The Memory Keeper Read online

  "I do so wish to see Mrs. Beaufort again," Sylvia said on a sigh as he rejoined us. "A pity the circumstances aren't friendlier. Do you think Miss Moreau will come with them?"

  "I hope so," I said, hardly listening. Samuel would still not look at me.

  It wasn't until we arrived back at Frakingham that he gave me his attention. He helped Sylvia down from the coach and then me. Our gloved hands touched. He did not immediately let go.

  "I asked Myer if he could remove my memory block," I said, once Sylvia was out of earshot.

  The coach rumbled away and Tommy left us alone. Samuel sighed. He seemed suddenly deflated, as if he'd decided to let go of the very thing propping him up. "I suspected as much."

  "He couldn't do it."

  He inclined his head. "Are you disappointed?"

  "Somewhat. Samuel, will you reconsider?"

  He shook his head. "Please don't ask again. I find it rather tortuous, refusing you anything." His impish smile was reminiscent of the carefree Samuel of old, the one not weighed down by my memories.

  "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important to me."

  He closed his eyes and sucked in his breath. "Charity… don't let this come between us. I cannot give it back to you. I can't do that to you."

  My temper rose, heating my skin, but I kept it from showing. He was trying to protect me and I couldn't fault him on that score. It irked me that I wasn't mistress of my own past, something I'd not expected to feel when I initially asked him to block it, yet it was solely my doing, not his.

  I blew out a breath and my frustration with it. "It won't come between us." I took his arm and gave him a smile that had him blushing to his ears in the most endearing way.

  Ordinarily his reaction would have me retreating inside myself, but I resisted the urge to pull back. My old fears may be resurfacing in small ways, but I would not let them conquer me.

  We walked back into the house together. It was pleasant and I didn't want to sour the moment by telling him what Myer had said I should do to remove the block. Besides, I didn't want Samuel suspecting what I was up to.

  CHAPTER 13

  Samuel ordered all the doors and windows to be locked. Nobody was allowed out for a walk, so it was a blessing that it rained for most of the day. I couldn't concentrate on even the simplest tasks. Not even Langley's extensive library offered any comfort. I was sitting in one of the large leather armchairs, re-reading the same page of a Thomas Hardy novel for the hundredth time when Tommy came to fetch me in the afternoon.

  "Mr. Butterworth is here," he said.

  "He wants to see me?"

  "All of you. He wants to apologize for not being at home this morning to greet you. 'Not being at home' is toff-speak for 'I was too bloody lazy to get out of bed.'"

  I giggled. "I know what it means. I've lived with toffs before, remember?"

  His grin faded. He looked down at his feet. Tommy never liked being reminded of who and what I'd been before I became a teacher. He must also be feeling the pressure of our situation enormously, too. He and Samuel were the only young, able-bodied men in the household, although Bollard looked quite strong, if not youthful.

  "Charity, be careful." He spoke as if he could will me to stay out of trouble.

  I lay my hand on his arm. "Of course."

  "I wish Jack was here."

  "So do I. But Samuel has been marvelous, as have you."

  "Samuel isn't Jack. Neither am I."

  "We cannot always rely on him to help us get out of scrapes. It's good for me, knowing he can't come to my rescue."

  "I s'pose."

  "Stop worrying. I will be alert, as ever. Now we know what we're up against, all will be well. The Beauforts will be here soon, anyway."

  "By late afternoon is my guess," he said.

  "Very well, Dawson," I said in my most upper-class accent. "Lead the way to Mr. Butterworth."

  We found him in the drawing room with Samuel. Sylvia was nowhere to be seen. The Harborough mayor was a short man, shorter than his wife who was about my height, but it gave him a jolliness that I suspected was important for a mayor, if he wanted to be re-elected.

  "Ah, yes," Mr. Butterworth said, extending his hand to me. "My wife said you were a beauty and she was spot on."

  I accepted his praise and dared not look at Samuel, lest the blush I was trying to hold back escaped. "I'm sorry we missed you this morning," I said.

  He apologized for his absence. "Urgent mayoral business to attend to. I was out and about early." The doughy skin around his eyes folded as he smiled. He had a lumpy face, like a child's attempt at molding a clay figure.

