by C. J. Archer
Fool. Foolish girl. Surely he must know my secret now. Surely he could see my interest in him. No boy would stare like that. Good lord, I hoped I hadn't drooled. I wiped the corner of my mouth on my shoulder, just to be sure.
"It's late," he said, tossing the towel he'd used on his hair over the back of one of the chairs. He dragged his damp, tousled locks off his face, and my heart kicked in my chest at the way it somehow made him more handsome.
"And?" I prompted.
"Aren't you tired?"
"Aren't you?"
"I don't need much sleep." He sat at his desk. Wasn't he going to dress? His semi-nakedness was a distraction.
I rearranged myself on the sofa so that I faced away from him. "Nor do I." It was the truth. Staying awake and alert was just one way I'd kept alive and safe for years.
He emitted a soft sound, but I wasn't sure if it was in humor or derision. I refused to glance at him, and instead slumped down into the sofa, placing my head on the armrest and stretching my legs out. I held the book close, to see the words in the poor light, and I was soon lost in the story, swept into the world of Sherlock Holmes and his puzzling mystery.
Some time later, Fitzroy deposited a candelabra on the table behind my head. My breath caught as I waited for him to say something, do something. When nothing happened, I turned my head. He was once again at his desk. He still only wore the towel and he seemed lost in the paperwork spread out before him.
I fell asleep at some point and awoke in the morning in the same position, the book splayed across my chest and Fitzroy looking down on me. The nightmare that had woken me drifted away as we regarded one another. Had I said something in my sleep? Cried out? It was difficult to tell from his blank face.
I sat up and received a sharp reminder that the knife was still under my thigh. "What do you want?" I snapped.
"Breakfast will arrive shortly." He moved away and sat at his desk. The man liked to work.
I tucked the knife up my sleeve and headed into the bedroom. With one eye on the closed door, I slipped the knife under the truckle bed's mattress, then I quickly washed and changed into the clean shirt. With my hair once more covering my face, I returned to the sitting room.
"Good morning, lad," Seth said cheerfully from the small table where he was setting down a tray. "Sleep well?"
"Well enough."
Gus moved past me into the bedroom and re-emerged a few minutes later with the bowls of washing water. "When are we going to get proper maids, sir?"
Fitzroy didn't look up from his paperwork. "When we find some that won't tattle."
"Girls who don't tattle?" Gus grunted. "Ain't no such creature."
Seth patted the chair near the table. "Sit down and eat, Charlie."
I sat and noticed that Fitzroy had his own tray laden with bacon, sausages and eggs. "I can't eat all this," I said.
"Try. You need fattening up." Seth ruffled my hair as he passed and I slapped his hand away. He chuckled and I found I couldn't be mad at him. He wasn't a bad sort, despite his participation in my kidnapping. He was only following orders.
Gus handed me a steaming cup of tea and bent his head close to mine. "Does he snore?" he whispered.
Despite everything, I laughed. "Like a trumpet," I whispered back, keeping Fitzroy in my line of sight.
Gus grinned, revealing a patchwork of broken and crooked teeth. "I knew there had to be something human about him."
"Or maybe his gears get jammed when he lies down."
Gus roared with laughter. Fitzroy glanced over his shoulder, catching us both watching him. Gus choked on his laugh and turned it into a cough.
"Eat, Half Pint," he commanded. "Growing boy like you should eat every crumb."
Seth emerged from the bedroom carrying jugs and bowls. He mouthed, "What's so amusing?" at Gus, but Gus merely shrugged.
"You know what you must do," Fitzroy told them.
"Yes, sir," Seth said. "We'll head out now."
Fitzroy locked the door after they left then settled back at his desk. He read the newspaper flattened out before him and absently ate his breakfast. I ate all of the bacon on my plate. It was one of the foods I'd missed in the last five years, and I savored every bite. I didn't touch the rest. The bacon had filled me up.
