by C. J. Archer
I had the urge to giggle just like the Butterworth girls. If only they knew that I wasn't a lady. They'd turn up their prim noses at me.
"So what is it we can do for you today?" Mr. Butterworth asked, eyeing the clock on the mantel.
"This may seem a strange question," Jack said, "but I'm curious as to whether you've been planning any building works in the village recently. Perhaps for one of the societies you belong to?"
Mr. Butterworth exchanged a glance with his wife. "I can't think of any. Can—?"
"No, nothing," his wife said. "Why, Mr. Langley?"
Jack smiled and waved a hand, dismissive. "Ever since the renovations up at the house, I've become interested in architecture. I thought we could share plans and ideas."
"Oh. I see." Mrs. Butterworth seemed to accept his explanation, but her husband frowned at Jack. He said nothing. "There certainly haven't been any plans put forward through the council," she added.
I'd wondered if she had some influence in her husband's affairs, and her response confirmed it. Her domination of him was out of character for a man in a position of authority, and an elected official at that. I could imagine her taking charge of the campaigning on his behalf. She was quite a force.
A flash of something white by the door caught my eye. I seemed to be the only one who'd seen it. I kept watching and was rewarded with the sight of a little face peeking around the door jam. I smiled at the girl and she pulled back, out of sight.
"I'm sorry we couldn't help you, Mr. Langley," Mr. Butterworth said.
Jack held up his hand. "Another question, if you please. Do you know a man named Mott?"
Butterworth sucked on his lower lip. He shook his head. "Doesn't ring any bells."
"Why, Mr. Butterworth!" his wife cried. "Of course you know Mott. He was one of the men who died up at Frakingham. He's the reason the Langleys had to cancel Christmas dinner. Such a shame," she added with a shake of her head. Did she mean Mott's death or the canceled dinner?
"Ah, Mott." Her husband gave an emphatic nod. "Yes, I remember now. Poor fellow."
"Were you in communication with him?" Jack asked.
"About what?"
Jack shrugged. "About anything."
"No, Mr. Langley, I was not. What are all these questions for?"
"Nothing," Samuel said quickly. Then, more soothingly, he said, "Nothing at all, Mr. Butterworth."
Both Sylvia and I glared at him. He was not going to hypnotize Mr. Butterworth, surely! Not when others were so close and in danger of falling under his spell too. It was bad enough having the girls blushing and giggling, we didn't need them throwing themselves at Samuel as well. It had been known to happen among the women he hypnotized.
Samuel blinked his wide blue eyes back at me, all innocence. The devil. His charming nature would be his undoing one day. I was convinced of it.
I smiled at Mr. Butterworth. "Do you know a Mr. Myer from London?"
Samuel cleared his throat. I ignored him. He may not think Myer was a danger, but no amount of charm from either man could convince me to agree.
Mr. Butterworth shook his head. "Never heard of him."
"Mrs. Butterworth?"
"No," she said, patting the curl of hair dangling near her ear. "Why?"
"He's a gentleman we met in London recently."
"Not very many London gentlemen make their way here."
I bit the inside of my lip. I would have to lie, and I wasn't sure I could make it convincing enough. Thankfully Jack took over.
"He said he was here recently, and we wondered if you'd met with him. That's all." He smiled benignly. If I hadn't known the truth, I would have believed him.
"We don't know anyone of that name." Mrs. Butterworth glanced at the gold carriage clock on the mantel, then at her husband. He was focused on Jack and didn't notice.
"Describe him," he said.
Jack did, but Mr. Butterworth shook his head again. "I've not seen him here. Tell him to visit next time he makes his way to our little village. Any friend of yours is our friend too, Mr. Langley."
We said our thanks and goodbyes. The Butterworth girls curtsied again and demurely thanked us for coming. They looked first to Samuel, then to Jack. Not once did they speak to Sylvia or me.
"I don't think much of those girls," Sylvia muttered, flattening her skirts as she sat in the coach cabin. "Empty-headed creatures, both of them. They couldn't take their eyes off you two."
