Playing With Fire (8 page)

"I doubt we'll ever know.”

"Perhaps I should talk to him about it."

I snorted softly. "I wish you luck with that endeavor. You're going to need it."

He sat on the settee beside me, his long legs stretched out. "Whatever his reason for wanting you gone, he has no right to speak to you in such a manner. I won't stand for it."

"Don't take it personally. Langley seems to speak to everyone as if they're beneath him. Sometimes I think he puts Bollard above us all."

That brought a smile to his lips. "That's what I like about you. You're so forgiving, even of someone like August."

"Why do you call him August and not Uncle like Sylvia? I know I've asked you before, but you never gave me a satisfactory answer."

He shrugged. "I was fourteen when I came here. That's a lot of years in which I thought I had no family. It took a long time to become used to being part of a real one. I suppose I just can't think of him as my uncle. I'm still not certain he even is my relation at all anyway."

"You may have thought you had no family, but you had Tommy and the other boys. He's as devoted to you as any brother. That's family, Jack. Perhaps even a truer one than whatever it is August Langley has created here."

He stretched his arm across the back of the settee behind me. "You may be right. I'm finding that you often are."

I felt the familiar rush of warmth through my body, the sort that wasn't brought on by the fire within but by Jack's gentle words and intense gazes. It was happening quite often lately.

"Are
you
all right?" I asked him. "The demon didn't hurt you, did it?"

"I'm fine, but I don't mind telling you that I'm worried. How are we going to get rid of a demon? I feel utterly useless. It's not a state I'm familiar with."

"Langley sent a letter back with the policemen to post to Mr. and Mrs. Beaufort. With any luck they'll respond quickly. Until then, we must avoid it and warn the villagers to stay away from here. Not that they make frequent visits, but still."

"You're right again," he said. "There are deer and other animals in the woods to satisfy its hunger for a while. Hopefully it won't venture closer to the village or the house."

I certainly hoped he was right.

***

With the house tightly locked up and no one allowed to leave, it came as an enormous surprise when someone knocked on the door early the next morning. Maud the housemaid opened it since Tommy was incapacitated. She brought the visitor into the parlor where Jack, Samuel, Sylvia and I sat talking.

"Detective Inspector Weeks from the Harborough Constabulary to see you, Mr. Langley," she announced then retreated.

The thin, sharp-cheeked inspector held his hat in his hands and looked decidedly uncomfortable in our presence. Or perhaps he was uncomfortable being inside Freak House. He did glance about rather nervously as if he expected ghouls to emerge from the very walls.

"Is this about the wild dog, Inspector?" Jack prompted. "I told you everything I knew."

"Has it hurt someone else?" Sylvia asked, lowering her embroidery hoop to her lap.

"No, ma'am, and I'm not here about the wild dog, sir. I called off the search in actual fact. My men found no sign of it the day of the attack, so I reckon it must have left the area. Besides, I don't have the men available to poke around the woods no more."

He was a fool to think it was gone, but none of us gainsaid him. His men were much safer away from the woods altogether. We'd just been discussing how to broach the subject with the police before the inspector arrived. It was most fortunate that he was ahead of us for once. He wasn't known for his thoroughness, something Jack had discovered the long and hard way a few weeks earlier when he'd tried to get Weeks to accompany him to London to confront Tate. Weeks had refused.

"Then how may we help you?" Jack asked.

Weeks patted his coat pockets. When he didn't find what he was looking for, he set his hat down on a table and used both hands. "It's here somewhere," he said. "I know it is."

"What is?" Sylvia asked.

"The telegram."

"You have a telegram for me?" Jack said.

"No, sir."

When he continued to pat and not elaborate, Jack persisted. "For August Langley then?"

At the mention of the name, Weeks paused in his search and glanced nervously at the door. "Is he here, your uncle?"

"He's working. So the telegram
is
for him?"

"Hmmm, what?" The inspector returned his attention to an inside pocket of his coat. "No, it's not for Mr. August Langley. It's just that I haven't seen him since he moved in except for that one time when his papers were stolen some weeks ago. The lads at the station will want to know if I spoke to him again. Not to mention Mrs. Weeks. She likes to know what goes on in the village and up here at the big house. Lucky she married the local inspector, eh?"

