Seared With Scars Page 8

  Sylvia leaned over and pecked her uncle's cheek. "That was almost a nice thing to say."

  I smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Langley. And thank you too, Mr. Bollard."

  The big man lowered his head, but not before I saw him blush. I knew then that it was probably he who'd talked his master into letting me stay. Either him or Samuel.

  The coach came around and Tommy escorted me out, my valise in one hand and Jack's knife in the other. Fray, the coachman, had a shotgun across his lap.

  I climbed into the cabin and waved to the others through the window. Tommy shut the door and we drove off. A small lump unexpectedly lodged in my throat. I'd not thought I'd be quite so saddened to leave Freak House. My stay hadn't been particularly pleasant, but it had been easy compared to the bustle of my London life.

  The coach rolled swiftly through the great iron gates and I breathed a sigh of relief as we joined the main road into the village. There was no sign of the demon.

  The Harborough railway station was positioned a few streets behind the High Street row of shops. They were a mixture of tired old buildings in need of a lick of paint and well-kept ones with clean windows. Brass lamps hanging above doors gleamed in the morning sunshine and shopkeepers hovered outside, trying to entice customers in. We had to drive along High Street to get to the station, but instead of going straight on, the coach stopped outside a butcher's shop. I opened the window and peered out to see if there was an obstruction up ahead. There was none.

  What I did see was Mr. and Mrs. Butterworth, strolling toward us on the footpath, their twin daughters trailing behind and their third, much younger one, hopping along on one foot, her hat in her hand, the ribbons trailing in the dirt. Neither of the elder Butterworths looked our way, but they must have seen us. Our coach was the grandest in the street and it belonged to the infamous Freak House. Everybody else, including the Butterworth children, stared as if they were waiting for us to do something gossip worthy.

  It was a piece of luck for Tommy to come across them now. He could get his request over with quickly and take me on to the station before my train departed. He climbed down from the driver's seat and approached the Butterworths as they came within earshot. They stopped, rather reluctantly in Mrs. Butterworth's case. She shot a glance at me, but gave me no greeting. I expected none.

  "Good morning," Tommy said, removing his hat. "I'm sorry to trouble you sir, ma'am. Mr. Samuel Gladstone has sent me on an errand to ask something of you."

  "Oh?" Mrs. Butterworth said, angling her rather prominent chin. "I thought he left."

  "He did. He delivered his instructions to me yesterday."

  The three Butterworth girls crowded behind their parents. I couldn't tell the twins apart. They even wore the same outfits, striped crimson and canary yellow dresses with matching jackets. Their broad-brimmed hats sheltered their fair skin from the sun, but I could just make out the direction of their gazes. They fell on Tommy. In contrast, the youngest girl watched me. I smiled at her. She waved back.

  "Get on with it, man," Mr. Butterworth snapped. "We haven't got all day."

  "Mr. Gladstone would like to see his father's letter to you, sir," Tommy said.

  "Whatever for?"

  "For personal reasons, sir."

  "Personal reasons?" Mrs. Butterworth echoed. "What does that mean?"

  I, er…" Poor Tommy. It would seem he hadn't expected to have Samuel's motives questioned.

  "For sentimentality," I cut in.

  That earned me a withering glare from Mrs. Butterworth. Clearly she didn't think it my place to speak. To Tommy, she said, "Unfortunately, that's no longer possible."

  "Why?" I asked.

  Again, to Tommy, she said, "The letter has been destroyed."

  "Destroyed?" I poked my head further out of the coach window. "How?"

  "I accidentally dropped it in the fireplace. So there you have it. We're very sorry, but the letter no longer exists."

  "Ah," her husband said. "That explains why I couldn't find it when I searched my study last night. I wanted to check the exact wording of certain paragraphs since I could no longer recall its contents. Never mind."

  "What do you mean you could no longer recall it?" Tommy asked. He seemed as curious about that statement as I was. Mr. Butterworth's memory had been perfectly all right the day before.

