by C. J. Archer
Finally, after what seemed an age, he spluttered. A cough wracked him. Coughing was good. I wrapped my arm around his waist and supported him until it subsided. There were no sparks this time. We needed desire for that, and I was simply too relieved to have any passionate thoughts.
"I'm fine," he said eventually, his voice rough. "You?"
I nodded, too choked with tears to speak. I didn't know if he saw it in the dark, but he didn't ask again.
"What happened?" he asked after my tears subsided.
"An enormous spark shot from me. Jack, we need to be more careful. I don't think we can do this anymore."
"Don't say that, Hannah."
"It's too dangerous. You were under water a long time. I couldn't find you. What if next time…?"
He brushed his knuckles lightly down my cheek then pulled away from me entirely. "Very well. We'll be more careful." He swore and punched the water. "I hate this."
"He'll find a cure. Don't worry."
The shine returned to his eyes. They sparkled like stars in the darkness. "We have to believe it," he said without much conviction.
We waded out of the lake and dressed. I didn't try to hide myself from him. For one thing, it was dark, and for another, I wasn't ashamed to show my body to Jack. One day, when Langley cured me, I would allow Jack to look all he wanted. And touch.
***
Jack, Sylvia, Samuel and I left for London the following morning and arrived at Claridges after sunset. The grand hotel provided a good base, being close to both the Beauforts and Culverts.
We sent word to the Beauforts upon our arrival and received a response the following morning in the form of Emily and Jacob Beaufort themselves, and George Culvert too.
"Are you sure you wish to speak with someone from the Society?" Mrs. Beaufort asked.
All seven of us sat in the hotel's drawing room, surrounded by rich, tapestried decor that was a little dated, but nonetheless opulent. Heavy brocade curtains were tied back from the large windows, but the amount of light that filtered through was miserly. No less than three liveried footmen had asked if we needed anything, but we'd waved them all away. We did not wish to be disturbed.
"Why?" Jack hedged.
"Is the Society to be feared?" Sylvia asked. "Only…I don't think we ought to seek anyone out who may wish to do us harm."
"That's the thing," Mr. Beaufort said. "We don't know what the members are like."
"We haven't heard much about them in recent years," Mrs. Beaufort explained. She looked so delicate next to her husband, but I knew from the stories about her past that she was courageous. Her pretty face was currently marred by a deep frown that cut across her brow as she leaned forward a little. "Until now."
Mr. Culvert, the demonologist, nodded. "You say the Widow Mott mentioned the Society? Are you sure?"
"We're sure," Jack said. "It's possible it's not the Society For Supernatural Activity at all, but some other society. Only I doubt it."
"It seems unlikely," Mrs. Beaufort agreed, "given the nature of what the deceased man did." She glanced at her husband and he frowned back. They seemed to communicate to each other without words, but I didn't suspect there was anything supernatural in their methods, merely a deep understanding of one another.
"Are you able to help us?" I asked. "Do you know where we can find a member of the Society?"
"I'm afraid not," Mrs. Beaufort said. "None of us have maintained a connection to it. The only man we knew who belonged died some years ago." She swallowed heavily and glanced once more at her husband.
He placed his hand over hers. "He wasn't the nicest of men, but that doesn't mean everyone in the Society is a bad apple."
"I'm sorry we can't help you," Mr. Culvert said. "Your trip to London has been wasted."
"There's one more thing." Jack pulled the small knife out of his jacket pocket, the one that had turned the demons to dust, a knife that shouldn't have been able to harm them at all. Only blades forged in the Otherworld could kill a demon. Jack's blade, his only link to his parents, was a deep mystery. He handed it to Mr. Culvert. "What can you tell me about this?"
"Ah!" Mr. Culvert turned over the knife and studied the carvings in the wooden handle. "Is this the one?"
We'd written to them about the demise of the demons, but this was the first opportunity to show them the knife. Mr. Culvert handed it to Mr. Beaufort. "It looks normal enough to me. Jacob?"
Mr. Beaufort inspected the blade and shrugged. "And to me." He passed it to his wife.
She rubbed her thumb over the handle. "The pattern is beautiful, and a little unusual. It came from your parents, you say?"