"Can you blame them? Jack and Samuel are very handsome," I said with a wink at Jack. "I'm sure most girls can't take their eyes off them. I know I find it difficult."
Jack grinned at me.
Samuel sighed theatrically. "I for one am heartily tired of being admired for my beauty and not my accomplishments. Don't these girls see me for what I truly am?"
"Vain?" Jack offered. "Arrogant?"
Samuel laughed.
The coach rolled away, only to stop abruptly at the gate. I would have ended up in Sylvia's lap opposite if Samuel hadn't put his arm across me as a barrier.
"What's wrong?" Sylvia asked, straightening her hat.
Jack leaned his head out the window, only to be startled by the sudden appearance of a face. The same face that I'd seen in the Butterworth's window and at the parlor door. It belonged to a girl with her brown hair in ringlets and a smudge of dirt on her chin.
"Hello," I said. "Have you snuck out?"
"Shhh." She glanced toward the house. "I can't talk for long," she whispered. "Listen carefully."
"What a dear little thing you are," Sylvia cooed.
The girl dismissed Sylvia with a roll of her brown eyes. "I heard you asking about that London gentleman, and I heard my mother's reply."
"She said she's never met him," Jack said.
"She's lying."
My breath caught. "Why do you say that?"
"Because I've seen him here. No one else has. He's come here twice when no one is home except me and Mama. It's been Saturday afternoons, you see. My governess's day off."
Good lord. Why had Mrs. Butterworth lied? "What's your name?" I asked her.
"That's not important." Her big brown eyes shifted to the house again then returned to us. "I have to get back before they realize I'm gone. Are you going to make sure that man never comes back, sir?" she said to Jack.
"I'm not sure I can do that," he said. "Why don't you want him to come back?"
"Because he makes my head dizzy."
Oh my God. She wasn't spinning an extraordinary tale. Myer had been here, and he'd hypnotized someone, most likely Mrs. Butterworth? Whatever for?
"What about your mother?" I asked. "Does the gentleman make her head dizzy too?"
"I don't know. I don't think so. She wouldn't kiss him if she had a dizzy head, would she?"
CHAPTER 7
Sylvia's gasp filled the cabin. I pressed my hand over hers to silence her. The girl sounded brave, but I didn't want to upset her any more than necessary.
"She shouldn't be doing that with him," the girl said, baring her teeth. "If she does it again, I'm going to tell Papa." She stabbed a finger at Jack, stopping just short of poking him in the eye. "So if he's your friend, sir, you should tell him to stay away."
She ran off and hid behind a garden statue of a Greek goddess carrying an urn. She peered round it at the house, just as a woman wearing a white cap emerged from the front door.
"Jane? Jane?" the woman called.
The girl revealed herself and received a scolding from her governess for her disappearing act. The coach rolled off and I didn't hear Jane's response.
"What an extraordinary little girl," Sylvia said with a shake of her head.
"What an extraordinary accusation she made," I said. "Do you think Mrs. Butterworth was kissing Mr. Myer because she wanted to? Or…?"
Samuel held up his hand. "Don't accuse him of anything like that without proof."
"We have a witness who said the man makes her head dizzy," Jack said.
"That's pro
of that he has hypnotized, not proof that he, er, kissed Mrs. Butterworth without her consent."
"Samuel, I don't know whether your defending him is admirable or worrying," I said. "Why do you do it when you hardly know the man?"
He rested his elbow on the window frame and rubbed his finger along his top lip. "Just because he's hypnotized people, doesn't mean he does it all the time without their knowledge. I know what it's like to be accused of something you didn't do."
We all stared at him. He merely shrugged one shoulder and turned to look out the window.
Jack cleared his throat. "What it does prove is that Myer has been here. Mrs. Mott recognized him too. We can't dismiss him as a suspect in the demon summoning yet."
"Nor can we dismiss the Butterworths," I said.
Sylvia scoffed. "Surely you can't blame Mrs. Butterworth. If she contacted Mott, then it's likely she was doing Myer's bidding while under his hypnosis."
