The Wrong Girl (Freak House) (19 page)

"And what is your guess?"

"That she was given no choice, either by your governess or by Lord Wade himself."

"Lord Wade?" I chewed my lip. None of it made sense. Not Vi's involvement, not her father's and certainly not Langley's. I was still skeptical about his motives, even though I was now sure Jack and Sylvia weren't party to them. "How did Langley know where to find another fire starter?"

"He told me that Bollard had heard rumors in the village about a girl kept in an attic in a manor house who could set things on fire. He thinks the villagers must have heard it on the grapevine from the Windamere servants. It's not far from here. I'm sure some of the Harborough residents have been to the village near Windamere. You don't believe that?"

"I'm not sure. What troubles me is that it has happened
now
. Why?"

He shrugged. "The rumors may have been around for years, but Bollard has only just overheard them."

"Perhaps, but...don't you think it's odd that it coincided with the theft of your uncle's papers?"

"You think the two are linked?"

"I don't know, but it is strange that your friend was commissioned to perform the burglary right after I moved in, and that nothing of monetary value was stolen, only some of your uncle's papers. What was in those papers? How did the man who hired Patrick know where to look and what to look for? He gave Patrick some very specific instructions."

Jack pressed his lips together and put his hands on his hips. After a moment of staring at the lake, he spun round. "You're right. Too many questions." He strode off back to the house.

I picked up my skirts and ran to catch up with him. "Are you going to confront Langley?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm coming with you."

CHAPTER 12

"There you both are!" Sylvia said as Jack and I entered the house via the courtyard. "I've been looking for you. Were you in those horrible old ruins again?"

"I thought you liked the ruins," I said. "You've certainly painted them often enough."

"Only because there is little else to paint hereabouts. It's depressingly cold and damp in winter. I suppose that's why you like it."

"It does have a certain appeal," Jack said, absently. He seemed eager to get away, but I could see that she needed to talk about something.

"Is everything all right?" I asked.

"Yes. No. That is, I wanted to apologize to you, Hannah."

"Me? Why?"

"Because when it was revealed that you weren't Lady Violet, my reaction may have made it seem as if I were..."

"Disgusted?" Jack offered, crossing his arms and lifting one eyebrow.

"I was shocked," she said. "Why are you smirking at me like that, Jack? This is between Hannah and me."

"Anything that concerns Hannah also concerns me." He leaned down so that he was nose to nose with her. "And I just wanted to see how you'd get out of this with your polite façade intact. I seem to recall you having a similar reaction when August took me in. You never apologized to me for being...shocked."

"Then you recall incorrectly." She sniffed. When he smiled, she shoved his shoulder. "Go away. Haven't you got better things to do than torment me?"

"As a matter of fact, we do."

"We're going to speak to your uncle and get some answers." I grasped her hand and gave it a squeeze. I wanted her to know I appreciated her seeking me out to apologize. It meant more than she would ever know. "Would you like to come?"

"Not particularly," she said. But when Jack and I walked off, she followed.

Jack went to barge past Bollard as he opened his uncle's door. The servant put out his arm to stop him, but Jack simply squared up to him, smiled, and politely said, "Move, or I'll set your shirt on fire."

"Let them in," Langley said with a frustrated sigh. "What is it, Jack? I thought we already discussed the rebuilding arrangements."

"Is that where you went this morning?" Sylvia asked.

Jack nodded. "I've contracted a builder from the village. He's going to work off the original plans for Frakingham and replicate the destroyed section."

She pulled a face. "Perhaps he could make it a little less Gothic. Arches and gloom are out of fashion."

"That's not why we're here," Jack said to Langley. "We need to talk about what Patrick said."

Langley must have had a spare wheelchair stored somewhere because he sat in another, smaller one, the first no doubt having been reduced to ashes. He had wheeled around to face us when we entered, but now he turned away. "It's none of your business."

