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

by C. J. Archer

  It was Tate. He aimed a shotgun at us.

  CHAPTER 11

  If Jack could touch me without combusting either one of us, I suspected he would have thrown me over his shoulder and carried me inside. As it was, I ran as fast as my skirts would allow to the front door. He slammed it shut behind us as the crack of a gunshot blasted through the tranquility of the frosty winter's day.

  "Keep away from the windows and doors," he ordered. "Find Sylvia and go to August's room."

  "What about you? What are you going to do?"

  "Kill Tate."

  Another shot rang out. It sounded closer than the last, but like the first one, I couldn't hear any glass breaking or wood splintering. The slug must have lodged in the brickwork somewhere.

  "Tommy!" Jack shouted. "Tommy, my gun!"

  Tommy met us at the arched entrance to the corridor that led to the service area. He already held two shotguns, a box of ammunition tucked under his arm. Jack pushed him back along the corridor a few paces. It was one of the safest places in the house.

  "What the blazes did you say to the toff, Jackie?" he asked in his slum accent, a sign that he too was panicked.

  Jack took the box of bullets. "It's not Wade. It's Tate."

  Tommy said a very colorful word that had me blushing, then he and Jack both concentrated on loading the weapons.

  "There you are!" said Samuel, entering the corridor behind me. He must have been upstairs when the shots were fired. "Is everybody all right? Who's shooting at you?"

  "Tate," I said. "Although it's not clear if he's shooting at anyone or just frightening us." If the latter, he was doing a very thorough job.

  Samuel beckoned for a gun. "Give me one of those."

  Tommy pulled back and shook his head. "Let us handle him, sir."

  "But I can hypnotize him if I get close enough."

  "There's the flaw in your plan," Jack said. "He'll shoot you before you have a chance."

  "Only if he sees me."

  "That is a rather precarious 'if' to stake your life upon," I said. "Since Tate is here for me, I forbid you to try, Samuel. It's too much of a risk. That goes for all of you. Jack, I wish you wouldn't—"

  "Hannah?" Sylvia called.

  "In here!" I called back.

  She held her skirts up, revealing her ankles, something that would ordinarily have horrified her. "I heard gunshots. I went to Uncle, and he said to find you and report back."

  I told her about Tate. Her reaction was to let go of her skirts to cover her gasp with her hands. "If only that man had died!"

  Well, yes, except it would mean I had little time left too. It was actually a relief to see him up and about. "Jack and Tommy are going to intercept him, but I don't know if it's a wise idea."

  "Well, I do know! It's a terrible idea. Nobody is going outside while that madman is armed."

  "What would you have us do, Syl?" Jack said, pointing the loaded weapon at the ceiling.

  "I don't know, but it's too dangerous to be out there. Wait until he runs out of ammunition and leaves of his own accord."

  "I should have pursued him when I killed Ham. I won't let him get away again."

  "Perhaps he's not trying to kill anyone," I said. "He wants me alive."

  "He's not getting you," he growled.

  "I'm sure he doesn't plan on shooting at you," Samuel said quietly. "Rather the people trying to protect you."

  My stomach heaved. My chest tightened. I put a hand to the wall to steady myself, but the world still felt like it was rocking.

  Sylvia put her arm around my shoulders, but the men didn't seem to notice my turn.

  "Gladstone, there's a loaded pistol in the drawer beside my bed," Jack said. "Fetch it. The external doors are already locked except the front one. Guard it. Only let Tommy or me in."

  Jack and Tommy headed one way down the corridor and Samuel the other before either Sylvia or I could stop them.

  "Please be careful!" I tried to shout, but my voice was weak. It wouldn't have carried far.

  "Are you all right, Hannah?" Sylvia asked.

  I placed a hand to my stomach and nodded numbly. But the bilious feeling of foreboding never left me. My friends were out there with a violent, unconscionable man—because of me. Tate wanted me, and he didn't care how he got me. By refusing to go with him, I was putting my friends in danger.

  I let Sylvia lead me to Langley's room where we waited with her uncle and Bollard for the men to return. It was a little tidier than the last time I was there, but not much.

