by C. J. Archer
"It's been so long since we've been here," she murmured, her nose pressed to the pane. "I'd quite forgotten what it was like. Look, there's a milliner's, and another, and...my goodness, there's four on this street alone!"
"You'll be sure to find a hat you like then."
"And you too."
"You forget I haven't any money. There was no opportunity to ask Lord Wade for an allowance before I came."
"Don't be like that, Violet. Uncle will buy you anything you want."
"I doubt his generosity will extend to extra hats considering he's already provided several, thanks to you."
She turned her bright smile on me. "Don't be silly! Of course he will. Anyway, Jack's in control of the money and he won't deny you anything."
I smoothed down my skirts, intent on ignoring the rush of blood to my face that betrayed my thoughts. "Hasn't your uncle given you an allowance of your own to spend any way you like? Why must you rely on Jack?"
"Because that's the way Uncle wishes it. Who am I to gainsay him?"
"Perhaps you ought to try," I said, but she mustn't have heard me. She was too busy bouncing up and down, pointing at a confectioner's shop.
"We'll be sure to visit there," she said. "I long for something sweet, a tart perhaps. Oh, and bonbons since Christmas isn't far away. I wonder how long before we arrive at our hotel."
She chatted on as the carriage drove down streets bustling with late afternoon shoppers, pointing out things that took her fancy, which was almost everything. Her enthusiasm was infectious, however, and I too became engrossed in the sights through the window. London was truly an amazing city, and extensive. We seemed to be driving through it forever.
But what really took my breath away was the lack of nature. No trees, no grass, not even a bird flew overhead. Not that I would have seen it anyway through the murky haze. Indeed, the only thing flapping up high were washed linens hung out to dry in some of the narrow alleys we passed. How anything dried in that filthy, damp air was a mystery.
The carriage turned a few more corners, winding its way through the traffic, until finally the buildings became more magnificent and the pedestrians fewer and better clothed. This part of London at least seemed a little less gray than the rest.
"We're here," Sylvia said as the carriage slowed. "Claridges."
We pulled up at an impressive red brick building, and a liveried footman opened the carriage door for us. Jack jumped down from the driver's seat as the footman helped me down the carriage steps. More servants retrieved our luggage and carried it inside.
"Did you know that royalty has stayed here?" Sylvia said to me as we crossed the tiled floor of the entrance hall.
"It's very grand." The ceiling was high and the room enormous, much like Windamere's entrance hall. Indeed, the opulent furnishings and gleaming surfaces made it seem very similar to Lord Wade's home. I dared not touch anything lest one of the hovering footmen frown at me. At least at Frakingham the furniture was more functional and the servants scarce. For the first time since my abduction, I wished I was there.
***
"I can assure you Lady Violet will be quite safe," said the little man with ruddy cheeks and several chins. He sat on one side of a very broad desk, his younger assistant beside him. Jack, Sylvia and I sat opposite. "Mr. Gladstone is very good at inducing a state of hypnosis in—"
"Your assistant!" Jack shook his head. "No. I want you to do it, Dr. Werner. Someone with experience."
Dr. Werner's glasses slid down his nose but were rescued by the upturned tip. He pushed them back up and gave Jack what could only be described as a practiced professional smile. "I can assure you, Mr. Langley, Mr. Gladstone is very good. He may be only a young man, but being a youthful gentleman yourself, you'll know that age is not necessarily a good indicator of a person's abilities. Mr. Gladstone has never failed to put my patients into a hypnotic state. Never."
Jack narrowed his eyes at the assistant, a handsome sandy-haired man with clear blue eyes and a mischievous mouth that hadn't stopped smiling since we entered Dr. Werner's medical rooms. Mr. Gladstone's happy countenance was in stark contrast to Jack's dark mood. He hadn't stopped peppering poor Dr. Werner with questions since our arrival.
"Is he a qualified hypnotist?" Jack asked.
"I'm studying medicine at University College here in London," Mr. Gladstone said, speaking for the first time. "I'll graduate next year."
"We're neurologists," Dr. Werner added. "Hypnotist is not a medical occupation."
