The Memory Keeper Page 15

  "I can't stop thinking about that girl," I told Samuel. Indeed, I'd lain awake most of the night, wondering what could be done. "We should contact the police in London."

  "And tell them what? We have no proof and no idea where to start looking."

  "Perhaps if we went to London…" I trailed off. The futility of my own suggestion wasn't lost on me.

  "I know this is hard, Charity. It is for me too." I could see the truth of it in his tired, red eyes. "I know you want to help her, but I cannot fathom how we can."

  He was right. It was a foolish suggestion, but I felt so useless and I despised being useless. I'd rather be dead than sit around all day and sew or play the piano, but it seemed I would have to. I couldn't even return to the school until that man was caught, and how could he be caught when we and the police had so little to go on?

  "I'll ride into the village this morning and have the police telegram Scotland Yard about your case. They might have some clues by now."

  We both knew that was unlikely. Unless the criminal's description could be matched to a known villain, there was a good chance he would never be caught.

  The crunch of wheels on the gravel drive announced a visitor. Samuel opened the door, since neither Tommy nor the maids were nearby. Myer stepped down from an open gig and handed the reins to the stable boy who scampered up to him.

  "Good morning," Myer said, tipping his hat to us. "Lovely day."

  We exchanged pleasantries as we walked inside. Tommy arrived and took Myer's hat, gloves and coat, then Samuel excused himself and Myer.

  "We're expected in Langley's laboratory," he said to me. "Will you be all right, Charity?"

  "Had another turn, eh?" Myer asked me. "Must watch those delicate nerves of yours, Miss Evans."

  "Thank you for your concern," I said through a false smile.

  Samuel looked amused, blast him.

  "Tell me, what is it you're doing up there?" I didn't expect a proper answer, as I'd not received one yet, but I thought it worth asking again nevertheless.

  "It's complicated," Myer said.

  "Perhaps you could try, Samuel, since Mr. Myer is having trouble comprehending it, to explain."

  Myer's supercilious smile faltered. "I'm afraid we need to be upstairs. Coming, Gladstone?"

  "We've been sworn to secrecy," Samuel told me. "The experiments are still in the early stages and there's a chance they may not work. If I wish to stay at Frakingham, I must abide by Langley's rules and agree to his wishes."

  Agree to his wishes? Was Langley only letting him stay if he helped with his experiments? What could those experiments possibly entail?

  I watched them climb the staircase, waited a few minutes, then also went up. My footsteps were muffled by the rug covering the floor outside Langley's room, but to me they seemed as loud as the dinner gong.

  Listening at Langley's laboratory door proved futile. If they were speaking, I couldn't hear them. Most of the laboratory seemed to be positioned at the far end of the room, away from the door, with the sitting area closer. That proved to be a good thing. I could open the door slightly and peer in without anyone being the wiser.

  I turned the doorknob, praying that it didn't squeak. It didn't. I peered through the crack and spotted Samuel and Bollard standing on either side of the large wooden chair with the metal pipes sprouting from it. Myer sat down and the other two proceeded to… dear lord. They were tying him to the chair!

  "Good morning, Charity."

  I jumped at the sound of Langely's voice and hurriedly shut the door. I spun around, expecting him to be right behind me, but he was further along the corridor. Perhaps he hadn't seen me spying. I hoped.

  "Good morning, Mr. Langley. I was just looking for Sylvia. Have you seen her?"

  He wheeled himself towards me. "No. She rarely ventures up here. I expect you'll find her downstairs, in the drawing room or music room, or perhaps in the garden. That's where she usually is."

  "Yes, of course." I smiled and went to move past him.

  Lightning quick, he grabbed my wrist. "Just a moment. I have a question for you."

  I swallowed. "Yes?"

  "What were you doing just now?"

  "I, uh, I was looking for Sylvia."

  "Don't lie to me." He didn't snap or growl. His voice was calm and cool. For some reason that made my skin prickle.

  "I, I'm sorry."

