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

by C. J. Archer

  Langley turned his face into profile. Bollard suddenly sat down on the edge of the desk and blinked at Jack.

  "This isn't a good time," Langley said.

  "It won't take long. All you need to do is tell me who Wade's mistress was. The one who bore his child twenty-two years ago."

  Langley sighed heavily, but didn't speak.

  "It's unraveling, August. The time has long past to give up some of your secrets."

  "They're not my secrets."

  "Then why keep them at all?" I asked. "You don't seem to particularly like Lord Wade."

  "I don't. Not anymore."

  "Then why were you so determined to keep Jack in the dark about his parents? Who are you protecting?"

  "No one." He turned his wheelchair around and indicated we should both sit. I didn't realize how tired I was until I flopped into the seat by the window. The coolness from the lake had worn off after changing into dry clothes, and I felt feverish again.

  "You lied," Jack said. He sounded calm, as if he was resigned to hearing the truth, no matter how ugly it might be. "You told me it was my father's wish to keep the truth from me."

  "Lord Wade did ask me not to tell you, but I…I admit that I was happy to keep that news from you anyway."

  "Why?"

  Bollard cleared his throat. Was he urging Langley? Reassuring him?

  "Because he would not have been a good father to you," Langley said.

  Jack seemed to accept it, but I wasn't so sure. Why did he care what sort of father Wade would make? I had the feeling Langley was holding something back. Bollard also frowned at the explanation.

  "Who was my mother?" Jack asked. "What was she?"

  "Her name was Hannah Smith, the woman Wade later named you after," Langley said to me. "I don't know where she came from. One day she simply appeared on the Windamere estate, homeless, penniless and confused. Wade took her in and put her into household service. I know very little of her background. Perhaps he knows more. I do remember she was a beauty. Black hair, green eyes and vivacious. She won everybody over, including me. The first instance I can recall of her is when she served me tea one afternoon. She was charming, if a little inept. She spilled the tea. Wade took it upon himself to guide her, even though it went against protocol. He seemed genuinely fond of her. They must have been lovers by then, although it's difficult to determine how deep their feelings ran."

  "Could she start fires?" Jack asked. "Was she fast? A good swimmer?"

  "You would have to ask Wade those things, but I think it's safe to say that you've gotten your talents from her. They're certainly not from Wade."

  "What happened to her?" I asked.

  "She died giving birth to Jack."

  Jack pressed back into his chair as if someone had pushed him in the chest. It was the only sign he gave of disappointment at the news.

  "Wade brought you to us soon afterward," he said to Jack. His voice sounded thick and heavy. He cleared his throat. "He didn't want you. He didn't want a child who set things alight. So Reuben told Wade we would take you in. I was against it at first. What did we know about babies? I soon learned that he wanted you for his experiments, and I admit that I didn't see the immediate harm. His experiments didn't seem to work, and you weren't injured. It wasn't until later, when you disappeared…" He paused. Swallowed. Bollard put his hand on Langley's shoulder, urging him to go on. "In hindsight, it was perhaps for the best that you went to a normal family. You know what happened after that."

  We did indeed. Unbeknown to Langley, his housekeeper had taken Jack to an orphanage and from there he'd been adopted by a childless couple. They died when he was still very young, and he ended up on the streets of London, fighting for survival. If it hadn't been for his fire and quickness, he might have starved or frozen to death. Years later, when Langley heard reports of a child with fire in him, he went to investigate. He told Jack he was his uncle and offered him a home.

  Why he'd taken Jack in again was still a mystery, although I was beginning to think that he felt some responsibility as a guardian. It made him seem more human, if only a little.

  "You should know that Wade was wracked with guilt," Langley went on. "He never wanted you back, mind, but he did ask after you."

  Jack gave a harsh laugh. "How noble of him."

  I placed my hand on the arm of his chair as a small means of comfort. Jack's frown lessened, but didn't vanish.

  "Wade couldn't take you back anyway," Langley went on. "He'd put out rumors that you'd died, to appease the servants who knew he'd fathered Hannah Smith's child. He was also trying to win the future Lady Wade's hand in marriage at that time. Any scandal would have destroyed his chances."