"My uncle is not a sideshow act, Inspector Weeks," Sylvia snapped. "Now if you don't mind, either hand over the telegram, or tell us its contents. That's if you can remember what it said."

Her scolding was quite lost on the policeman as he continued to burrow deep into his pockets a second time.

"It can't be for me," Samuel said. "Nobody even knows I'm here."

That was news to me. I was about to ask him why he'd never informed his family, but Inspector Weeks pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and waved it triumphantly.

"Here it is! It was addressed to me at the station and asks me to come to Frakingham immediately and give you the news."

"What news?" Sylvia asked at the same time that Jack said, "Who is it from?"

Weeks held the paper close to his face and squinted hard. "It's from Scotland Yard."

Jack held out his hand for the telegram, and Weeks handed it over. Jack read it and promptly sat down.

"What does it say?" I asked, leaning forward.

Sylvia shifted to face him and the hoop slid off her lap to the floor. "Jack, you're scaring us," she said.

He cleared his throat. "It says Reuben Tate has escaped from Newgate Prison."

CHAPTER 5

I felt everyone's gaze upon me. They didn't need to voice their anxiety and concern because it was there in their eyes and the deep grooves of worry across their foreheads. It echoed within me. Tate had escaped…and he would come after me, the one person he thought could help him find a cure for his fire starting.

It was only a matter of time.

Inspector Weeks did not look my way like the others. He was busy talking and folding the paper on which the telegram was written. "I'm sure they'll catch him soon," he said. "They're very good at Scotland Yard. Very good. Matter of fact, they've probably already got him and locked him up again. No need to worry yourselves just yet, but it's better to be forewarned, I always say."

"Yes," I said, my voice sounding distant and small. I stared down at my hands in my lap because I could no longer stand seeing everyone's faces. My knuckles were white. I unclenched my fists and flattened my palms over my skirt. My hands shook.

"Thank you, Inspector," Samuel said. He seemed the only one of us capable of saying anything useful. Sylvia appeared to be having difficulty breathing, and Jack was lost in thought. He stared at the floor as if he could find Tate's whereabouts written there.

"I'll send word if there's any more news," Weeks said. He put the telegram back in his pocket and reached for his hat. "Good day, ladies, gentlemen."

"I'll see you out," Samuel said.

"Wait!" Jack moved to stand between Weeks and the door.

Weeks, caught by surprise, stepped back, almost bumping into Samuel. "Yes, Mr. Langley?"

"Hannah's life may be in danger from Tate. You need to send men to protect her."

"I'm sure he won't come here, Mr. Langley. If he hasn't been caught already, then he'll most likely be making his away to the nearest port and a ship to America. That's what I'd do if I were him."

"You're not him," Jack ground out through a rigid jaw. "And I'm telling you that he
will
come looking for Hannah. She needs protecting."

"Now listen here, Mr. Langley. I don't have men to spare to laze about up here dining on fancy dinners and sipping tea all afternoon. We're very busy in Harborough. If there was an immediate threat to Miss Smith's safety, then I wouldn't hesitate. Like I said, Mr. Tate is probably already out of the country."

"Thank you, Inspector," I said quickly, eyeing Jack's fingers. He looked like he was about to set off sparks in Weeks's direction. "You're right, there's no need to worry yet."

Weeks frowned. "Why are you only concerned for Miss Smith's safety?" he asked Jack, oblivious to the fire he was stoking. "You were all going to give evidence, weren't you? I'd have thought he'd come for all of you, not just her." We'd apprised Weeks of the situation upon our return from London after Tate's arrest. It seemed he'd listened after all.

Sylvia gave a little cry of distress. Samuel cleared his throat. "If he wasn't on his way to America by now you mean," he said.

"Right you are, sir." Weeks slapped his hat on his head. "It's Mr. Gladstone, isn't it? I heard there was another gentleman residing up here." He gave Samuel a thorough once-over as if he were trying to fathom why someone would voluntarily live at Freak House.

Samuel raised his eyebrows. "Good day, Inspector."

Jack stepped aside and Weeks cleared his throat. "Right. Yes. Good day to you all."

