Seared With Scars

  Seared With Scars

  (Book 2 of the 2nd Freak House Trilogy)

  C.J. Archer

  Copyright 2014 C.J. Archer

  Visit C.J. at http://cjarcher.com

  CHAPTER 1

  Hertfordshire, Spring 1889

  There are moments when time seems to stand still. When watching a loved one die. Standing on a freezing street corner, hungry and homeless. Waiting for the bite of the belt on your bare back. Or hearing the words "marry me" from someone whose feelings you don't want to hurt but know will be hurt anyway.

  I stared at Samuel, looking handsome and earnest on his knees in front of me on the lawn of Frakingham House. He'd just delivered every girl's ideal marriage proposal. Every girl except me. It only made my heart ache.

  I couldn't fault his proposal, particularly when he offered to marry me to protect me. It was so tempting to say yes. So very tempting. If I had been a different woman, I would have said yes. A mere five years ago, I would have said yes. But I was no longer that naive, desperate girl. I knew better. Happiness and marriage didn't necessarily go together. Nor did love. Perhaps Samuel could take better care of me if we were married, but his name couldn't protect me from gossip. Indeed, a union between us would only expose my past to his set. I may have recently come under physical threat from the spirit of my tormentor, the master, but there were other, less tangible dangers in the world. Marrying Samuel wouldn't make them magically disappear.

  "Samuel," I said cautiously. "Please understand that I appreciate your offer."

  The light in his swirling blue eyes faded like a dimmed lamp. He pushed himself to his feet and lowered his head. His blond hair fell across his eyes, shielding them from me, but I could read his thoughts in the stoop of his shoulders and his heavy sigh.

  "I'm sorry," I murmured.

  "Don't," he said quietly. "You have nothing to apologize for. I shouldn't have spoken so hastily. You're not ready."

  "That's the thing, Samuel. I will never be ready. I don't want to be any man's wife. I want a life of my own, where I'm free."

  His head jerked up. His sharp gaze pinned me. "I will never take away your freedom, Charity. I will never do anything to you that you don't want."

  I pressed my hand against his chest. My instinctive move was meant to stop him from saying more—and it did—but it also filled me with a sense of longing. I'd not touched a man intimately in years, and part of me missed the closeness such touches could bring.

  Samuel wore no waistcoat or jacket and I felt his heart thundering through his shirt. It reminded me that I needed to be careful with him. Since taking on my most horrible memories, he'd edged closer to the abyss of madness. That was my fault, and I would do anything to return him to the charming man he once was.

  Anything except marry him or become his mistress.

  All I could really do was refrain from telling him all the reasons I couldn't marry him. Like the fact that I feared him—feared most men—and hated the loss of self-control I felt around him. And the fact that I couldn't trust a hypnotist.

  I retracted my hand and placed it against my churning stomach. "I don't mean freedom in that sense. Not in the way he kept me. There are other forms of freedom, particularly for a woman. I want to continue to work at the school and help the orphans in my care."

  The flare of earnestness returned to his eyes, or perhaps it was the madness. "I would allow that."

  "Oh, Samuel. There are other considerations. You and I are from very different worlds."

  "I don't care," he said, almost begging.

  "You should. The stain of my background will always follow me. Besides, I'm not sure I could live among people with so many rules." It was an attempt to lighten the tone and put the blame on me, but it didn't diminish the heat in his eyes. If anything, it fueled it. I shrank back a little. "Our differences would only compound over the years and eventually come between us, particularly if I was the reason your family disinherited you."

  "I don't care what they think."

  His continual disregard for them irritated me. He was lucky to have people who had an interest in his welfare and future. Then again, I suppose it's one of those things that you don't know you have until it's gone. "You should," I said. "Families are important."

  "I want to make a new family. With you." He reached for me and I stepped back. His hand dropped to his side and his eyes shuttered.

  "You should consider the bride they chose for you," I pressed. "Ebony Carstairs seems like someone worthy of you."