Jack nodded. "You can't tell me anything about it?"
"I'm afraid not," Mr. Culvert said. "I've never actually seen a blade that can kill demons before, neither in real life nor in any of my texts. I'm sorry, Mr. Langley. It would seem your journey has been doubly wasted."
"Not at all!" Sylvia brightened. "I, for one, am glad we won't be meeting anyone from this Society anyway. If they were involved in the summoning of that creature, it's a very bad idea to meet them at all. At least now we can shop in peace and without fear."
"There may be another way to look at this," Samuel said.
Sylvia groaned.
Samuel had said very little since the Beauforts arrived. He sat in a burgundy leather armchair a little to one side, looking relaxed. It was a charade, however. I knew him to be very interested in the conversation. "We know one gentleman who used to belong to the Society years ago. Perhaps he still does. His name is Myer. He hypnotized Hannah when she was a small child."
"Hypnotized a child?" Mrs. Beaufort stared wide-eyed at me. "I'm not sure you should seek him out then."
"Agreed," Mr. Beaufort said. "Hypnotists shouldn't be trusted. You never know if you're being put under their spell or not."
Jack pressed his lips together in an attempt to hide his smile. Samuel cleared his throat. "Thank you for your opinion," he said crisply. I don't know why he didn't just tell them he was a hypnotist. Perhaps he didn't want them to look at him differently or with fear. I could understand that, in a way. "So, do you know of any Myers?"
"Everett Myer," Mr. Beaufort said. "He's a member of my club. Seems like a nice fellow, but I don't know him well. We mix in different circles. He's a very wealthy man."
"What line of trade?"
"Banking. He's a major shareholder of Hatfield and Harrington, one of the oldest banks in the country."
Jack whistled. "Hatfield and Harrington!"
"Myer's wife is a Hatfield. She was an only child and her parents died a few years ago. She inherited everything."
"Edith is her name," Mrs. Beaufort added. "She's a quiet lady and doesn't socialize overmuch. She dresses rather plainly too, which is odd considering her wealth. It's almost as if she's embarrassed to flaunt her affluence."
"What is a shareholder?" I asked. My education in financial matters had been lacking, I realized.
"It means he owns only a part of the bank, a share of it, albeit a large share," Jack explained. "The bank is a joint-stock company. August is a shareholder too, in a minor capacity."
"Myer's share gives him great influence, but not complete control," Mr. Beaufort said.
"Are they young or old?" Samuel asked. "The man who hypnotized Hannah must be twenty years older than her at least."
"He would be about the right age," Mr. Beaufort said.
"Do you know where we can find him?"
"They live in Mayfair I believe, but I couldn't tell you where precisely. I've never been to their house."
"Nor I," Mrs. Beaufort said. "Edith Myer isn't one for holding parties. She's quite the recluse. Is Mr. Myer like that?" she asked her husband.
"Not at all. He's very amiable and popular with most of the gentlemen." Mr. Beaufort's blue eyes flashed wickedly in his wife's direction. It was quite unexpected, and I warmed to him even more. He wasn't the stuffy gentleman he first appeared to be. "Some would call him cha
rming. You would like him, my dear."
"Would I, indeed? Then pray I don't meet him. I'm quite sure I have enough charming men in my life."
Mr. Beaufort laughed. "Are you referring to me?"
"Actually, I was referring to our son. He charms me every day."
He grinned. I couldn't help smiling too. I did so enjoy the way they joked with one another.
"We need to find Myer," Samuel said. He seemed the only one unaffected by the Beauforts' display of family contentment. He was a hound on the scent of a fox. Now that he'd caught a whiff, he could think of nothing else.
"Come with me to the club," Mr. Beaufort offered. "If he's not there, it'll only take a few minutes to learn where he lives."
"What are you going to say to him when you meet him?" Mrs. Beaufort asked.
Jack shrugged one shoulder. "We'll think of something on the way."
"If nothing else, we can discuss Hannah's hypnosis with him," Samuel said. "That's the one thing we can be sure he was involved in."
Sylvia shot me a worried glance. "I'm not sure Hannah should go."
"You do look a little unwell, Miss Smith," Mrs. Beaufort said, frowning. "Perhaps you should rest."