  To my surprise, he let me go. "It's human nature to be curious. I don't blame you. But my work is private, until a time I can publish the final results."

  "Are you afraid another scientist will steal your research?"

  He seemed startled by my question. "No. The general public would be frightened by what they see in there. They don't understand that the work I do is necessary. The results are important, but an outsider will likely think my methods are… unusual."

  "You mean strapping someone to a contraption and hooking those wires and pipes up to him?"

  "He will come to no harm."

  "Does your work have something to do with Mr. Myer and Samuel's hypnosis?"

  "As I told you, my work is private. Now, if you don't mind, I have to go in."

  I wanted to ask more questions, but I was acutely aware that my position was a precarious one. I supposed I should be grateful he'd not asked me to volunteer to be strapped to the chair.

  He began to wheel himself away, but stopped. "You have an inquisitive mind, Charity. You would make a good scientist."

  "Thank you. I enjoy working in our little school laboratory. We only teach the rudiments of the sciences to our students, but I've considered taking our studies to a deeper level for the brighter ones."

  "Perhaps I can help you there. I'm happy to donate some instruments that I no longer use. Bollard keeps them in the attic for emergencies. It was how I could continue to work, despite the fire destroying most of my lab."

  "Thank you. That's very kind and I accept the offer."

  Still he did not move away. "I admit to being surprised at your inquisitiveness," he said.

  "Oh? Why is that?"

  "Isn't it obvious?"

  I shrugged. "Not to me."

  "You don't seem to want to know anything about the memory you had Samuel wipe."

  My body tightened and my insides scrunched into a leaden ball. I didn't know if he expected me to say something, so I remained quiet in the hope that he would stop talking.

  He didn't. "Are you not the least bit curious, particularly now, after the attempted kidnap and the visions?"

  "No. If I went to such great lengths to block the memory, why would I want it back?"

  "Because you're you. You've got a quick, inquisitive mind. I admit to being surprised that you did ask Samuel to remove the memory. You seem like a strong girl." He frowned. "Although, to be fair, that's a more recent development. I can't imagine the quiet girl who came here the first time would have had the gall to sneak around the house, spying into her host's rooms."

  Again, I said nothing.

  "Am I right, Charity? You are braver now?"

  "I suppose I am." The truth of it was not lost on me. I had initially hoped that removing the memory would give me a greater capacity to love the children, but it had also lessened my fears. I wasn't afraid of men so much. I didn't avoid the charming ones like I used to. I didn't avoid Samuel.

  "Because you no longer have that memory," he went on. "Interesting." His frown turned thoughtful. I got the feeling he was studying me and my answers like he would study a chemical reaction in a test tube.

  I shifted my feet and eyed the staircase. Would it be impolite if I just walked away? When I turned back to face him, his gaze had softened and his mouth turned sad. He wheeled himself back to me, a laborious task in the cumbersome chair, and took my hand.

  "Bad things happen to good people all the time," he said. "It's the way of the world."

  "I know that more than most."

  "I suspect you do. Jack has told me much about your lives together and I can on
ly imagine how hard it must have been."

  "Hard, yes, but a good life, sometimes, too. We were free and we had one another."

  He patted my hand. "I admire your ability to see the good despite the bad. That's why I'm surprised by your cowardly act."

  I jerked my hand free. "Cowardly?"

  If he regretted his choice of words, he didn't show it. He seemed quite unconcerned about calling someone a coward to their face. "The true measure of a person is how they cope with the bad and how they live their life afterwards. A brave person faces their demons. A coward runs from them."

  It took me a moment to catch my breath, but when I did, my temper came with it. "Is that so?" I bent down so that my face was level with his. "Tell me, Mr. Langley, if you were beaten so hard that permanent scars were left on your body, would you want to remember why?"

  "Yes," he said, not moving his gaze from mine.

  I jerked upright, shocked.

  "Because memories serve to teach us," he went on. "Even the bad ones."

  "What in God's name do you think I've learned from those beatings?"

  "To be afraid; fear taught you caution."