  "Don't!" he snapped. "You are worthy. Don't let your past define you. Don't let him win."

  "This has nothing to do with the master." Not even I believed that completely, and I could see from Samuel's hardened jaw that he didn't, either. The truth was, being the master's mistress—his plaything—had changed me. There was no returning to the girl I once was, the girl who believed that love conquered all. The woman I'd become after the master's death knew that true love was rare, and that it was not something I was capable of feeling.

  His face softened. He lifted his hand again as if to take mine, but quickly returned it to his side. Thankfully, he stayed where he was and did not come closer. I didn't want to hurt his feelings further or alert him to my fear of him by running away.

  "Will you at least take some time to consider it?" he asked.

  "There is nothing to consider. My answer is no."

  "But—"

  "That is my final word on the matter. I'll be leaving Frakingham, soon. Hopefully we won't meet again and have to endure any awkwardness."

  The muscles in his jaw corded and his body tensed. He seemed to be holding himself together very tightly; or perhaps my interpretation was colored by my own experience. A river of emotions threatened to spill out of me, but I was determined to keep them behind the dam wall. Becoming emotional would only exacerbate the difficulty of our situation.

  "Goodbye, Samuel." I held out my hand. "Can we part as friends?"

  "You should remain here," he said perfunctorily. "The master's spirit could still cause problems. Until we discover the other medium and stop her, you remain in danger."

  It was a reasonable response, but I couldn't stay at Frakingham any longer. I just couldn't. Especially now.

  I gave him a grim smile and walked off across the lawn toward the house, entering through the front door. It was like stepping into another world. The dewy, fresh morning gave way to an imposing, cool interior of stone and arches. It was how I imagined the ruined abbey on Frakingham's estate had once looked. It was just as silent too, which was odd considering four of us were preparing to leave.

  I was about to go in search of someone when Tommy, the footman, came down the stairs, a valise in each hand. Neither belonged to me.

  "There you are," he said. "Where have you been?"

  Wrestling with my conscience. "Talking to Samuel outside."

  He stopped at the base of the stairs and narrowed his gaze. "Are you all right?"

  The fact he even asked the question meant he'd guessed what our conversation had been about. "Yes."

  "And Gladstone?"

  "Samuel is…troubled. Keep a watchful eye on him, Tommy. He needs a friend."

  "You're his friend. I'm his servant."

  I don't know which of us that statement stung the most. "It's possible you can cross that divide, in time, although neither of us will ever be his equal."

  Mine was a much deeper divide to cross. The things I'd done in my past were inexcusable for a woman, but were perfectly acceptable for a man. I didn't push the point. Tommy seemed a little sensitive this morning. Indeed, he sounded quite snippy. What had gotten into him?

  He set the bags down near the door and came back to me. He looked handsome in his footm
an's attire, his dark hair gleaming with Macassar oil. It was surprising he didn't have a paramour from the village. Then again, if he'd been flirting with Sylvia, he may not have given other girls a chance.

  "I suppose he's going to mope about the house, moaning and groaning, now that you've rejected his suit," he said.

  "You make him sound like Frakenstein's monster."

  "If the shoe fits."

  "Tommy," I chided. "Be kind to him. He's got a lot on his mind." A shiver trickled down my spine at the thought of what Samuel now knew about me, after using his hypnosis to delve into my memories and block them. He knew my darkest secrets, my innermost demons, my fears. How could I be with a man who knew so much? "You will watch out for him after I leave," I said again.

  He glanced past me to the arched doorway that led to the drawing room. "Are you sure you're leaving?"

  I followed his gaze to see the Beauforts emerge from the drawing room. "There you are, Charity," Emily Beaufort said. She was a beautiful woman, with warm skin and even warmer eyes. She gave me a smile and kissed my cheek. "We've been looking for you."

  She was backed up by her husband, Jacob Beaufort, and Sylvia. I smelled an ambush. I looked to Tommy, but he merely shrugged and headed up the stairs again. "Is everything all right?" I asked Emily.

