Playing With Fire (15 page)

"It's important to me!"

She swept her hands in an arc to encompass the entrance hall where we stood with its high ceiling, grand staircase and arched doors leading to a maze of corridors and rooms. "You said it yourself. You cannot risk losing all this by asking questions about people who have had very little bearing on your life."

I failed to see how parents could have very little bearing on one's life since they were the ones who'd given that life, but I didn't say anything. Jack was clearly frustrated, and she was obviously disinterested. I couldn't see them ever agreeing.

"At least we now know what we must contend with in Ham," I said, changing the subject.

Samuel seemed relieved to have the subject changed too. He leapt on the new topic eagerly. "It's certainly better than not knowing."

Sylvia shuddered. "How can we defeat a demon?
Two
demons! We have no special sword, incantation or amulet. Not even the so-called expert could help us."

"Be fair, Syl," Jack said. "Culvert did say the incantation depends on how Ham came to be here. We know that Tate probably summoned Ham, but as for the other demon, we must find out how it arrived in our realm. I'll investigate the trench."

"Alone?" Tommy asked. He'd been standing quietly to one side, listening to our conversation but not interfering.

Jack headed for the door. "You're not coming."

"But—"

"No! We've been through this." He opened the door and was gone before any of us could urge him to be careful.

Tommy stormed off in the direction of the service area, clearly irritated at being left out.

Sylvia watched him go, sighed, then turned to me. "What shall we do today, Hannah? Would you like to embroider together?"

I'd rather spend the morning facing down a demon. "I think I'll rummage through the attic some more."

"Good idea," Samuel said. "I'll meet you up there." He headed up the stairs, taking two at a time.

Sylvia watched him go and sniffed. "Why bother? We already had a thorough look and found nothing. Besides, Mr. Culvert didn't say anything about understanding the spirits of the children, only that we must learn how the demon came to be here."

"Nevertheless, it makes me feel useful. I cannot sit and do nothing."

"Embroidery is not nothing, Hannah. Nor is painting or sketching or— I've just had a thought! Why don't we sketch Miss Moreau's and Mrs. Beaufort's outfits? We can give them to our dressmaker when next we're in London."

"You're such a wonderful artist, Sylvia, why don't you do it? I couldn't possibly do justice to the designs with my lack of skill."

"You have a point."

I didn't know whether to laugh that my flattery had worked or be offended.

We went our separate ways, but instead of heading to the attic, I instead went in search of Tommy. I found him in the small room off the kitchen where the silver was kept in locked cabinets. The doors of one cabinet were flung open, displaying the impressive array of silver plate, candlesticks, and tea services. Tommy sat at the square central table wearing white gloves. He was rubbing a spot on a teapot with a cloth over and over as if it wouldn't come clean. It looked shiny enough to me.

"Careful," I said, "you'll make Aladdin's genie appear, and we have quite enough supernatural creatures on our hands thank you."

He paused and inspected his handiwork. "Wasn't the genie confined to a lamp?" With a sigh, he put the teapot down and picked up a platter. "Is there something I can do for you, Miss Smith?"

"Tommy, please call me Hannah when we're alone together."

"No."

"You're as stubborn as he is, you know."

"Which Mr. Langley are you referring to?" He dabbed some of the silver cleaner onto his rag and smeared it over the platter.

"The description fits them both, but I was referring to Jack."

Tommy's rubbing got harder. "He shouldn't have gone out by himself."

I sat on the chair beside him and put my hand over his, stilling it. He looked at me. "Tommy, you can't go with him this time. You're injured and he was right. He can't use the fire if you're in trouble. He can't risk hurting you."

"Doesn't make it any easier to sit here doing nothing while he's out there." He snatched his hand away and threw the rag on the table.

"I know."

He looked at me and frowned. "Sorry, ma'am, it can't be easy for you either."

"Like you, I've decided to keep busy while he's off investigating the trench." I picked up the rag and the platter and began polishing.

He chuckled. "You must want to ask me something."

"Is it that obvious?"

