My Soul to Take Page 7

  "Even if you were able bodied, Quin wouldn't want your help," I said. "He doesn't want to draw any of us into warrior business unless it can't be avoided."

  "It's not just that," he snapped. "The servants at Freak House need overseeing. I should be there to make sure that turd of a butler is putting the silver away in its proper place and not pilfering it."

  "It wasn't your job to oversee the servants," I said. "Not in the days before you left anyway."

  "And Jack needs my help," he said, ignoring me.

  "True."

  "And Sylvia…" He stopped pacing and studied his shoes. "I should be there for her."

  Now we got to the crux of the problem, finally. "You will be, when Mr. Langley comes to his senses."

  "And when will that be? I'm sick of waiting, Cara. I'm grateful to Charity and the other teachers for allowing me to stay here, but it's not where I want to be. I want to be with Syl and my friends."

  "You will be."

  "I won't. It's hopeless." He began pacing again.

  I sprang to my feet and stepped in front of him. He tried to step around me so I grabbed him by the arms. "It is not hopeless. You're both alive, despite the best efforts of some evil creatures and spirits. Where there is life, there's hope."

  "Cara's right," Charity said. "It could have been so much worse. We are all very lucky to be where we are today. Do not give up on being with Sylvia."

  "I'm not. I haven't." He heaved a deep sigh and blinked up at the ceiling. "I just can't stop thinking about her. I wish I was there instead of here."

  "Then it's time to stop thinking and wishing, and do something instead," Charity said.

  "What do you mean?" we both asked.

  "Self-pity is unhealthy for your soul. As is inaction."

  "Are you suggesting that I act?"

  "Doing something is always better than doing nothing."

  I tended to agree with her. Not knowing where Quin had gone, and what his plans entailed, was tying my insides into knots. Knowing that he would leave this realm again when his task was complete made me feel altogether ill. We had parted on a sour note earlier, and I desperately wanted to wipe that from our slate. But even more than that, I wanted to find a way for him to be here, on this realm, alive.

  According to the book, it was possible. Gilbert de Mordaunt had done it. Since he wasn't here, and nor was the book, I had two options—Myer and Edward de Mordaunt. They knew where the book was. If I could get my hands on it…

  I felt a little giddy as I made my decision. I wasn't yet certain how to go about approaching the two men but I knew I had to. Doing nothing was driving me to madness. Even if I failed, I would know that I had tried. I still felt somewhat guilty for not giving Quin the book, like he'd wanted, when we found it. Clearly there were no repercussions, as I'd expected, or Gilbert would have suffered some awful fate.

  "Cara?" Charity asked. "Why have you got that funny little smile on your face?"

  I schooled my features and laid my hands flat on my stomach, where it felt like a thousand butterflies had taken up residence. "I just remembered something I had to do tonight."

  "Is it something Mr. Beaufort would disapprove of, as your guardian?"

  "Probably."

  She groaned.

  "Should we be worried?" Tommy asked.

  "Of course not." I patted his arm. "Just because Jacob would disapprove doesn't mean Emily would. She's far more liberal minded."

  Charity stood beside Tommy, presenting a united front to me. "As long as it's nothing dangerous," she said.

  I kissed her cheek then squeezed Tommy's hand. "I must dash. Goodnight."

  I turned to give them a little wave from the doorway only to find them both scowling at me.

  ***

  I dined alone in the ladies’ dining room at The London Restaurant on Chancery Lane then returned to the Eaton Square house and begged the maid for the use of her clothes.

  "Whatever for, miss?" Her impertinent question had her instantly biting her lip in contrition. If the housekeeper had overheard the way she'd questioned me, she would have been given a severe talking-to. As someone who also had trouble holding her tongue on occasion, it didn't bother me.

  "A social experiment I wish to perform this evening," I told her airily. "Nothing of a clandestine nature, I assure you. Besides, it's not as if you need your uniform tonight. You're already dressed in your bed clothes."

  She looked down at her nightdress, as if she had only just realized she stood before me in nothing else. "Are you sure it will be returned before I rise in the morning, miss?"

