I sat in the armchair near the window and Jack pulled a separate hardback chair closer to the bed. Bollard shut the door and came to stand beside the bed like an obedient dog.
"Reuben Tate and I were partners," Langley said.
"Partners in what?" I asked.
"Don't interrupt. We owned a laboratory together and shared research. It seemed the sensible, economical thing to do since we were both in need of funds and our research interests were the same. It was our joint efforts that led to the development of a drug."
"A drug to cure what?"
"That is not your concern, Hannah. Reuben and I had a falling out over it. I wanted to sell the remedy to a large company with the facilities to manufacture it on a grand scale, but Reuben wanted to borrow money to expand our laboratory and produce it there. I won."
"I'm sure you did," I muttered.
"We both benefitted financially from the sale. I bought this house and investments then sold off my portion of the laboratory to Tate. We parted ways after that and haven't seen each other since."
"So why is he stealing your papers?" Jack asked.
"I can only guess that he's in financial straits again and needs a new cure to sell." He waved his hand, as is if his one-time friend's difficulties were no longer of concern to him.
"He stole your research?" I asked.
"Some of it. I had Bollard bury the important formulas that weren't taken during the first burglary."
So that's what he was doing in the woods the day I tried to escape!
"Reuben always did have a gambling problem," Langley said. "I suspect his debts have piled up again."
"But didn't you sell the other drug for a fortune?" I asked. "If your half bought this house, he must have gotten a sizeable amount too."
"I received more than half since I'd invested most of the funds in the first place. We had an agreement drawn up to reflect the proportions early on." He thrust out his chin. "It was another thing Reuben resented."
"Did he resent anything more?"
"The fact that I'm a better microbiologist than he is."
"And you think that's why he's thieving now? Money difficulties?" Jack asked.
"Perhaps. Whatever his reasons, I doubt it has anything to do with Hannah's escape from Windamere."
He was calling it an escape now, was he? It still felt like an abduction to me, but I let the comment pass.
"It's purely a coincidence," Langley said. "It must be." When neither Jack nor I spoke, he added, "Knowing Reuben, his debts have become unmanageable and he is desperate for money. Selling a new drug, my drug, will alleviate the pressure."
"If you haven't seen him for some years," Jack said, "how would he know you were working on a remedy?"
"Because he knows me very well, and I'm always working on something."
Langley dictated the address of Reuben Tate's laboratory to Bollard who wrote it down and gave the piece of paper to Jack.
"Hackney Wick," I said, reading it. "Is that far from here? I confess, I've not heard of it."
Langley grunted. "I'm sure there are many places you've never heard of, Hannah. It's not your fault."
"I may not have been to many places, Mr. Langley, but I can assure you I was given access to maps and books. I know where most villages in England are."
Indeed, I had often spread out maps on the floor of our parlor and studied every detail. I'd imagine what each village looked like, what the people did there. When he could, my geography tutor provided books about the places that described the landscape and history of a particular area, and I would study them as if I were leading an expedition. It was silly now that I think about it, but I would imagine myself as an explorer finding undiscovered lands. Every piece of England was like a foreign country to me, having seen nothing further than the Windamere estate boundary, but in truth, there probably wasn't much of the exotic about Derbyshire or Hampshire, Cornwall or Yorkshire.
"Hackney Wick isn't a village," Jack said. "It's part of London, albeit on the edge." He pocketed the paper. "I'll head off today."
"So soon?" I said. "But you won't get there before nightfall."
"I'll spend a night in an inn along the way. Don't worry. I can take care of myself." He was looking at me when he started the sentence, but by the end, he'd turned to Langley.
Langley picked up his book and began to read. "I'll see you in a few days."
Jack left in the carriage with Olsen driving. I found it difficult to settle to any task, but considering most of the tasks available to me involved needlework, it wasn't surprising. When I couldn't focus on a sensation novel that I'd borrowed from Sylvia, I decided it was time to get out of the house. I suggested a walk, but she had other ideas.
"We could go into the village," she said. "Mrs. Moore said the smoky smell won't come out of some of our clothes. I'm sure Uncle will give us money for new garments."
"He's probably in need of some himself. Most of his personal belongings would have been destroyed."
"Bollard has already been into the village on his behalf."
"He's very devoted to your uncle."
"Very."
"Do you know how long they've known each other?"
"A very long time." She pulled a face. "Let's not talk about Bollard. He's so dreary." She put her embroidery back in her sewing basket and grasped my hand. "Let's go this minute."
"But Jack has the carriage and Olsen."
"Tommy will drive us in the brougham. It's smaller than the clarence, but it'll suffice for the short journey."
We sent Tommy to give word to Langley that we were going shopping in Harborough then asked him to prepare the brougham, Langley's second carriage. Fifteen minutes later, we were about to climb into the cabin when a rickety farmer's cart pulled by an old nag lumbered up the drive.
"Who could that be?" Sylvia asked, squinting into the sunlight.
Tommy greeted the farmer and patted the horse's nose as two young lads hopped off the back of the cart. "Bloody hell!" Tommy said. "What are you doing here?"
One of the lads dropped a coin into the farmer's palm. The farmer nodded at Sylvia and me, then turned his nag around and plodded off the way he'd come.
The two newcomers looked up at Frakingham, holding their caps to their heads as they leaned backward to take it all in. They were a grimy couple. Dirt seemed to have set up residence in the creases of their hands and faces, and their filthy clothes were covered in patches. The taller lad's toes stuck out of the end of his boots and his sleeves reached halfway up his arms. The shorter boy sniffed incessantly. I recognized him as the one who'd peered out of the window of the house where Jack had met Patrick in London. Whatever was he doing here? Where was Patrick?
Oh no. Dear lord no. Horror twisted my gut, and I was glad when Sylvia hooked her arm through mine. I clasped her tightly and shushed her with a raise of my finger when she began to speak.
Tommy bent down to the sniffly lad's level. "What's happened?" he asked.
"'E's dead," said the boy, his bottom lip wobbling.
My stomach dove. I gripped Sylvia tighter and she sidled closer. Tommy swore, a sure sign that he was deeply affected. He took his footman duties very seriously, and swearing in the presence of Sylvia and me was a serious offense in his own mind, if not in mine.
"Paddy knew somefing was going to 'appen to 'im," the lad said. "That night Jack came, Paddy told us to come to Freak 'Ouse if the worst 'appened. 'E told us 'ow to get 'ere and gave us money for the journey. 'E said you'd take care o' us, Tommy. You and Jack."
"Of course we will," Tommy said. "You'll be safe here. But what about the others?"
"They're still in Plum Alley."
"Who's taking care of them?"
"Huh?"