Heart Burn (20 page)

The following day was the twenty-second, the day I'd arranged with Myer to meet him and Tate at the Red Lion. It could also be my last day at Frakingham…or anywhere else.

***

It was easier to sneak out of the house than I expected. When I arose late in the morning, Jack and Samuel had already left to question the villagers about Tate. I hoped they hadn't bumped into him or Myer in the Red Lion.

After breakfast, I told Sylvia I needed to lie down again. She gave me a frown and a pouch of dried lavender to place under my pillow for a restful sleep, then ordered me back to bed. Instead, I headed out via one of the rear doors, through the woods, emerging from the trees near the estate's iron gates. I couldn't walk all the way into the village in my poor health, so I waited at the side of the thoroughfare. It was the main road into Harborough and as such, reasonably busy even in winter. As luck would have it, I only had to wait ten minutes before a farmer's cart rolled by. The driver let me sit beside him rather than in the back with the caged chickens. I told him I was visiting friends in the village and had been out walking only to grow too tired to walk back. Whether he believed me or not, he gave no indication. Indeed, he spoke only a few words for the entire journey, perhaps because he wouldn't have heard my answer above the squawking poultry.

I lifted my cloak's hood to cover my conspicuous hair as we arrived in the village. The farmer dropped me outside the Red Lion and I hurried inside, checking this way and that for Samuel and Jack.

I was still gathering my wits and my breath when Myer approached. "Miss Smith," he said, bowing. "I'm so pleased you could make it. We've been waiting for you."

"Let's move away from the door." I glanced about, conscious of all the eyes watching me. Fortunately none of them belonged to Jack or Samuel.

The Red Lion wasn't old, having been built a mere ten years earlier after a fire destroyed the previous inn that had stood there for centuries. The rooms were big, the ceilings high, and every wooden surface was polished to a gleaming shine. I'd only been inside once, but the taproom looked exactly the same. Even the same five men sat on stools, hunched over tankards. The proprietor nodded a greeting from behind the long bar. If he thought it strange that August Langley's female guest was meeting with a much older gentleman in his inn, he didn't say. I took Myer's offered arm, and he led me up the stairs to a small parlor off the landing.

I paused in the doorway and stared at Reuben Tate. He sat slumped in an armchair, his eyes closed, his mouth open. He was cadaverously thin, hardly more than a collection of bones beneath clothes that were too large for his slender frame. One shirtsleeve hung limply at his side, empty and useless. He hadn't bothered to pin it up. His throat was as white as the shirt, his face too except for two spots of color on his cheeks. It was the only sign that he was alive.

"She's here," Myer announced. He gently pushed me forward into the room and shut the door.

Tate opened his eyes a fraction, then fully. It was an effort for him to sit upright, but he managed it without once taking his gaze off me. Those eyes made me shiver, although I was very far from cold. They were watery and almost colorless, as if the soul behind them was already half-dead and staring into the Afterlife.

He pressed his hand to the chair arm and heaved himself to his feet. It was an effort, but Myer didn't offer to help. He remained beside me, and I was grateful for the solidness of his presence. He should be able to overpower a one-armed, half-dead man.

As long as Tate didn't draw a weapon or burn him.

"Good morning, Miss Smith," Tate wheezed. "Forgive my appearance." He indicated his lack of vest and jacket, his crooked tie, the limp, unpinned sleeve. "My visit to Frakingham yesterday has rather exhausted me."

"I understand." It was a stupid response, but I could think of none other.

Those eyes studied my face, no doubt noticing my pallor and the shine, so much like his own. "I expect you do. I would not have made the journey if I'd known you were coming here today."

I wouldn't tell him that it was his visit that had finally convinced me to come. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing his tactic had worked.

"Come and sit down, Miss Smith," Myer said, indicating another armchair.

But I didn't get the chance to move. Tate stepped in front of us and grabbed my arm. Heat swelled within me, centering on that spot like a sunbeam. It wasn't as hot as when Jack touched me, but the burning sensation was unpleasant enough that I wanted him to let me go. He did not.

"There's no time for polite conversation." His voice was weak and thready, but no less threatening because of it. "We must go. Now."