"It bloody well is!" Jack grasped the handles of the chair and pulled it around so that his uncle faced him. Langley's nostrils flared, but his gaze didn't flicker as he glared back at his nephew. "Who is the one-armed man?" Jack ground out. "Who hired Patrick to burgle you?"

"It's all in hand—"

"Tell us!"

Langley folded his hands in his lap. "I appreciate your concern for me—"

"I don't want to pursue this for
you
." Jack straightened and closed his fists at his sides, but not before I saw the glow of his fingers. He was furious, but controlling it. Barely. "I want to get to the bottom of this for Hannah's sake. The theft may have something to do with her abduction."

"What makes you think that?"

"The timing is too coincidental for the events not to be linked. Since you orchestrated her kidnap, and I suspect you know who the one-armed gentleman is, you must know why there's a connection."

"Jack," Langley said on another sigh. The wrinkles around his eyes folded in on each other and his shoulders slumped forward. "The man is dangerous and shouldn't be trifled with. I contacted the constabulary after I realized who it was from Bollard's account. Let the detective inspector do his job."

"The inspector is incompetent. He didn't question all of the staff after the burglary."

"He has the man's name. All he needs to do is arrest him." He lifted a hand and waved Jack away. "Leave me. I have work to do."

Jack muttered something under his breath then stormed out. Sylvia, chewing her lip, followed him. I remained behind despite Bollard looming beside me.

"For an intelligent man, that was a very stupid thing to do," I said.

"You're still here?" Langley said without turning around from his work.

"Jack is far more capable than the constabulary. If you want this man punished, you should give Jack some information."

"Are you quite finished?"

"Now you've riled him, which is something you seem to like doing to the people who live with you."

"Hannah," he said, finally looking at me over his shoulder, "Jack has a job to do here. Training you. He can't go gallivanting around the country."

"Then perhaps he needs a new job."

***

Jack and I trained in the bare room for the rest of the day, and the next. He was edgy and frustrated, and it was difficult for us both to concentrate. I made painfully little progress in learning to willfully produce the fire within me, and therefore absolutely none in dampening it. It wasn't surprising since it required me to be angry, something I couldn't simply turn on at will. The eventual aim, Jack said, was that I would be able to set things alight with a mere thought, and quell the heat at times when my temper got the better of me.

On the morning of what would have been the third straight day of training, Tommy gave us some startling news over breakfast. Or, I should say, he gave Jack the news. The two of them exchanged whispers in the corner before Tommy took up his position near the sideboard.

"Bloody hell," Jack muttered, thumping the solid surface of the sideboard with his fist.

"What is it?" I asked.

"There was another break-in last night. Tommy scared the man away. He and Olson kept watch for the rest of the night. You should have woken me," he said to the footman.

"Yes, sir."

"Stop with the sirs when it's just us, will you? You know I hate it."

Tommy's usually dour expression lifted. "Yes, sir."

Jack gave him a withering glare, and Sylvia covered her giggle with her hand.

"Was anything taken?" I asked.

"No."

"Was it Patrick?"

"No, Miss Smith," Tommy said. "It wasn't anyone I recognized."

"Dear lord," Sylvia said, sitting heavily on a chair. "What if he intended to murder us in our beds?"

"I'm sure that wasn't his intention, Syl," Jack said.

Tommy puffed out his chest. "I'll protect you, Miss Langley."

"Thank you," she said. "I can rely on you if not my own cousin."

"Have the police been notified?" I asked.

"Yes, Miss Smith," said Tommy.

Indeed, the inspector and constable appeared just before luncheon. It was the same ones who'd come the first time, and I was surprised to see them. Weren't they supposed to be arresting the one-armed man? I was dying to find out more, although I doubted Langley would tell me anything. Jack and I watched the policemen leave from the window, our lessons having been abandoned early because neither of us could concentrate or stop speculating about the intruder.

"I hope they spoke to everyone this time," I said as the policemen climbed into their carriage.

"I'm more interested in what they said to August about the one-armed man. And what he said to them. Come on, let's find out."

