C. Archer - The Wrong Girl

"It's entirely likely. He may have even gone to fetch the police, or be on his way back to Frakingham already. But we're here now and we must go inside and find out for sure. Just in case..." I couldn't say it, couldn't hear the words out loud.

"Yes," Sylvia said heavily. "Just in case."

A housekeeper wearing a spotless white apron answered the door upon our knock. I took this as a good sign. The presence of such a matronly looking woman was a comfort. Tate wouldn't do anything with her near, surely.

She directed us to sit in the small downstairs parlor while she fetched her employer. We hadn't been waiting one minute when the man I assumed to be Reuben Tate walked in.

He wasn't very tall, but he was whip-thin and hollow-cheeked. He was about Langley's age if the white hair was an indication, but where Langley had wrinkles around his eyes and across his forehead, Tate had none. His face was as smooth as a polished tabletop, and just as shiny. Indeed, the hair at his ears was slightly damp too. The shirt sleeve that should have housed a left arm was folded and pinned to the side of his waistcoat. He wore no smoking jacket or house coat, but he didn't look like the sort who went for such a casual appearance anyway. He was too neatly dressed. His hair was perfectly combed and his chin cleanly shaved. Much like his face, there wasn't a single wrinkle in his clothes and the shirt collar and trouser creases were sharp.

"Welcome," he said, giving us a shallow bow. "I commend you both on your courage. I could see that it wasn't an easy decision to send your driver away and speak to me by yourselves."

So he had indeed been watching us. I was glad that I'd guessed correctly and sent Tommy on his own errand, but disturbed too. I was also deeply disturbed that Jack wasn't there, yet not particularly surprised. When we'd not seen the carriage outside, I knew we'd missed him. Clearly he hadn't managed to get Tate arrested.

Sylvia shifted uneasily beside me. "My name is Sylvia Langley," she said, thrusting out her chin. "I believe you know my uncle."

"How is August?" Tate asked. He didn't seem surprised to hear her name, and I wondered if he'd recognized her somehow, or expected her.

The polite response seemed to catch her unawares. "H, he's w, well, thank you."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it. And who is your charming companion?" He turned a rather bland smile onto me, but behind it was genuine curiosity.

"My name is Hannah Smith," I said. "I'm a friend of the Langleys."

His sharp intake of breath preceded a long pause in which he studied my face, my hair. I felt a blush rise to my skin and I looked down, away. In less time than it took to blink, he was crouching before me. He touched his long finger to my chin and made me look at him, so he could finish his study. I jerked away, and he slowly backed up to his seat without taking his gaze off me.

"Hannah," he murmured. "Hannah...Smith. Of course. Of course ." He chuckled to himself and thumped the chair arm with his palm.

I glanced at Sylvia and she lifted one shoulder. She had no idea what Tate was talking about either. One moment he was a civil gentleman, and the next he was mumbling to himself and cackling like a witch. It seemed August Langley wasn't the only mad scientist in England.

"You haven't been under August's roof this entire time," he said. "I would have noticed."

"No. I haven't."

"Mr. Tate," Sylvia said in a crisp tone that was reminiscent of Miss Levine. "We're looking for my cousin, Jack Langley. Has he been here?"

Tate either ignored her or didn't hear. He was once more looking at me with such earnest that I wanted the chair to swallow me up. It was as if I'd delivered a miraculous cure to a dying man or offered up a profound piece of wisdom. I wasn't afraid of him, but I was unnerved and very curious. How did he know my name? How did Langley? Tate might hold some answers to key questions that Langley wouldn't give up.

"Do you know me?" I asked, breathless.

"Yes. And no." He grinned, revealing crooked, yellow teeth. They were at odds with his neat, crisp clothing. "Hannah Smith, where have you been for the last eighteen years? I've been looking for you."

"How do you know who I am?"

"Hannah," Sylvia said, "perhaps we shouldn't be asking Mr. Tate that sort of question without Uncle present."

"Don't listen to her," Tate said. His top lip pared back in a sneer. "Langley doesn't have your best interests at heart, Miss Smith. I know him far better than both of you, and I know he cares nothing for you."

"I beg your pardon," Sylvia said huffily. "You know nothing of the sort."

The housekeeper re-entered carrying a tray. She poured tea for us then left without a glance back. Once she was gone, Sylvia grabbed my hand. "We're going. Clearly Jack isn't here."

I patted her hand and she caught it too, trapping both of mine. "I want to hear what he has to say," I said.

"Please, Hannah," she whispered. "Let's go."

Tate handed a cup and saucer to Sylvia. "At least stay for tea. You might also find what I have to say interesting."

"I want to stay," I said to her. "Just for a few minutes."

Her fingers tightened around my hands, then she let go. She accepted the cup then put it down on the table. "No. Come, Hannah."

I shook my head. Tate pressed the very edge of his lips to the rim of his cup and sipped. "I'm not the enemy, Miss Langley. I've made some mistakes in the past, but I'm not out to harm either of you, whatever Langley has led you to believe."

"He hasn't led us to believe anything," Sylvia muttered.

"What has he told you about me?"

"That you two were partners once," I said, "and that you bought his share of the business with your proceeds from the sale of a drug."

He took another sip. "The bare facts. True enough in essence."

"Mr. Tate," said Sylvia, "where is my cousin?"

A small crease connected his eyebrows and, after his gaze flicked to the door, it finally settled on her. He took another sip and regarded Sylvia over the rim of the cup. "Don't fret, Miss Langley, he's well. After we talked he wanted to explore the factory. My assistant has taken him on a tour."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sylvia turn to me. I didn't need to see her face to know she was confounded by Tate's calm manner. I was too. I almost preferred the slightly hysterical chuckling. This blank evenness felt unnatural. He was hiding something, and by the way the teacup trembled, it had to be either excitement or fear. Considering we were young, female and in his home, I doubted it was the latter.

"Why would he want a tour?" I asked. "Jack came here to confront you over the theft of Mr. Langley's papers. Do you deny you stole them?"

"No."

"So you admit it!" Sylvia scowled. "Then why hasn't Jack had you arrested?"

"Because we had a very profound discussion, and he no longer believed involving the police was necessary. Shall I tell you what I told him?"

I desperately wanted to say yes. I suspected the things he'd said to Jack were tightly interwoven with my own burning questions about how Tate and Langley knew me. But Sylvia was right. We needed to ensure Jack was safe first. Afterward, I would seek out the answers.

"We'd like to see him," I said.

"Let him be, ladies. A lad like Jack needs time away from women and prattle once in a while. There can't be much for him at Frakingham with only you two and that cripple for company."

The one-armed man was calling the wheelchair-bound man a cripple? If my sense of humor hadn't been leached out of me by Tate's odd declarations, I would have laughed out loud.

"Our conversations are quite lively, thank you very much," Sylvia said with a sniff.

Tate pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his waistcoat and dabbed his forehead, but the shine remained. "Tell me, Miss Langley, does your uncle still have that silent ogre hovering about? I remember when he first came to work for August."