The Memory Keeper Page 5

  Besides, I did want to see him again. Very much.

  CHAPTER 4

  I awoke feeling more refreshed than I had in years. I'd slept through, without a single nightmare disturbing my slumber. It brought a smile to my face and a bounce to my step. Everyone noticed over breakfast. Everyone, that is, except Samuel. He wasn't there.

  "He's still asleep," Tommy said, setting the teapot down on the sideboard.

  "It's not like him to sleep late," Jack said.

  "He was awake well into the early hours. I did my rounds, checking on the house, at about four and found him doing the same. He said he had not had a wink."

  My good humor vanished. Poor Samuel. Not only had he gained my memories, I'd given him my nightmares, too. "If it's all right with you, Jack, I'll stay at Frakingham a little longer. Just until he's feeling better again."

  "No," Jack and Hannah both said.

  "The school needs you," Hannah added. "We know how you itch to be there again."

  I did indeed. I'd not expected to miss the children so much, but I yearned to see their smiling faces again and feel their small arms wrapped around me.

  Sylvia, sitting beside me, accepted a plate of bacon and eggs from Tommy. She was the only one he served. The rest of us served ourselves from the selection of dishes on the sideboard, as was the morning custom. Nobody raised so much as an eyebrow at the special treatment he gave her, but it got me wondering why her and not anyone else.

  She picked up her teacup. "I do think it's best that you leave. You're something of a distraction."

  "Sylvia!" Jack scolded.

  She looked taken aback. "What is wrong with that? Isn't it nice to be a distraction for a man? I know I would take it as a compliment."

  "Believe me, you're more than a distraction for some around here," Jack muttered. "You're a disruption of seismic proportions."

  She pulled a childish face at him. "I don't know what seismic means, but I'll take it as a compliment."

  "I don't think I distract Samuel that much," I told her gently. "Besides, what am I distracting him from?" Indeed, Samuel didn't seem to do much around Frakingham. Jack took care of the estate for his uncle, but Samuel had no function that I could see. For such an active man, it seemed odd.

  "His work with Uncle, of course."

  "Oh? What are they working on?"

  She peeked over the cup rim at me. "This and that. I'm not really sure." She appealed to Jack.

  He shrugged. "They won't say. Something to do with hypnotism."

  A sinister thought struck me. "You don't think our shared visions have something to do with their experiments?"

  Sylvia dropped her cup onto the saucer with a clatter. "I knew something like this would happen! I knew we couldn't be normal for long. Why does Uncle always do this? Why can't he work on normal drugs like normal microbiologists?"

  "We don't know that for certain," Hannah said to me. She continued carefully, "It's a possibility, though. We shouldn't discount anything as the cause at this point."

  Sylvia clicked her tongue. "I wish Uncle would leave well enough alone. Didn't he learn from the last time?"

  "Not only August," Jack said, "but Samuel, too. Whatever they're doing, we must trust that it's harmless."

  "If it were harmless," Tommy said quietly, "then why would they keep it a secret?"

  Nobody had a response to that, although Sylvia did look irritated that the footman had spoken out of turn. She held out her teacup. "More tea, Tommy. Now."

  "Ask me nicely, Miss Langley, and I will."

  I bit my lip to stop my gasp. Was he mad? Did he want to lose his position? He ought to apologize immediately.

  But it was Sylvia who backed down. She returned her teacup and saucer on the table, huffed, and pushed herself up. "The lack of respect in this household is astounding. Does no one believe in the proper order of things, anymore?" She tossed her head, lifted her chin, and stalked off.

  Tommy bowed as she passed him. She paused, took one look at him as he straightened, a small smile playing on his lips, then stormed out in a swish of skirts.

  ***

  I didn't see Samuel until I was about to step into Mr. Langley's coach for the drive to the station. My luggage was already secured to the back and Tommy held the door open for me with such stiff formality that I began to giggle. I wasn't sure I'd ever get used to seeing him in his role as footman. He'd been so mischievous when we were younger, and now he was so rigid. Indeed, he seemed even more rigid since Sylvia's scolding over breakfast. Poor Tommy. I got the feeling he was caught between trying to please the pretty, proud Miss Langley, and getting her to see him more as a man than a servant. I didn't know why he persisted; she didn't strike me as being particularly worthy of him.

