by C. J. Archer
"'I know what you did,'" he recited.
"I think Myer wrote it."
"Bloody hell," Tommy murmured. "How did you draw that conclusion?"
"Sylvia was going through his letters to August Langley. She showed them to me and I recognized the handwriting. It matched the writing on the burned note."
"Myer lied," Samuel said, his jaw as rigid as stone. "He told us he didn't write it."
"Do you think the note was referring to something that happened years ago?" I indicated the daguerreotype I still held. "Or something more recent?"
"We may never know. My mother has proven to be a closed book about the past."
"Myer might tell us," I said, my enthusiasm pushing me to speak my mind. I was feeling more comfortable in Samuel's presence than I had ever since finding the amulet in his possession. "We could ask him."
The corner of Samuel's mouth unexpectedly quirked up. "We will."
"Of course, it's none of my affair," I added quickly. "You ought to speak to him alone."
"Nonsense. It's very much your affair. It has been all along. Besides, I want you involved."
I wanted to ask him why, but I dared not. Part of me was surprised I'd gotten so far, yet I was immensely relieved that I had. For one thing, it felt like a burden had lifted off my chest. For another, Samuel gave no sign of being angry with me for poking my nose into his family's business.
Tommy took the daguerreotype from me. "What's this?" he asked, pointing to some stones in the foreground.
"Just part of the wall that's fallen down," I said.
"They make a pattern."
I looked closer. The stones weren't particularly large, though they looked very similar to the ones in the ruins. They were arranged in various simple shapes, one inside the other. The outermost shape was a circle. Within it was a triangle, with all three points touching the stones that made up the outer circle. In the center of the triangle was a square. One side of the square shared the stones that made up the base of the triangle, and inside the square was another circle.
"It's some sort of symbol," I said, turning the daguerreotype around.
Samuel moved closer on my other side, distracting me from the picture. His chest brushed my shoulder and his breath warmed my cheek. My awareness of him sharpened, like a blurry image suddenly snapping into focus. He felt so large next to me, so solid and masculine. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose and a little shiver rippled down my spine. The urge to move away was strong, yet just as strong was another emotion. One that had my blood pounding through my veins and my heart beating for entirely different reasons.
"Do you recognize it?" Tommy's voice called me back to the daguerreotype. I was about to answer him when he added, "Gladstone? Did you hear me?"
Samuel cleared his throat and moved away. The loss of his closeness didn't untangle my emotions, but only served to confuse them further. I wanted him near, and yet I didn't. Would my feelings for Samuel always be so opposed to one another?
"It's not familiar to me," Samuel said. "It appears mathematical in nature. Or perhaps religious. Charity and I will ask Myer."
I wasn't sure whether to be delighted or worried that he wanted me to help. "We cannot speak to him until he returns," I said. "Unless you plan on traveling back to London, and I can assure you, I don't want to go there just yet."
"You won't," he said. "We'll wait for Myer to come back here."
"That could take some time. First the demon must be killed and then we must wait for a letter to reach him."
"The demon will be killed today," he said, his gaze connecting with Tommy's. "But there's no particular need to speak to Myer now. Learning how he knew my parents doesn't change anything. My father is dead."
"It might tell you who killed him," Tommy said. "Or who summoned the demon that killed him. You might even learn that it was Myer himself."
"And so? What will discovering that do? We cannot go to the police and tell them an otherworldly creature has been summoned and ate my father."
"He's right," I said to Tommy, before Samuel's temper could rise further. "Besides, we don't even know if Mr. Gladstone's death was intentional or not." I didn't want Samuel to think I suspected one of his family was responsible, yet he must suspect that I was thinking it. There was no other logical conclusion to jump to, once one considered the fact that Samuel was protecting someone. He would not protect Myer.
Tommy threw up his hands and let them slap against his thighs. "Very well. But I'd feel safer with some answers, whether we can go to the police with those answers or not. Wouldn't you?"
I would indeed, but I didn't say so. I didn't look to Samuel either, to see if he agreed. I didn't want to know if he did not.