  He shrugged. "I cannot recall specifics, that's all. Obviously the contents of the letter weren't important or I would. No matter. Now, if you don't mind."

  The couple walked off as Tommy hastily thanked them. The twins trotted after their parents, but glanced back at Tommy at precisely the same time. One blushed. The other hooked her arm through her sister's and hurried away.

  The youngest girl did not follow her sisters. She came up to the coach door. "He's been at it again," she whispered.

  "Who has been at what again?" Tommy asked, bending down to her level.

  "Mr. Myer," she said matter-of-factly, as if she thought Tommy a dolt for not knowing. "He's been making my head dizzy."

  "Dizzy?"

  "Do you find you've forgotten things after the dizziness goes away?" I asked.

  "Forget things?" The girl looked positively indignant. "I never forget. I'm a spy for Her Majesty the queen! I remember everything."

  I bit back my smile. She was an adorable thing, and reminded me of one of the girls in my care at the school. I wanted to give her a hug and thank her for brightening my day. "Of course," I said. "How silly of me."

  "Time does seem to go really fast when he's near," she went on. "But only sometimes. Do you think that's peculiar? I think that's peculiar," she said before either Tommy or I could answer. "I'd better put that in my report."

  "Jane!" Mrs. Butterworth called. They'd stopped two doors away, at the draper's shop. "Stop dawdling!"

  "I have to go," Jane said to us.

  "You'd better," I said. "Oh, and Jane. Be careful. Make sure nobody sees your report except the queen herself."

  "Yes, miss." She took a step away, but retraced her steps. "And miss?"

  "Yes, Jane?"

  "You're very pretty." She blushed and skipped off to join her parents, her curls bouncing. Mrs. Butterworth grabbed Jane by her thin little arm and dragged her into the shop. Jane just had enough time to turn and wave before the door banged shut behind her.

  Instead of returning to sit alongside the driver, Tommy climbed into the cabin with me. "The station, Fray," he ordered before closing the door. He settled on the seat opposite me, angling his long legs away from mine. "Is it right to let that girl think she really is a spy?"

  "She's just a child. A little fantasy here and there isn't going to land her in the asylum."

  "I don't think I ever made up stories like that when I was a child."

  "That's because you and I never had a childhood. Hard work and hunger aged us prematurely."

  "I suppose," he murmured. We passed by the draper's shop. Jane Butterworth stood in the bay window beside a dressmaker's mannequin. She was in the process of removing the peacock blue fabric arranged around the mannequin and draping it around herself. I smiled.

  "Do you believe Mrs. Butterworth destroyed the letter?" Tommy asked.

  "I do. The question is, why?"

  "And why won't Mr. Butterworth tell us what was in it, when he's already given us some details yesterday?"

  "That is not the real question, Tommy. You should be asking whether Myer has wiped Mr. Butterworth's memory of the letter's contents."

  "Bloody hell," he muttered. "You think he would hypnotize Butterworth to make him forget? Why would he?"

  "Perhaps there was something in the letter that mentioned him, or implicated him in something deeper. But there's another question we ought to ponder, too."

  "What?"

  "Whether Mrs. Butterworth destroyed the letter at her lover's insistence. Or whether he made her do it while under hypnosis."

  CHAPTER 7

  The countryside was beautiful, but it lacked the energy of Londo
n. There was always something new and different to see in the city, no matter the time of day. Everyone had something to do, somewhere to go, or something to say. The surging, rumbling tide of traffic and the masses of pedestrians rushing to and fro outside King's Cross station would have been alarming for a country girl, fresh off the train, but I was used to it. The constant yet familiar sounds were a comfort. I knew this city like a lover knows her mate. I knew where to find food at midnight, or a bed at midday. I knew where to look when someone disappeared, and I knew which lanes to avoid, no matter the hour. London was a thrilling place to live, but a dangerous one, too.

  At least I was far from the place where the master had died and his spirit now haunted, but there were still other dangers in a city riddled with crime. I remained vigilant as I walked away from the station into the narrower streets nearby. The one I wanted was lined with a mixture of old and new buildings, some housing disreputable businesses while others were occupied by respectable families. It would be safe enough for me to walk during the day, but not at night. I didn't plan on leaving the hotel after dark, however. That would be foolish.

