He unfolded his arms and his shoulders sagged. "You don't need to fear me, Violet. Not ever. I wouldn't deliberately hurt you."
"Then—"
"Why did you do it?" he asked. "Why did you tell him where I went?"
"So you did see me?"
"You and Gladstone. I lost you on the way home, however, so tell me...why?"
"I didn't tell him anything. What could I possibly gain?"
"Perhaps you're still angry at me for kidnapping you."
"I'm not. How could you think such a thing after..." After the connection we'd made. "Why didn't you tell me you'd seen me?"
"I hoped you'd talk to me of your own accord. But you didn't, and when August confronted me just now, I assumed you'd gone straight to him." He blew out a measured breath. "I'm sorry, Violet. Forgive me?"
I nodded. How could I not when he peered at me through the hair that had flopped over his eyes? He looked like a scolded puppy.
"So if it wasn't you," he said, "it must have been Gladstone."
"What reason would Samuel have to tell Langley? And how would he have gotten word to Frakingham so quickly?"
"So it's Samuel now, is it?"
"I call you Jack."
I wanted him to tell me that it was different between us, that the bond we'd forged so quickly made everything different. He did not.
"Why was he there at all?" he asked instead.
I decided it was better to be honest with him than skirt the issue. Well, partially honest. "He wanted to tell me that my memory block may have been deliberately put there by a hypnotist."
His jaw dropped. "Who would do such a thing?"
I told him what Samuel had told me about his own natural gift for hypnosis, and how he'd stumbled upon the ability by accident.
"What did Dr. Werner have to say about this suggestion?" Jack asked.
"He doesn't believe natural hypnotists exist, and so doesn't endorse the notion of deliberately blocking memories. That's why Samuel came to me at Claridges. He wanted to speak to me away from Dr. Werner."
He leaned against the stones that formed one of the crumbling arches. "It sounds too extraordinary to be true."
"So does shooting sparks from your fingers."
"Can Gladstone remove this block for you?"
"No. He thinks it can only be done through stimulating the same emotion that triggers my narcolepsy...and my fire starting. A very strong stimulation that is, more than usual."
"Hmmm."
"Hmmm? What does that mean?"
"It means that I'm not sure I entirely trust Samuel Gladstone. In many ways, the ability to hypnotize someone is far more dangerous than our talent. I admit that I don't like it."
"Don't like his talent or don't like him?"
His gaze slid away. "They're one and the same."
"So you still think he's the one who told your uncle?"
"Who else could have? I want to believe it wasn't you," he added in a whisper.
"It wasn't. I give you my word."
"Then it must have been him. A fast rider carrying a message would have easily reached Frakingham before us." He pushed off from the stones. "We should return to the house and resume your training."
"Is there any point now that we know about the blockage?"
"We can only keep trying."
He took his horse's reins, and we walked together back to the house. The gray clouds hung low overhead, and the air felt charged, thick, although that could have been due to the silence between us.
When I could stand it no longer, I said, "How do you know Patrick?"
"I just do."
"But—"
"Do you need to know everything, Violet?"
We'd reached the point where we needed to go our separate ways. He directed his horse off to the stables, and I headed for the main house. Yes, I wanted to tell him. Yes, I do need to know everything about you. Even though I couldn't tell him everything about myself. Not yet.
One day, however, he would know it all. And I would know every detail of Jack Langley's life, even if it meant finding out things I didn't like.
We trained for the remainder of the day. Jack tried various techniques to help me 'feel the heat' through my body, as he put it. Nothing worked, of course, and we ended our session at dinnertime. He seemed quite frustrated by our lack of progress, and I admit I was growing anxious about telling him the truth. The longer I lied, the harder it would be to admit that I wasn't Violet Jamieson and the worse his reaction would be.
I resolved to speak to Langley after dinner and confront him over his motives for kidnapping me. His reactions to a few direct questions should prove once and for all if he was lying about his intentions.
I dressed for dinner and met Sylvia and Jack in the dining room. She looked particularly lovely in a crimson and white gown with bows down the front and I told her so.
"This old thing," she said with a crinkle of her nose. "I'm so tired of it. Do you want it?"
"Thank you, but it's not my color."
"Perhaps not," she said, sitting. "I can't wait for our new dresses to arrive. Pity we don't have anything to wear them to except dinner with Jack."
"Something wrong with dining with me?" he asked as he too sat.
"You're hardly an excellent catch for either of us. Violet is the daughter of an earl and I am...more particular. No offense meant."
"And how could I take offense when you put it so eloquently?" It was difficult to tell if he were teasing or a little bitter.
"Perhaps you ought to ask some neighbors to a dinner party," I said.
Both Jack and Sylvia looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "Dinner at Freak House?" Sylvia said. "How they will be falling over themselves to attend."
"Why do they call this place Freak House? Do they know that Jack can start fires?"
"No," he said. "It's not that."
"It's Uncle August and Bollard." Sylvia served herself from the dish of Pheasant Mandarin that Tommy offered her. "One is mute and the other is crippled and...reclusive."
"August hasn't courted either the neighbors or the villagers so they distrust him," Jack said. "By secluding himself in the house, he's turned himself into an object of curiosity and gossip. I'm sure the servants have gossiped about his temper and how he keeps to his rooms."
"And there's the house's past, of course," Sylvia said.
"Its past?" I asked.
Jack cast a warning glare at Sylvia. "I'm not sure we need to hear this now."
"Nonsense. There are rumors that a hundred years or so ago, the then Lord Frakingham kept some of his offspring locked in the dungeon."
My stomach rolled. "Oh. How..." Familiar. "Horrid. Whatever for?"
"They were...imperfect," Jack said. "Due to centuries of inbreeding, it was said that most of the Frakingham children were born abnormal, some with physical deformities, others mad or simple."
"Freaks," I whispered.
Sylvia snorted as she picked at her pheasant. "It's not true. There is no dungeon. I've searched everywhere. Of course this house isn't as old as the stories. Who knows what the previous one on this site looked like. Perhaps it had a dungeon."
"The rumors have persisted anyway," Jack said.
What a strange coincidence that I should be kept in an attic almost my entire life only to be rescued, in a manner of speaking, and end up in a place where something similar occurred years earlier.
Over dinner, we discussed the viability of organizing a party with some of the well-to-do families in the area, but decided it had to be done with Langley's blessing. Sylvia was adamant she wouldn't have one without him present, and although Jack was less enthusiastic, he did agree that Langley should be kept informed.
His reaction only deepened my curiosity about his relationship with his uncle, if indeed that's what Langley was. While the two of them seemed to be in frequent conflict—and occasionally I was even convinced that Jack despised him—he always gave Langley due respect as master of the household. I admired him all the more for it.