  "How very inconvenient it would have been to have me around."

  Langley studied his folded hands. He rubbed one ink-stained thumbnail with the pad of the other thumb. "You…wish you'd grown up knowing he was your father?"

  Jack heaved a deep sigh and pressed his fingers into his eye sockets. "No. I'd rather be here than Windamere, but it would have been nice not to have lived in London all those years."

  Langley's thumb stopped rubbing. His nostrils flared. He stared at Jack, but Jack wasn't looking at him. He was looking at me.

  "Strange to think we may have grown up in the same house if things had turned out a little differently."

  "I wouldn't have given him Hannah if he hadn't given me you," Langley said. "He only visited me then because he wanted to know how you fared. Three years too late," he sneered. "Not exactly the actions of a loving father."

  "Why did Wade take me when he'd already given up his own son?" I asked.

  "I had to get you away from Tate, and Wade offered to provide for you. His wife had not given him a child, and I suppose he felt guilt or loss after giving up Jack. I don't know. You would have to ask him. I do know that I regret it, Hannah. If I'd known you would end up a prisoner, I would have fetched you. I promise you that."

  Bollard echoed the sentiment with a firm nod.

  "Just as you've promised to do everything in your power to cure me?"

  He gave me a curious look. "I am doing everything in my power."

  "It's within your power to approach Tate and offer to work with him."

  Langley closed his eyes, but Bollard gently nudged him and he opened them again. The mute signed with his hands. Langley shook his head. Bollard repeated the motion, but this time the downward strokes were violent chopping moves. His face grew darker, his thick brows plunged together.

  Jack leaned forward, and I wondered if he'd understood any of it. If I survived my illness, I was going to ask Bollard to teach me to speak with my hands.

  "All right!" Langley roared.

  Bollard's hands became silent. He crossed his arms and glared at Langley. The reversal of their relationship stunned me. A stranger would not have known who was master and who the servant. I wondered if they were this candid with one another in private, or if this was something new.

  "Hannah, do you know where Reuben is now?" Langley snapped.

  "I, er, no. He wouldn't divulge his place of residence, but I think it's some way out of the village. Only Myer seems to know."

  "Send word to Myer that I'll meet with Reuben in the morning." He lifted a finger, dismissing us.

  I hurried out before he could change his mind. Jack followed. We both leaned back against the wall of the corridor. My knees felt too weak to walk, my head dizzy from Langley's whip-fast change of heart.

  "Bollard is a miracle worker," Jack said.

  "Do you know what he said to Langley?"

  "Not all of it. I can read only some of his hand signals. He told August that you were right. He and Tate need to work together, and Tate's unlikely to make the approach." He smirked. "I couldn't understand the rest, but I suspect there were some strong and not entirely proper words used."

  "That's quite brave of Bollard."

  "Perhaps. Or perhaps we're seeing a different aspect of their relationship now that the tr
uth is out."

  We headed down to the parlor together to tell the others about Langley's about-face and to write a note to Myer. I was halfway along the corridor when I realized Langley hadn't mentioned anything about Jack and I being in the lake together. Surely he'd seen us from his window. So why didn't he make good on his threat to stop searching for a cure? I hadn't misheard him when he issued that warning to Samuel, I was sure of it. Perhaps he'd had a change of heart in that regard too. Perhaps he'd come to realize how cruel such a thing would be to us.

  Or perhaps he'd decided that I wasn't going to live anyway, and Jack would soon be free to find a more suitable paramour.

  ***

  Jack rode to Harborough to deliver the note to Myer personally. He hadn't returned two hours later. The late afternoon shadows of the oak trees stretched across the grass. A veil of mist covered the lake's surface. Not a breath of wind disturbed it.

  "Where is he?" I asked for the hundredth time. I sat by the parlor window where I had a good view of the drive and surrounds.

  "Myer must have left the village," Samuel said. "Jack's probably chasing him all the way to London."