  "I had not thought he'd sink as low as this," Langley said. He tipped his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. "Is it my fault? Did I do this to him?"

  Bollard placed his hand on his employer's shoulder briefly before drawing back. The mute's eyes became glassy, and he turned away.

  "No, Uncle," Sylvia said, going to Langley. "It's the fire in Tate that's made him desperate. Nothing to do with you."

  "The fire is in Hannah too, and she doesn't hold me at gunpoint until I find her a cure."

  "I don't know where the guns are kept," I said, trying to lighten the mood although not expecting to succeed.

  To my surprise, Langley smirked. "I'd better get back to work before you do." He swiveled his chair around and worked side-by-side with his assistant.

  Sylvia and I sat away from the windows. I desperately wanted to look out to see if I could spot Jack and Tommy, but I remained where I was.

  A horrible half hour passed. Sylvia puttered about the room, folding clothes and picking up discarded pieces of paper, but always keeping away from the windows. We didn't speak. I suspected she was as reluctant to disturb Langley as I was. He spoke a few words of instruction to Bollard once in a while, but mostly there was only a quiet hush in the room.

  And out of it too. No more gunshots were fired, thank God. The sense of relief became more potent as the seconds and minutes ticked past. It wasn't easy sitting there, waiting and doing nothing, but I managed it with only the loss of the fingernails on one hand. I'd bitten them to the quick by the time Jack and Samuel collected us.

  "Where's Tommy?" Sylvia asked, before either had spoken a word.

  "Putting away the shotguns," Jack said. He held a pistol, probably the one that he'd ordered Samuel to retrieve.

  "Tate?" Langley asked.

  "Gone."

  Sylvia mewled like a kitten. "You killed him?"

  "No, I mean he's disappeared again. He must have ridden off as soon as he fired the second shot. We couldn't find him. Hannah?" he murmured, coming to crouch by me. "Are you all right?"

  "Yes." I tried to give him a smile, but it fell flat. He didn't return it, but scanned my face as if he could see in it how long I had left to live.

  "We cannot continue like this," Sylvia declared. "The man must be stopped. Somebody in the village must know where he is."

  "We've already asked," Jack said. "Nobody saw him, and I suspect he hasn't been living nearby anyway, or we would have heard rumors in the village."

  "We can ask again," Samuel suggested. "He may have made an appearance today."

  Jack sighed and nodded. Clearly he didn't hold out much hope.

  Nor did I. I sat very still as they spoke, trying to order my thoughts. In the end, the only conclusion I came to was in direct contrast to Jack's.

  I didn't want Tate dead. I wanted him alive and working to find a cure.

  "Tommy's bringing tea to the parlor," Jack said to me. "Come and rest in there."

  "You can watch me while I decorate the room," Sylvia said. "We don't have a tree, but I collected some laurel and holly this morning before you woke." She clapped her hands. "It'll be such fun! Mrs. Beaufort's decorations were inspirational. I have so many ideas, and it's just the thing to take our minds off…other things."

  She skipped out of the room. Her capacity to throw off troubling events amazed me. Samuel followed her, and Jack arched his eyebrow at me. "Hannah?"

  "In a moment. I want to talk to Mr. Langley."


  He hesitated then inclined his head and left. Langley stopped what he was doing. Bollard too. "Are you worse?" he asked, blunt as a hammer blow.

  I thought about giving my stock answer, but decided he needed to know the truth. "I'm hotter and constantly tired. Exhausted. I feel as if I could sleep all day and still not be refreshed." To my dismay, tears puddled in my eyes.

  Bollard stepped forward and retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket. He handed it to me, grim-faced.

  "Thank you, Bollard. You're very kind."

  He blushed. Even the tips of his ears reddened. I liked the big mute more and more each day.

  "I suppose you want to ask me again how close I am to finding a cure," Langley said.

  "I know that interrupting you doesn't help, but…I can't stop myself. I need to know."

  "Hannah." He wheeled himself closer and took my hand. It was not what I expected, and I was moved by his gentleness. His hands were strong, capable, and stained from the ink used to write his notes. "My answer is the same as last time. I'm doing my best."

