Playing With Fire (12 page)

He watched me, a troubled frown on his brow, an unspoken question on his lips:
Are you all right?

I nodded, although I felt quite faint and short of breath. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck into the collar of my dress.

"Miss Smith?" Miss Moreau asked, looking up from her text. "You look quite flushed."

"It's warm in here," I said. "I feel the heat, you see."

Her gaze slid to Jack. "Yes. I see." She smiled knowingly, getting the wrong end of the stick. Well, perhaps not entirely, but my feelings for Jack didn't fully explain why I felt hot.

Part of me wanted to tell her everything, but I held back. She was once more engrossed in her research, and it wasn't a good time. The situation with the demon was urgent and needed their full attention.

They read for a long time, and I rejoined them once I'd cooled, although I shared the book with Miss Moreau, not Jack. We gave up at dinnertime. No one had found an answer. According to every text, being able to see a demon before it took on its form should be impossible.

I could see that it worried Jack, but he tried not to show it. The dinner conversation remained light, as if we were all avoiding talking or thinking about demons, ghosts and other supernatural phenomena. Mrs. Beaufort even invited us to a ball to be held at their home in honor of Miss Moreau. That put Sylvia in a happy mood, one that had her discussing ball gowns for the remainder of the evening.

The Beaufort party was going to leave early in the morning so retired to their rooms after dinner. Samuel retreated to his room too to work, while Jack and I decided to visit Langley. Sylvia followed and I suspected she was afraid to be left on her own. I couldn't blame her. I was more afraid now that I knew what we were dealing with.

Jack told his uncle everything we'd learned. Langley listened. By the time Jack had finished, his uncle's face had turned pale, the grooves around his mouth tightened.

Langley rubbed his eyes. He looked exhausted. "This is very worrying." He did not look at us as he spoke, but at Bollard.

The servant stood to one side of the door, his hands at his sides. He blinked twice in what I guessed was agreement.

"And this Culvert fellow didn't know why you could see it when no one else could?" Langley asked Jack. "He had no ideas whatsoever?"

"None."

"Then what's the good of him? He shouldn't call himself an expert."

"That's not very fair," I said. "It's not like he's dealing with chemicals and observable reactions." I waved at the scientific paraphernalia crowding his desk. That side of his room was quite a mess with books, papers, tools and storage containers piled on top of each other. Much of his equipment had been destroyed in the fire that ravaged his rooms, but Bollard had salvaged some, and it was all now kept in the same room in which Langley slept.

He glared at me. "There are probably others in the Society For Supernatural Activity who are as knowledgeable as him. I should have asked one of them."

"Why didn't you?"

"I don't have any connections in the Society anymore. I thought Mrs. Beaufort might. It would seem she doesn't."

Sylvia made a sound of protest in the back of her throat. "If you'd spoken more than a few words to her earlier, Uncle, perhaps you would know for sure."

Langley raised both brows at her in surprise. Indeed, I found her little outburst surprising too. "I'm too busy," he said.

"But it's important."

"Let's see what Mr. Culvert can uncover first before we judge him," I said quickly to diffuse the tension between Langley and his niece. "He's going to return to London and consult more texts."

Sylvia pouted. "In the meantime that thing prowls through our woods, stopping us from going anywhere."

"Actually, there are two reasons we can't go anywhere right now," Jack said. "Have you forgotten about Tate?"

"Of course I haven't, but he is after Hannah, not us."

"How comforting," I said tartly.

"I'm sorry, Hannah, really I am." Her face softened and her eyes grew troubled. "I'm just so frustrated. I hate being confined to the house."

"You rarely venture out at this time of year anyway, Syl," Jack said. "Find yourself a nice book and curl up in front of the fire. Have Tommy bring you hot chocolate to soothe your nerves."

She sniffed. "You do say the most ridiculous things."

"If you have all quite finished," Langley interrupted, "would you mind leaving. Bollard and I have work to do."

Jack and I bade him goodnight, but Sylvia did not. She appeared as if she was warring with herself over something. She chewed her lip until Langley eventually put her out of her misery.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's just that…you've hardly seen our guests all day."