  "Yes and no." She cleared her throat. Jacob moved his hand to her arm, as if to lend her his strength. The spirit medium and her husband were going to travel back to London with the master's last victim, Wendy, and me. Or so I thought. "We have been thinking and we've decided it would be best if you remained here," she said.

  I pressed my lips together to stop the retort that sprang to mind from tumbling out. The Beauforts were my school's patrons and my employers. They were good people. I didn't want to offend them with a foul word dredged up from my youth.

  "Why?" I asked.

  "The master's spirit is still a danger," Jacob said.

  "You're vulnerable at the school," Sylvia chimed in. "Anyone can wander in off the street, and there are few able-bodied men to protect you."

  "There are no able-bodied men," Emily said with a wry smile. "Mr. Cosgrove is the sprightliest and he's in his fifties. And he has a limp."

  "Mrs. Peeble has the strength and fortitude equal to any man," I said.

  "Mrs. Peeble is unique, true, but she is only one. And I cannot allow all the teachers to be armed. It's too dangerous to have weapons so near the children."

  I agreed. Rules were not always followed, and some of the children had snuck into our private chambers as a lark before. We couldn't risk them discovering a loaded firearm.

  "You're better off being outside London," Jacob said, looking to the window where I could see Samuel walking toward the house. "But if you cannot stay here, you're welcome to stay with us at the townhouse. The children would be delighted to have you, as would we."

  I shook my head. "I won't jeopardize your family's safety." I could feel my resolve to return to London slipping away like water through my fingers. I couldn't bear to put the Beaufort family at risk. "I'll stay here."

  Emily grasped my hand. "You have made the right decision," she said softly. "I know you don't truly believe that, but I do."

  I tried to return her smile, but it felt strained, stretched. Rather like me, at that moment. My nerves were as taut as a violin string.

  The next hour was a blur as the small party of three departed. Wendy had turned out to be an orphan, living on the streets, when the master had plucked her out of poverty and given her his unique brand of education. Her situation was so similar to mine that it gave me chills just thinking about it. At least she would be safe now. The Beauforts would house her at the school and she could train as a teacher, if she chose. She would be safe there—it was me the master wanted, not her.

  We said our goodbyes at the base of the front steps, lined up formally with Tommy and Mrs. Moore, the housekeeper, joining us. Even August Langley and his assistant, Bollard, had emerged from their laboratory to say their goodbyes to the noble family. Wendy was already in the coach, eager to catch the train and return to London.

  Emily took my hands and squeezed. "I promise to send word as soon as I learn anything about the master's spirit. Hopefully he will be encouraged to move on by the Waiting Area's administrators."

  "These things can take time," Jacob said. "And if he wants to remain on this realm and haunt his place of death, there may be nothing the administrators can do."

  "You have to make them see that a spirit like that is dangerous," Samuel urged.

  "I'll do my best," Emily said. "I'll also try to discover the identity of the third medium. She must be made to see the damage she caused by summoning the master's spirit."

  I nodded but said nothing. The possession and my abduction were still too recent and raw to speak of.

  Emily kissed Sylvia's cheek. "Take care of each other."

  "It would be easier to do that if the supernatural would leave us alone," Sylvia muttered. "I doubt that will happen, though." She sighed. "This house seems to attract it."

  I looked past the coach toward the ruins, just visible near the lake. Perhaps it wasn't the house that attracted the supernatural, but the old abbey. It certainly seemed to have an otherworldly energy about it.

  "What do you expect from a place called Freak House?" Langley said. It was difficult to tell if he was trying to make us laugh or being quite serious. He didn't smile. The genius recluse rarely did.

  The coach departed and the rest of us returned inside. Samuel disappeared upstairs with Langley and Bollard, probably to work on their experiments in the laboratory. I wondered if he would allow himself to be strapped to that throne-like contraption again. The hideous thing looked like something out of a horror novel, complete with wires and pipes that I suspected were somehow attached to the test subject. I would certainly never sit in it.

