Playing With Fire (10 page)

"Remarkable." I couldn't tell whether she believed me or not, but she didn't ask more questions. She'd already switched her attention to Samuel. "What about you, Mr. Gladstone? You're a doctor?"

"Still studying," he said.

"And you're staying at Frakingham House to research…what exactly are you researching?"

"A neuroscientific hypothesis."

"How curious. What does that entail?"

I was impressed with Mrs. Butterworth's tenacity. Detective Inspector Weeks should employ her to question his suspects. I enjoyed watching Samuel try to avoid answering while remaining polite. It led to a lot of charming smiles in her direction and complicated scientific talk. Her own smile broadened as he spoke, but I was under no illusion that it was due to the mention of lobes and cortexes. Samuel's honey-thick voice and dashing eyes were enough to mesmerize most females. He didn't need to use hypnosis on her.

I caught Jack looking at me and I rolled my eyes. He bit his lip, but it didn't stop his smirk.

"That's nice," Mrs. Butterworth said. "What a clever man you are, Mr. Gladstone. Your parents must be terribly proud."

"They were," he said.

Mrs. Butterworth didn't seem to notice the past tense. I certainly did, and I also knew that his parents were alive. So why were they no longer proud of their son? "Our son is away at Oxford reading law," the mayor's wife said with a proud thrust of her prominent chin.

"A worthy career. Do you have other children? Daughters perhaps? I saw a little girl looking at us through a window when we arrived."

"That's our ten year-old. We also have twin girls, both seventeen. They're visiting friends this morning. What a shame they're not here. They do like to meet new people, and go to parties and afternoon teas and things. There aren't many in this village worthy to be their friends." Mrs. Butterworth sat up straighter, and I could swear her nose twitched as if she could smell an eligible gentleman. "Not like you and your young friends."

Mr. Butterworth frowned at his wife. "There are several—"

"None of Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Langley's ilk," she said through a hard smile. "They're educated and well-connected, and such charming gentlemen. It is a shame there have been so few opportunities for them to meet Frakingham's newcomers."

This seemed to be aimed directly at Sylvia and Jack and the lack of invitations to Frakingham. Indeed, I began to wonder why the girls hadn't been invited to our dinner party too. Sylvia had only invited older people. The Butterworths, the vicar and his wife, and another couple. Why not people her own age?

"If you'd brought them to church, our daughters could have made their acquaintance," Mrs. Butterworth said pointedly.

"Ah, yes." Sylvia chewed her lip. "The last few weeks have been busy. The vicar understands, as does God, I'm sure."

We refused tea and passed a few more minutes in polite chat with Mrs. Butterworth while her husband seemed to have deflated somewhat and tuned out of the conversation altogether. When finally we made our excuses, he perked up a little and thanked us for stopping by.

We drove back through the village on our way to the vicarage. People stopped to stare and point, something that I was growing used to, but still didn't particularly like. I supposed our visits were infrequent enough that we had become a curiosity. Perhaps the dinner party would put an end to that. I certainly hoped Sylvia was right and that our guests would see how normal we were. That is, how normal we
appeared
to be on the surface. Hopefully August Langley would realize how important the affair was for his niece and be on his best behavior.

The carriage slowed to a stop outside a butcher's shop, nowhere near the vicarage. "What is Olsen doing?" Sylvia asked, peering out the window.

I looked out too and saw another coach just ahead of us. It was a grand, bright red landau with a black top. I'd never seen one like it.

Sylvia pulled the window down and called out to Jack. "Why have we stopped here?"

He hopped down from the driver's seat and approached our window. "They're pointing at us."

"Everyone points at us."

"This is different. The butcher's boy was talking to the driver and pointing along the road out of the village as if he were giving directions. Then he saw us and pointed this way instead. I think the occupants of that landau are on their way to Frakingham to see us."

As he said it, the carriage door opened and a tall gentleman emerged. He held out his hand and a woman's gloved fingers took it. The most elegantly dressed lady I'd ever seen stepped out, followed by another in equally fine attire. Both wore veils over their faces and the perkiest little hats that failed to hide the midnight black of their hair.