"And?"

"And Mr. Beaufort is the heir to a viscountcy. He's an important man, Uncle."

"You think I should bow down to my so-called betters, Sylvia? Do
you
think him better than me? Than you or Jack or Hannah?"

"No," she muttered. "Of course not."

He grunted and wheeled himself away from us. "Don't ever let them make you feel inferior. You're not."

"They don't. They're lovely people. If you joined us today, you'd know that."

"I told you, I've been busy in here. I have a lot to do, Sylvia, and little time in which to do it. My work is important."

I could see that she wanted to say more, but in the end, she sighed heavily. "Yes, Uncle. But will you join us tomorrow morning for breakfast? Please. You're the host. You need to be there."

"No, Sylvia,
you
are the hostess. You're old enough now. Jack too." He sounded like an old man too tired to argue anymore. I had to admit, I liked how he was putting more responsibility on her shoulders. Jack was already managing the estate, but she did little more than decorate the house with her pictures and embroidery. She was in a good position as lady of the house. She ought to start taking advantage of it.

"But this is important to me!" She balled her hands into fists and stamped her foot. I'd never seen her speak to her uncle so hotly. "Can't you see that? If I am ever to meet eligible gentlemen, I must associate with respectable people like the Beauforts. Do you want me to remain here and only speak with those who come and go from Freak House? Have you seen how few visitors we get? Probably not because you're always in here with your nose in a beaker and nobody but the automaton for company. Let me tell you, it's not many. Be warned, Uncle, I may end up with a man who is terribly inappropriate."

I glanced at Bollard, but he appeared unmoved at being called an automaton. Langley, however, wheeled himself over to her. "I didn't expect this from you, Sylvia," he said, his voice ice-cold. Did he mean he expected it from me, or Jack? "Do not speak to me again until you've calmed down and found some perspective."

She stormed out the door. I followed, eager to get away. Jack remained behind, which I thought was very brave of him. Sylvia ran off to her room, so I went to my own.

I changed into my nightgown and lay down on the bed with a book. I must have fallen asleep because I awoke to the sound of my door knob turning. It was a clunky old knob like many of the things in this part of the house that hadn't been used until recently, and it creaked loudly.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. "Jack, is that you? I thought you might want to talk."

The shadowy figure that entered was larger than Jack and moved faster. I recognized the intruder the moment before his big hand clamped over my mouth, stifling my scream.

Ham.

CHAPTER 7

Ham's massive hand clamped tight over my nose and mouth, his other arm wrapped around my waist, squeezing, cutting me in half. A mere flex of muscle would complete the task. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't make a sound.

Didn't he know Tate wanted me alive? Or was he too stupid to realize he was crushing the life out of me?

I struggled, but my flailing arms were quickly pinned to my sides. I bit his palm and nothing but my own bile filled my mouth. He didn't remove his hand. He didn't grunt or hiss in pain.

He dragged me to the door. I struggled all the way, but he simply picked me up, his arm tight around my lower ribs. Tears of pain and panic blinded me, and no matter how much I willed them to stop, they would not.

Think, Hannah.

Fire. I needed the fire.

Nothing happened. I was much too scared to be angry.

Think, think.

I couldn't scream, couldn't hit out with my fists, but my legs were free. He used his foot to flip the door open. I kicked it hard, and it crashed back against the wall. The
bang
reverberated around the room.

Then Jack was there. He seemed to come from nowhere out of the darkness. His fist slammed into Ham's face, stunning the brute long enough for me to wriggle free. I slipped away, and Jack landed more quick punches before Ham recovered.

I'd seen them fight before, but I'd forgotten how strong Ham was. Jack might be fast, but Ham took each blow without pause or care. Most of his return punches missed, but the first to land on Jack's jaw sent him reeling back out to the corridor. He slammed into the wall, and his eyes rolled up into his head.

"Jack!" I screamed.

Doors opened along the corridor. Samuel, Beaufort, and Culvert took in the sight and came to help, although Mr. Culvert was slow as he felt his way along the wall without his glasses. Samuel and Mr. Beaufort grabbed Ham's arms, but he batted them away and went after Jack.