  "I know you are." I bit the inside of my cheek and tasted blood. I wasn't at all sure that I should ask my next question, but I did so anyway. I had nothing to lose after all. Not anymore. "Mr. Langley, will you consider working with Reuben Tate to—"

  "No!" He withdrew his hand and rolled himself backward. "Absolutely not. I can't believe you would ask me that after everything you've learned about him."

  I got to my feet and stalked him across the floor to where he'd stopped at his desk. "Could it hurt to speak to him? Perhaps find out where he is in the process. He may be further along than you, after all."

  "I cannot work with Tate, but more importantly, you'll find that he won't work with me. He detests me, Hannah."

  "Why?"

  "It doesn't matter. The reasons are lost to the mists of time, and I no longer care to talk about it. Is that all?"

  I ignored his dismissal. "Mr. Myer said you and Tate worked well together once. That you made a brilliant team. Couldn't you do that again? For my sake?"

  "Myer! Ha! What does he know? You shouldn't believe everything he tells you. For one thing, I did the majority of the work in our so-called team, not Tate. Tate enjoyed the spoils of our work, but preferred to dabble in the more…commercially unsuccessful drugs."

  "Is that how you describe the fire starting compound? As 'commercially unsuccessful'?"

  "I'd hardly call it a success."

  I heaved a sigh. "So you won't even consider meeting with him to discuss it?"

  "I think he's beyond the point of discussion. He's unreasonable now, Hannah. The illness and subsequent search for a cure have affected his mind." He tapped the side of his temple. "You'd better rest and keep your mind at ease. Otherwise, it may happen to you."

  A discomforting thought. "I will. I'll spend the remainder of the day watching Sylvia decorate the house and being served tea."

  I said nothing about the following day.

  I couldn't stay in the house any longer and allow others to risk their lives for me. Tate would not give up until he had me in his possession, and I had no doubts he would use every unscrupulous method to get me, including harming my friends. He'd already proven that he cared nothing for them.

  If Langley wasn't willing to work with him to find a cure, then I had no other recourse. I would give myself to Tate for testing, but I would go to him alone. I had to. There was no way Jack or the others would sit by and watch me walk into Tate's laboratory and offer myself up for his tests.

  The idea filled me with dread, but I was determined. No one else should be harmed because of me.

  The following day was the twenty-second, the day I'd arranged with Myer to meet him and Tate at the Red Lion. It could also be my last day at Frakingham…or anywhere else.

  ***

  It was easier to sneak out of the house than I expected. When I arose late in the morning, Jack and Samuel had already left to question the villagers about Tate. I hoped they hadn't bumped into him or Myer in the Red Lion.

  After breakfast, I told Sylvia I needed to lie down again. She gave me a frown and a pouch of dried lavender to place under my pillow for a restful sleep, then ordered me back to bed. Instead, I headed out via one of the rear doors, through the woods, emerging from the trees near the estate's iron gates. I couldn't walk all the way into the village in my poor health, so I waited at the side of the thoroughfare. It was the main road into Harborough and as such, reasonably busy even in winter. As luck would have it, I only had to wait ten minutes before a farmer's cart rolled by. The driver let me sit beside him rather than in the back with the caged chickens. I told him I was visiting friends in the village and had been out walking only to grow too tired to walk back. Whether he believed me or not, he gave no indication. Indeed, he spoke only a few words for the entire journey, perhaps because he wouldn't have heard my answer above the squawking poultry.

  I lifted my cloak's hood to cover my conspicuous hair as we arrived in the village. The farmer dropped me outside the Red Lion and I hurried inside, checking this way and that for Samuel and Jack.

  I was still gathering my wits and my breath when Myer approached. "Miss Smith," he said, bowing. "I'm so pleased you could make it. We've been waiting for you."

  "Let's move away from the door." I glanced about, conscious of all the eyes watching me. Fortunately none of them belonged to Jack or Samuel.