***
An unexpected and unwelcome visitor arrived late afternoon, in the form of Mrs. Gladstone. She and her maid were ushered into the house while Samuel, Tommy and Fray escorted her coachman and horses to the stables. I didn't want to see her so I retreated to my rooms without greeting her.
"Please come downstairs," Sylvia begged me after she had spent half an hour alone in Mrs. Gladstone's company. "I don't know what to say to her or how to act or anything! She makes me feel like a child who shouldn't be dining with the adults. And Samuel's no help at all. He's made himself scarce and it's him she came to see! I'd like to wring his neck for leaving me alone with her."
"To be fair, he and Tommy are keeping watch for the demon."
They had organized their plan to capture it after we'd left the attic. They agreed to attack at night, when it came looking for another meal. Sylvia had protested that it was too dangerous, but I hadn't seen any other option. The demon had to be killed or sent back, and there was no one else to do it.
"Can't your uncle join you?" I said, setting aside the book I'd been reading. The light had begun to fade anyway, as dark clouds crowded into the sky.
"He's avoiding her too. Bollard came down to see who had called then promptly returned upstairs. I haven't seen hide nor hair of either of them since. Charity, please come and join me."
"She loathes me, Sylvia. She thinks me too far beneath her to breathe the same air. I'm in no mood to exchange barbs with someone who can't stand the sight of me."
"She won't be cruel with me there. Besides, she seems rather subdued today. Perhaps Mr. Gladstone's death has changed her."
"I doubt it."
"Or perhaps she's too worried about Samuel and the demon to pick a fight." There was a ring of truth to that. "Pleeeeaaaase, Charity."
I sighed, defeated. "All right. I'll come." As much as I would have liked answers to the questions we'd had about the daguerreotype and Mrs. Gladstone's association with Myer, I didn't want to be the one to ask them. She was Samuel's mother and the task ought to fall to him.
I placed the book on the table beside my chair and stood. "Very well. I'll sit with you both until it's time to change for dinner, or until she forgets her manners and calls me something colorful."
Sylvia embraced me. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. I doubt we'll have anything to talk about. You may have to carry the entire conversation."
We strolled slowly to the door, arm in arm. "I can do that if you're there," she said, squeezing my arm. "If she doesn't join in then you and I can simply converse on whatever takes our fancy."
"It should be something to draw her into the conversation. Something that won't be controversial, or make her think about her husband."
She brightened. "We can discuss the latest fashions from Paris. I'll have the newest edition of the Young Ladies Journal on hand."
"She's in widow's weeds," I protested.
"One can still be fashionable in black."
"Still, I think we should have another topic or two handy in case that one falls flat."
We tossed ideas around quietly, lest we be overheard as we descended the stairs. We approached the drawing room, where Mrs. Gladstone was apparently waiting to be entertained by our sparkling conversation.
We were mistaken. She may have been in the drawing room, but she wasn't counting the seconds for us to join her. She was speaking to Samuel. Or begging him, to be more precise.
"Please return home with me," she was saying as Sylvia and I came to a halt near the drawing room door.
I held my arm out, blocking her path. She signaled that we should continue and announce our presence, but I shook my head. I wanted to listen in. If Samuel asked her anything important, I wanted to hear her answer. If I overheard her call me cruel things, then so be it. I'd heard it all before, anyway.
"You shouldn't have come," Samuel said. He sounded agitated, impatient to get away. "I'm not returning with you."
"Because of her."
"She has a name, Mother."
She sniffed.
"It's not Charity's fault that I came here in the first place," he said. "I didn't even know she was here. I came back because I couldn't allow that…thing to roam around the estate, terrorizing innocent people."
"So you thought to endanger yourself too! And so soon after your father's death, and with your brother's health in such a fragile state. It's terribly irresponsible, Samuel. You're the heir now. You will inherit one day. Act accordingly."
He heaved a sigh. "That conversation is growing tired. Shall we talk about you not acting responsibly, instead? You came here with only the driver for protection. Was he even armed?"
