The Memory Keeper Read online

  Mrs. Peeble set about cleaning the wound while I held Polly. She was a stout woman of about forty with broad, masculine features and hands. She wasn't gentle, but little Polly bore the teacher's ministration bravely.

  "You girls shouldn't be in here alone," Mrs. Peeble scolded. "There are all sorts of things that could harm two naughty children."

  "We only wanted to cut Dolly's hair," Charlotte said with a sniff.

  "I want Dolly," Polly said, her lip wobbling. She pointed at a doll lying on the floor under the table.

  Cara fetched it and the knife. She returned the knife to the table and gave the doll to Polly. The little girl tucked it between her body and mine.

  Mrs. Peeble clicked her tongue. "The rules are clear. No one is allowed in the kitchen classroom without a teacher. You girls are old enough to know."

  "It's all right, Mrs. Peeble," I said gently. "I think the girls have learned the hard way that knives can be dangerous."

  "Ow!" Polly jumped as Mrs. Peeble began to wrap a bandage around the cut.

  I tightened my grasp on her and she nestled against me once more. I kissed the top of her head and held her until Mrs. Peeble finished.

  "That'll suffice until Dr. Cumberland can get here," Mrs. Peeble declared. "Off you go to class, girls."

  Cara helped Polly to stand and then held her hand out to me. She was smiling curiously. Mrs. Peeble left, muttering about naughty children, and I sent the girls on their way.

  "Try to stay seated as much as possible," I told Polly. "No running around for you today."

  She threw her arms around me and hugged me with far more ferocity than I thought her capable of. "I love you, Miss Charity."

  My throat closed. "I love you too, Polly," I managed.

  She gave me a squeeze then ran after her friend.

  "I said no running!" I called after her.

  She slowed to a fast walk.

  I smiled. "She'll be all right," I said to Cara. "But she certainly gave me a fright."

  "So I saw." Cara made for the door in a swish of skirts. "I must go. You've got work to do and Emily has more torture in store for me this evening. I must try to tame this tangled mop into something presentable beforehand."

  "Your hair is lovely," I assured her. "You're lovely. Enjoy your evening and be kind to the poor gentlemen who only wish to speak to a charming young lady."

  "I will try, Charity, but if they turn out to be stupid or vain, I cannot promise not to step on their toes."

  "I think that's entirely fair."

  We chatted as I walked her to the front door, but I wasn't really listening. I couldn't stop wondering if Polly was resting her leg. Had it started bleeding again?

  "Charity." Cara's curious tone caught my attention. She stopped near the coat stand and I stopped alongside her. "Forgive me for saying this, but… you've never held one of the children like that before, have you?"

  The lump that had swelled in my throat when I held Polly formed again. I tried to shrug off her observation, but I couldn't be so glib. She was right, I hadn't. I shook my head but did not answer.

  She touched my hand. Her thumb rubbed the scar. "I'm very glad."

  I didn't ask her what she meant, although I suspected I already knew the answer. She was glad that my bad memories were gone, glad that I'd changed. Glad that I was now capable of giving affection to the children like I'd always wanted. I could finally love them the way they needed to be loved.

  "So am I," I told her. "So am I."

  ***

  It was late when I finally returned to my bedroom. I was tired and looking forward to a full night's rest. It would be my third without the nightmares. The prospect was deeply satisfying.

  I undressed and reached around to my back, to scratch an itch that had been irritating me for the last half hour. My fingers touched roughened skin just below my shoulder blade. I twisted to see my back in the dressing table mirror. What I saw had me gasping in horror.

  Several scars marred the skin. They were different to the ones on my hands, mostly long and thin, with some round ones overlapping.

  My legs weakened. I plopped down on the floor and sucked in deep breaths. I had not known about them. They didn't hurt, but by the look of them, they once had. How had I got them?

  I knew that answer. At least, I knew that the scars were linked to my missing memories. It would seem I couldn't escape the physical damage inflicted upon me as easily as the mental.