  Of course it must be true, yet an uneasy feeling settled in my chest and wouldn't shake free, no matter how much I tried to remain positive.

  Sylvia, standing beside me, suddenly moved away. "Samuel, you must ride into the village and see if Myer has left or not. Then we'll know for certain if Jack is all right."

  "It's almost dark!" he said.

  "Then take the carriage."

  He set his newspaper on the table. He hadn't opened it, despite holding it for the last twenty minutes. "I'll be as fast as I can."

  He left and Tommy entered the parlor. The footman hovered at the doorway, his hands behind his back.

  "Is everything all right?" Sylvia asked him.

  "Mr. Gladstone's orders are for me to watch over you, ma'am."

  "Oh," she said, her gaze slipping to me. "Of course."

  It would seem the threat of kidnap was still on everybody's minds. I wasn't so sure of the need for concern now that Langley had agreed to work with Tate, but I didn't comment. Tommy had been given a job to do, and knowing him, he wouldn't be swayed from it.

  I watched as the pale winter sun kissed the horizon like a shy mistress. It must have enjoyed the kiss because it sank quickly and had disappeared altogether by the time Samuel drove off in the carriage. The light from the two lamps swung in arcs, cutting through the dusky evening.

  There was nothing to do now except wait.

  "Shall we play charades?" Sylvia said.

  "I'd prefer to just—"

  Somebody screamed. It sounded like it came from the depths of the house, perhaps the service area.

  Tommy ran out of the room, and I went to follow.

  "Tommy!" Sylvia cried and the footman returned. His fists opened and closed, a picture of barely controlled restraint. "Stay here. Hannah must be protected."

  Poor Tommy looked as if he would explode from his conflicting need to both follow orders and investigate. I decided to put him out of his misery.

  "We'll all go."

  "No! Tommy! Hannah, stay here!"

  There was no time to explain to Sylvia that I couldn't let one of the maids suffer because of me. Because I knew, without a doubt, that Tate was at the root of those screams, and Tate wanted me.

  I hurried through the maze of corridors and archways, trying to keep up with Tommy. I did a fair job, despite my heavy limbs, only to catch up to him at the entrance to the kitchen where he stopped. He held up his hands, either stopping me or protecting me, I didn't know which.

  Beyond him, I saw Tate holding a pistol to Maud's head. His empty sleeve hung loose at his side. If she'd had her wits about her, she could have ducked and slipped away, but she was too hysterical to think clearly or be fast enough. To be fair, I didn't think I could manage it either.

  The cook and Mrs. Moore the housekeeper stood to Tommy's right, out of the way but within Tate's sights. They looked as terrified as the poor maid.

  "I'm here," I said, stepping closer.

  "Shut it, miss," Tommy hissed, in his London accent. "Get back. Let me handle this."

  "No. He's here for me, and I will not allow anyone to be harmed on my account." I touched his shoulder. The ridged muscle tensed. "Please, Tommy. Let me go."

  "Jack'll murder me."

  "Come, Miss Smith." Tate beckoned me with a jerk of his head. "Come with me, and this woman won't be harmed." His focus shifted to Tommy, and his mouth split into a warped grin. "You think I care about anyone else in this room? It's Miss Smith I want, but if I have to kill to get her, I will."

  Maud whimpered, and I was afraid she would faint. "It's all right," I said to her. "I won't let him hurt you."

  Tommy swore softly under his breath. I felt sorry for him. He was in a terrible position, his choice an unbearable one.

  I ducked under his arm. He could have stopped me, but didn't. He muttered another curse and thumped the doorframe with the flat of his hand.

  I calmly approached Tate, my hands up in surrender. "This is unnecessary. Mr. Langley has agreed to work with you."

  "I already told you I want nothing to do with him." Tate's fingers flexed around the pistol's handle.

  The maid shook and tears streamed down her face. She looked as if she'd collapse at any moment. I had to get her away from him.

  "Please, Mr. Tate, don't let past hurts stop you from taking this opportunity. You need Langley—"

  "I bloody well do not! I have the drug. It's ready, and I know it works, Miss Smith. All I need is to test it on you, and we'll both be cured. Come with me."

