The Wrong Girl (Freak House)

by C. J. Archer

  "Why did you take her and not Violet?" Sylvia asked Jack.

  "The governess described the one to collect, but gave me no name. She simply called her 'that fire girl.' Nor did she tell me the one I wanted was the companion and not the lady." The color of his eyes deepened as his gaze held mine. "Besides, I felt a connection with Hannah. It was like I was being pulled toward her. What better evidence is there that we are alike?"

  "Then you must have felt the same connection to Tate."

  Jack said nothing. Langley, Sylvia and I turned to him. Even Bollard's gaze slid to Jack's.

  "No," Jack finally said. "I felt nothing around Tate. Only you, Hannah."

  A little jolt shot through me and my face heated. Only you. I smiled at him, and his lips quirked up at the edges. Then he frowned and looked down at his hands.

  "Those children have to be gone by tomorrow," Langley said.

  "What children?" Sylvia asked. "Oh, yes, Patrick's friends. Your friends," she said to Jack.

  We'd told him about the children coming to us, and how they had no adult to care for them. He'd expressed his concern that they might wind up thieving to survive. We'd come to the conclusion on the journey home that something needed to be done, but we'd not decided what.

  "Can't they stay here?" I asked.

  "Not all of them!" Sylvia said. "There's far too many, especially with half the house in ruins."

  "They're noisy and disruptive," Langley said. "I can't work with the two of them running about, let alone dozens."

  "We'll need to find somewhere for them in London," Jack said.

  "We ain't going to the workhouse!" The boy, Sniffles, stood in the doorway. He wiped the back of his hand across his nose. He looked neater than the first day he'd arrived. His hair had been combed flat and he wore clean clothes that were too large but looked warm.

  "I won't let you end up at the workhouse, Davey," Jack said, going to him. "There must be a charity school you can attend."

  Davey pulled a face. "I hate school."

  Jack made as if to clip him over the ear, but nudged him affectionately instead. "Go on. Go find Tommy and annoy him. Let us sort out where you'll go."

  "You sort it out, Jack," the boy said. He wrinkled his nose at Langley and Bollard. "Not them." He darted off.

  Frowning, Jack watched him go.

  "How many more of them are there?" I asked.

  "Dozens. I'd been sending Patrick money, and he was supposed to be taking care of them." He came back inside and shut the door. "There's no room for all of them here, even if they weren't disruptive, but there's no one to look after them in London. They'll have to be separated and families found for each of them."

  "Is it necessary to separate them?" I knew what it was like to be wrenched from the only family I knew, and I was eighteen. It would be horrible to do that to little children.

  "Is that even possible?" Sylvia asked.

  "It is with the right amount of money," Jack said. "No one will take in extra children without an incentive."

  "I'm not sure you'd encourage people with good hearts that way," I said. "The greedy ones, on the other hand, would be falling over themselves."

  Langley grunted. "I'll provide whatever is needed."

  Bollard said something to Langley with his hands. The rapid movements were smooth and elegant, his fingers dexterous in their twisting and pointing. I'd never seen him communicate with Langley, it had always been the other way around. It made the servant more human, but only just.

  When Bollard finished, Langley closed his eyes. He didn't open them or speak for some time, and I grew anxious that he would dismiss us all and make the boys leave Frakingham. What Jack would do in that situation was anyone's guess.

  "There's a charity school in London," Langley finally said, opening his eyes. "Its patroness is a lady named Emily Beaufort, the wife of Jacob Beaufort. She's a most interesting woman, quite the sensation about eight years or so ago."

  "Why?"

  "She was a girl of dubious parentage who married the son of a prominent viscount."

  "Is that all?" Sylvia scoffed. "It may be unusual, perhaps a curiosity even, but to describe it as a sensation...hardly."

  "She can also communicate with ghosts."

  Sylvia snorted through her nose. "Are you serious?"

  "Have you ever known me to joke?"

  She paled. "No. But are you certain she's not a charlatan? I've read of many accounts in the papers where spirit mediums have turned out to be false."

  "You mean like the one you visited last year?" Jack asked.

