My Soul to Take

by C. J. Archer

  "Yet he chose not to perform any and redeem himself."

  "Until now."

  "I think the administrators should take a good long look at their policies. That man—demon—is dangerous."

  "When I take him back, I'll tell them you said so."

  Was he teasing at me? It was difficult to tell with his eyes, hooded as they were.

  "You've been in Purgatory a long time for a crime that wasn't your fault, Quin. But you no longer feel guilt, do you? Isn't that why you wanted the book? So you could leave?"

  "Aye. The time I was summoned by the monk from the abbey showed me what real evil is. That was no war that I interrupted. Countrymen murdered one another at the whim of their king."

  "There are some dark times in this nation's history and the dissolution of the monasteries is one of them. A tumultuous era followed. Is that when you decided you wanted to leave Purgatory and move on?"

  "Aye. It was like a cloud lifted from my eyes. I began to understand the difference between true evil and what I'd done. I never intended to kill my brother, but I'd felt immense guilt until then. I did deserve my punishment, Cara."

  "To a point."

  He nodded. "I decided it was time to move on. To forgive myself. I asked to face a trial, but the administrators would not let me go. They said my work was too important and I could not be spared."

  "That's not fair! They promised you the job only for as long as you wanted to do it."

  He merely shrugged. "It's difficult to argue with them when they've made up their minds."

  "You should ask again."

  "I have."

  "Beg them."

  "I don't beg."

  I pressed my lips together. "Quin, you must continue to petition them. Surely they can see how wrong they are."

  He heaved out a sigh and leaned his hands behind him on the bed. "I've stopped asking."

  "Why?"

  His gaze slid to me.

  "Oh." I swallowed the lump in my throat. "So you can come here and see me again."

  He pushed off from the bed and strode to the window. I got the feeling he needed to get away from me. "It's time for me to ask again."

  "Time for us both to move on, you mean?"

  He said nothing.

  If he moved on, we would be forever apart, until my death. I tried not to think about the finality of his decision. I did want him to enter his afterlife. But I would miss him immensely.

  "You were prepared to use the book once," I said. "Gilbert de Mordaunt wrote it all down in there, how to escape and live here, everything. He succeeded. Couldn't you?" I glanced around the room, half expecting lightning to strike or flames to burst up from the floor as punishment from the administrators for my suggestion. Nothing happened, but the air in the room seemed to thicken and weigh heavily between us.

  Quin stared out the window even though there was nothing to see in the dark. "I learned about the book from Myer twenty-two years ago when I was summoned here. I overheard him telling the others what it contained. However, it wasn't until I saw the de Mordaunt family crest that I realized Gilbert de Mordaunt had written it."

  I remembered the hunt for the book, using other old texts and some ingenuity to find it. I'd been ill at the time. Quin's presence had saved my life.

  "I waited for an opportunity to come here so that I could retrieve it, and your illness presented me with the best chance. My only chance. I've since learned that I would have been a fool to use the book to live here again."

  Part of me wondered if he was only saying that because I'd refused to give it to him at the end and he didn't want me to feel guilt for withholding it. "Nothing happened to Gilbert," I said.

  "How can we be certain?"

  I let the matter drop. We were getting nowhere, and he would never blame me for thwarting his only chance at living again. "Thank you for answering all my questions, Quin. I know it wasn't easy to lay everything out for me. I'm sorry to stir up old and awful memories."

  He leaned back against the window frame. He crossed his ankles and arms and regarded me levelly. "I wanted you to know it all. I thought keeping it from you would protect you." His gaze slipped away. "Or protect my reputation in your eyes."

  "Your reputation is safe with me, Quin."

  He unfolded his arms and leaned his hands on the windowsill behind him. His thumb flicked at a flake of peeling paint. "Now that I've answered your questions, will you answer one of mine?"

  "Of course. What is it?"

  He continued to finger the paint flake until it came away. It fluttered to the floor near his feet. His thumb stilled. "What will you tell Faraday when you see him?"