I was pleased to hear Samuel admonish her. It meant he wanted her to be safe, that he cared. It surprised me that I wanted him to care. I suppose it stemmed from my not having a family. However horrible his mother could be to me at times, she obviously loved her sons and only wanted to protect them. I envied Samuel. He didn't know how fortunate he was. Or perhaps he did, or he wouldn't be lecturing her.
Sylvia pushed me gently. Go in, she mouthed.
I shook my head and pressed my finger to my lips to keep her quiet. I didn't want her interrupting until the conversation required it.
"I have to go," he said.
What? That was it? He wasn't going to question her about her association with Myer? About the daguerreotype? Perhaps I'd missed that part of the conversation.
Or perhaps he was avoiding asking altogether.
"Stay with me," she begged. "I want to speak to my darling son and not that frivolous Langley girl. She makes my head ache."
Sylvia thrust her hands on her hips and poked her tongue out. I tried not to smile.
"We have nothing to discuss," Samuel said. "If you don't wish to talk to anyone, go to your room. Otherwise, I'd appreciate some civility toward my friends. You came here of your own accord. Nobody forced you."
"You forced me." Her voice was a slender thread that barely reached us in the corridor. "I had to come and bring you home where you belong. This is no place for…sane people."
"Perhaps that's why I like living here."
"It's not a joke, Samuel. This place is dangerous with that…thing on the loose. You said so yourself. Come home, where it's safe."
"Enough." The guttural grate of that single word had as much effect as a gunshot. My heart leapt into my throat and beat at a rapid rate. The air seemed to thicken around us. Sylvia's fingers tightened on my arm. She did not try to pull me away, but seemed as riveted to the spot as me.
"Enough talk of the danger here and keeping me safe," he ground out. "I will not leave when innocent lives are at stake."
"But you are Bert's heir." Mrs. Gladstone sounded as if she was crying. I felt some sympathy for her, mostly because I doubted her tears would soften Samuel's heart. "You have a responsibility to the Gladstone name."
"I have a responsibility to keep everyone here safe and rid this realm of that monster. Since you refuse to do it, then it's up to me to undo your work."
CHAPTER 14
Sylvia and I stared at one another. She clutched my arm and I clutched hers, as if we were holding each other steady. I couldn't believe what I'd heard.
'Your work,' Samuel had said.
Mrs. Gladstone had summoned the demon.
Samuel's mother had killed his father. It was a wonder that discovery hadn't sent him over the edge into complete madness already. The question remained, however: had she done it on purpose?
I was still in a stupor when Sylvia dragged me away from the drawing room door. Fortunately, Samuel strode off in the other direction or he would have spotted us. Sylvia and I weren't all that good at keeping our thoughts to ourselves. I could see the disturbance the news had caused written all over her pretty face.
"I was convinced it was Myer," she whispered.
And I'd thought it may have been Samuel at one time, but I was immensely glad that I'd been wrong. I ought to tell him so. I ought to apologize, even though I'd not accused him to his face. The only reason I hadn't was because I'd been too scared. I was still afraid of him for other reasons, but I would force myself to speak to him about it. It was only fair.
My apology would have to wait, however. He had raced off, no doubt to see Tommy and prepare to face the demon, and Sylvia was leading me toward the drawing room.
"Wait a moment," I said, extricating myself from her grip. "I'll be back in the blink of an eye."
"Charity," she hissed. "Don't leave me alone with her."
I walked quickly in the same direction as Samuel and up to the attic without meeting anyone. I found what I was looking for and returned to the drawing room. Sylvia was sitting on the sofa, her feet together and her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She had a strained smile on her face and was chattering on about a white ermine muff she wanted to purchase before next winter. Mrs. Gladstone seemed not to be listening. Her unfocused gaze was turned toward the window.
"Charity!" Sylvia cried with undisguised relief. "You're here."
Mrs. Gladstone twisted to see me. Her gaze sharpened as if my presence honed it to a lethal point. "Miss Evans," she said, through pursed lips.