  Sylvia gave him a withering glare. "I would have thought a viscount's daughter-in-law would conduct herself in a manner befitting her station."

  "So would I," Langley said.

  "What has her ability to see ghosts got to do with the charity school?" I asked.

  "Nothing," Langley said. "The two facts aren't connected. Why don't you write to her, Sylvia, and request she look into the situation with the children?"

  She brightened, and I suspected she was glad to be given something to do. She bustled out, and I followed. Jack remained behind.

  I went to my room to freshen up after the journey and ate a sandwich of cold meat delivered by one of the maids. I tried to rest too, but couldn't. The events of London were too fresh, too frightening. I went in search of Jack instead and wasn't surprised to find him near the lake. He stood with his back to me. The breeze ruffled the ends of his hair, but otherwise, he was very still. Serene. I didn't want to disturb him, so I turned to go.

  "Wait, Hannah." He was beside me in the moment it took me to turn back. "I'm glad you came. I wanted to talk to you."

  The now familiar warmth of desire spread through my body, lighting every part of me along the way. It didn't feel wrong or uncomfortable, but so very delicious.

  "Oh?" I whispered. "What about?"

  "About my past." He looked toward the ruins. "Come with me."

  We sat side by side on a low, crumbling wall of the old abbey. Jack's feet touched the ground, mine did not. I waited for him to begin again, even though I knew what he wanted to say. Tommy had already told me some of it, but I wanted to hear it from Jack's lips. He had to do this on his own, without prompting. It must be wholly his own decision.

  It meant so much more that way.

  "I used to live with those children in London. Tommy and I both did. I was one of them. An orphan with no home, nowhere to go. I don't remember a time before that. I had no family, or so I thought. Tate confirmed that they knew me as a baby, so that's something at least. Perhaps I really am Langley's nephew, although he won't say how I came to live on the streets."

  "You've asked?"

  "Yes. When I first got here, I would ask every day for information about my parents, my background, but he would give only evasive answers until finally he snapped altogether and threatened to send me back to the streets. I couldn't go back to that life. Not then. And now I'm just used to not knowing. I've decided I don't want to know."

  Because he might not like the answer. I nodded, understanding completely. "Tell me about being on the streets with the other children."

  "When we were small, the bigger children took care of us. We thieved for them, picked pockets, whatever we could to survive as a group. They were like a family to me, I suppose, but life was hard and some of those older children...they were cruel. But not to me. I had these." He waggled his fingers. "As I grew older and I realized the power it gave me, I began to take charge. Since I was the only one who could keep the entire group warm in winter, no one argued against me. Besides, I was a capable fighter by then."

  I nodded. I saw how good he was against Ham. That man had been huge, but Jack had held him off and got some swift punches in.

  "We had to steal to live," he said. "It never bothered me much. It was just something we did to survive. Then one day Bollard showed up and everything changed." He huffed out a wry laugh. "Most of the children were terrified of him. He gave me a note.
It told me to go with Bollard, and I'd be given all the food I wanted and a warm bed. The warm bed wasn't so enticing, but the food was. Tommy insisted on coming with me, and when August tried to send him away, I refused to stay. If he had to go, I would too. August gave in, grudgingly."

  "What explanation did Langley give for thinking you were his nephew?"

  "He gave none. He said I was his nephew and my name was no longer Cutler. When I asked him how he found me, he said he simply asked the right people. Like I said, evasive answers."

  Neither of us spoke for a long time, but something bothered me. I didn't know how Jack would react when I asked, but I suspected it was something he'd already considered so I asked anyway. "Do you think Mr. Langley made a mistake and got the wrong boy?"

  He shook his head. "He questioned me thoroughly about my parents. Their names, where they were from, what they looked like. I didn't remember them, but I own a knife with a distinctive handle. I assume it came from them as it's always been in my possession. I showed August, and he said he recognized it."

  "May I see it?"

  He blinked at me from beneath the hair that had tumbled over his forehead. "It's in my room."

