He brought her to us, and she flopped down beside me and drew me into a hug. She sobbed against my throat.
I held her close, so relieved she was all right. She was shaking and crying, but seemed unharmed.
Tommy and Jack raced off to join the male servants fighting the fire. Smoke billowed out of the windows and rose into the wet night. I heard Jack give orders to protect the rest of the house, and I closed my eyes and prayed for the first time in a long time. I just hoped God remembered me and listened.
"Sylvia?" said Langley. He was still in Bollard's arms. The servant held him as if he weighed nothing and seemed in no mind to put him down. "Sylvia, are you harmed?"
She shook her head and wiped her cheeks. "I'm all right, Uncle. I'd gone to bed early, but Tommy rescued me. If he hadn't..." She sobbed again and I circled her shoulders with my arm. "He's so brave."
"It will all be over soon," I said, eyeing the top floor of the house. "Perhaps I should go and help."
"No!" Sylvia and Langley cried.
"Stay here with me," Sylvia said. "Let the men do it."
"But I ought to help."
"It's not your fault," Langley said. He sounded surprisingly humble and kind. There was none of the anger and taunting of earlier. The fire must have shocked him into sensitivity. It must certainly be a shocking thing to watch as one's house went up in flames.
"I know that," I said. "But I don't like to do nothing when I'm needed."
"There's a well out the back and a pump and hoses stored in the service area for just such an emergency. They'll cope without you."
It was a long way from the service area to the well and up to Langley's rooms, but I didn't say so.
Sylvia held my hand and snuggled closer. Her body shook. She must have been freezing in her nightshift and shawl. I tried to keep her warm by rubbing her arms and feet, but her shaking didn't subside even when one of the maids brought her a blanket.
It seemed to take all night for the fire to die down completely, but in truth it was probably less than an hour. From where we sat on the front lawn, it was clear that Langley's room had been destroyed, but beyond that, we couldn't tell.
When Jack joined us, Sylvia was half asleep against me. She leapt to her feet as he approached and ran to him. "Where's Tommy? Is he all right?"
"Everyone's fine." Jack wiped the back of his hand across his brow, smearing it with soot.
"The house?" Langley said. Bollard had held him the entire time and still did not look as if he wanted to put him down.
"The eastern wing may be unstable, but the service area and rest of the house are fine."
"But our rooms are on the eastern side," Sylvia said, pulling the blanket to her chin. "Where shall we go?"
"We'll open up the southern wing," Langley said. "Come, before we freeze to death."
Bollard led the way with Langley in his arms. Sylvia and I followed, Jack behind us. I heard him question each of the servants, asking if they were all right, reassuring the frightened maids that the fire would not flare again.
"Boil as much water as you can as quickly as you can," Jack told the housekeeper, Mrs. Moore. "Bring water bottles and hot tea to the parlor in the southern wing then see to your own comfort. Everyone is to avoid the eastern wing until further notice."
"But none of the rooms are ready in the southern wing, sir," said Mrs. Moore.
"Prepare rooms for the ladies and Mr. Langley. I'll remain in the parlor until the morning."
We skirted the front of the house and the housekeeper unlocked a side door with one of the keys hanging at her waist. We followed Bollard and Langley into a small room that smelled musty and stale, with only a hint of lingering smokiness. Pale mounds loomed out of the darkness, but as my eyes adjusted, I realized they were dust sheets covering the furniture. Nothing hung on the wood-paneled walls, not even wallpaper. It was a cheerless, bland room.
Jack lit two candles on the mantel with a single touch of his forefinger, while Sylvia and I whipped off the sheets. Bollard finally lowered Langley onto one of the chairs and stretched the muscles in his arms. Tommy entered carrying wood and a box of kindling. A maid trailed behind, laden with hot water bottles. Sylvia grabbed one and cuddled it to her chest. He watched as Tommy set the wood box down.
"You're a savior," she said to him. Tommy smiled sheepishly and dipped his head. Sylvia appeared not to see him blush as she blew on her bare hands. "It's freezing in here."
Tommy placed the wood in the grate and Jack lit the fire. Sylvia sighed and spread her fingers in front of the flickering flames. "That's better," she muttered.
"Go get some rest, Tommy," Jack said. "You deserve it."
"But you need—"
"Never mind us," Langley said. "Mrs. Moore will bring in the tea and we can serve ourselves."
Tommy left and silence blanketed our little group. I watched the flames flicker around the wood, their dance seductive as they ate their fill. We all seemed mesmerized by it, but I for one felt quite sick. The fire had destroyed part of the house, and it had almost destroyed us too. If we hadn't got out of Langley's rooms...
I shuddered to think what may have happened.
I glanced at Jack and was startled to see that he was watching me. He offered a small smile, but I didn't return it. The shock of what he'd done was too fresh. His anger was far more volatile than I'd thought, and more dangerous. He'd said he could control it, but clearly he could not.
And of course, I knew now that he'd lied to me all along. There'd never been any agreement to let me go at Christmas. Langley had intended to keep me prisoner no matter what. And Jack knew it.
Langley also watched me, but with a gravity that was at odds with his earlier nastiness. Ever since then, he'd been quiet, reflective, and not at all the confrontational man I'd come to expect.
Mrs. Moore entered with a tray of tea things and left us to serve ourselves. Sylvia poured and handed out cups. She drank hers quickly and gave a deep sigh, then refilled it from the pot.
"Well, this is awkward," she said, setting the pot down with a loud clank. "Would someone care to tell me what caused the fire? I take it that one of you couldn't control yourselves," she said with a pointed glare at first me then Jack.
When neither Jack nor Langley answered, I said, "Your uncle said something rather shocking to me. Something that Jack didn't want me to know."
You can't leave, Violet.
The words sliced through me like a blade. I sucked in a breath to try to steady my nerves, but it was no use. Unlike earlier, I wasn't angry anymore. That moment had passed. Now...now, I was terrified.
"What didn't Jack want you to know?" Sylvia looked so innocent, so untouched and honest. Yet she knew the truth too. She and her cousin—if that's what he was—were part of Langley's plan to keep me prisoner at Freak House.
"It's not important," Langley said. "The important thing is that you didn't fall asleep, Violet. You were close, weren't you, but you didn't. It's a triumph."
"Is that what that was all about?" Jack said. A thread of steel ran through his otherwise calm voice. "That's low, August. Even for you."
"Will someone tell me what's going on?" Sylvia asked. "Who set the house on fire? Violet?"
"Yes," Jack said at the same time that I said, "No."
He blinked at me. Langley lowered his cup to his saucer. "You don't know?" he murmured.
"All I know is that you are a pack of wolves and I despise you. If I must stay here, then I will, but I will not be a party to your charade. I'll not pretend all is well. You'll have to lock me up if you wish to keep me here." My voice shook. My hands too and I had to set the cup down lest the tea spill.
"Violet?" Sylvia was at my side, crouching on the floor near my feet. Her gaze searched mine before she turned it on Langley. "What have you said to her, Uncle?"