"You are a neurologist," Jack said. "He is not yet qualified."
Dr. Werner sighed. "Mr. Langley, will you allow your friend to undergo treatment or not?"
"It's a little late to have doubts now, Jack," Sylvia said, checking the small pocket watch she kept in her reticule.
"It won't hurt," Mr. Gladstone said to me. "There won't be any ill effects after you come out of hypnosis." His smile was so warm and genuine that I couldn't not believe him.
"It's what will happen during hypnosis that concerns me," Jack said.
"Then you're welcome to stay and watch as long as you keep out of the way."
"I intend to."
"It's settled then," said Sylvia. "Begin, Mr. Gladstone."
I suddenly felt like I wanted to run out of the room. I knew nothing about hypnosis. Did it hurt? And what if they discovered the truth while I was in a hypnotic state? What if I said something I shouldn't, something that would lead them to the truth of who I was?
"You may wait for me outside," I told Jack and Sylvia.
Jack blinked then leaned closer. "Violet, I don't think you should be alone with these men. We don't know much about them."
"Dr. Werner came highly recommended by your uncle," I whispered back. At his troubled look, I added, "You don't trust your uncle?"
"I don't make a habit of it." He squeezed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He looked like he carried the weight of the world, and I desperately wanted to touch him in some way, tell him that he needn't feel burdened. But I dared not. Could not.
"Jack, please. I'll be all right."
"I give you my word that she will be unharmed," Mr. Gladstone said, coming out from behind the desk.
"As do I," said Dr. Werner, rather irritably. "Indeed, I can ill afford to upset my patients now, can I?"
Jack gave a single nod, albeit a reluctant one.
Mr. Gladstone held out his hand for me and I took it. Jack glowered and stalked off toward the door. "Are you sure, Violet?"
"Yes."
Sylvia took his arm and steered him out then shut the door.
"Lie down on the sofa," said Dr. Werner. I did, with Mr. Gladstone's assistance. "Now, it would help if you told us what is being blocked."
I glanced at the door. "Memories."
"Of what?"
"Of..."
"Go on, Lady Violet," said Mr. Gladstone in a soothing voice. "Whatever you tell us will remain in confidence if you wish, as will our findings from the hypnosis itself. If you don't want anyone else to know, then we'll not divulge a thing."
Dr. Werner patted my hand. "Tell us what you know of the memories that are blocked, Lady Violet. Indeed, what makes you think you have some missing memories at all?"
"I fall asleep with no warning," I said. "At least, I believe there's no warning. That's the part I can't remember. Whatever happens just before I fall asleep is lost to me."
"You're a narcoleptic?" Dr. Werner said. "Interesting."
"Not from my point of view."
"From a medical perspective it is. You're unique. Memory loss is not normally a symptom of narcolepsy."
"Then it would seem I'm not normal."
Mr. Gladstone smiled. "Let's see what we can discover during the hypnosis." He picked up a gold disc attached to a chain. "Concentrate on this object and my voice, Lady Violet." How could I not? The disc was right above my nose and his voice slid against my skin and melted through to my bones. I felt like I was sinking into it, surrounded by
it, lost in it. "Your body is feeling heavy. Your eyes want to close. Close them, Lady Violet. Listen to my voice."
I heard nothing more as I slipped away.
***
"Well?" I said, sitting up on the sofa. "What did you learn?"
The two hypnotists stood beside me just as they had done before I fell asleep. Both frowned.
"Nothing," Dr. Werner said, adjusting his glasses. "Absolutely nothing, I'm afraid. There is indeed something blocking access to that compartment."
"Compartment?"
Mr. Gladstone sat on a chair nearby. He didn't look at me, but down at his palms.
Dr. Werner retrieved a clay model of a head that had been sitting on a table near the window. It was cut in half to reveal the brain inside. "Everything about us—our memories, our abilities and thoughts—are stored in different areas of our brains." He pointed to various parts of the head. "On rare occasions, access to these are blocked off. The blockage is usually caused by an accident, but I've known of cases where some other sort of traumatic experience has closed off the compartment where the memory of the experience is contained. It's the brain's way of coping with the event. Usually hypnosis will reveal to us what that event was, and by discussing it with the patient afterward, we're able to permanently unblock the blockage."
