Heart Burn (19 page)

Jack suddenly threw up his hands and slapped them down on the coach's window frame. The driver's head swung around, and the horses' ears twitched. We couldn't hear what Jack said or see his face, but from the rigidity of his shoulders, I knew he was furious.

"Is he violent?" Violet whispered, as if she were afraid Jack would overhear.

"Only when he's angry." It was perhaps cruel to let her think that Jack might hurt Lord Wade, but I had no true sympathy for either of them. "Let's go out, shall we?"

She hooked her arm through mine like we used to do when going for our walks at Windamere. I didn't pull away. I could feel her tremble and realized she really was terrified.

I led her outside, but she planted her feet on the top step and would not budge. I untangled my arm from hers and left her behind.

"Jack," I said, coming up behind him. "Is everything all right?"

His arms hung loosely at his sides, the fingers red and hot. He did not look at me, but instead into the cabin where Lord Wade huddled on the far side beneath fur coats.  

"Lord Wade and I were just reminiscing about the past," Jack said, casual as can be.

"So I see." I smiled and waved at the earl, but he did not wave back.

"Violet!" he roared.

She hurried up to us, her strides short and neat, dainty. Jack opened the cabin door, and she edged in, careful not to get too close and always keeping her wide gaze on him. I should have told her she had nothing to fear, but I didn't.

Lord Wade banged the head of his cane on the cabin roof, and the driver urged the horses forward. I watched as the coach rolled away, flicking up mud and gravel beneath its wheels as it quickly gained momentum.

It was still on the drive when I turned to Jack. "What were you and Lord Wade really talking about?"

But Jack wasn't looking at me. His head was bowed and cocked to the side as if he were listening to something in the distance. Then he looked up sharply and focused on the drive.

"Jack? What is it?" I followed his gaze. The coach had departed and a horse approached with a rider slumped forward. It was impossible to see his face. The only thing I could discern was that he had something long and thin resting across his lap.

"Bloody hell," Jack growled. "Hannah, inside."

"Who is it?"

"Inside! Now!"

I did as he ordered, just as the rider lifted both his head and the thing on his lap with the same hand that held the reins. Just as a one-armed man would do.

It was Tate. He aimed a shotgun at us. 

CHAPTER 11

If Jack could touch me without combusting either one of us, I suspected he would have thrown me over his shoulder and carried me inside. As it was, I ran as fast as my skirts would allow to the front door. He slammed it shut behind us as the
crack
of a gunshot blasted through the tranquility of the frosty winter's day.

"Keep away from the windows and doors," he ordered. "Find Sylvia and go to August's room."

"What about you? What are you going to do?"

"Kill Tate."

Another shot rang out. It sounded closer than the last, but like the first one, I couldn't hear any glass breaking or wood splintering. The slug must have lodged in the brickwork somewhere.

"Tommy!" Jack shouted. "Tommy, my gun!"

Tommy met us at the arched entrance to the corridor that led to the service area. He already held two shotguns, a box of ammunition tucked under his arm. Jack pushed him back along the corridor a few paces. It was one of the safest places in the house.

"What the blazes did you say to the toff, Jackie?" he asked in his slum accent, a sign that he too was panicked.

Jack took the box of bullets. "It's not Wade. It's Tate."

Tommy said a very colorful word that had me blushing, then he and Jack both concentrated on loading the weapons.

"There you are!" said Samuel, entering the corridor behind me. He must have been upstairs when the shots were fired. "Is everybody all right? Who's shooting at you?"

"Tate," I said. "Although it's not clear if he's shooting at anyone or just frightening us." If the latter, he was doing a very thorough job.

Samuel beckoned for a gun. "Give me one of those."

Tommy pulled back and shook his head. "Let us handle him, sir."

"But I can hypnotize him if I get close enough."

"There's the flaw in your plan," Jack said. "He'll shoot you before you have a chance."

"Only if he sees me."

"That is a rather precarious 'if' to stake your life upon," I said. "Since Tate is here for me, I forbid you to try, Samuel. It's too much of a risk. That goes for all of you. Jack, I wish you wouldn't—"

"Hannah?" Sylvia called.