  "Of course. I'll sneak in when I get back and lay it on that chair there."

  "I get up early, miss. Usually when the master and mistress are away I can sleep until dawn, but with you here, I must be up to do the blacking and polishing before you rise."

  I suspected that was said to make me feel guilty for being there. "It will be returned well before then." I held out my hands. "May I have it, please?"

  She fetched her neatly folded dress and apron and passed them to me.

  "It's fortunate we are of a size," I said.

  She didn't look as if she thought it were fortunate. She looked as if she expected me to return it torn and dirty. I thanked her and left before she changed her mind. I dressed in my room then snuck out without the rest of the staff noticing. It wasn't yet nine, but dusk blanketed the city, allowing me to walk in the shadows to Berkeley Square. I stood across from the Myers' house for several minutes, forming my plan and observing. Several lights were on upstairs, but nobody came or left the building. If Myer and de Mordaunt had been riding since the day before, they ought to have just arrived in the city. They would be exhausted, something which could work in my favor.

  I glanced around at the small park behind me, half expecting to see Quin shadowing a tree or shrub, but the dim street lighting revealed nobody. He could be well hidden, or he might not be there at all.

  I headed down the narrow mews lined with stables and carriage houses, with rooms above for the drivers and stable hands. Most were quiet, the only sounds coming from deep masculine voices from the rooms above, or the shuffling of horses' hooves in the stalls below. The third one, however, had some activity. A yawning youth mucked out an empty stall with a half-hearted effort.

  "Excuse me," I asked the boy in a French accent.

  He jumped at the sound of my voice, even though I'd spoken quietly so as not to startle the horse. He blinked at me then rubbed his eyes. "Who're you?"

  "I have a message for Mr. Myer. Is he at home this evening?"

  He propped the stall door open with his elbow and eyed me up and down. "I never seen a darky girl before."

  I bristled. "Mr. Myer," I prompted. "Is he at home? Is that his horse?" I thickened my accent, but I probably shouldn't have sounded as if I were demanding an answer from him. A servant girl would be less authoritative, even a French ladies maid. "My mistress wishes me to deliver a message to him directly, so if you could please tell me if he is inside the house."

  "Mistress, eh?" He snorted. "No lady has ever tried to give him a message before."

  "There is a first time for everything, as you English say."

  His tongue darted out between his lips and he licked the lower one. His gaze settled on the bare skin at my throat. "Aye, there is."

  It was harder to get answers from this fellow than Quin. "He is inside then, is he not?"

  "Maybe." He came out of the stall and the door swung closed behind him. "What I want to know is, are you that color all over?"

  For goodness' sake. He wasn't going to give me answers, only trouble. I went to walk away but he grabbed my arm. "Not yet," he said.

  "Unhand me or my mistress will hear of your behavior. She is a great friend to Mrs. Myer's, as well as your master." I hoped invoking the name of the more formidable Edith Myer would frighten him more than mention of Everett Myer. Fortunately it did. His fingers sprang apart and I edged away.

  He snor
ted softly. "Bloody French. Think you better than the rest of us."

  The clip clop of hooves came from the entrance to the mews. We both peered into the dark lane where two riders approached.

  "Bloody hell!" the lad scurried back into the stables. "The master's back! Get down here!"

  Muttered curses and thumping feet sounded above. I flattened myself against a wall, thankful that my dark hair and clothes allowed me to disappear into the shadows. The two riders came into view and I knew it was Myer and de Mordaunt without seeing their faces. The big frame of the medieval soldier and the tall, lanky one of the modern gentleman were a giveaway. They wore different clothing than when they'd stepped out of the portal, dressed in riding cloaks and gloves but no hats.

  A second youth and an older man barreled down the stairs and bowed to Myer. The first lad took the horses through to the stalls while the second filled a trough with water from a bucket.

  "Go tell the house staff that the master's back," the older man ordered, nudging the lad's shoulder. The boy scampered off toward the house. The man welcomed his master back. "You've been missed, sir. Everyone's been worried."

