The Wrong Girl(54)

"I can only guess."

"And what is your guess?"

"That she was given no choice, either by your governess or by Lord Wade himself."

"Lord Wade?" I chewed my lip. None of it made sense. Not Vi's involvement, not her father's and certainly not Langley's. I was still skeptical about his motives, even though I was now sure Jack and Sylvia weren't party to them. "How did Langley know where to find another fire starter?"

"He told me that Bollard had heard rumors in the village about a girl kept in an attic in a manor house who could set things on fire. He thinks the villagers must have heard it on the grapevine from the Windamere servants. It's not far from here. I'm sure some of the Harborough residents have been to the village near Windamere. You don't believe that?"

"I'm not sure. What troubles me is that it has happened now. Why?"

He shrugged. "The rumors may have been around for years, but Bollard has only just overheard them."

"Perhaps, but...don't you think it's odd that it coincided with the theft of your uncle's papers?"

"You think the two are linked?"

"I don't know, but it is strange that your friend was commissioned to perform the burglary right after I moved in, and that nothing of monetary value was stolen, only some of your uncle's papers. What was in those papers? How did the man who hired Patrick know where to look and what to look for? He gave Patrick some very specific instructions."

Jack pressed his lips together and put his hands on his hips. After a moment of staring at the lake, he spun round. "You're right. Too many questions." He strode off back to the house.

I picked up my skirts and ran to catch up with him. "Are you going to confront Langley?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm coming with you."





CHAPTER 12





"There you both are!" Sylvia said as Jack and I entered the house via the courtyard. "I've been looking for you. Were you in those horrible old ruins again?"

"I thought you liked the ruins," I said. "You've certainly painted them often enough."

"Only because there is little else to paint hereabouts. It's depressingly cold and damp in winter. I suppose that's why you like it."

"It does have a certain appeal," Jack said, absently. He seemed eager to get away, but I could see that she needed to talk about something.

"Is everything all right?" I asked.

"Yes. No. That is, I wanted to apologize to you, Hannah."

"Me? Why?"

"Because when it was revealed that you weren't Lady Violet, my reaction may have made it seem as if I were..."

"Disgusted?" Jack offered, crossing his arms and lifting one eyebrow.

"I was shocked," she said. "Why are you smirking at me like that, Jack? This is between Hannah and me."

"Anything that concerns Hannah also concerns me." He leaned down so that he was nose to nose with her. "And I just wanted to see how you'd get out of this with your polite façade intact. I seem to recall you having a similar reaction when August took me in. You never apologized to me for being...shocked."

"Then you recall incorrectly." She sniffed. When he smiled, she shoved his shoulder. "Go away. Haven't you got better things to do than torment me?"

"As a matter of fact, we do."

"We're going to speak to your uncle and get some answers." I grasped her hand and gave it a squeeze. I wanted her to know I appreciated her seeking me out to apologize. It meant more than she would ever know. "Would you like to come?"

"Not particularly," she said. But when Jack and I walked off, she followed.

Jack went to barge past Bollard as he opened his uncle's door. The servant put out his arm to stop him, but Jack simply squared up to him, smiled, and politely said, "Move, or I'll set your shirt on fire."

"Let them in," Langley said with a frustrated sigh. "What is it, Jack? I thought we already discussed the rebuilding arrangements."

"Is that where you went this morning?" Sylvia asked.

Jack nodded. "I've contracted a builder from the village. He's going to work off the original plans for Frakingham and replicate the destroyed section."

She pulled a face. "Perhaps he could make it a little less Gothic. Arches and gloom are out of fashion."

"That's not why we're here," Jack said to Langley. "We need to talk about what Patrick said."

Langley must have had a spare wheelchair stored somewhere because he sat in another, smaller one, the first no doubt having been reduced to ashes. He had wheeled around to face us when we entered, but now he turned away. "It's none of your business."