  The Red Lion wasn't old, having been built a mere ten years earlier after a fire destroyed the previous inn that had stood there for centuries. The rooms were big, the ceilings high, and every wooden surface was polished to a gleaming shine. I'd only been inside once, but the taproom looked exactly the same. Even the same five men sat on stools, hunched over tankards. The proprietor nodded a greeting from behind the long bar. If he thought it strange that August Langley's female guest was meeting with a much older gentleman in his inn, he didn't say. I took Myer's offered arm, and he led me up the stairs to a small parlor off the landing.

  I paused in the doorway and stared at Reuben Tate. He sat slumped in an armchair, his eyes closed, his mouth open. He was cadaverously thin, hardly more than a collection of bones beneath clothes that were too large for his slender frame. One shirtsleeve hung limply at his side, empty and useless. He hadn't bothered to pin it up. His throat was as white as the shirt, his face too except for two spots of color on his cheeks. It was the only sign that he was alive.

  "She's here," Myer announced. He gently pushed me forward into the room and shut the door.

  Tate opened his eyes a fraction, then fully. It was an effort for him to sit upright, but he managed it without once taking his gaze off me. Those eyes made me shiver, although I was very far from cold. They were watery and almost colorless, as if the soul behind them was already half-dead and staring into the Afterlife.

  He pressed his hand to the chair arm and heaved himself to his feet. It was an effort, but Myer didn't offer to help. He remained beside me, and I was grateful for the solidness of his presence. He should be able to overpower a one-armed, half-dead man.

  As long as Tate didn't draw a weapon or burn him.

  "Good morning, Miss Smith," Tate wheezed. "Forgive my appearance." He indicated his lack of vest and jacket, his crooked tie, the limp, unpinned sleeve. "My visit to Frakingham yesterday has rather exhausted me."

  "I understand." It was a stupid response, but I could think of none other.

  Those eyes studied my face, no doubt noticing my pallor and the shine, so much like his own. "I expect you do. I would not have made the journey if I'd known you were coming here today."

  I wouldn't tell him that it was his visit that had finally convinced me to come. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing his tactic had worked.

  "Come and sit down, Miss Smith," Myer said, indicating another armchair.

  But I didn't get the chance to move. Tate stepped in front of us and grabbed my arm. Heat swelled within me, centering on that spot like a s
unbeam. It wasn't as hot as when Jack touched me, but the burning sensation was unpleasant enough that I wanted him to let me go. He did not.

  "There's no time for polite conversation." His voice was weak and thready, but no less threatening because of it. "We must go. Now."

  I tried to wrench myself free, but he was stronger than he looked. Or perhaps I'd grown weaker. "Go where, Mr. Tate?"

  "I have a temporary laboratory set up in…" His tongue darted out, licking dry lips before slithering back inside his mouth. "Never mind where. You have to come with me, Miss Smith."

  I bared my teeth and gave an almighty wrench of my arm, dragging myself free. "I'm not going anywhere with you until you explain what it is you plan on doing to me."

  "Let's all be calm," Mr. Myer said in that soothing voice of his. "Sit and talk. I'm sure we can come to an arrangement that suits both your needs."

  He waited until Tate sat grudgingly then directed me to one of the other chairs. Myer sat too. We formed a triangle in the small parlor, far enough apart that we weren't touching knees, but near enough that I felt uncomfortable. The last time I'd been this close to Tate, he'd tried to abduct me.

  The fireplace at my back wasn't lit and the window stood ajar. A fresh breeze rustled the rust-brown brocade curtains and cooled my face. Myer pulled his coat closed at his throat.

  "Miss Smith…" Tate rubbed his hand down his trouser leg. It left behind a damp, sweaty smear. "Miss Smith, when can we get started? This matter is urgent as I'm sure you can appreciate. I don't think I have more than a few days left. You perhaps have longer, but not much."

  He stated it so matter-of-factly, as if he were reading an item from a newspaper, that it took a moment for his words to sink in. "Days?" I whispered.

  He withdrew his handkerchief and dabbed his glistening forehead. "It's difficult to be accurate, but that's my informed guess based on this insufferable heat." He plucked his shirt at his chest. "Some days it feels as if I'm suffocating. Is that how it feels for you?"

  I swallowed and nodded. "It's like a fire has been lit inside me and nothing can extinguish it. Nothing."

  "Jack Langley…he's all right?"