  "Thank you, Jenkins. My wife?"

  "Er, I s'pose she missed you too, sir."

  "I mean is she home?"

  De Mordaunt's gaze darted around the stable interior and I stopped breathing. He didn't see me, thank God. Myer's gaze was less alert. Exhaustion dragged at his eyes, and his shoulders sagged. His legs were still in a bow shape from riding and he rubbed his lower back.

  "She's not in, sir," Jenkins said. "She went out earlier."

  "The carriage is here."

  "Aye, sir. She walked." From the way Jenkins didn't look at his master, he clearly thought this odd behavior for a married gentlewoman calling on her friends. Or perhaps, like me, he knew Edith Myer didn't have friends to call upon.

  Myer merely grunted. "Good."

  Good? He didn't want to see his wife? Perhaps he didn't want to explain about de Mordaunt. I could understand his apprehension. Her presence always made me feel somewhat anxious too. I could only imagine what it would be like to live with her. On the other hand, Myer had his hypnosis to fall back on when necessary, and he had used it on her too.

  "I'm too tired," he went on. Too tired for what?

  Myer turned to go, jerking his head at de Mordaunt for him to follow. They drew very close to me, but walked on without looking my way.

  "When will she return?" I overheard de Mordaunt ask.

  "How the blazes would I know?" Myer said. "It seems I've been gone for days."

  "I knew where my wife was at all times."

  "Even when you were away?" Myer snorted.

  They disappeared out of the mews and I crept after them, keeping to the shadows. I wanted to speak to them about the book but I hesitated. Together, they worried me. Separately, I suspected I might have stood a better chance. At least with Myer. Of the two, he was the least dangerous. I thought.

  They climbed the front steps and the door opened. A footman welcomed them in and shut the door again. Lights blazed from all windows, and I imagined servants racing back and forth downstairs, throwing jackets over their nightgowns as they prepared a supper for their master and his guest. Now was my best chance.

  I headed down the short flight of steps to the service door. It was unlocked. I let myself in and steeled my nerves. A maid turned out of a room ahead, her back to me as she hurried along the corridor and up the service stairs, her arms full of linen.

  I followed her, grabbing a lit lantern off the wall hook at the base of the stairwell. I made sure to keep her in my sights until she headed through the door on the third floor.

  I listened to her receding footsteps then ventured out. The stairwell door opened onto a main passageway. Up ahead, I caught a flash of dark skirts as the maid entered a room. Most London townhouses of this size had the same layout, so I knew we were near the master and mistress's bedrooms, not the guest chambers. The maid must be making up Myer’s bed.

  I slipped into the corridor then crept into another room. It was a small sitting room, probably for Mrs. Myer's use. I listened at the door, but the house was vast and the voices distant. They were distinctly male but I couldn't make out any words.

  The maid emerged from the room a few minutes later and disappeared into the service stairwell again. I checked along the corridor and, seeing no one, slipped into the bedroom she'd just prepared for her master. I glanced around and wondered where best to wait. I didn't want his valet to see me and, since all gentlemen had a valet to help them undress, I decided to hide behind the heavy curtain until Myer was alone. It was somewhat scandalous—very well, extremely scandalous—but these were extenuating circumstances.

  The thick brocade fabric settled around me and I waited, listening to the thud of my heartbeat. I could no longer hear voices. Indeed, I could hear nothing of the rest of the household. Only a sort of clinking sound coming from…outside?

  I pressed my face to the closed window and looked down. I gasped. Someone was climbing up the wall! I'd seen only one person do that, using pipes and vines to haul himself up. Quin. Except this time the window he needed to get through was higher, closed, and there were no vines. If he fell…

  It didn't bear thinking about.

  On the other hand, if he made it up, he would see me in Myer's bedroom and order me to leave. I didn't want an argument or my plan to be foiled.

  I needed to make a decision, and quickly. Help Quin inside, or get out before I was discovered.

