The Wrong Girl(23)

The glow went out. "Maud said the intruder she saw was a tall man with a big nose and a scar across one eye. Unless you know of another fitting that description, then I'd wager it was Patrick."

"But Patrick's in London with the others."

"It would seem he's made at least one trip into the country recently. I'll go to London and warn him to keep low."

"What? You not gonna let the Bobbies deal wiv 'im? My, my, seems you ain't f'got us after all."

"Of course I haven't forgotten you, you know that. You're my family. Always have been, always will be." Jack gave Tommy a slap on the back, and Tommy briefly clasped Jack's arm.

"You got anuvver family now," Tommy said. "An uncle and a cousin. Don' fink they'd like 'earin' you talk about the likes o' Patrick and me as closer to you than them."

Jack tipped his head back as if he were about to look up. I ducked inside and flattened myself against the wall. My heart thundered in my chest and I closed my eyes, held my breath.

"They're not my family," I heard Jack say, and I breathed out again. It would appear he hadn't seen me.

"Aye. No need to feel bad about what Patrick stole then, is it? Langley's just anuvver toff." The gravel crunched beneath their boots as the two men walked away.

I breathed deeply several times. I still couldn't believe what I'd just heard, yet I must. Jack not only knew the thief, he was protecting him.

They're not my family, he'd said. If that were the case, why was he living at Frakingham House at all?

To fleece Langley of his wealth by pretending to be his nephew? Or was there something more sinister going on?





CHAPTER 6





"Try focusing inward," said Jack.

"How do I do that?" I sat in the training room with my eyes shut. When Jack had asked me to close them I'd thought he was going to frighten me in some way, but he hadn't.

"Try to imagine your insides," he said.

I pulled a face. "Do I have to?"

"Not your innards, but the flow of energy. Your essence, if you like." He must have been circling my chair because his voice sounded like it was surrounding me. I felt completely immersed in its rich honey-thick tones. "Can you feel it, Violet? The flow of heat beneath your skin, the quiet thump of warm blood through your veins."

My breath came in short bursts, and I had to fight for every one. I could only manage a nod, but I couldn't explain that what I felt was perhaps as a result of his close proximity and the lilt of his voice. Heat did indeed swell inside me.

I opened my eyes and stood up, almost bumping into him. He managed to back away just in time.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

I put a hand to my forehead. "I'm tired. This has been an exhausting day and I didn't—" I was about to tell him I hadn't slept well, but I didn't want to plant the suspicion that I'd overheard his conversation with Tommy. "I didn't think we'd be training all morning."

"Would you prefer to sit and embroider with Sylvia?"

"Actually, I would. Perhaps we can resume later?"

He frowned. "Are you sure you're all right? You do look tired."

"I'm fine," I said brightly. "But all this anatomical talk is quite overwhelming. My poor head can't cope."

His gaze narrowed. "You seemed to comprehend it well enough. Did you have a tutor?"

"Four. They each came regularly, but never at the same time."

"I saw them. I'd assumed they were there to teach your sister."

"Perhaps they did. I don't know. It was Mr. Upworth who taught us about biology of plants and animals. Humans weren't included in our education, thankfully."

"The basic structure is the same between many animals and humans."

"Oh?"

"Don't look so horrified. I haven't cut up dead bodies to discover that fact. Like you, I had tutors. And books."

"The only books I've seen are in your uncle's rooms."

"And those are the ones I read. He's generous when it comes to their use. He says knowledge is the only way for a man to rise above the class in which he was born. You should ask to borrow something when you get bored with embroidery."

"No thank you. I think it's best that I avoid Mr. Langley for a while."

"He won't be mad at you anymore. Trust me, he's quick to anger and just as quick to forgive, although perhaps not forget. Not entirely," he muttered.

"I thought you didn't like him."

"We have our differences, but he's been...generous to me. And to Sylvia."

"So he should be. He is your uncle." I was fishing for more information about their relationship, but if he detected it, he didn't give any indication. "Why don't you call him Uncle August like Sylvia does?"