"Mr. Langley, I—"
He held up his forefinger for silence, and I dutifully shut my mouth, biting my tongue in the process. I waited as he wrote something down then wheeled his chair out and turned to look at me.
"I'm glad you've come to see me, Violet," he said. "We need to speak about London again. It'll be easier without Jack here." He moved his chair forward, pushing the wheels with his hands. It looked arduous and progress was slow until Bollard rescued him. Once he was near me, Langley indicated I should sit.
"Refreshments, Bollard," he said. When the servant hesitated, he added in a softer voice, "I'll be all right."
Bollard left, but the exchange piqued my curiosity. It was almost as if Bollard's concern went beyond that of a master for his servant. I supposed they'd been together a long time, and Bollard did do more than a mere valet or laboratory assistant. He was Langley's legs too, and, it seemed, his eyes and ears. Why he thought I'd hurt Langley was a mystery though.
"I'm sorry the hypnotist couldn't help," Langley said. "Truly sorry. We'll have to continue your training. Is Jack making progress?"
"A little," I hedged.
"Good. It was a shame you had to witness his temper, Violet. Jack can be very...passionate. I do hope you realize that it was entirely directed at me and had nothing to do with you."
"Why does he dislike you so?"
He rubbed the palm of his hands along the arms of his wheelchair. "You would have to ask him that."
"I find it strange considering you rescued him from the streets and have given him a comfortable life here at Frakingham. Shouldn't he be grateful?"
"To repeat: you should be asking him."
"I followed him into the slums of London, although I suspect you know that already." He blinked slowly and I took that as confirmation. "He knew his way in the darkness, which is remarkable since my escort and I got lost on the way back to Claridges."
"What are you getting at, Violet?"
It was difficult to speak of the matter without implicating Tommy. I needed to tread carefully. "Is Jack originally from that very slum where he met the man named Patrick?"
He didn't answer.
"He's not your nephew, is he?"
"Isn't he?"
"Mr. Langley, I have agreed to remain here until Christmas, against my better judgment. If you continue to evade sensible questions, then I may not be able to keep that promise." I don't know where I got the courage to speak so boldly to such a man as August Langley. The fact that I had seemed to trouble him less than me. I swallowed and hoped I hadn't overstepped the mark.
"If you want to find out about Jack's past, ask him. Now, if you came here to waste my time then we're finished. You may go. It seems we don't have much to say to one another after all." He shifted his wheelchair backwards, away from me. He was dismissing me as casually as he'd dismissed Bollard. It irked me that he could disregard such an important point.
I stood abruptly and caught the arm of his chair. "I am asking you, Mr. Langley." I suddenly wasn't afraid of him anymore. What could a crippled man do to me? If Bollard were there it may be a different matter, but he wasn't. If Langley turned me out, I'd return to Windamere. "Is Jack your blood relative?"
"Let go of my chair, Violet."
"Answer me, Mr. Langley."
He caught my sleeve and dragged me down to his level. His face was a distorted mask of anger, his mouth a twisted gash. "You do not tell me what to do."
Something inside me shattered, and I jerked free of his grip. I did not step back. I did not look away or run for the door. I would not fear this man, nor would I endure any more of his lies and threats. If I wanted to walk away, I would. I had been kept prisoner at Windamere for fifteen years. I'd been denied a life, and even if that life had turned out to be a dire, desperate one, at least it would have been mine to make of it what I could.
I'd had enough of being told what to do and how to conduct myself. Enough of being told to accept my condition and situation, that I ought to consider myself lucky. I wasn't lucky. I was a prisoner, and I'd be damned if I would endure it on anyone else's terms anymore, especially someone as nasty as Langley.
"You let Jack think I told you about his visit to Patrick," I said, choosing the one thing I knew the answer to. The one thing I could absolutely blame him for without a doubt. "Why? Why didn't you tell him it was Bollard?"
His lips peeled back and he bared his teeth. "I already told you I don't answer to you." He spat out each word as if they were poison on his tongue. "Your father may be an earl, but here, that means nothing. You're nobody. Your opinion means nothing, your questions even less. You are our prisoner, and I do not answer your questions."
His voice rang in my ears, throbbed in my veins. My blood rose like a tidal wave, rushed through me, fast and fierce. Hot. It was so loud that I hardly heard the door open, but I turned just in time to see Jack enter, Bollard at his heels.
"No!" Jack shouted. His brows crashed together in a deep frown. "Stop it, August. Are you mad?" Sparks flew from his fingers onto the floor, but he quickly stomped them out as he approached us. "Tell her she's not a prisoner. Tell her she can come and go. Tell her!"
Langley laughed, the sound like fingernails down a blackboard. "Of course she can't leave. You know that as well as I do."
"Jack!" I cried. "Is that true?"
But Jack's gaze was fixed on his uncle. It was filled with such fury that I was amazed his fingers didn't explode. "I will not be a party to this." His voice was quiet, cold, and filled me with dread.
"You can't leave, Violet," Langley said. "Jack has known this all along. He's been keeping an eye on you. Lying to you. We all have."
Everything dimmed, and I thought I was going to fall asleep at the worst possible moment, but then my vision cleared, only to see sparks spraying around the room like fireworks. So many of them. Too many.
They landed on the curtain, the floor, the table and even in Langley's lap. He yelped and swatted them just as the curtain went up in a whoosh of flames. Some of the furniture had caught alight, the floorboards too.
We had to get out.
"My research!" Langley cried, wheeling himself toward the laboratory.
"Not now!" Jack cried. "Bollard!"
Bollard rushed past me, and I stumbled forward, my body suddenly heavy, my head filled with cotton wool. Jack caught me and picked me up. We didn't combust. That was something. I was a rag doll in his arms. Exhaustion dragged at me, pulling me into a slumber. But I did not fall asleep.
"Get out!" Jack shouted. "Forget the papers!"
But Bollard didn't listen. He scooped up some notebooks and stuffed them into his jacket, then he returned and picked up Langley. They followed us to the door, but flames were already licking up the doorframe. Wood cracked and popped in the heat, and I felt that I might do the same. I burned as if I had a fever.
Jack held me tighter then ran through the doorway onto the landing. "Tommy!" he shouted. "Water!"
My head bumped against Jack's shoulder as he ran down the stairs, giving orders to the servants to put out the flames. "Don't endanger yourselves."
He carried me outside where the crisp evening air slammed against my hot face. It was raining and I was so glad I almost cried. The rain would help put the fire out. Bollard and Langley followed us, and the female servants weren't far behind, carrying silver and other valuables. Sylvia wasn't among them.
"We have to find her," I said, clawing at Jack's shirt.
He glanced down at me. He seemed shocked to see me still awake. "I'll do it," he said, but as he set me gently on the ground, Tommy ran out of the house, Sylvia tucked into his side.