"I'll stay with you. I don't particularly wish to meet this Myer gentleman anyway." Sylvia shuddered. "I don't want to succumb to his hypnosis."
"Good lord." Samuel threw his hands up in frustration. "Just because he's a hypnotist doesn't mean he's unethical."
"He hypnotized a child!" Sylvia cried.
"That was years ago. Perhaps he learned his lesson and has changed. Everyone deserves a second chance." This last part came out as a mutter.
"Of course they do." I tried to catch his gaze, but he didn't look at me. He didn't look at anyone, but stared down at the vibrant Oriental rug under his feet. "I'm sorry, Sylvia, but I won't be staying here with you. I feel quite well enough to go, and I wish to speak to Mr. Myer too."
"Well I'm staying here for the day," Sylvia said with a click of her tongue.
"Why not come with me?" Mrs. Beaufort asked.
I could have kissed her. Sylvia's smile lit up her face and assuaged my guilt at leaving her.
Sylvia positively bounced in her seat. "Shall we go shopping?"
"If you wish. We'll luncheon at home with the children, if that's all right with you. Afterward, I'll take you wherever you wish to go."
Sylvia clapped her hands. "Are you sure you don't want to join us, Hannah?"
"Quite sure. It sounds even more tiring than meeting Mr. Myer."
Both Mr. and Mrs. Beaufort frowned at me again. They would have guessed from the look of me that I was unwell, but manners forbade them from asking outright.
The three of them waited for us in the foyer as we retrieved our hats, coats and gloves from our rooms. While our carriages were being brought around, Mrs. Beaufort invited us to dine with them that evening. "George and Adelaide will be there, and Cara too."
"It sounds wonderful," I said, hoping I'd have time for a nap before then.
***
Mrs. Beaufort, Mr. Culvert and Sylvia took the Beaufort coach while Jack, Samuel, Mr. Beaufort and I climbed into ours. The drive to St. James' Street was short. Women weren't allowed in White's gentleman's club, so I waited in the coach. Jack remained too, most likely to keep an eye on me, although that wasn't the reason he gave.
"A place that doesn't accept female members sounds dull," he said with a devilish grin.
"We women are indeed great conversationalists," I said. "You only have to listen to Sylvia to agree."
He laughed. "If all women were like Sylvia, then I might see the point of a gentleman's club. But I wouldn't want to belong to something that doesn't admit the likes of you, Hannah."
His rich, masculine voice made me blush furiously again, and it took a moment for the heat in my face to subside. It wasn't until Jack lowered the window and let in the cold air that I cooled down.
"What if Mr. Myer is there?" I asked, taking a more serious approach. "You should be inside to question him."
"They'll fetch me if necessary. Here they are now."
Samuel climbed back in the cabin while Mr. Beaufort gave the driver an address.
"Are you not coming with us?" I asked him through the window.
"I have business to attend to in the city."
"Can we drive you there?" Jack asked.
"Thank you, but I'll catch an omnibus." He urged the driver onward and gave us a wave. "See you tonight," he called out as we rolled away.
I leaned back in the leather seat and regarded Samuel, sitting beside Jack. "The manager gave you Mr. Myer's address?" I asked him. "Just like that?"
"There was no 'just like that' about it. Beaufort claims he doesn't go to White's often, but he's clearly an important figure there. The manager couldn't get the address fast enough."
It wasn't far to Myer's house in Mayfair. Samuel acted as tour guide along the way, pointing out the houses belonging to various noble families. I was surprised that he knew where they lived, and wondered if he'd been inside. The driver stopped in front of a tall townhouse that commanded a view over pretty Berkeley Square. We alighted and climbed the steps to the gleaming black door.
"Mr. Myer is not available," said the footman who answered Jack's knock.
We met his response with silence. He had not said Myer wasn't home, simply that he wasn't available. Etiquette dictated that we couldn't question him further.
"I'll leave my card," Jack said.
"Wait." Samuel held up his hand. Oh God, he wasn't going to hypnotize the poor footman, was he? "Tell Mr. Myer that Hannah Smith wishes to speak to him. If he doesn't remember her, then please inform him that she was the ward of Lord Wade. I'm sure he'll become available shortly."