  I didn't have time to contemplate it further. My vision suddenly blurred, in that now familiar but disconcerting way. When it cleared, it was as if I were standing inside a bedroom. It was a large bedroom with dark green and cream striped wallpaper, a heavy black mantel and sturdy four-poster bed. A young woman sat on the bed, dressed only in a chemise. She hugged her drawn-up knees and peered back at me through wet lashes.

  Then the vision disappeared and I was once more in my own bedroom. I reached for my shawl and wrapped it around myself. My hands shook. My mind reeled.

  Why had I experienced a vision now, when Samuel wasn't near? Who was the girl? And why did she look so frightened?

  CHAPTER 5

  It was some time before the effects of the vision wore off. It shook me to the core. Not only the fact that I'd experienced it without Samuel, but also because of the woman. Who was she and why was she crying? It was clear that I'd intruded on someone's intimate encounter in the bedroom.

  Which meant someone had intruded on mine. I'd been naked. Thank goodness I hadn't been looking into a mirror at the time!

  Everything was so confusing. Why was I experiencing a vision now? Why without Samuel?

  I removed the shawl and stood, catching sight of my back in the mirror again. There were perhaps a dozen scars in all. I didn't know what could have caused the small circular ones, but I guessed the long ones to be from a whip or belt. That meant someone had inflicted them upon me, they had not been caused by accident.

  My stomach rolled. Bile surged to my throat, burning and foul. I felt dizzy and had to sit again lest I fall.

  Don't think, Charity. Don't give the scars another thought.

  I couldn't see them very easily, so I could ignore them. They were a part of my forgotten past and that's where those memories must remain: forgotten.

  I put on a clean nightgown and crawled into bed. I would not think about them again.

  ***

  I received no more visions for the rest of the week. My life at the school felt blessedly normal. No, not quite normal… fulfilling. I hugged the children and they responded with affection. Somehow, those small gestures deepened my bond with them. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced before. I thought I'd loved my little orphan family of Jack, Tommy and the others, but this was different; there were no conditions placed upon it, no need for anything in return. A smile was enough, although they gave me much more. It was like their little arms circled my heart as well as my body, and remained there long after they'd run off to their next class. I found myself smiling during the day for no particular reason.

  The nights were different. I would remain in their dormitory, reading or talking, until they fell asleep then leave them to the care of the matron and return to my own room. I would sit alone on my bed and avoid the mirror. For one thing, I didn't want to be caught looking at myself if I had a vision and, for another, I didn't want to give in to the compulsion to check the scars on my back.

  I received a letter from Jack and Hannah. It was sent from Dover, on the morning they embarked on their honeymoon voyage to the continent. It was dated the day prior, so the ship would already have left. I felt a little less happy for them than I should have. It was more a sense of unease that Jack was no longer in England. He had always been there for me and I had always known where to find him if I'd ever needed him. Not that I had, but I'd not realized how secure that knowledge had made me feel until now.

  I received another letter the following day from Samuel, asking me to meet with him. I considered refusing. Not o
nly because we'd parted on awkward terms, but because he'd suggested we meet at Hyde Park, where the well-to-do liked to promenade. I didn't belong in such a place. I would be a weed among flowers, noticeable for all the wrong reasons.

  On the other hand, I needed to discuss the last vision with him. Perhaps he had some insight into it, and I was curious if he'd experienced it too.

  Yet the real reason I wanted to see him was simply that I wanted to. Against my better judgment, I liked his charming manners and smiling eyes. I was quite sure I could keep our acquaintance on a friendship basis only, though, as the alternative—being his mistress—was simply not an option for me, anymore.

  In the end, after much contemplation of the issue, I decided to meet him. We were bound by my memories, and I couldn't abandon him if he needed me. Hopefully this meeting would prove that he was quite recovered and we could go our separate ways.

  Cara came to my rescue after I lamented that I had nothing pretty to wear to the park. She loaned me a neat little military style jacket in peacock blue, and a matching hat and parasol. I couldn't borrow an entire dress from her, since she was shorter than me, but the accessories worked well with the dark colors of my wardrobe. Indeed, surveying my small collection of clothes made me realize how limiting the black and gray were. I should spend some of my savings and have something prettier made up.

  Samuel had offered to pick me up, but I'd written and advised him that I'd meet him at the Hyde Park Corner entrance. That way we would be in a crowded place and not alone in a carriage.