I tried to wrench myself free, but he was stronger than he looked. Or perhaps I'd grown weaker. "Go where, Mr. Tate?"

"I have a temporary laboratory set up in…" His tongue darted out, licking dry lips before slithering back inside his mouth. "Never mind where. You have to come with me, Miss Smith."

I bared my teeth and gave an almighty wrench of my arm, dragging myself free. "I'm not going anywhere with you until you explain what it is you plan on doing to me."

"Let's all be calm," Mr. Myer said in that soothing voice of his. "Sit and talk. I'm sure we can come to an arrangement that suits both your needs."

He waited until Tate sat grudgingly then directed me to one of the other chairs. Myer sat too. We formed a triangle in the small parlor, far enough apart that we weren't touching knees, but near enough that I felt uncomfortable. The last time I'd been this close to Tate, he'd tried to abduct me.

The fireplace at my back wasn't lit and the window stood ajar. A fresh breeze rustled the rust-brown brocade curtains and cooled my face. Myer pulled his coat closed at his throat.

"Miss Smith…" Tate rubbed his hand down his trouser leg. It left behind a damp, sweaty smear. "Miss Smith, when can we get started? This matter is urgent as I'm sure you can appreciate. I don't think I have more than a few days left. You perhaps have longer, but not much."

He stated it so matter-of-factly, as if he were reading an item from a newspaper, that it took a moment for his words to sink in. "Days?" I whispered.

He withdrew his handkerchief and dabbed his glistening forehead. "It's difficult to be accurate, but that's my informed guess based on this insufferable heat." He plucked his shirt at his chest. "Some days it feels as if I'm suffocating. Is that how it feels for you?"

I swallowed and nodded. "It's like a fire has been lit inside me and nothing can extinguish it. Nothing."

"Jack Langley…he's all right?"

Myer leaned forward ever so slightly. He hadn't known about Jack's fire starting, only the speed. It would seem that secret of Jack's was out now too.

"He's unaffected," I said. "But of course he was born with the fire inside him. We weren't. We shouldn't have it at all. If it weren't for your mad desire for power, Mr. Tate, neither of us would be in this predicament." Passing judgment was a pointless exercise, but I couldn't help it. Besides, I think I had a right to vent.

"It wasn't a desire to be powerful, Miss Smith." He spat out my name as if it burned his tongue. "What I desired was knowledge. It's a scientist's curse, the same as any explorer who sets off across oceans. We want to chart uncharted lands. We want to know what exists beyond the known. Don't let that pathetic excuse for a man tell you otherwise."

"August Langley?"

"That unfaithful cripple is as useless between the ears as he is between the legs."

Myer cleared his throat and held up his hands. "I say, Mr. Tate, there's no call for—"

"Don't interrupt me!" Sparks burst from Tate's fingertips onto the carpet at Myer's feet.

"Bloody hell!" Myer shot out of his chair and danced on the smoldering patches of carpet. Fortunately the pile was thick and woolen. The damage was minimal, and the small scorch marks blended in with the busy pattern.

Myer did not return to his chair immediately. He stood in the center of our triangle and blinked at Tate, then at me, as if he were seeing us both for the first time. Now that he'd gotten over his initial shock, he seemed more curious than anything.

Tate wiped away the spittle in the corner of his mouth. "You may sit down now, Myer. It's quite safe."

Myer sat. "That was…illuminating. Miss Smith, you didn't seem frightened in the least by his outburst."

"I can't be burned," I said. "Besides, I had warning. His fingers turned red. The signs are obvious when you know what to look for."

"I'll keep that in mind for next time."

Tate snickered. "There won't be a next time, unless you make me angry. I would advise against it. That…" He waved a hand at the carpet. "…was nothing."

I shelved my next question based on his advice, but it refused to be forgotten entirely: why did Tate refer to Langley as unfaithful? It seemed an odd choice of words for laboratory partners, particularly when coupled with the crude reference to his manhood.

Did it have something to do with Tate's preference for the love of men over women? Had he been in love with Langley?

Had Langley once been in love with him?