  The hotel itself was one I'd known for years, although I'd not stayed there since my time with the master. It was a slender building, squeezed between squat ones. A faded sign announcing vacancies hung from chains above the door.

  I enquired after a room and received a curious look from the desk clerk. He was perhaps in his forties and was shaped like the hotel itself, slender-boned with long fingers. He looked down his pointy nose at me and offered no smile of greeting and exchanged no pleasantries.

  "Payment in advance," he said, holding out his hand, palm up. "Two shilling for a night."

  I handed him the coins and accepted the key in return.

  He nodded at the stairs. "Third floor, first door on the right."

  "Is there no one who can take up my valise?" I asked, glancing around for a porter.

  "Aye, there is," he said, sitting back in his chair by the office door. It creaked under his weight. "I'm looking at her."

  I sighed and headed for the stairs. A chivalrous man would offer to carry it for me, but I got the feeling he was enjoying watching me haul it up. It wasn't particularly heavy, but my arm quickly grew tired and I needed to use both hands up the last flight.

  Once in the room, I removed my boots and collapsed onto the bed. Paint peeled off the ceiling and a water stain the length of my forearm discolored one corner. The wallpaper had faded to a dull pink shade, and cobwebs provided the only decorations in an otherwise bare room. A maid probably hadn't been through it in some time.

  My little room at the school was looking better and better. At least that was clean. But I was determined not to go back there yet except for a few short visits to ensure everyone was well. Then there was the other matter to attend to. My real reason for returning to London.

  I sighed and stared at a black spot on the wall opposite. The black spot moved and I saw it was a beetle. I jumped off the bed with a yelp and picked up my boot. The creature died instantly, but it got me wondering about other things that could have gotten into the room. Or into the bed.

  I stripped back the covers and shook out each blanket and the linen. Then I beat the mattress with my fist. Nothing crawled out of it, but I jumped several times on the mattress to make sure. I picked up the pillow and thumped it against the wall. If there had been anything alive in there, it wouldn't be anymore. I did the same with each blanket until I was certain it was free of lice or beetles, then I checked it over again just to make sure.

  I hated lice and other creatures small enough to crawl into orifices. They'd been the bane of my childhood and once I'd dragged myself out of the gutter and into the homes of gentlemen, I vowed never to sleep in a bed with lice again. If only the master had known my terror of them, he would have had another tool to frighten me into obedience with. As it was, he had used violence instead.

  It grew late and I didn't want to be walking around the city in the dark, so I left after remaking the bed. I bought a beef pie from a pie shop, and ate it standing nearby, clear of the counter, along with several others. Afterward I hurried back to the hotel. Dusk came early to a city where the sun struggled to break through the blanket of smoke and I didn't want to linger.

  The desk clerk glanced up from the newspaper spread out on the counter, but didn't even acknowledge me. He returned to his paper without flickering an eyelash.

  I went to bed early, since there were no candles to read by and only a pathetic lamp that hissed and faded in and out. To my surprise I slept soundly and awoke a little after dawn, feeling refreshed. Already the city was awake. A cart rolled past my window on the street below and bottles rattled. Someone called out a cheerful "Good morning!" and was answered with a morose "Is it?"

  I washed in the bathroom at the end of the corridor. The pipes protested with a groan and spat cold water into the stained bath. I quickly completed my ablutions and dressed.

  It was too early for one of my errands, but not for the other. I walked to Clerkenwell instead of riding the omnibus, partly to fill in time, but also because I needed to connect with the city again. I'd been too long away in the soft, gentle countryside, with nothing to do but read and stare out of windows. Walking briskly through the noisy, dirty streets of London reminded me how much I'd missed the vibrancy of the place. With so much to look at, my mind was constantly occupied and my thoughts hardly ever ventured to Samuel. It was of utmost relief. I could think of other things. I could set aside the memory of his proposal. And I could live a full life at the school with the children to keep me company.