  I arrived early, but he was already there, leaning against the Wellington Arch as if he owned it. He pushed off from the stone structure upon seeing me and took my hand, bowing over it. If he thought it curious that my sleeves were shorter and no longer covered my scars, he didn't show it.

  "I'm glad you came," he said, straightening. I got my first proper glimpse of his face. The shadows along his jawline could be attributed to not having a valet or barber handy, but not the shadows that hollowed out his cheeks or underscored his eyes. His eyes too still swirled dark and stormy, but the whites now sported spidery, red lines. My heart sank a little at the haggard sight of him. It sank even further when I drew close enough to smell the whiskey on his breath.

  "How are you, Samuel?" I blurted out.

  His lips curled into a sneer. "Why do you ask?"

  I stepped back. His vehemence surprised me. "I… that is, it's the polite thing to ask an acquaintance."

  He looked away and drew in a breath. When he turned back to face me, he was smiling, but it was a little too hard to be genuine. "Yes. Of course, my apologies. I'm well. And you?"

  "In good health and spirits."

  "I'm pleased to hear it." The smile turned soft, genuine. "Very pleased."

  "Shall we walk? It's a pleasant day."

  "It is? Perhaps underneath the gray pall."

  I laughed. His own smile broadened. "You've been in Hertfordshire for too long. You've forgotten what it's like in London."

  "Perhaps."

  We set off along the gravel drive, keeping out of the way of other visitors. The park's roads were a veritable thoroughfare for young men driving their springy chariots at dizzying speeds to impress their passengers, and riders of both sexes on horseback. A little sunshine brought out the winter-weary Londoners like spring's first blooms attract bees.

  "How is everyone at Frakingham?" I asked.

  "Well enough, although the house is quiet without Jack and Hannah. I do wish Sylvia and Tommy would stop dancing around each other. It makes for a strained household."

  I stopped and stared at him. "Sylvia and Tommy? So I wasn't imagining it?"

  "Tommy likes Sylvia. Or she likes him. Perhaps. It's complicated and I don't think either of them knows what they feel."

  How remarkable, and deliciously scandalous too. It explained a lot about the odd behavior I'd observed. "Does her uncle know?"

  "Good lord, no. He'd put an end to it immediately, if he did. He would never agree to his niece being courted by one of the servants."

  "The gap between them is rather wide," I mumbled.

  "Cavernous. It would take a great love to close it and I'm not sure Sylvia has it in her to love on that scale. She's rather fickle."

  "Tommy does. He's most steadfast."

  His gaze slid to mine. "He's a good man."

  "One of the best. He and Jack."

  His jaw hardened. "Jack's gone for several months. Tommy's busy in Hertfordshire."

  Why did he sound so irritated? What had I said? "And?"

  "And I'm afraid you only have me."

  "Afraid? Who for? You or me?"

  He barked a short, harsh laugh. "I'm in earnest, Charity. If there's anything you need, you should come to me."

  "Thank you, Samuel. It's very kind of you. I'd like to extend the same offer to you, too." I swallowed and looked down at my boots. I hoped he didn't think I was implying something improper.

  "Actually, there is something. You can come with me to Everett Myer's residence."

  "Myer! Why?"

  "To question him."

  "Can you not do it alone? I want nothing to do with that man."

  He put his hands behind his back, linking the fingers tightly together. "Why?"

  "Because he's… he's not someone I like very much."

  He gave a harsh grunt. "Because he's a hypnotist, like me. Is that it?"

  I was walking a delicate line and I needed to be careful not to stray too far to the left or right. "He unnerves me. It's hard to explain. It's more of an intuitive response than anything tangible."

  "Ah, I see."

  I did not like his sneering tone, nor did I think it fair that he directed it at me. "We're discussing Mr. Myer, Samuel, not you."

  "We're the same."

  "You are not the same."

  "We're both hypnotists."

  "Hannah and Jack were both fire starters, but they weren't the same."

  "Semantics."

  I huffed out a breath. The man could be so exasperating! It was most definitely a new development. He'd never been so difficult before. Indeed, he'd always said the right thing, as if he were incapable of offending anyone.