  His words were like a siren song, calling to the heat within me, luring me closer. I wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust him. My head knew that it was madness to let him inject his drug into me, but my heart ached with the need to be cool, to be cured. To live.

  Footsteps pounded on the flagstones in the corridor. Whether they belonged to Sylvia or Bollard, Jack or Samuel, I couldn't tell.

  Tate heard them too. Sweat dripped from his temples, down beside his ears. His face glowed with it, and I suspected mine did too. He cocked the gun.

  "Come here, Miss Smith. Now!"

  The sobbing maid pleaded wordlessly with me. I had no choice. I could reason with him once we were away, and he'd calmed down. I stepped closer and allowed him to switch the gun from Maud's temple to mine.

  He pushed the cool barrel hard against my hot forehead. "Walk quickly to the door."

  I did as ordered, without glancing back. I didn't want to see Tommy torturing himself over his decision to let me go with Tate or not.

  Sylvia's startled cry announced her arrival. "Hannah! Hannah! Somebody, stop him!"

  As I left with Tate, her sobs were the last thing I heard. They rang in my ears as I sat on the saddle in front of Tate, and it seemed as if they followed us along the drive and out of the Frakingham gate.

  CHAPTER 14

  I had thought myself relatively unscathed from my time as a prisoner in Lord Wade's attic. I'd never felt like the walls were closing in on me, or that the air was dwindling. I'd gotten through those fifteen years with my mind intact and my confidence unshaken.

  Until now.

  My sanity was all a lie, an illusion. The memory of those days came crashing back to me as I sat tied to a chair in a hut deep in the woods to the north of Harborough. I remembered all those times I'd stared out of the Windamere attic window, wishing I could fly away into the blue sky. I remembered too the feeling of being smothered in wool. Everywhere, wool.

  The weight of those memories now held down my limbs and pressed against my chest, suffocating. I would rather be in that attic than here.

  I'd allowed Tate to tie me to the chair, my hands behind my back, even though I told him it wasn't necessary. I wouldn't try to escape. I couldn't. Despite having only one arm, he was too strong for me and too desperate to allow his chance of curing himself escape. Besi
des, I could never have run far with my leaden legs and the painful wheezing in my chest.

  I sat there and tried to control the heat raging inside me. It was stronger than ever, but not the same as when I grew angry. This felt more like I was being consumed, the flames cooking my insides. I thought about Jack's soothing voice, his gentle eyes, but had to force those things from my mind too. Thinking of Jack only made me sadder, and my chest tighter.

  Instead, I watched Tate work at the table that served as his workbench in the kitchen of the disused hut. We'd ridden from Frakingham to his hideout without incident, despite the darkness. The horse seemed to know the route through the dense woods well and carefully picked its way over fallen logs and between thick bushes. Tate had spoken very little on the ride, only confirming that he'd been lucky when he saw Jack and Samuel leave.

  I closed my eyes and sucked in air. It cooled me a little and soothed my fractured nerves. I wiped my damp cheeks on my shoulder and tried to focus on Tate and not my captivity. I could not escape, but I had a voice and a promise from Langley.

  "You could have made things much easier on yourself if you'd simply accepted that Langley would work with you," I told him.

  He opened a wooden box, but I couldn't see the contents. He didn't answer. Was he ignoring me, or lost in his own world now that he was among his instruments?

  "Why won't you work with him?" I pressed. "Surely two minds are better than one."

  "Not when one of those minds is slow."

  I clicked my tongue. With my hands tied, it was the only way to show my frustration with his and Langley's squabbling. "He's not slow and you know that, Mr. Tate. He's clever, but he's cleverer when he's working with you. That's a fact."

  "He betrayed me once. More than once. He'll have no scruples doing so again."

  "Don't be absurd. Whatever happened between you in the past is irrelevant."

  "You're as stupid as he is." He turned around, a glass syringe in hand. It was filled with a clear liquid. "August Langley is a liar and a thief. He has no morals."