  "It was good of you to come all this way just to apologize," I said.

  "Oh, I didn't. Well, not exactly. I was just telling Mr. Gladstone about someone new to the village that may be of interest to him, and you too."

  I turned my unblinking gaze on Samuel. He leaned forward, intent on Butterworth.

  "Mr. Myer took it upon himself to ask me about any newcomers to the village after you left this morning. He said he was inquiring on your behalf, although he wouldn't tell me what it was about."

  My heart leapt into my throat. Myer didn't know all the details of what the master meant to me, nor would he, but I still didn't like the idea of him discussing what he did know with others. Butterworth was clearly waiting for an explanation. He would get none.

  "And?" Samuel prompted. "Are there any?"

  "Yes, as a matter of fact. A gentleman arrived yesterday. He rented rooms off Mrs. Turner in the village."

  "Did he have someone with him?" I asked. "What did he look like? What's he doing here?"

  Butterworth held up his hands and chuckled. "Slow down, Miss Evans. I believe he had a valet with him. They arrived by train in the late afternoon. As to what he looks like, or why he's here, I don't know, I haven't met him."

  "Where does this Mrs. Turner live?" Samuel asked.

  "In the large, neat place on the corner of Beckett and Crown Streets. You can't miss it."

  Samuel stood before Butterworth had even finished his sentence. He headed for the door, but seemed to collect himself and stopped. "Forgive me, Mr. Butterworth. Charity will see you out. I have to go."

  "Wait!" I cried. "Do you think it wise to go now, without making a plan first?"

  "We must strike immediately. I'll take Tommy and come up with a plan on the way." He took my hand. "Don't be afraid, Charity. Stay here, keep the doors locked." He nodded at a gawping Butterworth and left.

  "What, pray, is going on?" Mr. Butterworth said. "Who is the fellow at Mrs. Turner's?"

  "A man who may or may not have tried to abduct me."

  "Bloody hell," he muttered into the folds of his chins. "There is never a dull moment at Frakingham."

  "Indeed not. Can I offer you tea, Mr. Butterworth?" It was the polite thing to do, but I just wanted him to leave. I needed to take up a position in the tower room and watch for Samuel's and Tommy's return. My nerves would be wrecked until they came home.

  "Tea would be very welcome," he said.

  I tugged on the bell pull and a maid arrived shortly after. I asked her to bring tea and to find Sylvia.

  Mr. Butterworth prattled on about mayoral affairs. I hardly heard him. My mind was occupied with other things, not the least of them listening for sounds of Samuel and Tommy's departure. It seemed like an age, but eventually the pounding of hooves on the drive announced they'd left.

  Sylvia arrived at the same time as the tea. The maid deposited the tray and left. Sylvia handed a cup to Mr. Butterworth, but he set it down immediately and came to me. He grabbed my hand between both of his own.

  "If I can be of any assistance to you, dear Charity, please come to me." He wasn't quite kneeling in front of me, but he did bend awkwardly over me, like a man in pain.

  I tried to withdraw my hand, but he didn't let it go. He smiled and it wasn't the smile of a friendly, jolly fellow, but an earnest one. His eyes dilated as he stared into mine with an intensity
that sent a violent shiver down my spine. His behavior was odd.

  I tried to remove my hand again. The more I pulled, the firmer his grip became and the harder his eyes. They were gleaming now, like two small polished stones. I peered into them and didn't see a friendly man. I saw a monster.

  Inside the body of the mayor was the master. My tormentor.

  My hand stilled. My heart ground to a halt. I stopped trying to get away. Stopped breathing. Fear swamped me, insidious and paralyzing. It brought back the memories. They slammed into me, thick and fast. I remembered how pathetic and small the master used to make me feel, how helpless. I'd cried through the beatings, and when he pressed the end of his burning cigar to my raw flesh, I'd cried more. Yet I'd accepted the cruelty, because there was no means of escape. Not until Jack had rescued me. Not until the master had died, his flesh turned to ashes.

  Yet here he was again, inside the body of a man trusted by Samuel and Sylvia. I couldn't think how that had happened. My brain was being smothered by fear as surely as a damp blanket smothers a flame.