"You do not eat," Fitzroy said, some time later when he approached.
"I'm not hungry."
"If you don't eat, you won't grow."
"Perhaps I like being short and thin."
"No boy likes being short and thin."
I watched him for signs that he suspected, but he was already turning away from me. He paced the room, covering the entire length quickly with his long strides. He seemed agitated or frustrated.
"I'm sure they're doing as you asked," I said.
He stopped and looked at me. Then he began pacing again. Back and forth, back and forth for an eternity, it seemed. I turned my back to him and read, but the rhythm of his footsteps distracted me. I plugged my ears with my fingers but the rhythm continued to tread through my head and it was difficult to keep the book open with my elbows.
With a sigh, I withdrew my fingers and closed the book. "Are you worried about them?"
"No." He almost sounded amused at the idea. Almost.
"Are you concerned they'll fail?"
"Somewhat."
But not enough to warrant the pacing, I thought. "Are you concerned they'll give away too much about you and the ministry?"
"They're not that incompetent."
Perhaps he was disappointed with the way the dinner with Lady Harcourt had ended the night before. Perhaps he didn't like her leaving on a sour note. Yet he'd shown no such qualms upon her departure. Curious.
He finally stopped pacing long enough to glance out the window. He looked to the bright blue sky, to left then right, and up at the sky again. Then he continued pacing.
I got up and padded barefoot to the window to see what he was looking at. There was nothing but gravel drive, garden, trees and sky. The roses were like jewels dropped on a carpet of green, and the sky was bluer than I'd seen it in an age. There must be a northerly breeze blowing the factory smog away, and most homes wouldn't light fires in summer except in the kitchen. I was so used to being surrounded by gray and brown that my eyes hurt from the dazzling sunshine and bright colors. It was a perfect day and I ached to be outside.
Now I understood Fitzroy's frustration. He didn't like being shut inside his rooms any more than I did—perhaps less so. While I was content with the books, he seemed to need to move and there simply wasn't enough space.
"Put on your shoes." His voice came from closer behind me than I realized and I jumped.
"Where are we going?"
"Outside."
I rolled my eyes at his back as I followed him into the bedroom. "Anywhere specific?"
"No."
A few minutes later we were walking across the lawn. I had to take twice as many steps to keep up with his long strides but I didn't mind. I liked stretching my limbs and feeling the blood pump through my veins. If I'd been a lady, we would have slowed to an amble, but I didn't want to amble. I wanted to run. I wondered what he'd do if I took off. Tackle me to the ground? Jerk me to a stop by my hair? Or race me?
I settled for the brisk walk. We didn't speak as we passed the rose garden and the lily pond, where a frog croaked a greeting. We headed toward the stand of trees at the edge of the property then abruptly changed direction and headed back toward the house. I wasn't ready to return inside, even though I was hot under my layers of shirt and jacket.
"What's around the back of the house?" I asked.
"Outbuildings, orchard, walled garden and tennis court."
"Tennis! Do you play?"
"Play?"
"Yes. Tennis. Do you play?"
"No."
"You've never challenged Seth or Gus to a game?"
"There is no time for games at Lichfield Towers."
"How dull. I'm sure the men would appreciate a l
ittle time to play games like tennis or cards."
"I've seen them play cards after dinner."
"You've never joined them?"
"Rarely."
"Is that because they don't ask or because you don't want to play?"
His only answer was to increase his speed. I had to trot to remain alongside him.
"You don't talk much," I said. If he wanted to keep a close eye on me, I might as well annoy him. It was my duty as his prisoner.
"You ask too many questions."
"Ha! That's rich coming from you. You only ever ask questions."
"I haven't asked you any today."
"It is only mid-morning. I expect them to come after Seth and Gus return."
"You are probably right."
I glanced sideways at him, but he kept his gaze directly ahead. He did slow down somewhat, which was just as well since I was starting to get a little breathless.