"Oh," breathed Sylvia. "
Look
at her coat, Hannah. I adore that shade of peacock blue. Is that braiding across the shoulders? So striking. So modern. Take it all in, so we can sketch them when we get home. I
must
have something similar made up next time we're in London."

Another gentleman alighted behind the ladies. He wasn't as tall as the first and wore glasses, but I could see his beaming smile even at a distance. Indeed, the other gentleman smiled too. I couldn't see if the ladies did or not. The veils covered their entire faces.

Jack opened the door and we piled out as they came up to us. As they drew closer, I could see how handsome the first gentleman was, and how small the two veiled ladies were next to him. It was impossible to tell their age, eye color or whether they were pleased to see us.

"Mr. Langley?" the tall gentleman said, switching his gaze between Jack and Samuel.

"I am Jack Langley," Jack said. "This is Mr. Samuel Gladstone, my cousin Miss Sylvia Langley, and her companion, Miss Hannah Smith."

The gentleman smiled and bowed. "I'm sorry to confront you in the street like this, but the butcher's lad saw your carriage, and we decided we couldn't wait to meet you."

The lady closest to him cleared her throat.

"Forgive me," he said. "I should have introduced myself first. I am Jacob Beaufort. This is my wife, Mrs. Emily Beaufort, her aunt, Miss Cara Moreau, and my brother-in-law, Mr. George Culvert. We're very pleased to meet you, despite the circumstances."

CHAPTER 6

The Frakingham parlor was crowded with the four of us plus Langley and the four from the London party. The parlor in the eastern wing would have seated everyone comfortably, but it was out of bounds until the repairs to the fire-ravaged section were completed. It was fortunate that Langley came with his own chair as there were no more seats to be had.

"We are so pleased you could come," Sylvia said, taking Mrs. Beaufort's hand. "But I must apologize for the state of the house. It's not at its best at the moment."

"There was a fire?" Mr. Beaufort asked.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"The roofline is black in patches."

"How observant of you."

Mr. Beaufort waited, but she did not tell him that I started it, thank goodness. They may be experts on demons and ghosts, but I didn't want them knowing my secret. If Sylvia told them about my fire starting, it would come about that I'd been kept in an attic most of my life, and that wasn't something I wanted known. The Beauforts were much too sophisticated, and I couldn't bear them giving me pitying looks, or worse, curious ones. We'd told them what we'd told Mr. and Mrs. Butterworth—that I was Sylvia's companion. We left out the part about Yorkshire, and fortunately nobody asked where I was from.

"The house is perfectly lovely, Miss Langley," Miss Moreau said. She sat between Sylvia and me on the settee, her dainty hands folded in her lap.

I'd been shocked when she and Mrs. Beaufort removed their veils. Not only because they were both beautiful with lovely dusky skin and gentle eyes, but because the aunt was younger than her niece. Indeed, Miss Moreau looked to be about my age, while her niece looked a little older. Mrs. Emily Beaufort had explained that her father's sister had just returned from the antipodean colony of Victoria where she'd been living with Mrs. Beaufort's parents. Indeed, all three had come home, although it wasn't clear whether Miss Moreau planned to return with her guardians or remain in England.

"Thank you, Miss Moreau," Sylvia said. "That's most kind of you to say so, but I'm afraid Frakingham has seen better days. It is much brighter now that you and Mrs. Beaufort have arrived. I do adore your outfits. They're very elegant. I fear our old parlor isn't up to receiving visitors like you." She laughed and self-consciously patted her hair.

I caught Mrs. Beaufort looking over their heads at me. She winked, and I was quite taken aback by the intimate gesture. Perhaps she wasn't as formal as she appeared. She was certainly lovely, and I could see why her husband kept casting adoring glances her way. He seemed utterly smitten with her, even eight years after their marriage.

"Do you have any children, Mrs. Beaufort?" I asked.

"Two," she said. "A boy and girl."

"You should have brought them," Sylvia cried. "I adore children."

It was fortunate that they hadn't come. Langley didn't seem like the sort who was fond of children, and the house was at capacity thanks to the repairs.

"It was easier to leave them in London with their nanny since this is going to be a brief stay. Perhaps another time?"

"Oh, yes, do bring them. Miss Moreau must come again too, and Mr. Culvert and his wife."