"But not with me?"
Mr. Gladstone looked up and shook his head. "Not with you, Lady Violet."
"What does that mean?"
The two men exchanged concerned glances. "It's almost impossible to say," Mr. Gladstone said.
Dr. Werner cleared his throat. "In all likelihood, it means the event was so traumatic that your mind wouldn't cope if the compartment were unblocked, and the memories became accessible again."
Mr. Gladstone winced as if he'd not wanted his employer to reveal that much. He opened his mouth to say something then shut it again and returned to studying his hands.
"I see," I said. "Well, thank you for your help." I stood and hardly noticed when Mr. Gladstone stood too and took my elbow. I felt distant, removed, as if we'd just been discussing another patient and not my own situation. Perhaps the hypnosis hadn't quite worn off completely.
"I'll call in your friends," Dr. Werner said.
"Wait. Before you do, tell me, what would it take to unblock that compartment?"
He paused at the door and glanced once more at Mr. Gladstone beside me. I felt the assistant stiffen and heard the air hiss between his teeth. "I don't know, Lady Violet. You may never regain those memories. That may not be a bad thing, however."
Jack was standing just outside the door when Mr. Gladstone opened it. "Were you listening in?" I asked him.
"No!" he said, unblinking. "Not at all."
Sylvia made a miffed sound through her nose. "The door was too thick to hear anything through it."
"I wanted to make sure you came to no harm," Jack said.
"I'm quite all right. Thank you, Dr. Werner, Mr. Gladstone."
"Wait a moment." Jack held up a hand. "What happened? What did you learn?"
"Nothing, I'm afraid," Dr. Werner said. "I'm sorry your visit to London has been a waste of time."
"Not a waste at all, Doctor," said Sylvia. "We have other activities to pursue during our stay."
He bowed to her then to me. "I bid you good day, ladies. Mr. Langley."
Mr. Gladstone took my hand and held it in a grip that had me quite alarmed with its firmness. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Violet. Perhaps...perhaps you'll come again and we'll have more success next time."
"Or not," said Jack. "Send the account to Claridges. We leave in the morning."
We left, but the feeling that Mr. Gladstone was unsettled never left me. Whatever the reason, he mustn't have shared it with the doctor. I should have questioned him, but a very big part of me didn't want to know. I had the horrible feeling it was related to the trauma Dr. Werner mentioned. I didn't want to dwell upon that at all. For now, I was of the opinion that what I didn't know couldn't harm me.
Perhaps if I kept telling myself that, I might even have believed it.
"Are you all right?" Sylvia asked when we were in the carriage.
Jack lounged back on the seat and rubbed his hands down his face, over his jaw.
"Go ahead," I said. "I know it's killing you not to ask."
He huffed out a breath. "Did they...did anything...? Oh bloody hell. I should have stayed with you in there."
"Calm down. Nothing untoward happened. You heard Dr. Werner say that his reputation is of the utmost importance to him."
"So what did they do?" Sylvia asked. "What did it feel like?"
I shrugged. "Like I couldn't keep my eyes open. Mr. Gladstone's voice was simply..." I shook my head, unable to describe its rich, modular tones, the way it hummed through my mind.
"I know," Sylvia muttered. "His voice was as handsome as his face."
"I'm not quite sure that's how I'd explain it."
"So you just fell asleep?" Jack asked. "Then what?"
"Then I woke up. How long was I in the room?"
"Only ten minutes," he said. "You didn't experience anything while you were in a hypnotic state?"
"Not a thing. No dreams, no consciousness of what was happening in the real world. Nothing."
"Remarkable," Sylvia said, shaking her head in wonder. "What skill that Mr. Gladstone has. And to think, he's only an apprentice."
"August will be disappointed it came to nothing," Jack said.
"It was your idea," Sylvia pointed out.