"You've almost finished the book." His attempt at starting a new conversation that had nothing to do with my background surprised me. I was growing used to his silences.
"It's a good book."
"Nor have you asked me the meaning of any of the words."
"So?"
"You're educated."
Ah, there it was. His attempt at digging into my past had begun more subtly this time, but he'd ruined it with that comment. "Very observant, Sherlock."
He said nothing.
"Sherlock is the character in the book I'm reading," I explained. "He's very observant."
"I've read it."
"Oh. So you didn't find my reference clever or amusing enough to bother replying, or even smirking."
"I didn't say that."
"I see. You only thought me clever and amusing. Be careful, Mr. Fitzroy, I've heard that keeping your emotions bottled up will rot your insides."
"You have a dry sense of humor. I wasn't expecting that."
"And you, sir, have no sense of humor whatsoever."
When he didn't answer, I worried that I'd offended him. Then I told myself to stop worrying. He was my jailor; his feelings were of no concern to me. Besides, I doubted he had feelings.
"Why do Gus and Seth call you Death?"
"Because I've killed people."
My step faltered. I'd been trying to goad him again, and wasn't expecting his frankness. "How many?"
"Enough."
"Why did you kill them?"
"They talked too much."
I stopped altogether, but he continued on, not caring that he was leaving me behind. I blinked rapidly, then realized he was teasing me.
"And you call my sense of humor dry," I muttered when I caught up to him near the stables. "Yours is positively parched."
We walked past the stables and other outbuildings, then crossed the courtyard and headed up the back steps. He opened the door for me and I went inside. We were in the service area, near the kitchens if the delicious smell of baking bread was an indication.
We passed the servants' dining room, the butler and housekeeper's offices, scullery, and the bells labeled with the names of the rooms they serviced. They were eerily silent, as was the entire house, until we came to the kitchen. A large man hummed as he kneaded dough, his attention focused entirely on his work.
"Cook," Fitzroy barked.
The cook looked up and his eyes widened. He had no hair on his head or face, not even eyebrows, and the lack of it made his cleft chin and red cheeks more obvious. I couldn't be sure if he had a naturally rosy complexion or he was simply hot. The kitchen was terribly warm.
"Mr. Fitzroy, sir! I weren't expecting you." He screwed his hands into his apron to wipe them, but they still came away doughy. "You be hungry, sir?"
"No," Fitzroy said. "This is Charlie. Charlie, this is Cook."
"You don't eat much," Cook said to me.
"No."
He frowned. "Can't be the food. I'm a great cook."
"Yes, you are. I just don't get hungry."
"Growin' lad like you should be."
I shrugged. "Maybe I'm not used to eating."
Fitzroy continued along the corridor, leaving the cook and me staring at one another. The cook jerked his head in the direction Fitzroy had gone. "Don't keep him waitin'," he whispered. I was about to head off when he added, "You can't live on bacon and jelly alone, boy."
"Just put less on my tray next time and I'll eat it all."
He winked and jerked his head again. I nodded thanks and hurried after Fitzroy. He waited at the base of the service stairs and stepped aside to allow me to go ahead of him. I was very aware of him behind me as we ascended. I wasn't a curvy woman in front, but I wasn't sure what I looked like back there. Certainly not too round, or the boys in the gangs would have teased me for having a feminine arse. Yet they weren't as observant as Fitzroy, and had no reason to suspect me of being a woman. I wasn't sure if he did suspect, but I felt his gaze on my rear nevertheless.
We emerged from the service stairwell onto the second floor corridor, not far from his rooms. I wasn't ready to be cooped up again. There was still so much I hadn't seen. "May I look around the rest of the house, with you as my tour guide?"
He paused. "Are you trying to find out where I hide the weapons?"
"Of course not."
"Good. You will not be given the chance to escape and I wouldn't want your hopes to be raised falsely."
"How considerate," I sneered.
"Except for the attic, this is the highest level in the east and west wings. The tower goes two levels higher."