  My feelings were confirmed when they greeted me with smiles and hugs. I patted their shoulders and tugged on their hair, but I did not hug them back. Such intimacy, even with children, left a lump in my throat that made swallowing difficult. I had been that way since escaping from the master, except for the too-brief days when Samuel had blocked those horrid memories.

  "Miss Charity!" cried Mrs. Peeble from the top of the staircase. I'd gotten no further than the entrance hall. The sea of children calling my name and asking me where I'd been was too thick to wade through. "We weren't expecting you back so soon! Mrs. Beaufort informed us that you could be away for quite some time yet."

  "I'm just visiting," I said.

  She flapped her arms at the children and they parted for her like the Biblical sea. "Shoo! Off to classes with you all."

  Some ran off, others lingered a little longer, eyeing me carefully, as if they expected me to leave while they weren't looking.

  "I'll come and see you all again soon," I told them. "Now off you go."

  Reassured, they trotted away. I smiled as I watched them go. "I've missed them," I told Mrs. Peeble.

  "They've missed you. We all have."

  I was taken aback. It was the most sentimental thing she'd ever said to me. Mrs. Peeble had once told me that kind words led to weakness and laziness, and that I should treat the children firmly. I had disagreed with her, but my opinion had been met with a smug "You'll see."

  "Enough foolish talk," she said.

  I smiled, reassured that nothing had changed in my absence.

  "Have you eaten breakfast?" she asked.

  "Not yet."

  "Then come into the drawing room." Tilly the maid walked past and welcomed me home. "Fetch Miss Charity something to eat," Mrs. Peeble directed her.

  Tilly rushed off and I strolled through the hall to the adjoining drawing room.

  "Where are you staying?" Mrs. Peeble asked.

  "A hotel near King's Cross."

  "A hotel! Whatever for? Come back to your room here."

  I shook my head. "I can't. You know why."

  Her round features scrunched into a frown. "The danger is still present?"

  "It has lessened somewhat, but I wish to remain cautious."

  She clicked her tongue. "How long will this continue?"

  It wasn't a question I could answer. I only hoped it ended
soon, and I told her as much. "But I couldn't stay away from the children any longer. I had to see them."

  She lowered herself into a chair, slowly at first, then falling the last few inches as if her knees could no longer maintain the steady pace under the pressure. "They've asked after you every day."

  "I've missed them, and my life here. Being away has given me a fresh appreciation for it."

  I asked after the children individually and was given a thorough, if somewhat military, account of their health, education and a list of their naughty deeds. I listened as I ate the breakfast of toast and sausages that Tilly brought in.

  Afterwards, I toured the classrooms and spoke to the children. They were full of questions which I fielded as best as I could without mentioning anything that might frighten them. I spent the rest of the morning talking to each student about what they'd learned in my absence.

  I finally tore myself away from them after luncheon. Mrs. Peeble encouraged me to stay and eat with them, and I was grateful for it. Afterward, I said my goodbyes and tried not to shed the tears welling inside me as my students hugged me one by one.

  "I'll be back soon," I told Mrs. Peeble at the door. "I can't stay away from them for long, but I can't live here, for now."

  "I do hope this business is sorted soon. The police still don't know who tried to kidnap you?"

  I shook my head. "It's not their fault."

  "Be careful, Miss Charity."

  "I will." I headed down the front steps to the street. Some of the local children crowded around, hoping for money or scraps. I handed out bread left over from our lunch to grasping, dirty fingers. Most thanked me and ran off to a recessed doorway or a lane to eat their fill before passing the rest on to other family members. All except one, a boy of about ten with dark, darting eyes and a pinched face that spoke of hunger and desperation. I didn't recognize him. He shoved the bread down his shirt and pulled the edges of his jacket closer over his chest. It was too small, the cuffs riding to his mid-forearm, but he covered the lump of bread well enough that no one would know it was there and rob him for it. I expected him to scamper off, back to wherever it was he lived, but he remained standing at the corner, those clever eyes watching me.