  We hopped off the wall and walked as close to each other as possible without actually touching. It was enough to warm but not overheat me. Neither of us wore coats or gloves, and I doubted I ever would again. Miss Levine had tried to force me, but I no longer saw the point.

  "Jack," I said.

  "Hmmm?"

  "I'm so glad you abducted me."

  He chuckled. "So am I."

  "And thank you for telling me about your childhood."

  "It was either I tell you or you'd find out from Sylvia anyway. She has a loose tongue."

  I laughed and hoped he never found out it was Tommy who'd given me more information than Sylvia.

  I gazed up at Frakingham House ahead. The builders had begun to erect scaffolding on the eastern wing in preparation for the repairs, and already the network of wood and steel looked like a complex spider's web. A man stood on the driveway, his head tilted up to look at the burnt section of the house. A suitcase sat at his feet.

  "Who is that?" I asked.

  Jack squinted. "Gladstone?"

  "Good lord, it is. Samuel!" I called.

  He turned and I waved. He left his suitcase and came to meet us. "Good afternoon, Lady Violet, Mr. Langley." He tipped his hat. "What a pleasure it is to see you again."

  "Actually, my name is Hannah." At his raised brows, I added, "It's a long story to be told over tea. So what brings you to Frakingham?"

  "I hear they call this place Freak House." He shot a grim glance at the building. "I thought it might be somewhere I would fit in."

  Jack crossed his arms. "You mean to stay?"

  "I hoped to speak to Mr. August Langley and propose a research project."

  "How exciting," I said. "Are you not working with Dr. Werner anymore?"

  Samuel frowned. "No."

  "What makes you think August would be interested in your proposal, Mr. Gladstone?" Jack asked.

  "Call me Samuel. I believe your uncle has an interest in neuroscience. I thought perhaps he may want the chance to work with a real hypnotist."

  "August is very busy," Jack said. "And neuroscience is not his field of expertise."

  "I'd like to speak to him anyway."

  Jack held out his hand for Samuel to go ahead. We entered the house and Tommy showed Samuel up to Langley's room. Jack, Sylvia and I waited in the parlor.

  "How odd," Sylvia said. "I wonder why he left Dr. Werner's employ."

  "Perhaps he was thrown out," Jack said.

  Sylvia eyed him suspiciously. "You don't appear to like Mr. Gladstone very much. Why?"

  Jack looked to me then away. "He's too self-assured."

  It sounded so absurd coming from someone of equal confidence that I snorted a laugh. He glared at me.

  Finally Samuel returned. His smile was so broad it almost stretched to both ears.

  "What did he say?" Sylvia asked.

  "He said I may stay here while I conduct my research."

  Sylvia clapped her hands. "Splendid. It appears our little household is growing."

  "This is good news," I said, lifting my eyebrow at Jack in a challenge.

  After a moment, he sighed and clapped Samuel on the shoulder. "Welcome to Freak House."

  THE END

  This doesn't have to be the end. Interact with the characters from Freak House on Tumblr.

  http://freakhouseresidents.tumblr.com

  A message from the author

  I hope you enjoyed reading THE WRONG GIRL as much as I enjoyed writing it. As an independent author, getting the word out about my book is vital to its success, so if you liked this book please consider telling your friends and writing a review at the store where you purchased it. If you would like to be contacted when PLAYING WITH FIRE: Book 2 in the 1st Freak House Series is out, send an email to cjarcher.writes@gmail.com and I will subscribe you to my New Releases newsletter. You will only be contacted when I have a new book out.