Jack had recovered enough to smash his fist into Ham's nose. Blood sprayed and the oaf fell. Beaufort and Samuel once again took hold of Ham's arms and tried to pin them behind his back, but it was no use. He was too strong. Culvert helped and Tommy too. I hadn't seen him arrive, but the extra man made a difference.

Not enough. Ham wrenched and twisted free. He ran back into my room and headed for the window. Surely he wasn't going to climb out. We were two floors above the ground!

"Stop him!" Jack shouted.

All the men went after him. Jack got to the window first, but Ham had already leapt through it.
Leapt
, not stepped out. He could not have survived the fall.

I closed my eyes. Sick horror flooded me.

"What happened?" Sylvia asked, rushing to my side. She took me in her arms as Miss Moreau and Mrs. Beaufort came up too, each clutching candlesticks. The dancing flames offered enough light to illuminate the room and their shocked faces.

"Bloody hell," Tommy said, looking out the window.

"How did he survive that?" Samuel asked.

Survived? I took Sylvia's hand and joined the men at my window. A shadowy figure ran off down the drive. "Good lord," I muttered.

Jack closed the window, but didn't turn around. He leaned against the sill, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed.

"He's not even limping," I said.

"The fall should have killed him," Sylvia said.

"Yes, it should." Mr. Beaufort adjusted his wife's shawl over her shoulders and put an arm around her to draw her close. She looked up into his eyes, and it was as if they spoke without words. Their love and understanding for one another was truly deep.

"Are you all right, Hannah?" Jack asked. "Did he hurt you?"

"I'm all right." My ribs were a little sore, but I didn't tell him that. He'd only worry.

"Tell us what happened," Samuel said to me. "Did he come in through the window?"

"The door. He gave me no time to scream. He was too fast."

"Not as fast as Mr. Langley," Mr. Culvert said, squinting at Jack. "His movements were a blur."

"That's because you left your glasses in your room," Mrs. Beaufort said. "You know you can't see well without them."

"I could make out enough to know that his speed was incredible."

"He was very fast," Samuel agreed. "I've never seen anyone as fast as that."

Jack merely shrugged. "It's the way I've always been."

Mr. Culvert kept frowning and staring at Jack, but he said nothing more.

"Langley may be fast, but he wasn't as strong as that fellow," Mr. Beaufort said with a nod at the window. "I still can't believe he survived."

"He held off five of us." Mr. Culvert touched the bridge of his nose as if he were pushing up glasses that weren't there. "That's quite a remarkable feat."

"It should never have gotten so far." Sylvia glared at Jack. It took me a moment to realize she was referring to him using his fire. Something he'd said he'd never use on another human being. She knew that, and I thought her accusation a little unfair.

"Are
you
all right, Mr. Langley?" Miss Moreau asked. "He hit you."

A bruise had begun to form under Jack's right eye, but he assured us it didn't hurt. He'd been hit in the stomach and ribs several times too, and must be in pain. "A few bruises are nothing compared to what…" He swallowed hard and glanced at me then quickly away. He swore under his breath.

"Who was he?" Mrs. Beaufort asked. "You all seem to know."

"His name is Ham," I said.

"Is he called that because of the size of his fists?"

"It's short for Hamley. He works for a man named Reuben Tate whom we helped send to prison a few weeks ago. They both escaped and are now coming after us." Nobody corrected me, and the Beaufort party wouldn't have known that Ham had only come for me.

"How awful!" Mrs. Beaufort said.

I heard Langley's wheelchair rolling down the corridor before he and Bollard appeared at the door. Both wore nightcaps, and Langley's smoking jacket appeared to have been hastily thrown on. "What happened?" he said. "We heard shouts and crashes."

"Ham was here," Jack said.

Langley stared at me, the candelabra he held slipping to one side. Sylvia gently prized it off him. He seemed not to be aware of her. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed heavily.

"Hannah's all right," he said, as if someone had asked him how I was. He cleared his throat and stopped staring. "Good. Very good. Back to bed, everyone. It's late."