Oh. Oh my. It suddenly made sense. Langley's refusal to tell anyone why they'd fallen out, the fierce resentment between them. I also recalled Tate having very few nice things to say about Bollard, the man who was Langley's valet, assistant, friend…and lover? The lover who'd replaced him perhaps?

It was all so extraordinary that I momentarily forgot why I was visiting Tate and merely stared at him. He must have said something because he prompted me with, "Well?"

"Er, pardon," I said. "I missed your question."

He rummaged through his damp, stringy white hair and huffed out a loud breath. "May we go now?"

"Not yet. First, tell me in detail what it is you wish to do to me."

"Have you learned nothing of the scientific process from Langley?"

"Mr. Tate, were you always this rude, or is it a new habit?'

"Christ," he muttered. "Save me from insufferable idiots."

"I'd rather be an idiot than mad."

"Mr. Tate, Miss Smith," Myer cut in. "Might I suggest that these barbs aren't helping to speed matters."

Tate blew out another breath and settled his limp gaze on me. "I'm going to inject you with various remedies I've prepared and study the results."

"These injections…could they kill me?"

He seemed to weigh up his next words carefully. "I hope not."

I dug my fingernails into the soft leather arms of the chair. His casual disregard for my life turned up the heat inside me. "Let's be clear. Do you have any idea how your remedies will perform? Any idea at all?"

"I've tested them on my own blood samples and have had some promising results, but that's not enough. I need a human study, and you, my dear, are it."

I pressed my lips together. They were cracked and rough. "Can you guarantee the remedies at least won't make me worse?"

Again the weighty silence before he answered. "I can."

Only a fool would have believed him. "Mr. Tate, have you considered sharing your findings with Lang—"

"Don't!" He slammed his hand down on the armchair. A single spark shot violently from his index finger and landed on my skirt. I batted it out before it could catch alight. "I won't go near that man."

"You're dying, and you won't even consider working with him? Is your jealousy that strong?"

He lifted his chin. "I'd rather die with my pride, Miss Smith. It's all I have left. That man destroyed everything else."

"Not your life. The compound you injected into yourself from Jack is doing that." I shook my head. "I don't understand you, Mr. Tate. You would choose death over a rivalry? A broken heart?"

"Sometimes you shouldn't give in to base-born bullies. It makes them stronger. That remedy that we sold for a vault full of money? It was mine." He stabbed a finger into his chest. "I was the one who discovered it. I put in countless hours of effort while he was dallying behind my back with that lumbering imbecile. But because of our agreement, August was able to sell it and keep most of the proceeds. I received a pittance. So yes, I would rather die than give him this remedy too. I won't let him take the glory a second time."

His claim was in contrast to Langley's own statements on the matter, but I wasn't about to argue. "What glory? It's not a commercially viable drug. You and I are the only market for it."

He had edged forward in his chair, and now he sat back, slumping a little, as if he could no longer hold himself upright. He stared into the fireplace and rubbed his palm along the chair arm.

Myer uncrossed his legs and re-crossed them. He didn't meet my gaze either.

"I understand now," I whispered. "The Society wants it, don't they?" I didn't know whether I was speaking to Myer or Tate or both. But I did know that I was right. The way they avoided looking at me was enough of a clue. "You're going to use the compound from Jack to give ordinary people this…this
curse
of a disease, then provide them with the antidote when it begins to consume them years later."

It was so diabolical that I almost couldn't fathom it. I should have run out of the room, but my limbs felt too heavy to move. I would have tripped over my leaden feet.

"Now, Miss Smith," Myer said, soothing. "Calm yourself. There's no call for such frenzied words." He did look me in the eyes then, and I felt the familiar dizzying sensation, the feeling of having my thoughts smothered by a thick blanket.

He was hypnotizing me.

CHAPTER 12

I tore my gaze away from Myer before he completely took over my mind. It wasn't an easy thing to do. His voice was like a beautiful song I wanted to listen to again and again. It was comforting, and made me feel special, desired, like I mattered. A very heady, powerful thing indeed. 

I forced myself to stand, but it took a great deal of will and physical effort. I also kept my eyes lowered. "Do not hypnotize me, Mr. Myer." I pulled out a small knife from my reticule. I'd stolen it from the kitchen before I left.