  I opened my mouth to say that I wasn't going to see him, but stopped myself. It was the excuse I'd given at dinner and if I didn't continue with it, he might order me to stay at Frakingham. "About what?"

  "About your…interest in him."

  "I have no interest in him beyond his first-hand experience of possession."

  "You used to."

  "That was before."

  "You might rekindle those feelings if you spend more time with him."

  I studied him, trying to read his mind, but his face was blank, his eyes shadowed. "Perhaps," I said, thinking of the easy friendship I'd shared with Nathaniel. That was all it was—friendship. There had been no passion. I knew that now after experiencing it with Quin. "I didn't enjoy the awkwardness between us when I last saw him. I hope he has had time to think about the paranormal, and come to realize its existence. Perhaps that's why he wrote to me. Perhaps he wants to learn more."

  Quin grunted. "Do we have to discuss him?"

  "You brought him up!"

  "I wasn't expecting your enthusiasm."

  He was jealous of Nathaniel. I bit my lip hard to hide my smile. Reveling in his jealousy did seem wrong, but I couldn't help the thrill it brought me nevertheless.

  He stalked across the room to the door. "Good night, Cara." He jerked the door open. "We both need our sleep for the journey."

  "Good night, Quin. Sleep well." I paused in front of him and stood on my toes. I kissed his lips lightly.

  He rocked back on his heels and blinked at me. He seemed caught between taking me in his arms, and kissing me thoroughly, and pushing me out the door.

  I made the decision easy for him and left. There would be no tempting Quin tonight. Or ever.

  CHAPTER 5

  Concentrating on my book on the train journey to London was far too much to ask with Quin sitting opposite me, his knees bumping mine. The angles of his face fascinated me; so smooth, yet hard too. The muted sunlight from the cloudy day filtered through the window and painted deep shadows beneath his cheekbones and below his downcast eyes. He was reading a newspaper; unlike me, he apparently had no difficulty in concentrating.

  Although he'd brought the old newspapers from the attic, he'd also bought a current one from the newspaper boy in the village using money Jack had given him to cover his expenses in London. It was that one he was reading now.

  "Anything interesting in there?" I asked, leaning forward.

  He nodded and kept reading.

  I switched seats and sat beside him. He shifted to make room, but our thighs remained touching. It was an intimate position, one that would have raised eyebrows if anyone else had been in the berth with us. I put some space between us, aware of not trying to tempt him. That got him looking up from the paper and directly at me.

  "I can restrain myself," he said.

  My face heated. "As can I." I nodded at the paper. "Are you reading that article on the missing museum artifacts?"

  He nodded. "It's intriguing. The police inspector in charge seems more competent than Weeks. He has interviewed suspects and knows how the vagabonds broke in."

  "He has probably done more, but that is the only information he's given the reporter. He wouldn't want to reveal too much to the public, and the thief, before apprehending him."

  "I wondered if that were the case." He nodded, as if
satisfied the entire constabulary wasn't all as foolish as Harborough's Detective Inspector Weeks. He studied the newspaper again and seemed to forget that I was there, until he spoke in a quiet voice. "If I were a modern man, this is what I would choose to do."

  "Be a policeman?"

  He narrowed his eyes at me. "Are you mocking me?"

  "No! I…I didn't know you'd thought it through. Living here, I mean."

  He straightened the newspaper with a snap and continued reading. "It may have crossed my mind."

  I laid a hand on his arm. "Quin—"

  "I shouldn't have mentioned it. It's an impossibility."

  "I know." I removed my hand. "I'm not sure I picture you as a policeman anyway. A soldier perhaps, but that could simply be because that's what you've always been."

  He regarded me out of the corner of his eye. "I was never given a choice. In my time, we did what was expected of us."

  "It is somewhat the same today. There are more choices, but one must still do as one's gender and circumstance dictates. As a woman, I cannot join the police force, for example, and Samuel had to break away from his parents in order to marry Charity, although they've mended the rift now."

