We reached the front door of Claridges, and a footman opened it for me. Before I had a chance to thank Samuel for his help and say goodbye, Sylvia barreled up and threw her arms around my neck.
"Thank goodness you're back," she said on a small sob. "I've been so worried."
"I sent word that I was going for a walk," I said.
She held me at arm's length. "Yes, but I knew you didn't know your way around London, and I've heard such dreadful things about girls getting lost and never being seen again." She smothered another sob with her hand. "I had a dim hope that you'd gone with Jack, but then he returned without you. We've been out of our minds with worry. Jack was just on his way out again to search for you."
Jack stood to one side in the foyer of the hotel. A desolate, bleak shadow passed across his face before he turned away, presenting me with a view of his back. He drew in several deep breaths and his fingers gripped the marble tabletop, his knuckles white.
"I'll speak to him," Samuel said.
"No!" Sylvia and I cried.
"Jack's temper is not to be trifled with," I added.
"He's not angry," Sylvia said, blinking at me. "He's as relieved as I am to have you back safely."
"In that case, perhaps I should be the one to speak to him." But I didn't get the chance. He strode off and up the stairs, taking two at a time. I sighed. "Perhaps tomorrow."
"Where did you go?" Sylvia asked.
"For a walk with Samuel."
She lifted a brow. "Samuel? I see. Well. I admit I thought a man of your profession would have better manners than to go walking in the dark with a young lady. I must admit, I'm very disappointed in you, Mr. Gladstone."
"Don't blame him," I said. "It was all my fault. I insisted."
"But...why? Where did you go?"
"Nowhere in particular. I needed some fresh air."
"Fresh air? In London?" Her gaze flicked to Samuel then back to me again. "I see."
"I'd better be on my way." Samuel bowed to both of us. "Good night, ladies. I'm glad I could be of service, Lady Violet."
"You were. Thank you, Samuel, from the bottom of my heart. Good bye."
He grinned and walked out the door. I hooked my arm through Sylvia's, and we headed for the stairs.
"Are you quite sure Jack isn't angry?" I asked. "He looked rather tempestuous just now."
"If he were angry, he'd have sparks spitting from his fingertips."
"I suppose so. Then why did he storm off without speaking to me?"
"Can't you see? He was sick with worry, then you returned and it was obvious you'd spent the last little while walking with a man in the dark. A man that wasn't him."
"Oh." But there'd been something more in his eyes as he gazed at me. Not jealousy, but bitter disappointment too.
CHAPTER 9
Jack rode with Olson on the driver's seat on the way back to Hertfordshire, not inside the carriage cabin with Sylvia and me. I saw him only briefly when we arrived at Frakingham, and it wasn't until the next day when we were summoned to his uncle's rooms that we spoke.
"Jack, may we talk?" I said as he held the door open for me. "I don't like...this."
His jaw became a little less rigid, his eyes a little less vivid in color. "I hate it too. You and that Gladstone fellow..."
"It was just a walk, Jack, nothing more. I'm not interested in him in that way."
The muscles in his face relaxed. "Then—"
"Not now," Langley interrupted. "Both of you, come." He sat facing us, Bollard at his side like a guard dog. But it was the floor that caught my attention. Several small blackened scorch marks pockmarked the wood. They looked like they'd been put there by sparks that had been quickly doused. Jack must have done it when he and his uncle had argued over me being kept prisoner in the house a few days earlier. It was a shocking reminder that his temper was never far away, and of the damage it could cause.
"Is there anything you want to tell me, Jack?" Langley asked.
"The hypnotist did indeed say Violet's memories were blocked, but he could do nothing to clear it," Jack said. "It was a wasted journey, I'm afraid. Sylvia, however, might say differently."
I smiled, and he winked at me. It was such a relief to be friends again.
"Nothing else?" Langley asked. At Jack's shrug, he added, "Is there something more you should be telling me?"
"No."
Langley heaved a great sigh. His face was pale and pinched, the wrinkles fanning out from the corners of his eyes deeper. "After everything I've done for you, everything I've given you, you lie to my face."
Jack's lips parted, and I heard him expel a small hiss. "What are you talking about?" His voice grew dark, ominous. He no longer looked at his uncle, but at me.
I frowned, shrugged, but a sense of dread settled in my chest. I knew what this was about. We both did.
"You saw someone while you were in London," Langley said. "An old friend of yours."
"And?"
"Don't treat me like a fool." He thumped his fist on the arm of his wheelchair. "He stole my papers, and you weren't going to tell me, or the police."
"I—"
"Were you?"
A muscle in Jack's cheek pulsed. "No."
"Why not?"
"I don't want him to get into trouble."
"It is not for you to make that decision!" Langley's shout reverberated around the room, and I jumped. I took a step back, not wanting to be anywhere near this man and his explosive temper.
Jack went very still, then slowly curled his fingers into a fist, but not before I noticed the tips glowing. "Patrick is not the one you want," he said.
"I know that."
He took a few breaths before saying, "I'm sure you do."
Langley's nostrils flared. "Dismissed. Both of you."
I hurried to the door, but Jack didn't move. "What are you going to do about Patrick?"
"He's a thief. He'll get what he deserves."
Jack leaned forward and clamped his hands down on the wheelchair arms, pinning Langley's hands. Bollard grabbed his shoulder and tried to pull him off, but Jack snarled at him and the servant backed away.
The expression on Langley's face changed from rage to horror to fear. "Let go!" he cried. "My hands...!"
Jack stepped back and Langley plunged his hands into a basin of water that Bollard had retrieved from the table near the window. Langley's eyelids fluttered shut in relief.
I covered my gasp and stared at Jack. Sparks flew from his fingertips and Bollard stamped on them before they could catch alight.
"Jack?" I whispered.
He seemed not to have heard me. His chest rose and fell with his seething anger, and he glared at his uncle. "Whatever you've done to Patrick, undo it. He's a pawn, and those children need him. If you don't...I won't remain here any longer."
He didn't wait to see if Langley agreed. He turned and fixed a glare on me that had me more confused than ever. His rage vanished almost instantly, replaced with such wretchedness that I wanted to reach for him. He blinked rapidly and hurried out of the room.
And that's when I realized he blamed me for telling his uncle about his visit to Patrick.
I searched for Jack everywhere. After checking with Olson at the stables, I found him at the abbey ruins, his horse grazing nearby. From a distance, he cut a lonely figure against the gray sky. He looked up when I approached and for a brief moment I was afraid he'd walk off in the other direction, but he didn't. He did, however, watch me with frightening intensity from beneath half-closed lids.
"You're still mad," I said.
He folded his arms and tucked away his hands, but not before I saw the pink flesh on his fingertips.
"I thought you said you could control your anger." I nodded at his hands. "And...that."
"I can."
Which meant he'd wanted to hurt Langley. And me? I swallowed heavily.