  Books by C.J. Archer:

  The Wrong Girl (Freak House #1)

  The Medium (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium #1)

  Possession (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium #2)

  Evermore (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium #3)

  The Charmer (Assassins Guild Novel #1)

  Her Secret Desire (Lord Hawkesbury's Players #1)

  Scandal's Mistress (Lord Hawkesbury's Players #2)

  To Tempt The Devil (Lord Hawkesbury's Players #3)

  Honor Bound (The Witchblade Chronicles Book #1)

  Kiss Of Ash (The Witchblade Chronicles #2)

  Courting His Countess

  Surrender

  Redemption

  The Mercenary's Price

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  C.J. Archer has loved history and books for as long as she can remember. She worked as a librarian and technical writer until she was able to channel her twin loves by writing historical fiction. She has won and placed in numerous romance writing contests, including taking home RWAustralia’s Emerald Award in 2008 for the manuscript that would become her novel Honor Bound. Under the name Carolyn Scott, she has published contemporary romantic mysteries, including Finders Keepers Losers Die, and The Diamond Affair. After spending her childhood surrounded by the dramatic beauty of outback Queensland, she lives today in suburban Melbourne, Australia, with her husband and their two children.

  She loves to hear from readers. You can contact her in one of these ways:

  Website: http://cjarcher.com

  Email: cjarcher.writes@gmail.com

  Twitter: @cj_archer

  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/CJArcherAuthorPage

  Look out for

  Playing With Fire

  The second book in the first FREAK HOUSE TRILOGY.

  Hannah and Jack learn about their pasts and fall in love, but Tate's escape from prison puts their lives at risk.

  To be notified when C.J. has a new release, sign up to her newsletter. Send an email to mailto:cjarcher.writes@gmail.com

  In the meantime, have you read THE MEDIUM? Here's the description. Read on for an excerpt.

  Seventeen year-old spirit medium Emily Chambers has a problem. Actually, she has several. As if seeing dead people isn't a big enough social disadvantage, she also has to contend with an escaped demon and a handsome ghost with a secret past. And then there's the question of her parentage. Being born an entire year after her father's death (yes, a year) and without the pale skin of other respectable English ladies, Emily is as much a mystery as the dead boy assigned to her.

  Jacob Beaufort's spirit has been unable to crossover since his death several months ago. It might have something to do with the fact he was murdered. Or it might not. All he knows is, he has been assigned by the Otherworld's administrators to a girl named Emily. A girl who can see and touch him. A girl who released a shape-shifting demon into the mortal realm. Toget
her they must send the demon back before it wreaks havoc on London. It should be a simple assignment, but they soon learn there's nothing simple when a live girl and a dead boy fall in love.

  An Excerpt from THE MEDIUM

  (c) C.J. Archer

  CHAPTER 1

  London, Spring 1880

  Whoever said dead men don't tell lies had never met Barnaby Wiggam's ghost. The fat, bulbous-nosed spirit fading in and out beside me like a faulty gas lamp clearly thought he was dealing with a fool. I may only be seventeen but I'm not naïve. I know when someone is lying—being dead didn't alter the tell-tale signs. Mr. Wiggam didn't quite meet my eyes, or those of his widow and her guests—none of whom could see him anyway—and he fidgeted with his crisp white silk necktie as if it strangled him. It hadn't—he'd died of an apoplexy.

  "Go on, young lady." He thrust his triple chins at me, making them wobble. "Tell her. I have no hidden fortune."

  I swallowed and glanced at the little circle of women holding hands around the card table in Mrs. Wiggam's drawing room, their wide gazes locked on the Ouija board in the center as if Barnaby Wiggam stood there and not beside me. I too stood, behind my sister and opposite the Widow Wiggam who looked just as well-fed as her dead husband in her black crepe dress and mourning cap. However, where his face was covered with a network of angry red veins, hers was so white it glowed like a moon in the dimly lit room.

  "Are you sure?" I asked him. If he knew I suspected him of lying, he didn't show it. Or perhaps he simply didn't care.

  "Sure?" Mrs. Wiggam suddenly let go of her neighbor's hands. My sister, Celia, clicked her tongue and Mrs. Wiggam quickly took up the lady's hand again. It's not as if anyone needed to hold hands at all during our séances but my sister insisted upon it, along with having candles rather than lamps, a tambourine and an Ouija board even though she rarely used either. She liked things to be done in a way that added to the atmosphere and the enjoyment of the customers, as she put it. I'm not convinced anyone actually enjoyed our séances, but they were effective nevertheless and she was right—people expect certain theatrics from spirit mediums, so if we must put on a performance then so be it.