. He also had a deep desire to be seen as an important man, hence the reason a mere microbiologist had settled his family in a magnificent house as soon as he could afford it. The daughter of working-class people would not figure into his grand plans for Jack.

  There was no use dwelling on such knotty problems now. The future was too uncertain and Langley not very present of late anyway. Whatever his faults, he'd thrown himself into discovering a cure for me, and I was grateful beyond words. If he did find a cure and repaying him meant leaving Jack forever, I didn't know what I would choose to do.

  I sat beside Sylvia and watched her stitching until I couldn't stand the tedium any longer. "I'm going out to see what Jack and Samuel have decided about the builders."

  "Why bother?" she said heavily. "No matter where the builders come from, the house won't be finished for some time. We'll have to cancel."

  "Cancel what?"

  "The Christmas dinner party of course. The grand dining room is in the damaged wing, and we can't have guests rolling up to a house that resembles a spider's web." She set down her sewing and sniffed. "It's so ugly, and I'm terribly disappointed. It was to be our first dinner party here. My first as hostess."

  She'd invited three other couples to dine with us two days before Christmas. I knew it was important to her, but I'd forgotten all about it, what with the chaotic events of the last two weeks. Clearly she hadn't.

  I circled her shoulders with my arm and hugged her. "There'll be more opportunities in the new year. Next time we won't send out invitations until we know the house is absolutely finished. Besides, it's probably for the best with the Beauforts' ball taking place soon. We'll be much too distracted to give our full attention to the dinner."

  Her face lifted at the mention of the ball. "At least that's something to look forward to. I cannot wait to go to London with you and Jack tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow? But the ball isn't for another week."

  Jack and Samuel walked in looking a little windblown from the wintry breeze. Samuel rubbed his hands and stood facing the fire. Jack smiled at me.

  "You're awake," he said, coming to stand beside me. He rested his hand on the back of the sofa and crouched at my side. "How do you feel?"

  "Fine," I said cheerfully. There was no point telling him I felt tired and hot. It would only make him melancholy with worry. "Sylvia says we're going to London tomorrow."

  "Only if you're up to it. I need to go, and I can't leave you here." He was switching to his protector role again. I welcomed it. There was no knowing when Reuben Tate would attempt to take me again, and with his abilities, Jack was the best person to stop him. Besides, I didn't want to be too far away from him for long periods. I missed him.

  "Why do you need to go to London at all?" I asked. "Has this got something to do with Mott's link to the Society For Supernatural Activity?

  He nodded. "I want to speak to someone about it, preferably a member. The Beauforts or Mr. Culvert may know of somebody."

  The Beauforts and Mr. George Culvert were not only our friends, but also experts on demons and other supernatural phenomena. They didn't belong to the Society, but they were aware of it.

  "Langley doesn't have any contacts anymore?" I asked.

  "He claims not to." Jack stood. "Sylvia and Samuel insist on coming too."

  "Wonderful. The more company, the better."

  Samuel smiled, flashing his boyish dimples. They made him even more handsome, something that I suspected he knew. "I'd like to meet some members of this Society too. Someone may know something about my…talent for hypnosis."

  "Oh? I had no idea you were curious about it." Indeed, he seemed as comfortable with his ability as Jack was with his fire starting. Samuel had hinted that in the past he'd used it for dishonorable reasons, but I was quite certain he now only hypnotized people when absolutely necessary. He was born with the ability to put someone in a trance with nothing more than his melodic voice and penetrating gaze. Other hypnotists needed to train in the art and required objects as focal points. Even then they weren't always successful.

  "My curiosity was piqued when we learn
ed that you were hypnotized by a member of the Society as a child," he told me. "Ever since then I've been curious about the man who did it. I think he must be like me and naturally gifted rather than learned in the art of hypnosis. It was certainly a powerful trance he put you in."

  The hypnotist, a gentleman named Myer, had hypnotized me when I was in the care of Lord Wade. He had not only made me fall asleep when I emitted fire, but also forget the entire episode. The hypnosis had been lifted by my extreme anger, fueled by something August Langley had said.

  "We'll have a grand time on Bond Street, Hannah," Sylvia said. Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "We ought to look for ribbons and pins to dress our hair for the ball. And I need a new pair of gloves."

  "There will be little time for shopping," Jack said.

  "A 'little time' is long enough. Speaking of the ball, Mrs. Irwin is coming this afternoon for a final adjustment. Do try to be awake, Hannah."

  Mrs. Irwin was the finest dressmaker in Haborough. Sylvia had wanted to commission a London modiste to make our ball gowns, but there'd been no time. Mrs. Irwin had to do.

  "You may regret bringing the ladies," Samuel muttered to Jack.

  Sylvia gave him a withering glare. I don't know how I could have thought she had an interest in him. The more I watched them together, the more I realized they behaved like brother and sister.

  "The time for shopping will be very short," Jack said. "Particularly since Hannah shouldn't be exerting herself."

  "Hannah is perfectly capable of inspecting ribbons," Sylvia retorted.

  I arched my eyebrows at her. "Hannah is perfectly capable of speaking for herself. I'll go and pack now. Sylvia, will you help me?"

  We were about to leave the drawing room when the rumble of wheels rolling down the corridor stopped us. We stood to each side of the doorway as August Langley entered in his wheelchair. A tray rested on his lap, upon which lay a white folded cloth. Bollard the mute servant brought the wheelchair to a stop near the fireplace. He stood stiffly behind his employer, his eyes blank as he stared straight ahead. Bollard was an expert on not revealing his thoughts. When I'd first met him, I'd been terrified of the tall, imposing man who couldn't talk. Now, he still made my heart skip when he silently turned a corner into my path, but I no longer feared him the way I used to.