He took back the rag and the platter. "You need gloves, and you're doing it wrong anyway."

"There's a technique to this?"

"Of course. Do you want me to show you, or do you want to ask me what you came down here to ask?"

"You're much too perceptive, Tommy."

"We footmen have to be." He winked. "We have to know what our masters and mistresses want before they do themselves."

"Is that so? In that case, what have I come to ask you?"

"Something about Jack."

I sighed. "I really am obvious, aren't I?"

"Only where Jack's concerned. Go on then. Out with it."

"I want to know why he doesn't like to use his fireballs on people, not even to save himself."

"Ah." He returned to polishing the platter, circling the rag around the rim slowly, thoughtfully. "Why don't you ask him?"

"Because I suspect he won't tell me."

"Then it's not my place to tell you either."

I sighed. "As frustrating as it is, I admire your loyalty."

He went to pick up the bottle of silver polish, but I snatched it away. "Miss Smith, pass me the bottle please."

I held it behind my back.

He gave me a lopsided grin. "I won't tell you, no matter how many times you ask or what games you play."

"I have a different question then."

"You ask a lot of questions."

"So I've been told."

He tapped his gloved fingers on the table. "You'd better go on before Mrs. Moore comes in. She doesn't like me talking to the ladies of the house."

"Tell me about Miss Charity Evans."

His smile started slowly at one corner of his mouth and spread to the other. "Ah. Her."

"Who is she and how does Jack know her? And this time, don't tell me it's not my place to ask."

"You've got naught to worry about, Miss Smith."

"Who said I was worried?"

I handed him the bottle of polish, but he set it and the rag down on the table. "Very well, you want to know about Miss Charity, I'll tell you. She grew up with us in London."

"She was an orphan?"

He nodded. "She joined us when we were aged about nine. Jack found her shivering on a street corner one winter. She wore no shoes, no coat, and no one was buying the matches she was trying to sell. She was half dead. He took her back to our place—"

"
Your
place?"

"We lived in an abandoned house. It was an old building, almost falling down around us. Some of the beams had broken and rotted away, floorboards and entire walls were missing. I'm sure it was held together with nothing more than cobwebs and dust. But it had a roof and that's all we needed with Jack's fire to keep us warm. He brought Charity home and we fed her as best we could with what food we could find. Like all the others, she never left."

"Was she a…particular friend of Jack's?"

He gave me that grin again. I was finding it quite irritating. "Of sorts."

"What does that mean?"

He chuckled. I didn't know what he found so amusing. He probably suspected I was jealous. He was right.

His smile faded as the gaze in his eyes grew distant. "They was fond of each uvver," he said, slipping into the London accent I'd heard him use only with Jack. "She were a match for Jackie, though. They both had terrible tempers back in them days and would rail at each uvver over nuffing. What I thought was nuffing, anyways. After the flare ups, they wouldn't talk for days sometimes, but then somefing would happen and they'd all be friendly again, if you know what I mean."

Unfortunately, I did. "At fourteen? Isn't that a little young to be…getting friendly?"

My question seemed to shock him out of his reverie and his accent. "I, uh, suppose so." He blushed fiercely. "But you've got to remember that we lived differently. Our world had few rules. What wasn't acceptable for the rest of society was perfectly all right to us. There were no manners or etiquette, and no adults to teach us proper behavior." He grew redder and redder and eventually returned to polishing the platter, too embarrassed to look at me.

"Did Charity fall pregnant?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No, thank God. It would have been a terrible place to bring up a baby, and she was too young to be a parent. Jack too."

I blew out a breath. That was something at least. "So how did they part? Did it happen when Jack came here with Langley?"

"They parted a month or so before."

"Why?"

"Don't know if I should say, ma'am."

"Tommy!"

"It's not my place, Miss Smith."

I sighed. "Does it have anything to do with Jack's fire starting?"

His polishing slowed, and I got the feeling I'd guessed right. "You'd better ask him that."

"I will. He mentioned that he'd seen her just a year ago, and the orphans who came here recently mentioned her too. I got the impression she'd been helping them."