  CHAPTER 6

  I unlatched the window and opened it an inch before slinking away from my hiding place and out into the corridor again. Voices approached and there was no time to sneak back to the service stairs and disappear from view. Besides, I wanted to speak to Myer, not hide. All I had to do was get him alone.

  Except it wasn't Myer and his valet's voices I could hear. It was Myer's and de Mordaunt's.

  "I don't know when she'll return," Myer said with exasperation. "No one does." He seemed to be talking about his wife again.

  De Mordaunt responded, but his accent made him difficult to understand at a distance. It seemed thicker than when we'd first met. Perhaps he was tired too and reverting to his more natural speech pattern.

  "Your room is down there," Myer said. "It's the master's suite and should suit your needs."

  "You do not sleep there?"

  "I prefer to sleep as far away from my wife as possible."

  De Mordaunt snorted.

  Panic slammed into my chest. I wasn't in Myer's room. It was de Mordaunt's and he was coming my way! I warred with myself and quickly decided it was too late to chase after Myer. I would have to speak to de Mordaunt instead. At least he would be on his own. Perhaps he would not present a danger to me. After all, I wasn't a danger to him. He would see that instantly. Wouldn't he?

  Myer's footsteps receded and de Mordaunt's approached. I stepped out of the shadows, and he stopped short. His eyes narrowed and he angled himself closer. I lifted the lantern so he could see my face.

  His lips parted and his gaze darted up and down the corridor. Looking for Quin?

  "I am alone," I whispered. If Quin had climbed into the bedroom, he might be able to hear my voice if I spoke at my normal level.

  "Is that so?" he growled. "Where is your dog?"

  "Not with me."

  He cocked his head to the side, regarding me. The light from my lantern picked out the hard gleam in his eyes and leant a cruel edge to an already sharp face. "Why are you here?"

  "I need the book. I'd like to borrow it."

  He blinked in surprise. "The book? You do not ask why I am here, Miss…"

  "Moreau. No, I do not. That is your affair, and Myer's."

  "And St. Clair's?"

  "He says your visit is sanctioned by the administrators."

  He glanced up and down the corridor again. "Then he will not try to send me back?"

  "You should ask him that, not me."


  He seemed to consider this a moment. Then he said, "Why do you want the book?"

  "I'm a spirit medium, Mr. de Mordaunt. I've been told the book contains information about the supernatural, including the origins of people like me. I wish to know about my ancestry and why I am what I am." I shrugged, doing a good job of feigning ignorance, I thought. "Is it so strange to want to know your heritage?"

  I hoped that appealing to his own strange heritage would help develop a connection between us, and encourage his sympathy, but his eyes continued to bore into me aggressively. "Liar."

  I swallowed and opened my mouth to protest, but shut it again when his lips curved into a slick smile. He took a step toward me and I inched backward. "Pardon?" I squeaked.

  "Myer told me what you are and why you are a medium. If he knows about your tribe, then I suspect you know too."

  "That's a rather big leap to make."

  "Is it?" He took another step closer and I took another back.

  He reached out and caught my chin in his hand. I flinched as his fingers dug into my skin. He leaned in, his face so close that it blurred. His breath reeked. His eyes gleamed. "Why do you want the book?" he snarled. "Tell me the truth, this time."

  I tore myself away and pressed back into the wall. My hands shook, and a chill raced up and down my spine. "I wish to know all the secrets contained within its pages." Not wholly a lie this time.

  He grunted a laugh. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I do not have it. Nor do I know where it is."

  I licked dry lips. The action drew his attention. He pressed his own lips together and his gaze heated.

  "But I might know the information you seek." He reached out, but instead of grasping my chin again, he gently touched my lower lip with his fingertip. "Ask me."

  Bile burned my throat at his touch. I swallowed it down. I could bear his touch in exchange for answers. "Your ancestor, Gilbert de Mordaunt, came from Purgatory and lived here. How?"

  His gaze flew to mine and his hand recoiled. He began to laugh, a bitter, twisted sound that set my nerves on edge. "You wish to know for St. Clair? So he can exist again?"