"Actually, I was referring more to Mr. Butterworth. He pretended not to know about Mott or his death, when clearly his wife knew."
"Perhaps he doesn't know everybody in the village."
"A man was mauled to death! That can't happen so frequently in such a small village that it goes unnoticed by the mayor."
She sighed. "Whether they're guilty along with Mott or not, there is one thing I can be certain about. The Butterworths are a very odd family."
Jack grunted a humorless laugh. "Almost as odd as us."
***
Langley had asked Sylvia to fetch him as soon as I awoke from my afternoon nap. I waited in the parlor. Jack, who'd joined me as soon as I emerged from my room, crouched next to me.
"This is as good a time as any," he whispered.
"To look through his things?" I whispered back. "Jack, are you sure you should do this?"
"No, but I have to try."
I didn't get the chance to protest further. Bollard wheeled Langley in. He had a tray in his lap, a neatly folded cloth on it. I pulled a face. "You want more blood."
Jack slipped out of the room as Langley unfolded the cloth. Neither he nor Bollard appeared to notice.
"Bollard," Langley said, passing the syringe to his servant.
"He's going to do it?" I shook my head. "No. He's not sticking that thing into me."
"Bollard is capable."
"I don't want someone who is merely capable. I want a professional!"
Bollard took a step toward me, and I shrank back. "Don't bring that thing near me."
Langley huffed out a breath. "You're being hysterical. He won't hurt you."
"He nearly beat me to death with a shovel in the woods. Do you remember that?"
Bollard's lips parted and a wheeze of air escaped. Was that his way of protesting? Apologizing? I'd since learned that he wouldn't harm me—most likely anyway—but at the time, I'd been terrified of the silent giant. I was still wary of him. My reluctance to have him poke me in the arm with a needle was genuine, although I was partly doing it to buy Jack time.
"He wasn't going to hit you with it," Langley said under his breath. "And you forget that you were trying to escape, something which was not in your best interests at the time. He was merely following my orders to keep you here."
"That makes me feel so much better," I said, snippy.
"I didn't expect these hysterics from you, Hannah." Langley wheeled himself closer and snatched the syringe from Bollard. "Roll up your sleeve."
I did as told, keeping an eye on the mute. He stepped back behind the wheelchair again, his expression once more vacant.
Langley prepared the needle and stabbed my arm with it. It stung, but I did not look away. I watched as the syringe filled with blood then Langley removed the needle. He handed me the cloth, and I pressed it against the drop marking the entry point. I was surprised that I didn't feel at all faint or nauseous. It was a small problem, one that needed rectifying—and considerable acting skills.
I groaned and fluttered my eyelids closed. "I feel strange," I murmured, then promptly fell sideways onto the sofa.
"Hannah!" Langley cried. "Hannah!"
Somebody helped me to sit up. I opened my eyes to see that it was Bollard. He tucked me into his side, my head beneath is chin. He flapped a copy of the Young Ladies' Journal in front of my face to cool me down.
"Thank goodness you're all right," Langley mumbled.
Bollard took my chin in his hand and gently forced me to look up. His narrowed gaze studied my face before letting me go. He stood and handed me the journal. I swallowed hard and continued to fan myself with it.
"Fetch some tea," Langley told his servant. "And perhaps something stronger."
My ruse had worked better than I'd hoped. Bollard would be gone for a few minutes, allowing Jack extra time. The only problem was, I'd not expected to feel so guilty. Both Langley and Bollard had been visibly shaken by my fainting spell.
Langley pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. "You feel hot."
"I'm all right," I tried to reassure him.
He asked me a series of questions about my health then felt my pulse at my wrist. We sat in silence as he counted, then continued to sit in silence until Bollard returned with Tommy. Bollard handed me a glass of sherry and Tommy poured me a cup of tea.
"I'm quite all right now," I said. "No need to fuss."
Samuel came into the parlor along with Sylvia and Jack. Sylvia gave a little gasp and plopped down beside me.