"Doesn't mean it was a good one." He turned to look out the window and she winked at me. She did enjoy vexing her cousin, but he didn't seem in the mood to toss it back as he usually did.
***
Fortunately my mind was kept from wandering back to Dr. Werner's rooms and the hypnosis by an afternoon of shopping. An entire afternoon. By four o'clock, Jack declared he'd had enough and insisted we return to the hotel. "You've been into every milliner, dressmaker and perfumer on Oxford Street and beyond, some of them twice," he said. "There's only so much a man can stand. Besides, Violet's feet are sore."
"Don't stop on my account," I said.
"You're limping."
So he'd noticed that. My feet ached like the devil, and if I had to suffer through one more shop assistant uttering false sympathies about my hair color or bust size, I'd scream. I knew pink didn't suit me, but did they need to hold a swathe of silk in that color up to my face at every turn then tsk tsk over the effect? It was as if they delighted in revealing how unfashionable I was. Perhaps that was the whole point. An uncommon number of them seemed to be trying to catch Jack's attention, and once they learned I was a friend and not a relation like Sylvia, the claws came out. It made me long for the attic and solitude. Well, perhaps it wasn't quite that bad, but I'd stopped enjoying myself hours earlier.
"Just one more shop," said Sylvia. "I'm yet to find a hat in just the right shade of gray."
Jack looked heavenward and sighed.
"You could wait in the carriage," I said. Olson had followed us along Oxford Street, our purchases in the storage compartment at the back of the carriage. We had, however, decided to walk so that Sylvia could have a closer look through the windows and see which shops she wanted to enter. It turned out that she wanted to enter every single one.
"I'll come with you," Jack said. "Here's a milliner's you haven't been to yet. Let's get it over with."
He held the door open and we entered. Several heads swiveled toward us, some belonging to the shop assistants, and others to the shoppers. It seemed we were quite the objects of curiosity wherever we went, and this time was no exception. Their gazes quickly took in both Sylvia and I before settling upon Jack. Then the flirting began. Some simply stared at him, but the more outgoing girls sidled close, pretending to be interested in something nearby. One or two even spoke to him outright, which I thought incredibly forward since they hadn't been introduced.
"Jack does appear to be popular here in London
," I said to Sylvia as we inspected the hats on display.
"Of course," she said with a laugh. "He's young, single, handsome and clearly a gentleman of means. Most of these women have been watching us all afternoon, some even following us."
I watched Jack standing by the door, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, including me. If he knew he was being ogled, he didn't show it. His ignorance didn't last long, however. A woman shopping with her daughter approached, smiling like a clown at a circus.
"Excuse me, but you're Mr. Bellamy, aren't you?" she said to Jack.
He bowed. "No, madam. My name is Langley."
The woman's smile didn't waver. "Indeed? I do apologize. You resemble my friend Bellamy to a certain degree."
"I'm sure he doesn't," Sylvia muttered.
"You think she lied?" I whispered back.
"If Bellamy were indeed her friend, she'd know what he looked like."
"Then why the ruse?"
"She has a daughter of marriageable age." She nodded at the girl of seventeen or so who observed her mother out of the corner of her eye. "They probably think Jack is a potential suitor, and the mother wants to be the first of her acquaintance to engage his interest. Keep listening."
A shop girl approached and Sylvia left me to be shown some hats at the back. I continued to watch Jack from beneath lowered lashes as I strolled between tables and hat stands.
"You must be new to London, Mr. Langley," the woman said. "I've never seen you at any of the parties."
"I come to the city rarely, and only for business. I live in Hertfordshire, madam, with my uncle, August Langley."
A small crease connected her thin eyebrows. "That name sounds familiar. Where in Hertfordshire is your uncle's house, Mr. Langley? Perhaps that will refresh my memory."
"Frakingham House, near Harborough."
The woman's mouth pursed as if she'd tasted something bitter. "Oh." She stepped away. "Good day to you, sir. My apologies for mistaking you for my friend. I can see now that you're nothing like Mr. Bellamy." She scuttled away and rejoined her daughter.