"In here!" I called back.

She held her skirts up, revealing her ankles, something that would ordinarily have horrified her. "I heard gunshots. I went to Uncle, and he said to find you and report back."

I told her about Tate. Her reaction was to let go of her skirts to cover her gasp with her hands. "If only that man had died!"

Well, yes, except it would mean I had little time left too. It was actually a relief to see him up and about. "Jack and Tommy are going to intercept him, but I don't know if it's a wise idea."

"Well, I
do
know! It's a terrible idea. Nobody is going outside while that madman is armed."

"What would you have us do, Syl?" Jack said, pointing the loaded weapon at the ceiling.

"I don't know, but it's too dangerous to be out there. Wait until he runs out of ammunition and leaves of his own accord."

"I should have pursued him when I killed Ham. I won't let him get away again."

"Perhaps he's not trying to kill anyone," I said. "He wants me alive."

"He's not getting you," he growled.

"I'm sure he doesn't plan on shooting at
you
," Samuel said quietly. "Rather the people trying to protect you."

My stomach heaved. My chest tightened. I put a hand to the wall to steady myself, but the world still felt like it was rocking.

Sylvia put her arm around my shoulders, but the men didn't seem to notice my turn.

"Gladstone, there's a loaded pistol in the drawer beside my bed," Jack said. "Fetch it. The external doors are already locked except the front one. Guard it. Only let Tommy or me in."

Jack and Tommy headed one way down the corridor and Samuel the other before either Sylvia or I could stop them.

"Please be careful!" I tried to shout, but my voice was weak. It wouldn't have carried far.

"Are you all right, Hannah?" Sylvia asked.

I placed a hand to my stomach and nodded numbly. But the bilious feeling of foreboding never left me. My friends were out there with a violent, unconscionable man—because of me. Tate wanted me, and he didn't care how he got me. By refusing to go with him, I was putting my friends in danger.

I let Sylvia lead me to Langley's room where we waited with her uncle and Bollard for the men to return. It was a little tidier than the last time I was there, but not much.

"I had not thought he'd sink as low as this," Langley said. He tipped his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. "Is it my fault? Did I do this to him?"

Bollard placed his hand on his employer's shoulder briefly before drawing back. The mute's eyes became glassy, and he turned away.

"No, Uncle," Sylvia said, going to Langley. "It's the fire in Tate that's made him desperate. Nothing to do with you."

"The fire is in Hannah too, and she doesn't hold me at gunpoint until I find her a cure."

"I don't know where the guns are kept," I said, trying to lighten the mood although not expecting to succeed.

To my surprise, Langley smirked. "I'd better get back to work before you do." He swiveled his chair around and worked side-by-side with his assistant.

Sylvia and I sat away from the windows. I desperately wanted to look out to see if I could spot Jack and Tommy, but I remained where I was.

A horrible half hour passed. Sylvia puttered about the room, folding clothes and picking up discarded pieces of paper, but always keeping away from the windows. We didn't speak. I suspected she was as reluctant to disturb Langley as I was. He spoke a few words of instruction to Bollard once in a while, but mostly there was only a quiet hush in the room.

And out of it too. No more gunshots were fired, thank God. The sense of relief became more potent as the seconds and minutes ticked past. It wasn't easy sitting there, waiting and doing nothing, but I managed it with only the loss of the fingernails on one hand. I'd bitten them to the quick by the time Jack and Samuel collected us. 

"Where's Tommy?" Sylvia asked, before either had spoken a word.

"Putting away the shotguns," Jack said. He held a pistol, probably the one that he'd ordered Samuel to retrieve.

"Tate?" Langley asked.

"Gone."

Sylvia mewled like a kitten. "You killed him?"

"No, I mean he's disappeared again. He must have ridden off as soon as he fired the second shot. We couldn't find him. Hannah?" he murmured, coming to crouch by me. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." I tried to give him a smile, but it fell flat. He didn't return it, but scanned my face as if he could see in it how long I had left to live.

"We cannot continue like this," Sylvia declared. "The man must be stopped. Somebody in the village must know where he is."

