C. Archer - The Wrong Girl

"If you wish me to live here," I said, "then I expect to be treated as you treat each other. I won't be kept in the dark. Is that understood?"

Jack's eyes narrowed. "Quite," he bit off.

Sylvia made a small choking sound in the back of her throat, but when I glanced at her, she was intent on her embroidery.

"Were they both policemen?" I asked. "One wore a helmet."

"He was a constable in uniform," Jack said. "The plainly dressed gentleman was a detective inspector."

I set the napkin down and met those all-seeing green eyes. "Were they looking for me?"

"No." Was it my imagination, or did sympathy flicker across his face? "Someone broke in last night. Some of August's papers were stolen, and he's in a bit of a state about it. August in a state is not a pretty sight."

"What sort of papers?"

"I don't know. He wouldn't tell me. The inspector was called for this morning, and he and his constable asked some questions, took some notes and generally poked about. The only thing they achieved was making an inconvenience of themselves. They even failed to question all the staff, which means they missed a vital clue."

"What clue?"

"The imprint of a muddy boot was left on the floor in the scullery."

"How thrilling," Sylvia said. "Just like in a novel."

That earned another glare from Jack. "I measured it and sketched the sole pattern. I'll ride into Harborough to deliver it to the inspector."

"Are you certain the boot doesn't belong to one of the staff?"

"It was larger than mine or any of the staff."

To think, the authorities had been to Frakingham, and I'd missed them! I could have thrown myself upon their mercy and pleaded my case. Would they have taken my word over Langley's? I didn't know, but it galled that I had missed the opportunity to try.

"I'm sorry, Violet," Jack said. "I wanted to begin training today."

"Never mind." Another daring plan had already begun to form. I was desperate enough to carry it out too, despite the fear almost overriding my determination. Almost, but not quite.

"Just be sure not to have an episode in my absence. Or try to escape."

"I'll try not to, but alas I may not be able to control myself."

There was that twist of his mouth again, that almost smile. "Syl, will you be all right?"

"Of course."

"Tommy is here if you need anything."

I would have asked what he meant by that, but he excused himself and left. So I asked Sylvia instead. "Why did he mention Tommy?"

"I couldn't say."

"Is your footman going to restrain me if I try to leave?"

"Of course not."

I finished my breakfast and when I got up, she quickly rose too, toppling her embroidery hoop to the floor.

"I only wish to look out the window," I said. She sat again, her relief obvious.

I stood by the bay window and watched Jack ride down the drive on horseback. He was unaccompanied, which I thought a little unwise until I remembered he could set a man on fire if he found himself in trouble. He turned back suddenly as if he realized I'd been watching, and our gazes locked. He lifted his hand, and I thought he was about to wave, then he gathered up the reins again and turned away. The horse broke into a gallop and Jack was soon gone from sight.

Now all I had to do was avoid Tommy and I would be free.

I waited until he had removed my breakfast dishes and been gone for some time before yawning. Sylvia didn't notice, so intent was she on her sewing. I yawned again and stretched.

"Still tired?" she said, looking up.

"I think I'll retreat to my room for a rest."

"Of course. I'll wake you for luncheon."

"I hope you don't mind, but I won't be joining you. Breakfast was quite sufficient to see me through the rest of the day."

Sylvia's face fell a little. "Oh. It'll just be me then."

I almost felt sorry for her, but her loneliness was not my concern. I left her and headed toward the staircase. Instead of going up, however, I walked straight past and through an arch that led to a short corridor and a number of closed doors. I bypassed those and headed along another corridor before reaching what appeared to be a door leading outside.

I glanced behind me. All silent. No one followed. I pushed the door open and found myself in an empty, graveled courtyard bordered on three sides by the house. I paused. Listened. Still nothing.

I half walked, half ran across the courtyard, looking left and right and back over my shoulder. The wind battered at my skirt and made a mockery of my attempt at arranging my own hair. By the time I'd exited the courtyard, my hair had broken free of its pins and whipped across my face as I glanced this way and that.

The benefit to finding myself at the rear of the house was that there was a wood nearby. Parks and formal gardens provided a pretty vista from the front and eastern side of Frakingham, but those open spaces weren't of much benefit for an escapee.

There was a graveled road and small grassy patch to cross before I entered the safety of the trees. I checked once more behind me, then lifted my skirts and ran.

My heeled boots weren't made for running fast, but I didn't slow until I reached a dense clutch of trees that couldn't be seen from the wood's edge. I hid behind a large oak and leaned against the trunk to catch my breath.

Safe. No one had followed.

I pushed on, wanting to get far away from Frakingham and whatever the Langleys had in store for me. They might seem pleasant enough on the outside, but there was certainly something odd going on. Something besides Jack's ability to start fires. Perhaps if I really did have the same affliction as he, I would be more inclined to see if they really could help me control it, but I couldn't let them discover that I didn't and Vi did. I didn't trust them, and Vi was my one true friend, a sister in every sense of the word except biological. I would protect her with every last breath in my body.

To my sickening horror, I realized that meant I couldn't return to Windamere. The Langleys would look for me there. I had to steer them away from Vi and disappear forever.

Tears pricked my eyes, but I forced them back as I pushed on along a narrow, winding path. My mind and heart, however, remained in turmoil.

Perhaps that's why I didn't see Bollard until it was too late. He stepped out from behind a tree and grabbed my arm.

I screamed.

He clamped a hand over my mouth, dragging me back against his body. He smelled like damp earth and moldy leaves, and he carried a shovel. I struggled, but he was much too strong. I bit his hand.

He grunted and let go. I scampered away, but my heel was higher than what I was used to, and I toppled over and fell on my hands and knees in the decaying leaves. Bollard caught me again and shook the shovel in my face. His lips pulled back in a snarl. I turned my head and tried to jerk myself free, but his long fingers locked around my arm.

"Let me go!"

He shook his head but said nothing.

"I have a right to go where I please."

Another shake of his head. Why didn't he speak? Was the man a mute? No wonder the manor was dubbed Freak House. I was beginning to think Sylvia was the only normal one there, although even she had an excessively sunny disposition that didn't seem natural.

Bollard pulled me along with him back to the house. I resisted every step of the way, but of course it achieved nothing. It was like a bee flying into a gale—utterly pointless.

Bees could sting, though. When we reached the courtyard, I threw the most terrible, ear-splitting tantrum, complete with colorful curses and the most awful names I could think of to call him.

It didn't halt Bollard's progress in the least, but it did draw the attention of the servants and Sylvia. Three of the former peered out of the ground floor service windows as we passed, their eyes as wide as saucers. Sylvia burst out the same door I'd used to escape and ran across the courtyard to us. Her face was a picture of pale horror, her bottom lip quivering. She blinked back tears.