"Poor Hannah," she said, taking my hands in hers. "Are you all right?"
"I'm well." I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "Please stop fussing."
"This isn't fussing. It's us taking care of you."
"It doesn't require all of you."
Langley signaled to Bollard to wheel him away. "Take care of her, Samuel. I have to test this sample. Jack, those accounts need seeing to."
Jack nodded. "I'll do it now."
Bollard glanced back over his shoulder at me from the doorway. He still looked worried. I think I was more shocked by that than anything else that had happened all day.
"Hannah?" Jack said, handing me the teacup. He eyed me closely. "You are all right, aren't you?"
"Yes. Perfectly. Now stop fussing everybody." I was desperate to ask him what he'd discovered in Langley's rooms, but held my tongue. "What of the accounts? Shouldn't you be seeing to them?"
"I did last night. August is trying to get rid of me." He glanced at Samuel. "I'd rather stay here."
We all talked of other things until it was time to go in for dinner. Occasionally Sylvia would ask how I felt, but otherwise we passed the time as we usually did, in amiable conversation.
When Tommy announced dinner, Sylvia and Samuel went through to the dining room first while I hung back with Jack. "Well?" I asked him. "What did you discover?"
"A lot of old papers." He strode off.
"Any of them important?"
"No," he said without slowing down.
He was quiet through dinner, however, and afterward. I didn't get a chance to speak to him privately again before I retired for the night. By the time I rose late the following morning, Jack had gone into the village.
"He's hoping to find out more about Myer," Sylvia said when I joined her in the parlor.
"And to spy on the Butterworths," Samuel said. He folded the newspaper he'd been reading and tossed it onto the table beside him. "Sylvia, did you think he was acting strange this morning?"
She pulled hard on her sewing needle. "I don't know what you mean."
"Strange in what way?" I asked. "Quiet? Reflective?" That was how he'd been the previous night during and after dinner. I was beginning to think he'd discovered something in Langley's rooms after all. But why would he lie to me about it? He knew he could tell me anything.
"I'd say he was angry," Samuel said.
"Angry? That doesn't sound like Jack. Well, not most of the time and not without good reason."
"He was short with me over breakfast," Samuel said. "I on
ly asked him what he planned on doing today and whether I could assist him."
"Perhaps he's frustrated that you still insist on going to London and Myer."
"That must be it," Sylvia said.
"No, I don't think so." He rubbed his finger over his lip. "He wasn't angry at me when we returned from Harborough yesterday, or last night. It's as if something has happened since then."
I bit the inside of my cheek. I couldn't tell him about Jack sneaking into Langley's rooms. Samuel might not approve and Sylvia certainly wouldn't. Besides, it was Jack's business. If he wanted anyone else to know, he'd tell them himself.
"Sylvia? You're very quiet," Samuel said. "Do you know something we don't?"
She lifted the fabric close to her face and inspected her stitching. "I'm often quiet."
He snorted. "No, you're not. Silence is not golden where you're concerned. It's worrying. Well then? What is it? You'd better tell us, or I'll insist on quizzing the servants. Perhaps Tommy knows what troubles you."
She set the fabric down with a huff. "Don't be ridiculous. Very well, I'll tell you what I think. I think Jack received some news that has upset him."
My heart skipped. I pressed my hand to my chest and could feel the thud through my gown. "What do you mean? What news?"
"A letter came for him early this morning, before breakfast. I saw Tommy give it to him. Ever since then, Jack's been snapping at everybody. I tried to engage him in chatter about the ball, and he as good as bit my head off! Then he stormed away and I haven't seen him since."
"Who was the letter from?" Samuel asked.
Sylvia pierced the fabric with her needle. "I couldn't say." That was her code for 'I'm not going to tell you.'
"Sylvia, we should try to get to the bottom of this."
She turned her shoulder to him.
"Ah, here's Tommy," Samuel said.
The footman hesitated just within the door, looking somewhat startled to be noticed. "Sir?"