"After the baby is born," Mr. Culvert said, his eyes sparkling at the mention of his family. Up until then he'd been quiet, wearing a studious and somewhat bewildered expression, as if he wasn't quite sure how to act around us. "Our second is due in July."

We talked some more until Tommy announced that luncheon was ready.

"What are you doing down here?" I asked him. "I thought you were confined to your room. Our footman was scratched by the demon," I told our guests.

Miss Moreau gasped. "How awful."

Sylvia sniffed. "As you can see, he's quite all right. The best cure for him is to be on his feet and working."

"Miss Langley is right," Tommy said. "I was going numb with boredom. It's good to be down here where I belong."

"What a brave man," Mrs. Beaufort said. "You're very lucky to have him on your staff, Mr. Langley."

Langley grunted a response. "I've had little to do in the way of choosing who works here," he said. "Those decisions seem to get made in my absence."

Once again Mrs. Beaufort looked to me and I simply shook my head. She gave me an understanding smile. I liked her already. Indeed, they were all kind and not at all intimidating as I expected the heir of a viscountcy and his family to be.

Langley left us to dine alone as he always did, and we retreated to the dining room. It wasn't lost on me that everyone seemed more at ease with him gone.

"You must forgive our uncle," Jack said. "He's unused to company."

"I do hope we haven't put him out by coming unannounced," Mrs. Beaufort said.

"Not at all." Jack grinned. "It does him good to have unannounced company once in a while."

"We didn't dare wait another moment," Mr. Culvert said. "Not with a demon on the loose."

"Tell us how you came to know about demons," Jack said.

"I'm a demonologist," Mr. Culvert explained with an air of self-assurance that had been lacking until that point. "My father was one before me. He built up a collection of books on the subject, many of which I've studied over the years."

"You can usually find George with his nose buried in a book in his library," Mrs. Beaufort said with a teasing smile. "It's his favorite place."

"I brought some with me," Mr. Culvert went on. "They're in the landau. Langley, can you describe the demon to me?"

Sylvia groaned in protest.

"Perhaps we shouldn't discuss it at the table," Mrs. Beaufort suggested.

Mr. Culvert frowned. "Why not?"

"George," she scolded.

He pushed his glasses up his nose and shrugged. "Later then, but we shouldn't waste too much time."

"It needn't be a waste," I said. "We'd like to get to know you better."

"Indeed," said Samuel. "Miss Moreau, tell us about Victoria. I cannot imagine living on the bottom of the world."

"Tell me," Sylvia said, "how
does
everyone not fall off?"

Jack gave a wry laugh. "It's called gravity, Syl."

Miss Moreau told us about her life in the city of Melbourne. I was completely fascinated. It was so different to England. I knew instantly that I'd like to visit it one day, until she told me it was hotter there than here.

The conversation eventually came around to Mrs. Beaufort and her aunt's supernatural ability. I admit I'd been skeptical that they could see spirits, but meeting them changed my mind. Both women were far too honest and good to make up stories of that nature and neither profited from their talent anyway.

"So tell us," Samuel said, a mischievous smile on his lips, "can you see any spirits here at Frakingham?"

"Samuel!" Sylvia cried. "Do you
have
to?"

"It's quite all right," Mrs. Beaufort said. "We've encountered none."

"Yet," Miss Moreau added. "Although the ruins we saw on the way in look promising."

That earned her a sharp glare from her niece. When the others fell into conversation around us, I leaned closer to Miss Moreau. "Please tell me if you do see any," I whispered. "I would love to find out more about the people who once lived here."

"Do you think they may be connected to the demon?" she asked, her big brown eyes widening even further.

"Yes and no. If they do have anything to do with the demon, then we all need to know, particularly Mr. Culvert of course, but I'm fascinated by the notion of spirits nevertheless. This place should have one or two. There have been people living on this site for centuries. I would love to take you to the abbey ruins, but it's off limits thanks to the demon."

"You're not appalled by the idea of spirits and mediums?" she asked. "Or frightened?"

"Not at all. I find it interesting." I bit my lip. "I'm sorry. You must think me terribly bad-mannered. I didn't mean to imply you're a curiosity."