C. Archer - The Wrong Girl

"I don't know anything about her." Indeed I was beginning to question everything I thought I did know.

"It was fortunate that you got the right girl in the end, Jack," Sylvia said cheerfully. "I'm certainly glad we have Hannah and not the other one. She sounds like she can't be trusted if she was indeed part of Hannah's kidnapping." The fact that most of the people in the room had been part of my kidnapping seemed to have escaped her notice.

"That's not what you first thought when you found out we didn't have an earl's daughter under our roof," Jack said.

She sniffed. "Don't be ridiculous." She smiled at me and patted my arm. "Hannah is delightful company. I can't imagine anyone else I'd rather have as my friend."

I smiled at her, but it wavered a little when I recalled Vi saying something very similar.

"Why did you take her and not Violet?" Sylvia asked Jack.

"The governess described the one to collect, but gave me no name. She simply called her 'that fire girl.' Nor did she tell me the one I wanted was the companion and not the lady." The color of his eyes deepened as his gaze held mine. "Besides, I felt a connection with Hannah. It was like I was being pulled toward her. What better evidence is there that we are alike?"

"Then you must have felt the same connection to Tate."

Jack said nothing. Langley, Sylvia and I turned to him. Even Bollard's gaze slid to Jack's.

"No," Jack finally said. "I felt nothing around Tate. Only you, Hannah."

A little jolt shot through me and my face heated. Only you. I smiled at him, and his lips quirked up at the edges. Then he frowned and looked down at his hands.

"Those children have to be gone by tomorrow," Langley said.

"What children?" Sylvia asked. "Oh, yes, Patrick's friends. Your friends," she said to Jack.

We'd told him about the children coming to us, and how they had no adult to care for them. He'd expressed his concern that they might wind up thieving to survive. We'd come to the conclusion on the journey home that something needed to be done, but we'd not decided what.

"Can't they stay here?" I asked.

"Not all of them!" Sylvia said. "There's far too many, especially with half the house in ruins."

"They're noisy and disruptive," Langley said. "I can't work with the two of them running about, let alone dozens."

"We'll need to find somewhere for them in London," Jack said.

"We ain't going to the workhouse!" The boy, Sniffles, stood in the doorway. He wiped the back of his hand across his nose. He looked neater than the first day he'd arrived. His hair had been combed flat and he wore clean clothes that were too large but looked warm.

"I won't let you end up at the workhouse, Davey," Jack said, going to him. "There must be a charity school you can attend."

Davey pulled a face. "I hate school."

Jack made as if to clip him over the ear, but nudged him affectionately instead. "Go on. Go find Tommy and annoy him. Let us sort out where you'll go."

"You sort it out, Jack," the boy said. He wrinkled his nose at Langley and Bollard. "Not them." He darted off.

Frowning, Jack watched him go.

"How many more of them are there?" I asked.

"Dozens. I'd been sending Patrick money, and he was supposed to be taking care of them." He came back inside and shut the door. "There's no room for all of them here, even if they weren't disruptive, but there's no one to look after them in London. They'll have to be separated and families found for each of them."

"Is it necessary to separate them?" I knew what it was like to be wrenched from the only family I knew, and I was eighteen. It would be horrible to do that to little children.

"Is that even possible?" Sylvia asked.

"It is with the right amount of money," Jack said. "No one will take in extra children without an incentive."

"I'm not sure you'd encourage people with good hearts that way," I said. "The greedy ones, on the other hand, would be falling over themselves."

Langley grunted. "I'll provide whatever is needed."

Bollard said something to Langley with his hands. The rapid movements were smooth and elegant, his fingers dexterous in their twisting and pointing. I'd never seen him communicate with Langley, it had always been the other way around. It made the servant more human, but only just.

When Bollard finished, Langley closed his eyes. He didn't open them or speak for some time, and I grew anxious that he would dismiss us all and make the boys leave Frakingham. What Jack would do in that situation was anyone's guess.

"There's a charity school in London," Langley finally said, opening his eyes. "Its patroness is a lady named Emily Beaufort, the wife of Jacob Beaufort. She's a most interesting woman, quite the sensation about eight years or so ago."

"Why?"

"She was a girl of dubious parentage who married the son of a prominent viscount."

"Is that all?" Sylvia scoffed. "It may be unusual, perhaps a curiosity even, but to describe it as a sensation...hardly."

"She can also communicate with ghosts."

Sylvia snorted through her nose. "Are you serious?"

"Have you ever known me to joke?"

She paled. "No. But are you certain she's not a charlatan? I've read of many accounts in the papers where spirit mediums have turned out to be false."

"You mean like the one you visited last year?" Jack asked.

Sylvia gave him a withering glare. "I would have thought a viscount's daughter-in-law would conduct herself in a manner befitting her station."

"So would I," Langley said.

"What has her ability to see ghosts got to do with the charity school?" I asked.

"Nothing," Langley said. "The two facts aren't connected. Why don't you write to her, Sylvia, and request she look into the situation with the children?"

She brightened, and I suspected she was glad to be given something to do. She bustled out, and I followed. Jack remained behind.

I went to my room to freshen up after the journey and ate a sandwich of cold meat delivered by one of the maids. I tried to rest too, but couldn't. The events of London were too fresh, too frightening. I went in search of Jack instead and wasn't surprised to find him near the lake. He stood with his back to me. The breeze ruffled the ends of his hair, but otherwise, he was very still. Serene. I didn't want to disturb him, so I turned to go.

"Wait, Hannah." He was beside me in the moment it took me to turn back. "I'm glad you came. I wanted to talk to you."

The now familiar warmth of desire spread through my body, lighting every part of me along the way. It didn't feel wrong or uncomfortable, but so very delicious.

"Oh?" I whispered. "What about?"

"About my past." He looked toward the ruins. "Come with me."

We sat side by side on a low, crumbling wall of the old abbey. Jack's feet touched the ground, mine did not. I waited for him to begin again, even though I knew what he wanted to say. Tommy had already told me some of it, but I wanted to hear it from Jack's lips. He had to do this on his own, without prompting. It must be wholly his own decision.

It meant so much more that way.

"I used to live with those children in London. Tommy and I both did. I was one of them. An orphan with no home, nowhere to go. I don't remember a time before that. I had no family, or so I thought. Tate confirmed that they knew me as a baby, so that's something at least. Perhaps I really am Langley's nephew, although he won't say how I came to live on the streets."

"You've asked?"

"Yes. When I first got here, I would ask every day for information about my parents, my background, but he would give only evasive answers until finally he snapped altogether and threatened to send me back to the streets. I couldn't go back to that life. Not then. And now I'm just used to not knowing. I've decided I don't want to know."