We went straight to Langley's room where we found him reading in bed. Neither Bollard nor the wheelchair were in sight. The room was much smaller than the previous one in the burnt out eastern wing, and there was little space for anything other than the bed, a writing desk, a wardrobe and a few chairs. Langley had filled up much of the remaining floor space since our last visit. Singed papers piled up near the desk, and broken or burned pieces of equipment filled boxes and crates. Microscopes, tools and jars that had escaped the fire covered the relatively small surface of his desk.

"I suppose you wish to resume your questioning," Langley said without looking up from his book.

"You suppose correctly," Jack said. "We saw the police leave. What did the inspector have to say? Have they arrested the one-armed man?"

Langley closed the book and set it down on the bedside table. "They couldn't arrest him."

Jack went very still. "Why not?"

"He claimed not to know anyone named Patrick in London. He said the thief must have lied to you to protect himself. He said he has no interest in my papers."

"And they believed him?"

"You have no idea how convincing he can be."

"Do
you
believe him?" I asked.

"No. But look at it from the inspector's perspective. He cannot arrest a gentleman based on the word of a criminal. Not without other evidence."

"What a farce," Jack muttered.

"What are we to do?" I asked. "He cannot be allowed to get away with it."

Jack nodded. "Patrick's life is in danger, and by extension the lives of the charges he cares for."

"Charges?"

"He takes care of orphans using money I send him."

"My money," Langley said.

Were the children linked to Jack's past? I suspected they were, but I wanted him to tell me of his own accord, not because I peppered him with questions, but because he wanted to.

"Let me confront the one-armed man," Jack said.

"No," Langley said. "What good will that do?"

"If I can get him to admit it, I'll be another witness."

"And when it's discovered that you know Patrick? No jury would convict him."

"What if he admits it in front of witnesses?" Jack said. "Or the police?"

Langley picked up his book and flipped it open to a page near the middle. I could have sworn when he first set it down he was at the beginning. "You're not going," he said.

Jack stepped up to the bed, but there was nothing threatening about his stance. He did ooze a kind of self-assuredness and power, however. "I'm twenty-two, August. I have able legs and a voice. Let me use them."

Langley stared down at the book in his lap. The knuckles holding it were white, the thumbs digging into the pages.

"I can find out who this man is without you telling me," Jack went on. "There can't be too many gentlemen matching the description Patrick gave. So why not just make it easier and tell me."

Langley closed his eyes.

"With or without your help, August. You have a choice."

Langley's eyes opened. I was surprised to see worry in their depths. "It doesn't sound like it." When Jack didn't answer, he added, "I could hire someone privately. I've done it before."

"To do what?"

"To find people."

Did he mean me? Jack?

"I see." Jack stood again. "I had no idea. I thought Bollard was your only lackey."

"I can't always spare Bollard. I am a businessman, Jack, and businessmen hire people from time to time."

"And here I thought you were a mad scientist," I said.

Langley's lips stretched into a strained smile. "Very amusing."

"I am involved whether you like it or not," Jack said. "If you wanted to hire someone to confront this man, then I suspect you would have done it instead of sending those incompetent policemen."

"I'd hoped to solve this in a legal manner."

"We still can. I want to confront him."

"He's dangerous."

Jack seemed to notice what he'd said at the same time I did. Or rather, what he didn't say. He didn't say 'no.'

"Give me a name, August. Trust me for once."

"I do trust you."

"Then prove it."

Someone cleared his throat behind us, and we all turned. Bollard stood in the open doorway, his unreadable gaze on his master. The small sound was so peculiar coming from the usually silent servant that I gasped.

"Very well, Jack," Langley said. "I'll tell you everything you need to know about Reuben Tate. You'd better sit down. Both of you."

I sat in the armchair near the window and Jack pulled a separate hardback chair closer to the bed. Bollard shut the door and came to stand beside the bed like an obedient dog.

"Reuben Tate and I were partners," Langley said.