"She was, along with Patrick before Tate killed him. We saw her from time to time when we went to London to check on them, but she left there a while ago."

Patrick had been killed by Tate to keep him silent. Unfortunately he'd been the only adult taking care of the group of orphans, using Langley's money to support them. With him gone, and the elusive Miss Charity no longer around, the school under Mrs. Beaufort's patronage had taken them in.

"Now she's turned up at Mrs. Beaufort's school," I said. "I find that quite a coincidence."

Tommy shrugged. "Jack doesn't think she'd make a good teacher, but I do. She understands orphans and children. Mind you, she might have trouble staying in the one place long enough."

"She travels a lot?"

"She goes from place to place."

"Is that why she and Jack parted company?"

Another shrug. More evasion.

"I'll ask Jack that too, shall I?"

He stopped polishing altogether. "Be careful, Miss Smith. Don't open up old wounds. Jack and Charity were…well, they were hot and cold. When they were happy, they were very happy, but they could make each other miserable too, and those around them."

Yes, but were they
finished
?

It's the question that had eaten at me ever since Mrs. Beaufort had mentioned Charity's name. The look that had come over Jack had been one of fondness. Clearly he remembered the good times and not the bad. Perhaps it had never been as awful as Tommy remembered. Perhaps he'd been jealous of his friend's affections for the girl and that had colored his perception.

Either way, the gnawing in my gut would not go away.

"Tommy," I said, pulling my chair closer. I pressed my hand over the rag to stop the polishing. He looked at me, one eyebrow raised. "Tommy, does Jack's reluctance to use fireballs on people have anything to do with Charity?"

His lips parted and a soft huff of breath escaped. "Miss Smith—"

"Hannah, there you— Tommy!"

I spun round to see Sylvia standing in the doorway, glaring at me. Or not at me, but at the rag that both Tommy and I held, our fingers almost touching. I let it go.

Tommy bent over the platter and put all his concentration into polishing the silver. He didn't look at either of us.

"Hello, Sylvia," I said. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"I came to ask Tommy something about Jack."

She narrowed her eyes. "Did you come to help polish the silver too?"

"I—"

"Tommy," she said sharply.

He stopped polishing and stood to attention, but kept his head bowed. Poor Tommy. He didn't deserve to be shamed in front of me. Sylvia was being quite horrible to him.

"Yes, Miss Langley? What can I do for you?" he asked.

"You can bring up some tea."

"Yes, ma'am. Right after I lock the silver away."

"Leave the silver. Who's going to steal it?"

"But—"

"Tommy. My tea."

He gave a curt bow and headed into the adjoining kitchen.

Sylvia spun on her heel and walked off. I ran after her and hooked my arm through hers. She tried to unlink herself, but I held on tight. "Why didn't you simply ring for him? Was it necessary to come all the way down just to ask for tea?"

"Clearly it was." She held her nose so high in the air, she was in danger of giving herself a sore neck. "If I hadn't, who knows what might have happened?"

"Sylvia! You don't believe that, do you?"

She paused at the bottom of the stairs and sighed. "I don't know what to think."

"Then let me tell you. Don't think
that
because you'd be quite wrong. I was asking Tommy about Charity, and how she and Jack knew one another. There is nothing untoward happening between Tommy and me."

The lines around her mouth and forehead smoothed. "I only worry about you, Hannah. I know you don't understand all the intricacies of a gentlewoman's relationship with the staff, and as your friend, it falls to me to teach you."

"You're too kind," I said, crisp.

"I am trying, Hannah. Really I am." We slowly ascended the stairs together, our arms still linked. "You may not realize how terrible it would be for you and a footman to have relations, but believe me it would be the single worst mistake of your life."

"That bad?"

"Oh yes. Uncle would throw you out, then he'd fire Tommy without a reference. He'd never work in service again."

When she put it like that, it would indeed be a terrible thing. Tommy wasn't qualified for any other job. He had no experience other than as a footman.

"I believe you when you say you have no interest in Tommy in that way," she said, "but only because I've seen how you look at Jack."