  "I commend Gladstone for it. Your friend Sylvia should do the same if she cares for Dawson enough."

  I sighed. "I think she does. She just needs the courage to follow her heart. I'll speak to Tommy about her while I'm in London."

  We both turned back to the newspaper article. "Perhaps a private inquiry agent," I said after a moment.

  "A what?"

  "It's somebody who investigates where the police have failed or refuse to believe a crime has been committed. You could specialize in supernatural investigations." I tapped my lip, warming to the idea. "You could be the first paranormal inquiry agent in England. Perhaps the world."

  "Cara." The misery in his eyes was like a slap across the face.

  I shook off my thoughts. Why had I been thinking along those lines anyway? All it did was make us both sadder. "I'm sorry. My enthusiasm got the better of me."

  He nudged my arm with his elbow. "Perhaps it's something you could do instead. You did tell me you were restless about your future."

  "A woman private inquiry agent would find it difficult to attract custom. Society may have come a long way since medieval times, but not that far."

  "What if you asked a gentleman of your acquaintance to help? You could work together, with his name on the calling card."

  I arched a brow at him. "And do you have a gentleman in mind?"

  "Faraday."

  "Nathaniel? But he doesn't even believe in the supernatural."

  "You could make him believe. You have remarkable powers of persuasion where men are concerned."

  I searched his eyes, but there was no humor in them. He shifted his gaze away. "Quin, do not push me toward him. I can never like him in that way and you know it."

  "I know no such thing."

  "Last night you were jealous of him."

  "I was not."

  I snorted. "You didn't want to discuss him. What has changed?

  "I decided to be practical and think only of your future." He returned to reading his newspaper, his jaw rigid. "As you ought to do."

  ***

  We parted ways at Jacob and Emily's Eaton Square house after a brief argument in the hansom cab that drove us from the station. I wanted to know what Quin's plans entailed, and he refused to tell me. I pestered, cajoled and tried to sweet talk him into telling me. He remained as unyielding as a rock.

  I slammed the door shut in my frustration and marched up the front steps to the townhouse. I only glanced back when the cab didn't drive away immediately. He stared at me through the window, his expression unreadable, until he finally gave the signal to drive off when Watkins, the butler, opened the front door. I watched the hansom turn the corner, heading in the direction of Claridge's, where Quin would be staying, then instantly regretted saying goodbye on an angry note. Indeed, we hadn't even said goodbye.

  The Eaton Square house staff hadn't been expecting me, and my sudden arrival threw them into turmoil, despite my pleas that they shouldn't go to any trouble. There was only the housekeeper, butler, cook, one maid and one footman in residence, the others having gone with Jacob and Emily, but it was more than enough for me. With veiled admonishments that I should have given them notice, my room was soon made ready and tea brought up with some honey cakes.

  I informed the maid who helped me change outfits that I would be out for dinner and Cook needn't bother to prepare anything for me.

  Her lips pinched. "You've received an invitation, miss?" She knew none had arrived for me and clearly disapproved of my going out alone in the evening.

  "I'll dine at a chop house. Oh, and tell Watkins not to wait up. I'll take a key and let myself in."

  That caused her eyebrows to shoot up her forehead.

  "I have friends to call upon. Miss Evans and her fiancé, Mr. Gladstone." I wasn't sure why I felt compelled to make up a story for her benefit, but it would hopefully stop her gossiping. I would hate for such gossip to reach Emily's ears. My niece would only worry.

  "Will you require the footman to accompany you, miss?" the maid asked.

  "No, thank you."

  More lip pursing. I ignored her and succumbed to the hair pulling in silence as she rearranged it. She helped me dress in a simple royal blue and cream gown with a matching jacket then pinned a small hat to my hair.

  With Emily and Jacob having taken their carriage, I caught a hansom cab to Clerkenwell. I alighted at the school, a large and imposing edifice that dominated the street. Scrawny tenements cowered beside it, clinging to its walls like a child to its mother's skirts. Lines of washing flapped overhead in a breeze that brought a waft of sewage to my nostrils.