  At the urging of my friends, I'd decided that returning to London was best for everyone. Not only for the children and me, but for Samuel as well. Even Jack thought having me around could be affecting Samuel.

  I was pleased to see him when he emerged from the house. He looked like his old self again, with his perfectly groomed hair and warm smile. But as he drew closer, I saw the bruised look to his eyes, the deeper lines around his mouth. He was tired, but he was putting on a brave face. For me.

  I said my goodbyes and wished Jack and Hannah well on their upcoming journey. They both promised to write, but I rather expected they'd be too busy to think of me. Hannah's excitement at finally seeing more of the world was palpable. I was pleased for her and happy for Jack. Going by the way he gazed at his wife, he didn't care where he went, as long as she was by his side. It made my heart swell, not only for them, but for me, too. They made me believe that love did exist.

  I kissed their cheeks, and that of Sylvia, too. Her polite smile turned to a scowl, however, when I embraced Tommy. I didn't care that he was a footman and she his master's niece. He was also my friend. Yesterday morning, before the hypnosis, I cared about doing the right thing. Today, not so much.

  I stretched out my hand to Samuel, but quickly withdrew it. I gave him an apologetic smile. "We shouldn't."

  He bowed. "Safe journey, Charity." He didn't promise to visit or write, and nor did I. It seemed best to avoid the topic altogether.

  He stood to one side of the coach steps, Tommy on the other as I ascended. I turned to say a final "God speed," to Hannah and Jack, but the horses shifted at that moment. I lost my balance and flailed my arms in an attempt to grab hold of something solid. I did. Samuel.

  He caught me round the waist and steadied me. My face was level with his. The dark swirl of his eyes sucked me into their depths and his breath warmed my lips, mere inches from his own.

  And then he was gone.

  My vision blurred then cleared to reveal a bustling city street filled with men walking along the footpath. Crowded omnibuses rattled by, also filled with men. It was early in the morning, so I assumed they were probably heading to work in the stately buildings on either side of the street. The man whose eyes I was looking through had been walking, but he'd stopped when I entered his vision. I knew this because I—he, we?—looked down and saw his feet and the end of a black cane.

  A violent shiver wracked me. My stomach rolled and, for a moment, I thought I'd throw up. I covered my mouth with my hand and once more found that I was back inside my own body, staring directly at Samuel. We were no longer touching.

  "Are you all right?" he asked, frowning. "You're very pale."

  "As are you."

  He did indeed look as ill as I felt. His eyes were a fathomless whirlpool, their color bleak against the unnatural pall of his skin.

  "Are you all right, Samuel?" I asked.

  His eyes shuttered. He stepped back and dragged a shaking hand through his hair as he swore under his breath.

  "What happened?" Jack asked. I hadn't seen him or the others draw close. Tommy now held me by the elbow, steadying me. It was just as well, as my legs felt like jelly. "Another vision?"

  I nodded. "This one… it… disturbed me more than the
others, but…" I sighed. "I don't know why."

  Samuel's shoulders jerked as if he'd flinched. No one else seemed to have noticed how affected he was by the vision. They were all concerned about me. I desperately wanted to speak to him about it, and ask his opinion on the feelings I'd felt during it. The feelings I suspected he'd also felt.

  But I did not.

  Indeed, I didn't really know what to do. Comfort him? Stay longer and discuss it? Or leave, and do my best to forget? Were the visions linked to the memories I'd had erased?

  It was a possibility, and because of that possibility, I wasn't willing to explore the vision further. The sooner I got away from Samuel and the potential to experience more visions, the better.

  Tommy helped me into the cabin and the driver urged the horses forward. I resisted looking through the window, although I desperately wanted to see who watched me go. Or rather, if Samuel watched.