  "It restricted me."

  "It kept you safe.

  "Nonsense. If I'd kept that memory, I would continue to be half a person, a shell only, with my heart hollowed out. I want to love, Mr. Langley. I want to love the children as much as they love me." Hot tears sprang to my eyes, but I would not release them. I was too angry for that. "I could never love them if I'd kept that memory. Never. It was too much, too consuming."

  He didn't flinch from my diatribe, didn't look away from my eyes. "Perhaps you didn't give it long enough. I suspect you would have found love again if you wanted it badly enough. Whatever horrible thing happened to you, it did restrict you. I don't deny that. But it's within you to make that restriction temporary, Charity."

  "This is nonsense," I spat. "Half-truths, guesses, ifs, buts, maybes. You are not me, Mr. Langley. You do not know what I went through, so do not accuse me of cowardice. Good day."

  I didn't look back to see if he watched me storm off. I raced down the stairs where he couldn't follow. By the time I reached the bottom, the tears that I'd held back spilled down my cheeks. I couldn't stop them.

  I ran out the front door and headed across the lawn to the ruins. When I finally reached them, I plopped down on the grass and leaned back against the base of what once had been a large pillar.

  The exercise had tired me, but calmed me too. My tears turned from angry ones to sad ones. Because deep down, I knew Langley was right. I was a coward. And my cowardice had turned Samuel from a charming man into a broken one.

  ***

  I retired to bed early. I had little enthusiasm for the dinner table conversation between Sylvia and Samuel. Samuel must have noticed, because he kept watching me from beneath half-lowered lashes. Sylvia was more interested in discussing an upcoming dinner invitation to the Butterworths' and whether we ought to attend or not. I think I was included in the invitation, but not knowing how long I would be at Frakingham, I thought it best not to reply just yet.

  It seemed to take me forever to fall asleep. I couldn't stop thinking about that girl, and Langley's accusation. In the end, I decided I needed to talk to Samuel in the morning. I wanted him to give me back my memory in its entirety. And I wanted to go to London; it was likely that girl was originally from the streets. We could check with the police if any girls had been reported missing, and if not, Tommy and I could tap into our old network of orphans and thieves. There might be rumors floating around. The odds of finding a clue would be long, but it was worth trying.

  I had to do something.

  Coming up with a plan enabled me to finally fall into a light asleep. Light enough that the click of my door opening had me bolting upright. I reached under my pillow, where I'd stored a knife on my first night. Mrs. Peeble's derringer would have been better, but it was still in the pocket of one of my dresses.

  Slowly, slowly, my bedroom door opened wider. My heart hammered in my chest. It was the loudest sound in the room. I tightened my grip on the knife handle and steeled myself. A silhouetted figure entered. A tall, big man.

  The same man who'd tried to kidnap me in London.

  CHAPTER 12

  I wanted to scream and alert the household, but that would only send the attacker scampering away. We needed to catch him. Besides, the nearest room was occupied by Sylvia and I doubted she would be much help in a crisis. It was up to me.

  He crept closer to the bed. He seemed so much bigger than last time. Monstrous. How could I ever fight him off on my own?

  What if my sweat-slicked palm lost grip on the knife? What if he knew I was awake and was prepared for my attack?

  He kept coming. My decision to fight him off alone suddenly seemed pathetic and stupid. So I screamed.

  I jumped out of bed at the same moment and kicked, hard. He didn't see my foot coming in the dark and I landed a cringing blow to his groin. He doubled over, wheezing in pain. I lunged and stabbed him in the shoulder.

  He reared back and roared. His bear-like paws didn't touch the wound like I'd hoped, but reached for me. I scrabbled backward across the bed and tumbled onto the floor on the other side. I still clutched the knife, but he was prepared for it this time. He may have been injured, but not enough to hinder his movements. He was too strong for me.

  "Charity?" came Sylvia's quivering voice at the door.

  "Get Tommy and Samuel!" My words were barely out before she was screaming for them.