  It was a relief not to have him near, however. I couldn't bear any awkwardness between us, and there most certainly would be awkwardness now. How could there not be?

  "It's just us again," Sylvia said, sitting daintily on the sofa so that her bustle didn't get in the way. "I will miss the Beauforts. They're such charming company, and very grand, don't you think, Charity? Mrs. Beaufort is a true lady," she went on before I could get a word in. "She may not be a great beauty in the traditional sense, but she is very elegant. She comes from a rather dubious background. Did you know that?"

  "I wouldn't say dubious," I said, feeling a need to defend her.

  "Her family is far beneath the Beauforts."

  "Only somewhat," I said hotly. "It's not like she's been outcast from society completely." Not like me, I wanted to say. I bit my lip, wishing I hadn't risen to the bait, but then I began to wonder if it was bait. Sylvia didn't seem to notice my irritation. Indeed, she seemed absorbed by thoughts of her own. She cast more than one longing glance at the door.

  I knew whom she wanted to see walk through it. Tommy. They'd been conducting a flirtation, something I'd recently warned him to cease. It wasn't fair on Sylvia. She was an innocent when it came to men. Besides which, her uncle would forbid it and perhaps even end Tommy's employment. By buying the Frakingham estate, August Langley had dragged himself up from mere scientist to landowner. He wouldn't want to rise so high only to have his niece marry so low. Nothing good could come of a liaison between Tommy and Sylvia, only heartache. Tommy should have known better than to encourage her.

  Their situation was uncannily similar to mine and drove home the fact that I'd done the right thing in refusing Samuel's proposal. Starry-eyed lovers may think that a grand affaire de coeur could conquer all problems but, in truth, it could not. There were some divides that were too wide to cross.

  "I think I'll ring for tea," Sylvia said, rising.

  It was probably a ruse to see Tommy. I didn't say anything, and thank goodness I didn't have to. He arrived a few minutes later and performed his duties with formal indifference, just as a footman should.

 
"We'll have some cake, too," she told him. "Or do you think it's a little early for cake?"

  "Whatever you wish, Miss Langley."

  "I was asking your opinion, Tommy."

  "I have no opinion on the matter."

  "Oh. I see." She frowned. "Just tea, then. We should watch our figures anyway."

  "Very good, Miss." He bowed and backed out of the room. Even I thought his demeanor too formal; the silly fool had taken my advice to the extreme.

  Sylvia watched him depart, her doe-like eyes blinking rapidly. "Whatever is the matter with him?"

  "I'm sure it's nothing," I said. "Just ignore him."

  "Do you think I've said something to upset him?"

  "Why are you worried about what the servants think?"

  She sighed. "You're right. I'm being overly sensitive. It's probably an insignificant squabble he's having with one of the other servants below stairs." She bit her lower lip and shot another glance in the direction of the door. "I do hope it's nothing I've done."

  "I'm sure it isn't." If I didn't distract her, she would mope about and make the situation worse. "I was thinking of going for a walk later. Would you like to come?"

  "What a grand idea! We could go into the village and browse the shops."

  "Oh, no, I don't think so. I have no need to buy anything."

  "But you said yourself, only a few days ago, that you might like a new dress in a color that is neither black nor gray."

  I had indeed, but that was before the memory block had worn off and before the master had abducted me again. Now, the very thought of abandoning my dull clothes made me shrink inside. Wearing something colorful would only draw attention to myself. I'd had enough attention from lusty men and jealous women to last me a lifetime.

  Sylvia touched my knee. "If money is a problem, I'm sure we can come to an arrangement. Jack has entrusted the estate's finances to Samuel while he's away and I'm sure he can be persuaded to give you something for a new outfit." She winked. "Indeed, he'd probably pay from his own pocket."

  "It's not that."

  "A loan then, rather than a gift."

  "I have enough money of my own," I said through a tight-lipped smile.