The Wrong Girl

Chapter 5, Part 2

Training began immediately after luncheon. Jack took me to a room on the first floor that had a horribly familiar furnishing arrangement. It was bare except for a table, two chairs and a lot of woolen rugs and hangings covering every inch of wood. Three pails of water stood near the fireplace as they did in every attic room at Windamere. It was the strangest thing to be in a similar room at another house that it quite took my breath away.

"I'm sorry it's not more comfortable," Jack said.

"That's all right. But why the caution here? My bedroom isn't set up like this, nor are the parlor or other rooms. You're not afraid I'll set those alight?"

"I didn't want you to suffer the indignity of stark conditions everywhere you went, so I told Sylvia we're not to upset you. If we appease you, then everything should be fine."

It was like listening to only half a conversation. "I don't understand. Appease me?"

"Keep you calm. Not make you angry." He looked at me askance. "You do understand what I'm saying, don't you? I know you can't control it, but you do realize that your talent is linked to your temper?"

I toyed with the idea of agreeing with him, and saying nothing, but I decided a little bit of the truth would lend credence to the lie I was living. "Are you saying that your ability to set things on fire comes about when you're angry?"

"Of course. But I can control my temper." He frowned. "Yours has a different trigger?"

"It's brought on by fear. Grave fear. For my loved ones." The choker at my throat suddenly felt too tight, and I stretched my neck, but it did little to relieve the constriction. I'd thought lying would be easy, but I suddenly felt as if Jack knew my every thought. Those green eyes drilled into me, and I eventually had to sit down and avoid his gaze altogether. If I hadn't, I may have found myself telling him everything.

"Jack, forgive me, but...you seem to know very little about this affliction," I said, rather boldly considering my weakened knees and racing heart.

"It's not an affliction. Don't ever call it that, Violet, or people will see you as a candidate for the asylum." He sat in the other chair without taking his eyes off me. "Fear, you say. Fear for your loved ones. But...that doesn't quite make sense. Firstly, I thought you had no loved ones at Windamere."

"I had a companion."

He nodded slowly. "I saw her with you on your walks. Hannah Smith, isn't it?"

Hearing him say my name for the first time shook me to the core. "You've not answered my question," I said.

"You're right. I know only my own case. I'd assumed yours was exactly the same."

"How did you—we—get this way?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I've been like this for as long as I can remember, so I suppose I was born with it. You?"

"The same. Do you know anyone else who can set things alight?"

"No." He shook his head slowly. "I admit I don't understand why it's only you and I."

"How did you become aware that Lady Violet Jamieson was like you? Considering I've been locked away for so long, it could hardly have been local gossip. Not even the servants knew."

"Are you sure they didn't? If you had servants attending your rooms at all, then they would have seen the burn marks and formed a conclusion of their own."

"Yes, but the right conclusion? That is rather a big leap to take, don't you think?"

Another shrug, but he made no further comment.