The Wrong Girl (Freak House) (20 page)

"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?"

"Is there someone in charge now that Patrick is gone?"

"No," the taller lad said. "We got no one else."

"What about Miss Charity?"

"No one's seen 'er for months."

Tommy shook his head. "Do the children have enough food for a few days?"

Silence as the two boys looked down at their boots.

"Why not? Jack sent money to Patrick regularly. He was supposed to use it to care for you all."

"'E did," said Sniffles.

"'E didn't," the other boy protested. "'E bought the worst food, the stuff that's gone rotted. Sometimes it stank like old feet, or it 'ad somefing crawling in it."

Tommy clicked his tongue. "And I can see from your clothing that he didn't buy you anything new or warm like Jack instructed."

"Paddy bought 'imself good clobber," the second lad said. "For 'is woman too."

Tommy swore then apologized to Sylvia and me.

"How did Patrick die?" I asked the boys.

Sniffles wiped his nose with his sleeve. "We woke up two days ago and 'e was lying on the ground. Blood everywhere."

"Smashed 'is 'ead in, they did," the other lad said. "Right mess, it were." He spoke with more detachment than Sniffles, as if he took such violence for granted.

"Oh, my," Sylvia whispered, turning her face away.

"Right then, lads," Tommy said, standing. "You'll be taken care of here and we'll see to the welfare of the others. Come with me and we'll speak to Mrs. Moore. She'll find you somewhere to sleep and maybe some clean clothes. You can stay until Jack gets back, but not forever." He glared at the house as he said it, as if he knew it was futile to ask Langley.

"Should we go to the others in London?" Sylvia asked me as Tommy walked off with the boys. "Something must be done to help them, or they'll end up thieving. Jack and Tommy would be terribly upset if one of them were caught. They'd be jailed for certain."

I nodded absently. I was concerned for the children, but there was something more pressing to consider. "Patrick must have been murdered by Reuben Tate," I said. "And Jack has gone to see him."

Sylvia gasped. "You truly think Tate did it?"

"I think it likely. Patrick was afraid to tell Jack who paid him to steal the papers. He said his life would be in danger if he did. I don't think Jack quite believed him."

"Then Jack doesn't know how dangerous Tate is. Oh dear lord."

"We have to warn him, Sylvia. We have to leave today. Right now."

CHAPTER 13

"Do you think your uncle will allow us to go?" I asked Sylvia. We'd remained near the carriage, trying to decide whether to obtain Langley's permission to follow Jack or not. It boiled down to this single question, and her answer.

She pulled up the collar of her coat and sunk her chin into the fur. "No."

"That's settled then. We'll go anyway."

"Hannah! That's terribly rebellious of you."

"Rebellion would be leaving and not returning." I clasped her arm. "We can't let Jack stroll into a meeting with Tate without being completely aware of the danger."

"He has his fire to protect him."

"What if Tate has a gun? Or drugs him?"

"Yes, of course you're right."

"If we hurry, we'll catch him on the road or at least arrive soon after."

"Uncle could send somebody else," she said. "Tommy or Bollard."

"We'll take Tommy anyway." She still hesitated, so I added, "I've been kept in an attic most of my life, only doing what I've been told to do by others, going where I'm told to go. If coming here has taught me anything, it's that I am a free person now. I make my own decisions."

"I don't know," she hedged. "Uncle will be very angry, and I'm dependent on him. We both are."

"He won't throw us out. Not when he went to so much trouble to get me."

"Precisely: to get
you
. Not
me
." Tears filled her eyes and she blinked rapidly. "I am nobody."

"You're his niece!" I didn't feel quite as certain as I sounded. In many ways, she was as much a prisoner at Frakingham as I had been at Windamere. Most women were in one way or another. We weren't allowed to own property or open bank accounts, and many professions and educational institutions were closed to us. Now that I had left the only home I'd ever known, I was beginning to realize how much my welfare was in the hands of others.

"You're braver than I," she said.

"It doesn't feel like it. My heart is trying to break through my ribs. I'm determined to ignore it. For Jack." And for me. I needed to do this to assure myself I wasn't Langley's prisoner, that I could get away if I wanted to. I wouldn't allow myself to be locked up again.

"I'll get Tommy," I said before she could protest again.

When Tommy and I returned to the carriage, we found Sylvia waiting. She didn't look any less concerned, but at least she was still there.

"Let's go immediately." She extended her hand for Tommy to help her up the step. "We have coats and money. Uncle will still think we're going shopping in Harborough, but we'll go on to Hackney Wick instead."

"Excellent." I smiled at her. "You're turning out to be quite the rebel yourself, Sylvia."

"I want to go shopping in London after this is all over. Since we're not taking a change of clothes, we'll have to visit Oxford Street again."

At least she'd agreed to come.

***

We didn't find Jack on the road. He must have traveled faster than us, which wasn't surprising since he had the better carriage and horses to pull it. We stayed overnight at an inn on the way, and reached Hackney Wick late in the morning.

The suburb was indeed at the edge of the great city and we came upon it suddenly. The open spaces of the countryside gave way to featureless, interchangeable terraced houses and brick factories that spewed smoke from dozens of chimneys. Their high walls blocked passersby from seeing the machinations behind. Not that there were many passersby. I could count the number who walked the muddy street on one hand. Who could blame people for staying indoors? The air stank and the machinery beyond the walls whirred and clanged in an endless drone. We kept the window closed.

The carriage slowed in front of a double-story building squashed between two large factories like a small child smothered by fat adults. It was built of brown brick like everything else on the street, but it was a house, not a factory. The brickwork above the two top-most windows was blackened up to the roofline.

"Do you think this is it?" Sylvia asked. "Do you think he lives there too?"