  "Samuel, are we destined to argue about everything, now?"

  He said nothing. He walked stiffly on, as if I'd not spoken.

  "If this is the result of you keeping my memories then I'm not sure I like it so much anymore."

  He stopped abruptly and blinked at me. The wretched mask he'd been wearing slipped off and I caught a glimpse of the friendly man I'd liked without even knowing that I'd like him. "I agree, Charity." He spoke quietly, as if afraid to frighten off a bird that had landed on the grass nearby. "I don't want to argue with you. I'm sorry. I'm… not myself, lately." He squeezed the bridge of his nose.

  "I know. Because of—"

  "Don't. We've been through this, and it is not because of you. If I hear you say that again I'll… throw myself in the Serpentine."

  "Can you swim?"

  "Yes."

  "Then that is hardly a threat."

  "It is if I emerge all wet."

  Still not a threat, but I didn't admit that I would rather like to see him dripping wet, his shirt clinging to his chest.

  "I'll dog your steps across London, telling everyone how I threw myself into the lake to prove a point to you," he said. "I'll gain all their sympathies and you'll be painted as the heartless shrew who forced me to do something drastic."

  I laughed. The conversation had taken a silly turn, but it was good to see Samuel back to telling jokes and trying to make me smile.

  He put his elbow out for me to take then let it drop with a sigh. "The visions. Well then? Will you come with me to see Myer? I thought we could ask to see his study and you can compare it to the one in your vision."

  "If you'd said that before, we need not have argued in the first place. It's a very reasonable request. I had another vision too. Did you?"

  "Yes." He sai
d nothing further. If he had indeed seen my bedroom, it was gentlemanly of him not to mention it.

  "There was a girl this time, sitting on a bed crying. Do you, uh, know who she might be?" I couldn't look at him. It was far too personal a question, but I needed to know that the girl wasn't crying because of him. I wasn't sure why that need was so strong in me, it just was.

  Curiously, he did not seem either shocked or disturbed by my question. "No. I can assure you I haven't seen any girls sitting on beds in the last week, let alone tearful ones. She must have been with him."

  "Yes," I said quietly. "I wonder why she was sad. Sad and frightened."

  His Adam's apple jerked up and down. "I have no idea, but let's confront Myer. Hopefully he can provide answers."

  ***

  Mrs. Myer didn't like me. I didn't need to have supernatural powers to know that the curve of her lips was more a smirk than a smile. Her critical gaze took in my face, figure and clothing—twice—and she didn't seem at all concerned that I might be embarrassed by her scrutiny. Indeed, she made me feel like a bolt of cloth in a draper's shop, the way she took my measure. I couldn't be sure if I met with her approval or not.

  The false smile was soon turned on Samuel. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Gladstone," she said smoothly.

  "Thank you, Mrs. Myer." The two exchanged pleasantries as I sat on the sofa in the Myers' drawing room and wondered what to make of her. She was certainly not the sort of wife I expected Myer to have. I'd met him briefly at the Beauforts' Christmas ball, and had found him to be charming and a little flirtatious. It was why I hadn’t liked him then, just as I'd not liked Samuel. I was prepared to see him through different eyes this time, albeit guarded ones, knowing what role he'd played in Hannah's recent troubles.

  His flirtatiousness with the prettier women at the ball had led me to think his wife would be pretty, but not even at my kindest could I call her that. She was plain and rather flat and broad, in both figure and face. I'd seen plainer girls overcome worse, but what made Mrs. Myer's appearance so unfortunate was the lack of spark in her eyes and her manner. The penetrating scrutiny and grim set to her mouth equated to a rather unhappy countenance. Ordinarily, I would have felt sorry for someone who seemed so unhappy, but instead I felt a little angry. She had enormous wealth at her disposal. She could afford to surround herself in luxury and immerse herself with entertainments or idle outings. If she preferred more cerebral stimulation then she could buy as many books as she wished, or if she had a kind heart then there were boundless opportunities for philanthropy. She was far more fortunate than the majority of people in London, yet she seemed like one of the most miserable I'd ever met.