  I felt dozens of eyes following me as I headed up the steps and knocked on the school's door. A maid let me in and scurried away to fetch Charity and Tommy while I waited in a sitting room that was sparsely but neatly furnished. There wasn't a speck of dust on any surface, but I supposed that was to be expected in a school that taught the domestic arts—among other subjects—to orphaned children. I waited, listening to rhythmic hammering coming from somewhere in the depths of the vast building. Some minutes later Charity glided into the room, a warm smile on her lips.

  "Cara!" We embraced one another. I'd missed my friend these last few weeks. We needed her quiet elegance at Frakingham. She was such a calming influence on everyone, although she probably wouldn't agree. "We didn't know you were back in London."

  "I just arrived."

  "Please excuse that infernal banging. Our new science laboratory is coming along nicely but the noise is rather trying. Did you catch the train down?"

  "Yes, with Quin."

  "Quin!" She caught my hands and searched my face. "Why is he here? Is everybody at Frakingham all right?"

  "It's quite a story, but everyone is well. Or as well as can be expected with Sylvia pining for Tommy."

  The man himself entered the sitting room at that moment, the slight flush to his cheeks the only indication that he'd heard me. He sketched a brief bow. I took his hand in mine and kissed his cheek in return.

  "You are being far too formal for a friend, Tommy," I admonished him.

  The color in his cheeks rose further. "You're well, Miss Moreau?"

  "Cara. And yes, I'm well. Has your arm improved?"

  The arm hanging loosely at his side lifted a few inches. "I've regained some movement." But not nearly enough to work, he might have said but didn't.

  "The exercises have helped somewhat," Charity said cheerfully. "But it will take time."

  Tommy shrugged his good shoulder, as if the functioning of his arm didn't matter, but I knew it was a show of bravado. For an active man such as himself, losing the use of his arm was a distressing hindrance. He would find work difficult to come by. It was another reason he needed to return to Frakingham House—he had secure work there as Jack's assis
tant.

  "And everyone at home?" Tommy's swallow was audible. "Are they well?"

  I liked that he still called it home, despite everything. "They are, but there have been some interesting developments since you were there."

  The color drained from his face, and I quickly reassured him once again that nobody was hurt. "Myer returned through the portal, bringing a fellow with him by the name of Edward de Mordaunt. He's known to Quin."

  "So you summoned Quin too," Charity stated for me.

  "Sylvia summoned him only moments before they appeared." At mention of her name, Tommy's gaze sharpened and locked with mine, as if he could dig more details out with his stare. "She was worried that Jack and I were about to go into the portal to fetch Myer back."

  "And were you?" Charity asked.

  I thought it best to skirt that issue and her lecture. "We didn't, and in the end, nobody needed to fetch Myer. The problem is, the fellow he brought with him is not only part demon, he was sent to Purgatory for misdeeds committed in his lifetime."

  I relayed what Quin had told everyone at Frakingham, leaving out the details of our private discussion. Although I suspected neither Charity nor Tommy would judge Quin unfairly for the things he'd done in his past, I knew he wouldn't want them to know.

  "Has Quin gone to Myer's house now?" Tommy asked, glancing toward the window.

  "I don't know," I said. "He wouldn't inform me of his movements."

  "Perhaps I should find him—"

  "Tommy," I chided gently. "He doesn't require any help."

  His fist curled on his lap. "If it weren't for this bloody arm!"

  "I know. Don't agitate yourself."

  "I am not agitated! I'm useless." He got up and strode around the room, his long legs taking him quickly from one end to the other and back again.

  Charity shrank into her chair and eyed him warily. She'd probably never seen him like this, and she didn't like confrontation, particularly with men.

  "You are not useless," I told him.

  "I am. Hopeless. This…" He punched his limp arm. "This is hopeless. I'm no good to nobody." Whenever he became upset, his accent changed from his carefully cultured one to the street slang of his youth.