The footman's mouth opened and shut and opened again. "I, I…" Poor man. I couldn't blame him for his indecision. He probably didn't get confrontational visitors very often.
"It's all right, Adamson," said a woman standing high up on the curved staircase. She descended toward us, her dove-gray skirts fluttering with each step. "I'll entertain my husband's visitors while you fetch him."
Adamson bowed. "Yes, madam."
"I am Mrs. Myer. Please, come in." She was tall, with gray streaks through her dark hair and sagging jowls. She wasn't at all feminine in appearance, being broad of shoulder and solid in girth. Her face was wide too, and flat, as if invisible fingers had grabbed her by the ears and pulled back. Her lackluster eyes matched her dress in color and plainness. She smiled at us, but it was polite and impersonal.
"Mrs. Myer," Samuel said with a smooth bow. When he straightened, I could see from his smile that he had slipped into charming mode. Mrs. Myer's lips tightened at the corners, and her eyes widened. She looked quite startled all of a sudden. Perhaps she wasn't used to being charmed. "I'm Samuel Gladstone, and these are my friends Jack Langley and Hannah Smith."
She continued to stare at him. I admit that he was a handsome man and had a compelling way about him, but her scrutiny continued for a remarkably long tome considering he hadn't hypnotized her.
Samuel shifted his stance and cleared his throat. I'm sure he was used to being the object of female observation, but even he must have felt a little uncomfortable with her interest.
"Thank you for asking your footman to fetch Mr. Myer," Jack said.
She tore her gaze away from Samuel and turned it on me. "Your announcement intrigued me," she said. "You are Hannah Smith, the ward of Lord Wade?"
I nodded. "Do you know him? Have you heard of me?"
"I've not heard of you, but I do know Lord Wade. I haven't seen him for many years. How is he?"
"He's, uh, well." I had no idea if he was or not, but I'd learned that it was the standard answer for a polite social call. "You seemed quite intrigued when Samuel mentioned my name," I went on. "Are you sure you've never heard it before?" Perhaps she'd known the other Hannah Smith, the one I'd been named after. That woman had been a friend of Lord Wade's or
perhaps his lover. Langley hadn't given us any details, if indeed he'd known any. As always, he'd been evasive.
"I was curious simply because I didn't know Lord Wade had a ward," Mrs. Myer conceded. "But as I said, we have not seen him for many years."
"We?" Samuel prompted. "Neither you nor your husband have been in contact with Lord Wade recently?"
She glanced over her shoulder at the staircase, but it was empty. There was no sign of her husband. "I don't believe Everett has seen his lordship for some time, but you'd have to ask him. Come into the drawing room and wait for him. There's no telling how long he'll be. My husband does not usually rise before noon, you see."
"Oh?" Jack said. "He doesn't work at the offices of Hatfield and Harrington during the week."
Mrs. Myer smiled tightly. "My husband's presence isn't required at the bank, and he prefers to stay away anyway. The arrangement suits everybody."
She walked ahead of us. Behind her back, Jack and I exchanged glances. I understood what he was saying without words: Mr. and Mrs. Myer were not a couple on happy marital terms. Samuel didn't join in with our silent discussion. He seemed pre-occupied, even worried. I couldn't think why. Mrs. Myer might not be the easiest lady to talk to, but she was talking. She'd also known Wade around the time her husband hypnotized me. She might know more than she realized. I wanted to find out as much from her as I could before Myer arrived.
The drawing room was large but spartan compared with Frakingham's. A single framed daguerreotype of an elderly couple occupied a round table in the center of the room, and empty vases decorated other surfaces. Two paintings of the same country house in different seasons hung on a wall, and a portrait of the same man from the daguerreotype took pride of place above the mantelpiece. Most drawing rooms saw tables cluttered with sketches, paintings, figurines and stuffed animals, but the Myers had none of that. It must have been used rarely, or perhaps Mrs. Myer preferred minimal clutter.
A small fire warmed the room, and I removed my coat. Mrs. Myer did not offer to hang it up.
"Would you mind telling me what Lord Wade has to do with my husband?" she asked, sitting on one of the dark green leather armchairs.