"We've already asked," Jack said. "Nobody saw him, and I suspect he hasn't been living nearby anyway, or we would have heard rumors in the village."

"We can ask again," Samuel suggested. "He may have made an appearance today."

Jack sighed and nodded. Clearly he didn't hold out much hope.

Nor did I. I sat very still as they spoke, trying to order my thoughts. In the end, the only conclusion I came to was in direct contrast to Jack's.

I didn't want Tate dead. I wanted him alive and working to find a cure.

"Tommy's bringing tea to the parlor," Jack said to me. "Come and rest in there."

"You can watch me while I decorate the room," Sylvia said. "We don't have a tree, but I collected some laurel and holly this morning before you woke." She clapped her hands. "It'll be such fun! Mrs. Beaufort's decorations were inspirational. I have so many ideas, and it's just the thing to take our minds off…other things."

She skipped out of the room. Her capacity to throw off troubling events amazed me. Samuel followed her, and Jack arched his eyebrow at me. "Hannah?"

"In a moment. I want to talk to Mr. Langley."

He hesitated then inclined his head and left. Langley stopped what he was doing. Bollard too. "Are you worse?" he asked, blunt as a hammer blow.

I thought about giving my stock answer, but decided he needed to know the truth. "I'm hotter and constantly tired. Exhausted. I feel as if I could sleep all day and still not be refreshed." To my dismay, tears puddled in my eyes.

Bollard stepped forward and retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket. He handed it to me, grim-faced.

"Thank you, Bollard. You're very kind."

He blushed. Even the tips of his ears reddened. I liked the big mute more and more each day.

"I suppose you want to ask me again how close I am to finding a cure," Langley said.

"I know that interrupting you doesn't help, but…I can't stop myself. I need to know."

"Hannah." He wheeled himself closer and took my hand. It was not what I expected, and I was moved by his gentleness. His hands were strong, capable, and stained from the ink used to write his notes. "My answer is the same as last time. I'm doing my best."

"I know you are." I bit the inside of my cheek and tasted blood. I wasn't at all sure that I should ask my next question, but I did so anyway. I had nothing to lose after all. Not anymore. "Mr. Langley, will you consider working with Reuben Tate to—"

"No!" He withdrew his hand and rolled himself backward. "Absolutely not. I can't believe you would ask me that after everything you've learned about him."

I got to my feet and stalked him across the floor to where he'd stopped at his desk. "Could it hurt to speak to him? Perhaps find out where he is in the process. He may be further along than you, after all."

"I cannot work with Tate, but more importantly, you'll find that he won't work with me. He detests me, Hannah."

"Why?"

"It doesn't matter. The reasons are lost to the mists of time, and I no longer care to talk about it. Is that all?"

I ignored his dismissal. "Mr. Myer said you and Tate worked well together once. That you made a brilliant team. Couldn't you do that again? For my sake?"

"Myer! Ha! What does he know? You shouldn't believe everything he tells you. For one thing, I did the majority of the work in our so-called team, not Tate. Tate enjoyed the spoils of our work, but preferred to dabble in the more…commercially unsuccessful drugs."

"Is that how you describe the fire starting compound? As 'commercially unsuccessful'?"

"I'd hardly call it a success."

I heaved a sigh. "So you won't even consider meeting with him to discuss it?"

"I think he's beyond the point of discussion. He's unreasonable now, Hannah. The illness and subsequent search for a cure have affected his mind." He tapped the side of his temple. "You'd better rest and keep your mind at ease. Otherwise, it may happen to you."

A discomforting thought. "I will. I'll spend the remainder of the day watching Sylvia decorate the house and being served tea."

I said nothing about the following day.

I couldn't stay in the house any longer and allow others to risk their lives for me. Tate would not give up until he had me in his possession, and I had no doubts he would use every unscrupulous method to get me, including harming my friends. He'd already proven that he cared nothing for them.

If Langley wasn't willing to work with him to find a cure, then I had no other recourse. I would give myself to Tate for testing, but I would go to him alone. I had to. There was no way Jack or the others would sit by and watch me walk into Tate's laboratory and offer myself up for his tests.

The idea filled me with dread, but I was determined. No one else should be harmed because of me.