  Sylvia's voice broke through the fog. "This is pleasant," she said cheerfully. "We don't get many visitors."

  Butterworth's smile stretched his lips thin. "Most pleasant."

  Their voices lifted the fog somewhat, allowing me to think a little. I needed to escape, yes, but most of all, I had to get Sylvia to safety.

  I didn't try to remove my hand from Butterworth's. Instead, I returned his smile. It took enormous effort. "Sylvia, would you mind very much asking the maid to bring us something to eat."

  "She did," she said. "Cream puffs. Try some, Mr. Butterworth."

  "Perhaps something else," I said without taking my gaze off his. Nor did he look away from me. It was like we were locked in a silent battle of wills. A battle I knew I'd lose.

  "But these are delicious!" Sylvia cried.

  "Just do it!"

  She fell silent. My outburst probably confused her, perhaps hurt her feelings, too. It didn't matter. All that mattered was getting her out of the room to safety.

  "Please," I added. "I don't like cream puffs."

  "Well," she huffed. "I'm sure we can find something else for your highness to nibble on. Excuse me, Mr. Butterworth." She went to the bell pull.

  I was about to ask her to go down to the kitchen in person when Mr. Butterworth suddenly let go of my hand. He leapt up, and in a movement so swift as to be unnatural for someone with his stocky frame, he grasped a statuette off the table and hit Sylvia over the head with it.

  She crumpled to the floor without a sound.

  I bit back my scream, but the fear rose again, fiercer than before. I couldn't stop shaking. Butterworth took hold of my hand and jerked me to my feet so hard my shoulder screamed in pain.

  "Do not make a sound," he growled. "Or you'll be coming with me to the afterlife faster than you can blink."

  I didn't need the threat to keep me silent. The fear did that. It paralyzed my tongue and numbed my head all over again.

  He dragged me out of the house, to the coach waiting near the front steps. He shoved me roughly in the back so that I fell onto the cabin floor. I tried to stand, but he pressed his boot against my knee.

  I gasped in pain and he removed his boot. I remained where I was as he pulled the cabin door closed. The driver urged the horses forward with a crack of his whip and the coach raced off. No one shouted for us to stop. No one followed us. No one even knew we'd left and that Sylvia lay unconscious on the floor in the drawing room. Samuel and Tommy were in the village, looking for a ghost. A ghost who was now taking me away to plunge me into a nightmare all over again.

  But this time I would not let the nightmare become real. I was a different woman, now. I was no longer a child desperate to escape the streets, desperate to be loved. I had much to live for: the orphans, my friends, a fulfilling life. And that other girl, the one I'd seen in my visions, needed me. I could be brave, for her. I would be brave.

  If only my newfound resolve would tell my brain that. The fear had me curling into a ball as far away from his feet as possible and shaking as if it were the depths of winter. The fear could cripple me if I let it. The more afraid and useless I became, the easier I would succumb to the master's sadistic wishes.

  Only the weight of the contents of my pocket lent me enough strength to keep me alert.

  The master's bleak, soulless eyes settled on me, pinning me to the floor as thoroughly as his boot had done. Butterworth had a soft face, but somehow the master's spirit made the bloated skin seem harder. He'd been a tall, imposing man when he was alive. I remembered that; the sharp blade of his cheekbones, the nip of his teeth when he kissed me, the power in his long fingers. He wouldn't like being inside a body like Butterworth's. I wondered why he'd chosen it, but then I stopped wondering anything when he kicked me in the shin.

  "That got your attention." He chuckled. "I can't believe I've finally got you, after all these years."

  "You… you've been looking for me?"

  He snorted. "Don't flatter yourself, Charity. And did I give you permission to speak? No, I don't believe I did. Remind me to whip you for it when I get you home."

  Home. Where was that? Nearby? London?

  Suddenly the task ahead seemed overwhelming. How could I escape this man? I couldn't last time, not on my own. I'd needed Jack's help. Jack was far away, now. Samuel and Tommy might as well be, too. We'd not known where to find the master before, and they were still in the dark. They would return to Frakingham after discovering Mrs. Turner's boarder dazed and unable to account for the last few months, or even years, of his life. They would find Sylvia unconscious and learn that Butterworth took me. But the master was too clever to take me back to the mayor's house.