"I know that already."
"You've seen the bathroom." He indicated the other doors up and down the corridor. "These are bedrooms. They're unfurnished." He did not open the doors but strode past them and the main central staircase too then opened another door on the right. The room beyond was large but clearly unused. Dustsheets covered the furniture and it was just as well, as there was dust everywhere. I wrinkled my nose at the musty smell, even as I admired the large windows, the giant marble fireplace, and the multi-tiered chandelier.
"This is the drawing room," he said.
"Such a shame to see it in this state," I whispered. Imagine the conversations those walls had been privy to over the years.
We headed past the ghostly furniture and through another door on the other side. It was empty. "This is the ballroom."
"It's magnificent." It was very long, but the dark wood paneling made it feel cozy. I could imagine elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen dancing and chatting beneath the three enormous chandeliers, their jewels sparkling in the light.
"Have you ever held a ball here?"
"No."
"You should, if only to enjoy such a lovely room."
"I'll keep that in mind for when enjoying ballrooms becomes one of the ministry's primary aims."
We rejoined the corridor. It bent suddenly to the left then stopped at another, narrow staircase. "That leads to the attic and the servants' rooms," he said.
"Is that where Gus, Seth and Cook sleep?"
"Yes."
"Are they the only servants here?"
"Yes."
"But Seth and Gus are more guards than footmen."
He didn't say anything, and I suspected it was because I hadn't posed it as a question.
"You've not thought about employing some maids or a butler? Someone discreet?"
"No." He returned back the way we came and headed down the grand stairs to the ground floor. "You've already seen the dining room, library, and the parlor, which we use instead of the drawing room for visitors."
"Do you get visitors often?"
"Only committee members."
"What about your friends and family?"
He paused on the bottom step, his back to me. "You've also seen the service areas in that direction. Adjoining the dining room is the billiard room."
"Do you play?"
"There's no table."
"What an entertaining household this is. No tennis, no billiards, and n
o visitors."
"You're not here to be entertained."
"True. But I don't live here, nor am I staying long. You, Seth and Gus, however, need something to do in the evenings."
He indicated I should go first up the stairs. "I told you, they play cards. Most evening they spend with Cook."
"And you? How do you spend your evenings?"
"Reading. Writing correspondence and reports. Scientific experiments. Exercising. Thinking."
I stopped and he stopped beside me. "You mean all you do is work?"
"Sometimes I sleep." He continued past me.
I laughed. "That was a joke. Wasn't it?" I trotted after him. "Tell me you at least read for pleasure. You said you've read my book, so you must."
"On occasion. And yes, I have read your book."
My face heated. "I didn't mean it like that."
We returned to his rooms and I picked up the book. I finished it in the afternoon and spent another hour or so watching him as he mixed liquids together in little bottles and set them over a tiny gas burner. He took copious notes in a complicated scrawl that appeared to be some kind of code. It made no sense to me, but I liked watching the experiments and trying to guess what would happen. He answered my questions when I asked them, but mostly we didn't speak. It didn't feel in the least awkward or strained, and I began to like his quiet company. It made a nice change to the constant, inane chatter of the boys.
Seth and Gus brought our meals in for an early dinner, and gave Fitzroy their report. I wasn't concerned before they began and I still wasn't concerned when they finished. They'd traced my life back some three years. The following day they planned to continue.
They were about to leave when I stopped them. "You two got any cards?" I asked. "Or dice?"
"Can't gamble with what you don't have, boy," Gus said.
"I don't want to gamble, I just want to do something other than read and watch the machine work."
Gus and Seth glanced nervously at Fitzroy.
"You may play cards," Fitzroy said, turning back to the notes Seth had handed him along with his dinner tray.
"So kind," I said, bowing.
Gus suppressed a snigger and both men left. They returned after I'd finished my meal—a small portion of game pie and a salad—and deposited a deck of cards on the table. Gus arranged three chairs around it.