I nodded a greeting. "Mrs. Gladstone. What an unexpected pleasure to see you again."
She made a miffed sound through her nose. Perhaps calling it a 'pleasure' was a little too thick, but good manners were hard to break, especially when they'd been drilled into me with a belt across my back.
"Sit down and have some tea," Sylvia urged me. "Maud brought a fresh pot."
"Thank you, but I don't feel like tea. I'd like Mrs. Gladstone's opinion on a daguerreotype."
"What daguerreotype?" both she and Mrs. Gladstone asked.
"Tommy found it in the attic earlier," I told them. "He's our footman," I said to Mrs. Gladstone. "You may have heard him called Dawson, but I prefer to use his given name. We've known each other a long time."
It was rather satisfying to see her mouth turn down and her nose wrinkle up. I did feel a little bad for embarrassing Sylvia with my poor manners, but only a little. She would recover.
"Honestly, Charity," she muttered.
I handed the daguerreotype to her first to distract her. "Recognize anyone, Sylvia?"
"Only Mr. Myer." She gave the daguerreotype back to me and I passed it to Mrs. Gladstone. She took it reluctantly, but did not study it straight away.
"What about you, Mrs. Gladstone?" I prompted. "Do you recognize anyone aside from Mr. Myer?"
She tossed the picture onto the table beside her where it skidded into the vase of roses. "This is absurd. I have no wish to play your silly parlor games. I am not a child."
"And this is no nursery story," I said. "It's real."
She got up to leave. I was going to lose what might turn out to be my one opportunity to speak to her without Samuel present.
"It's you, Mrs. Gladstone," I said quickly. "You, Mr. Myer, Lord and Lady Frakingham,"
She stopped at the door, her back to us. She stood there for a long time, then slowly turned. Her smooth brow remained unlined, but a keen observer would notice the pinched mouth, the slightly flared nostrils.
"Can you tell me how you know Myer and the Frakinghams?" I said.
"Cha
rity," Sylvia hissed. "Is this wise considering…?"
I put my hand up to silence her. "Otherwise I may jump to the wrong conclusions and I might share those conclusions with Samuel," I said to Mrs. Gladstone. "I'm sure you wouldn't want that."
"You nasty little whelp." She spat each word, as if they tasted foul in her mouth.
I pushed on, despite Sylvia's distressed look of appeal. "You knew Mr. Myer back then. Indeed, I'd wager that all of you in this daguerreotype were friends."
"We were never friends with Myer. Never." She tilted her chin at the picture on the table. "That gathering was held here at Lord Frakingham's insistence. I'd never met Myer until that day."
"What about your husband? Did he know Myer before that?"
"I don't know."
I didn't quite believe her, but didn't press the point. "What was the gathering for?"
"Miss Evans," she bit off, "I don't have to answer your questions. My friendships are none of your affair."
"Of course," I said, surrendering the line of questioning. There were more important things to ask. Mrs. Gladstone turned to go again so I had no time to think of a more politic way of broaching my next question. "Where did you get the amulet?"
Sylvia's whimper of defeat was the only sound in the room. I would have to make it up to her, somehow. The poor girl probably thought her life was over now that one of her guests had thoroughly offended another more socially powerful one. Mrs. Gladstone didn't make any sound, but she didn't walk off, either.
"From Mr. Myer?" I persisted. "Or have you had it in your possession for a very long time? Since you belonged to the society, when that daguerreotype—"
"You're a fool, Miss Evans," Mrs. Gladstone said. "An ignorant fool. It's fortunate that you're beautiful, otherwise there'd be nothing to recommend you."
Her words stung me more than I liked to admit. I'd been prepared for her to try and bludgeon me with blunt accusations and had resolved to let everything she said wash over me. Yet they did not. Not entirely.
It was clear that she wasn't going to answer me. I was a little surprised that she wasn't surprised that I knew about the amulet. She must have realized Sylvia and I had overheard her conversation with Samuel.