  "Fucking whores!" the attacker shouted. He turned and lumbered towards the door and Sylvia.

  "Run!" I yelled at her.

  Thank goodness she was as light on her feet as she was loud. She screamed all the way back along the corridor. I heard her door slam shut, followed by the sound of the bolt being driven home. The pounding footsteps of my attacker retreated in the other direction.

  I did not chase him.

  Samuel was the first to arrive in my room. He skidded to a stop inside my door.

  "Charity? Charity, are you all right?"

  "Yes." I pressed a hand to my breast in an attempt to slow my heart. It didn't work and it kept trying to hammer its way through my ribs. "That man was here again. The one from London."

  He swore and turned to go.

  "Stay." My voice was barely a whisper, but he heard me.

  He came inside. It was dark, but there was enough light to make out the shape of his face, the shine in his eyes, the stricken downtown of his mouth.

  "I won't leave you," he murmured. He gently pried the knife from my fingers and set it down on the mantel. Then he cupped my jaw and rubbed his thumb along my cheek. "I'll be here as long as you want me."

  I didn't want a protector—I didn't need one—but his words shattered me. I began to shake and cry. Hot tears poured down my cheeks onto his fingers. His other arm circled me and gently pulled me closer. I rested my head against his shoulder until my tears dried.

  Even then I didn't move away. I listened to the thrum of his pulse as it slowed from a wild, arrhythmic beat to a steadier, calmer one. He rested a hand on the back of my neck, under my hair, as if he were holding me in place and didn't want me to move away. I could have, easily, but I didn't want to. I closed my eyes and drew his masculine scent into my lungs.

  I don't know how long we stood like that without moving. I heard Tommy arrive and Samuel give him instructions to check the house and secure all doors and windows. Then I once more had his full attention. He didn't try to kiss me or touch me in intimate places. He just held me, as if he knew that was what I needed. I had never been so close to a man without having him attempt to remove my clothing.

  It was new, and wonderful.

  And then it was too much.

  My breathing became heavy again, my chest tight. I broke the embrace and stepped back. His sigh sounded like a protest, but he did not try to stop me.

  "Thank you," I said. Thank you for making
me feel safe. Thank you for understanding that I don't want intimacy. I couldn't tell him either of those things, with the tears still so close, but I hoped he understood it.

  "What happened?" he asked.

  Tommy and Sylvia entered. She held a large lamp and he had his hand on her back. Bollard came up behind them, blinking in the light.

  "The house is secure," Tommy said.

  Bollard tapped Sylvia on the shoulder and she jumped. "Don't sneak around, Bollard! Goodness, we've had enough frights for one night."

  He bowed an apology, but did not stop frowning.

  "It was the same fellow that tried to kidnap me in London," I told them.

  Sylvia handed the lamp to Tommy and embraced me. "Are you all right, Charity? Did he hurt you?"

  "No. I got a fright, that's all."

  "There's blood," Tommy said, looking down at the floor.

  "I stabbed him."

  "Good." Sylvia patted my arm. "I hope he bleeds to death."

  "I don't think he was wounded enough for that."

  "We should look for him," Tommy said.

  "Not now," Samuel said. "In the morning, when it's light. I don't think we should leave the ladies alone."

  Sylvia folded her arms, but it didn't stop her shudder.

  "Are you cold?" Tommy sounded concerned. Considering I was the one who'd nearly been kidnapped, I was a little curious as to why he fussed over her. "I'll fetch your shawl."

  "I'll come with you," she said. "Then perhaps we should all go to the kitchen and you can make us some chocolate."

  It was as good an idea as any. I wasn't going to fall back to sleep and besides, we needed to discuss what to do next.

  Bollard slipped away into the darkness, and the rest of us headed downstairs together. Sylvia and I wore our shawls wrapped around our shoulders and the men were dressed in trousers and shirts. Samuel, Sylvia and I sat at the kitchen table as Tommy warmed up the chocolate over the stove. We'd not said a word as we made our way through the quiet house, and now it felt like the silence would smother me.