  I gave in just before we reached the curve in the drive and glanced out the rear window. Jack, Hannah and Tommy stood where I'd left them, waving. Sylvia had turned and walked up the front steps. Samuel was nowhere to be seen and my heart dipped a little.

  I was about to turn around to face the front when a movement at a second floor window caught my eye. I squinted and tried to fathom what I was looking at. Or rather, who. The blond hair was a giveaway. Samuel. He must have raced up there as soon as I left. He wasn't alone, however. Beside him, Mr. August Langley sat, and behind him stood Bollard. All three watched me drive off. They were too far away for me to read their expressions, but an uneasy feeling clawed at my gut. What interest could Langley possibly have in me?

  ***

  "The Burcotts’ ball was the most tedious affair I've been to since my return to England," said Cara Moreau with a grimace. She sat on the sofa in the school's drawing room and I sat opposite. It was the afternoon of the day after my return from Frakingham, and I'd been glad when she called upon me. Her friendly presence was always welcome and I'd been toying with the idea of talking to her about my visions.

  "There were twice as many ladies as gentlemen and not nearly enough refreshments for everyone," she went on. "The ballroom was no bigger than this room."

  We both glanced around the drawing room. It was as comfortable and welcoming as I could make it. It was almost a year ago when I'd been tasked by Mrs. Emily Beaufort, my patroness and Cara's niece, to make it a more inviting room. I'd filled it with framed artwork, painted by our more talented pupils, and relegated the stuffy portraits of previous headmasters to the long corridor. The sofa had been in Mrs. Beaufort's house before she redecorated, but most of the other furniture was made by our older students.

  I leaned forward in my chair, keen to hear more. Cara loathed attending society's entertainments, but I enjoyed listening to her descriptions on her weekly visits. Newly returned from the wild Antipodean colony of Victoria, she had rather a unique perspective on the round of entertainments she was forced to endure in England in order to secure a suitable husband. Usually her descriptions involved the words pompous, shallow and limp. I pitied the poor gentlemen on occasion, but she did make them sound weak compared to the men she'd known in Melbourne.

  "Did you dance?" I asked her.

  "Unfortunately I had to endure several sets. The gentlemen were the dullest yet. Not a single one of them held me firmly. It's as if they thought I'd break."

  "It's not entirely their fault," I said. "You do look fragile."

  She rolled her eyes. "You sound like Emily."

  "Perhaps she's despairing that you've not liked a single one of the gentlemen she's presented to you." I wouldn't normally dare speak to anyone so boldly, let alone my patroness's aunt, but I was feeling bolder. Besides, Cara and I were friends now. For some reason she'd taken to me instantly. Perhaps it was because we'd both lived on the streets as motherless children. Our early childhoods were remarkably alike, although she'd been taken in at the age of ten, by her newly discovered family, and I had not been so fortunate.

  "I don't like them because the gentlemen are dull at best and vain at worst," she said. "Some are both. One fellow in particular proceeded to tell me about all the girls he'd danced with that evening and how not a one of them was up to his standard. They were too tall or too freckly, too fat or too thin, too simpering or too aloof. Can you believe it! What woman in her right mind would want to spend the rest of her life trapped in a marriage with that man?"

  "What did you do?"

  "I stood on his toe. Hard. I'm sure he told the next girl he danced with about the dusky-skinned girl's lack of grace."

  We both giggled at that. "I'm sure it can't be all bad."

  "True. It could be worse. There could have been ghosts there."

  Cara was a spirit medium. She and her niece could both see and speak to ghosts as if they were living people. I'd been disconcerted by it at first, but quickly came to realize they were normal in every other way.

  "Speaking of which," I said. "Have you met any handsome ghosts lately?"

  "Dead men are not handsome, Charity. Their corpses are rotting away underground. Small creatures are making homes in their skulls."

  I threw my head back and laughed. "How can you joke about such gruesome things?"

  "How can you laugh at them?" She grinned. "It's good to see you laugh with such abandon. I never thought I'd see the day."

  "Don't be silly. You often make me laugh."