Samuel walked him out, and Jack watched him go. After a moment, he strode up to the fireplace and shot a small fireball into the grate. The flames leapt and danced wildly before settling down again.

"Feel better?" I said, trying to sound light.

"I can't believe this," he growled. "Incompetent fools."

"Don't be too harsh. I'm sure Tate used his fire to get himself out."

"I wouldn't be so certain. Could you have become angry enough to start a fire if you were in a filthy prison cell, waiting for your life to end?"

Like me, Tate needed to be angry to summon the fire. We couldn't produce sparks at will like Jack. "I suppose you're right," I said, "but I'm not Reuben Tate. It's possible he found something to fuel his temper. He struck me as a rather volatile man."

"That is quite the understatement," Sylvia muttered.

Jack shook his head and headed for the door. "I'm not so sure."

"Where are you going?"

"Into the village to send a telegram to Scotland Yard. I want to know more about how he escaped and what they're doing to find him. Besides, it's too dangerous for Weeks to travel alone back to Harborough. The man's a fool, but I don't want his blood on my hands. I also want to press home the need for the villagers to be careful until further notice."

I'd not thought it possible, but I'd forgotten about the demon. "You be careful too, Jack."

"I will. I'll take my knife just in case. I don't know if it'll stop it entirely, but I don't want to use the fire unless absolutely necessary."

He left just as Bollard wheeled Langley in, not giving Sylvia or me a moment to discuss what had happened.

"I saw that inspector arrive," Langley said.

Sylvia ran to her uncle and gave him an awkward embrace. "Oh, Uncle, it's awful! Tate has escaped."

Langley's face froze. His nostrils flared. Even Bollard's eyes widened and turned on me. His expression—any expression—was so unexpected that I shrank back into the cushioned seat of the settee.

"It's terrible," Sylvia said, holding onto her uncle's hand. Langley seemed to not want to let her go, which wasn't at all like him. Signs of affection between himself and his niece and nephew were rare.

"Where is Jack going? Bollard, fetch him. He needs to stay here to protect Hannah."

Yesterday he'd wanted me to leave the house as soon as I was in control of my fire. Today he seemed distressed that any harm would come to me. Trying to understand him was impossible.

Of course, his sudden change may have nothing to do with wanting me to be safe and everything to do with not wanting Reuben Tate to get hold of the one thing that could lead him to a cure—me. There was a history between them, and I had no doubt they were rivals in their work. It was possible that I'd become a pawn in that rivalry.

"Wait, Bollard," I said. To my surprise, the mute obeyed and stopped. "Jack has gone to find out more, and I think we should let him go. Without details, we could make a wrong step. He won't be long."

Langley closed his eyes. I thought he was controlling his temper or perhaps trying to block me out, but after a moment he nodded. "Very well. Where's Samuel and Tommy?"

"Tommy is injured, Uncle," Sylvia said. "Remember?"

"He has a few scratches, that's all. What about Samuel? It's up to him to check that all the doors and windows are locked."

"They already are," I said. "Because of the demon." Had he forgotten about it already? He did seem quite flustered.

Langley glared at me. "Take me out, Bollard."

Bollard wheeled his master out of the parlor, leaving Sylvia and me to stare after them.

"I don't think I'll ever understand your uncle," I said.

She sighed and came to sit by me again. "It's not his fault. His mind works differently to everyone else's."

It certainly did. What wasn't so certain was whether that difference was a good thing or bad.

***

Our nerves remained frayed until Jack finally walked in after night fell. He went to see Langley then met us in the dining room. We'd already started our soup course, but it was still warm in the tureen. Maud filled a bowl for him.

"Well?" Sylvia prompted as soon as he sat. "Did you receive a response from Scotland Yard?"

"Tate hasn't been found," Jack said.

Sylvia dropped her spoon and pressed her napkin to her mouth. Samuel swore quietly. My gaze connected with Jack's, and I nodded for him to go on.

"Tate's man Ham escaped too," he said.

"Really?" Samuel said. "Extraordinary."

"How did it happen?" I asked, not wanting to mention fire in front of Maud. Tommy was the only servant aware of our supernatural abilities and all the circumstances surrounding our conflict with Tate.