The Wrong Girl(43)

I resolved to speak to Langley after dinner and confront him over his motives for kidnapping me. His reactions to a few direct questions should prove once and for all if he was lying about his intentions.

I dressed for dinner and met Sylvia and Jack in the dining room. She looked particularly lovely in a crimson and white gown with bows down the front and I told her so.

"This old thing," she said with a crinkle of her nose. "I'm so tired of it. Do you want it?"

"Thank you, but it's not my color."

"Perhaps not," she said, sitting. "I can't wait for our new dresses to arrive. Pity we don't have anything to wear them to except dinner with Jack."

"Something wrong with dining with me?" he asked as he too sat.

"You're hardly an excellent catch for either of us. Violet is the daughter of an earl and I am...more particular. No offense meant."

"And how could I take offense when you put it so eloquently?" It was difficult to tell if he were teasing or a little bitter.

"Perhaps you ought to ask some neighbors to a dinner party," I said.

Both Jack and Sylvia looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "Dinner at Freak House?" Sylvia said. "How they will be falling over themselves to attend."

"Why do they call this place Freak House? Do they know that Jack can start fires?"

"No," he said. "It's not that."

"It's Uncle August and Bollard." Sylvia served herself from the dish of Pheasant Mandarin that Tommy offered her. "One is mute and the other is crippled and...reclusive."

"August hasn't courted either the neighbors or the villagers so they distrust him," Jack said. "By secluding himself in the house, he's turned himself into an object of curiosity and gossip. I'm sure the servants have gossiped about his temper and how he keeps to his rooms."

"And there's the house's past, of course," Sylvia said.

"Its past?" I asked.

Jack cast a warning glare at Sylvia. "I'm not sure we need to hear this now."

"Nonsense. There are rumors that a hundred years or so ago, the then Lord Frakingham kept some of his offspring locked in the dungeon."

My stomach rolled. "Oh. How..." Familiar. "Horrid. Whatever for?"

"They were...imperfect," Jack said. "Due to centuries of inbreeding, it was said that most of the Frakingham children were born abnormal, some with physical deformities, others mad or simple."

"Freaks," I whispered.

Sylvia snorted as she picked at her pheasant. "It's not true. There is no dungeon. I've searched everywhere. Of course this house isn't as old as the stories. Who knows what the previous one on this site looked like. Perhaps it had a dungeon."

"The rumors have persisted anyway," Jack said.

What a strange coincidence that I should be kept in an attic almost my entire life only to be rescued, in a manner of speaking, and end up in a place where something similar occurred years earlier.

Over dinner, we discussed the viability of organizing a party with some of the well-to-do families in the area, but decided it had to be done with Langley's blessing. Sylvia was adamant she wouldn't have one without him present, and although Jack was less enthusiastic, he did agree that Langley should be kept informed.

His reaction only deepened my curiosity about his relationship with his uncle, if indeed that's what Langley was. While the two of them seemed to be in frequent conflict—and occasionally I was even convinced that Jack despised him—he always gave Langley due respect as master of the household. I admired him all the more for it.

Tommy brought out a dessert of jelly and served a portion to each of us, but when he got to Jack, he almost dropped the plate when Jack accidentally bumped him.

"Bloody hell, Tommy," Jack said, catching the footman's elbow to steady the plate.

"Sorry, Jackie. No harm done, eh?" He seemed to realize what he'd said as soon as the words left his mouth. He flushed and glanced at me. Jack pretended nothing was out of the ordinary and avoided my gaze altogether.

If I hadn't overheard their conversation a few nights earlier, I would have been confused by the informal exchange. It did get me thinking, however.

After dinner, I pretended I had a headache, but instead of retiring to my room, I went in search of Tommy in the service area. I found him in the large kitchen polishing a silver tray as the maids cleaned up after dinner. When they saw me, their chatter died and they stopped what they were doing.

"Lady Violet!" Tommy pushed back his chair to stand, toppling it over. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, thank you. Tommy, is there somewhere we can talk?"

He covered a nervous little cough with his hand and led me to a sitting room nearby. Neither of us sat and he remained by the door, his hands behind his back, chin out. It was his footman's stance, the one he used when he stood in the dining room as we ate.