  She shook her head. "You've politely tittered, but never laughed. As your friend, I feel compelled to point out the change in you. I suppose it has something to do with that handsome Samuel Gladstone. Now there is a gentleman who could not be accused of vanity, even though he has every right to be vain with eyes that blue and the face of Adonis."

  "Cara! He is not that handsome. He is certainly charming, I'll agree with you there." I frowned. "Usually."

  "What do you mean? Was he rude to you? If he was, I'll have to go to Freak House and box his ears."

  I smiled. "I'd like to see you try. He looks strong."

  Her lips slowly spread into a smile. "He does indeed."

  My face heated and I looked away. I wasn't prepared to discuss my attraction to Samuel with anyone. I wasn't even prepared to think about it.

  Cara cleared her throat. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

  "Don't be. Samuel is… a nice gentleman. You ought to consider him as a suitor."

  "I don't think I'm Samuel's type."

  "Oh? What makes you say that?"

  She blinked at me. "Instinct," she added quickly. "If I were his type, he'd have tried to court me already."

  My heart did a little flutter. "He hasn't?" I tried not to sound pleased about it, but I think I failed. She gave me a sly smile.

  "I danced with him once. It was pleasant, if uneventful."

  "You mean you had no need to step on his toes?"

  She laughed. "I mean there was no connection between us. No spark. Nothing. I do expect a spark, don't you?"

  "I'm not sure. I agree there does need to be a sign, something clear that cannot be mistaken for mere friendship."

  "Like a large diamond ring?"

  We both fell about laughing in the most unladylike manner. It felt good to laugh with her. Utterly liberating. She was right, I hadn't laughed like that in… well, perhaps ever.

  "I see the hypnosis worked," Cara finally said when our giggles subsided. "The change in you since your return is remarkable." She got up and took my hand in hers. "I'm so pleased to see it. I knew you could be like this. I knew it." She bent and kissed my cheek. When she pulled away, her eyes shone with unshed tears.

  I didn't know what to say. She was right. I was happier. But to admit it was to acknowledge that something in my past had troubled me so much that it had altered my personality, destroyed the light in me, and filled me with darkness and fear.

  I didn't want to give voice to that. The memory was gone. I did not want it back, not even the ghost of it.


  There was no chance to discuss it further. A scream had me jumping to my feet and my heart leaping into my throat. Cara and I ran out of the drawing room and up the corridor in the direction from which it had come.

  "Miss Charity! Miss Charity!" Little Charlotte, a six year-old orphan in my care, barreled down the passageway towards us, her pigtails flying behind her. "Miss Charity, come quick!"

  "What is it?"

  "It's Polly. She cut herself and there's blood everywhere!" She pulled a face. "I think she cut her leg off."

  "Where is she?"

  "Kitchen class, miss."

  "What were you two doing in there unsupervised?" Another wail had me dismissing my own question. "Never mind. Charlotte, fetch Mrs. Peeble and ask her to bring bandages. And have her send for the doctor."

  She raced along the corridor while Cara and I continued towards the kitchen classroom. Little Polly sat on the floor in a flood of tears, near one of the large tables, her skirt and petticoat pulled up to her knees. Blood oozed from a gash in her leg. The culprit—a long knife—lay beside her.

  She sobbed upon seeing me. "It hurts, miss."

  "I know it does, Polly. Let me see." I knelt and checked the wound. It was indeed long, but thankfully not deep. "The doctor will come soon and make it better."

  "But it hurts now." Her face crumpled and she let out an almighty wail.

  I drew her onto my lap and enclosed her in my arms. She nuzzled into my throat and buried her hands in my skirts. Her blood smeared my clothes, but I didn't care. I just wanted to comfort her and stop her shaking. The warm little body was as much a comfort to me as I was to her. It felt good to embrace her, to be the center of her world, to be the one she needed.

  I closed my eyes against a wave of emotion that rippled through me, but it didn't stop. My heart swelled. My pulse thudded. Tears came close.

  A commotion at the door had me reopening my eyes. Charlotte and Mrs. Peeble rushed in, but it was Cara that caught my attention. She stared at me, her face soft, her eyes wistful. I'd forgotten she was there.