  I wanted to ask him where we were going, but my voice wouldn't work. It was as frozen as the rest of me. So I waited and bided my time until we fetched that other girl. If he planned on fetching her. Perhaps he had already let her go, knowing he would soon have me. Perhaps he'd killed her.

  The coach raced on, not slowing down for bumps or ditches. The rough ride finally came to an end after perhaps thirty minutes.

  "Don't say a word when you get out," he said, "or I'll not only kill you, but I'll kill the other girl, too."

  I swallowed heavily and fixed him with as stern a glare as I dared.

  "You may speak," he said.

  "Who is she?" I ventured.

  "Just another whore like you."

  I flinched. I'd been called that many times, most recently by Samuel's parents, but never had it made me feel as filthy as a sewer.

  "You can't escape that term, can you? Whore." He chuckled. "You can't escape me, either. You must have thought you were free, after I died. How you would have rejoiced! Ah, but you see, you and I are bound in this life and the next. We belong together, Charity. For eternity."

  The cabin door opened, revealing the same thick-set man who'd tried to kidnap me in London, and again last night. Smith, his name was. I remembered it now. Just Smith. He grinned and held out his hand for me to take. I did and stepped down from the cabin as if I were a lady heading off to a ball.

  We were alone at a building site, surrounded by trees. There were no workers, no passersby, and no hope that anyone would stumble across us. The site was isolated, the only access being the road on which we'd just driven. It led back through a dense woodland to goodness knew where.

  Butterworth—the master—breathed in deeply. "Such a peaceful place. Can you hear birds, Charity? And the breeze rustling the leaves? So serene. A perfect place to die."

  I focused on my surroundings and not his voice or words. I took it all in. The building itself was half finished and would be impressive, once complete. The timber frame stretched three stories high, but the brick walls only covered the lower floor. Tools lay abandoned alongside planks of wood and piles of bricks. I wanted to ask him what purpose the building would have when it was finished, but he hadn't given me permission to speak again. I knew f
rom past experience that asking questions could lead to a painful lesson in obedience.

  "Come and meet your playmate," the master said. "She's waiting for you."

  I took the arm he offered and we picked our way through the building site. Smith tethered the horses and followed closely behind. If an outsider stumbled upon us, we would have appeared normal, like a regular couple inspecting their building's progress. Yet, if the imaginary outsiders looked at my face, they would have seen the naked fear in my pale skin and round eyes.

  We headed into the building itself and made our way through several rooms until we reached some smaller ones at one end of the structure. Smith opened a trapdoor in the wooden floor and indicated I should climb down first. "After you, Miss Charity. You're not afraid of the dark anymore, are you?"

  I was terrified. He knew that. He and the master used to leave me in a darkened room, naked and cold, until I began to go mad, wondering what they planned for me upon my release.

  I descended the ladder, forcing myself to put one foot ahead of the next. Keep going, Charity. Swallow the fear. Easier said than done.

  A rustle below set my nerves jumping. I stopped and peered down, but it was as dark as a well. I couldn't even make out shadows. Smith, descending after me, didn't stop. He stepped on my hand.

  I screamed as pain ripped through my fingers and up my arm. Mercifully, he lifted his foot. I withdrew my hand and cradled it against my breast.

  "You've become soft, Charity," came the master's amused voice from above. "You never used to cry out so loud. Well, perhaps in the beginning. You've forgotten everything you learned."

  My face crumpled. Hot tears stung my eyes. I let them fall, here in the dark where they couldn’t be seen. How had I reached this point all over again? Despite my resolve to not let him win, not to succumb to the numbing fear, I felt myself slipping into an abyss of darkness, similar to the actual one I was stepping into.

  "Move!" Smith snarled.

  I used my injured hand as best as I could to steady myself as I descended. I stepped onto the floor and inched away from the ladder. I didn't dare reach out and feel my way around. It would be just like the master to hide traps in the dark. I tucked my injured hand against my chest. The pain had dulled somewhat, to a steady, hot throb. Hopefully there were no broken bones. I would be needing it.