by Amanda Quick
Molly was crestfallen. “Are you sure, miss? I don’t mind staying for a while. You will want help washing up after Mr. Sebastian leaves.”
“I appreciate the offer but we’ll muddle along without you.”
“Yes, miss. Just so you’ll know, I should tell you that my brother, Ned, delivered the eggs, milk, butter and cheese you ordered. And I made a lovely salmon-and-leek pie for you and your London friends to eat tonight.”
“Your salmon and leek pie is the best I’ve ever eaten,” Evangeline said.
Molly’s smile held pride and satisfaction. “Thank you, miss. Just wait until I tell my ma that Mr. Sebastian called on you today.”
Evangeline wondered what Mrs. Gillingham would say if she knew that the only reason Lucas Sebastian was taking up space in the parlor was his tenant had been chased onto the grounds of Crystal Gardens sometime after two in the morning by a knife-wielding murderer. Then, again, those details would not cause nearly as much breathless gossip as the news that the tenant in question had arrived at the abbey attired only in her nightclothes. There were some things best left unexplained.
“Go along to the parlor, ma’am.” Molly motioned toward the door. “You don’t want to keep a fine gentleman like Mr. Sebastian waiting. It’s a great honor to have him here for tea.”
“Thank you for reminding me of my duties as a hostess,” Evangeline said.
But the irony was lost on Molly, who was fussing very earnestly with the tea things.
Muffled voices drifted down the hallway. Alarmed, Evangeline rushed back to the parlor. She yanked open the door, nipped inside and hastily shut the door behind her.
“For heaven’s sake, keep your voices down,” she said in a loud whisper. “If Molly hears you talking about Sharpy Hobson or the events of last night, the gossip will be all over town before the sun goes down.”
Lucas gave her a benign smile. He lounged with easy masculine grace, one shoulder propped against the wall near the window. His arms were folded across his broad chest.
Clarissa and Beatrice were sitting on two of the spindly chairs, the skirts of their walking gowns draped around their high-button boots. They both chuckled.
“You may be surprised to know that we had already deduced that for ourselves,” Beatrice said. “As a matter of fact, we were discussing farming matters.”
“Farming?” Evangeline sank back against the door, both hands behind her wrapped tightly around the knob. “Why on earth would you want to talk about agriculture at a time like this?”
“I was explaining to Miss Lockwood and Miss Slate that the farms around Little Dixby have always been extremely productive,” Lucas said. “Crops thrive here. The villagers will tell you that you can grow anything on these lands and they have done so for generations. The roses in local gardens are extraordinary.”
“Oh, I see.” Evangeline frowned, thinking about what he had said. “I expect the fact that this place is a vortex has something to do with the success of the local farms and gardens.”
Lucas’s brows rose. His beast-of-prey eyes heated a little. “You are aware that Little Dixby may be a paranormal vortex?”
“Yes, and if my father was correct, the focal point is Crystal Gardens,” Evangeline said. “That’s why I’m here, you see.”
“No,” Lucas said deliberately, “I do not see.”
“Never mind, it’s not important.” She heard the rattle of cups on a tray. “That will be Molly.”
She whirled about and opened the door. Molly walked into the room, moving very carefully with the heavily laden tray. Lucas straightened away from the window.
“That looks heavy,” he said. “Let me take that for you.”
Molly blushed a bright pink. “It’s no trouble, sir.”
But Lucas had already removed the tray from her hands. He set it on the small table.
“Thank you, sir,” Molly said. She gave Evangeline a hopeful look. “Shall I pour, ma’am?”
“No, thank you, Molly.” Evangeline smiled and sat on the sofa, automatically twitching her skirts into the proper folds. “I’ll take care of it. Run along home.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” Molly dipped another stiff little curtsy and went back out into the hall. She closed the door quietly.
Evangeline picked up the teapot and began to pour. Everyone paid a great deal of attention to the tea service until they heard the muffled thud of the kitchen door closing. A moment later Molly could be seen through the front window hurrying away down the lane.
The news that Lucas was taking tea with the new tenant at the cottage and her fashionable London friends would soon be common knowledge in the neighborhood, Evangeline thought. It was fortunate that Clarissa and Beatrice were here. Their presence ensured an aura of respectability.
The social rules that governed relationships between the sexes were more relaxed in the country than they were in London, but there were limits and it took so little to start people talking in a small town such as Little Dixby. Evangeline was well aware that there had been much speculation about her in the past two weeks. A single woman who lived alone was always watched closely. A single woman from London who dressed in a fashionable manner and who was rumored to be writing a sensation novel was even more interesting.
“We can talk now,” Evangeline said.
“It’s a great pity this dreadful Hobson person is dead,” Clarissa said. “It would have been useful to question him. I don’t quite understand how he died. Evangeline said something about thorns.”
“Unfortunately, Mr. Hobson blundered into one of the more dangerous portions of the gardens,” Lucas said. “His death was in the nature of an accident.” He munched a small cake. “Not unlike Douglas Mason’s accident.”
Evangeline froze. Clarissa and Beatrice became very busy with their tea.
Predictably, it was Clarissa who recovered her composure first. “The thing is, why on earth would anyone send a criminal to murder Evangeline?”
Lucas gave Evangeline a considering look. “All I can tell you at the moment is that someone was willing to pay Sharpy Hobson a considerable sum to do so. Someone wants you dead, Miss Ames, and if you’re certain there is no jealous lover lurking in the background—”
Evangeline choked on her tea. She sputtered and grabbed a napkin. “I am certain of that much.”
Beatrice pursed her lips. “I agree. We can exclude the notion of a rejected lover. There simply isn’t one in Evangeline’s case.”
“And her death would benefit no one,” Clarissa added helpfully, “so money cannot be a factor.”
“Always nice to know one’s worth,” Evangeline said into her teacup.
“It appears we have only one option open to us,” Lucas said.
He polished off the last of the tea cakes and brushed crumbs from his hands. It seemed to Evangeline that his eyes heated a little. Not with desire, she realized. It was lust of a very different sort she sensed in him—the dangerous aura of the hunter who is setting a trap for prey. She was sure that this was not the first time he had done so.
Beatrice also detected the charged atmosphere. She watched Lucas with an expectant air. “What option is that, sir?”
“Men like Hobson, who can be hired to commit murder, are not actually as common on the ground as one might believe,” Lucas said. “Those who are skilled at that particular sort of work have reputations in the criminal world.”
Clarissa shuddered. “I can well imagine that is true.”
“We must find out who employed Hobson,” Lucas continued. “Fortunately, we have Stone.”
Evangeline looked up from her tea. “What does Mr. Stone have to do with any of this?”
“He has connections on the streets of London.” Lucas looked out at the dark woods. “He knows people in that world. This morning he took the train to the city where he will make inquiries about Hobson. With luck Stone will discover some information that will lead us to the person who hired Hobson.”
Evangeli
ne stilled. She was aware that Beatrice and Clarissa had gone equally quiet. They looked at one another. Evangeline saw the questions in their eyes. She raised her brows. “I did tell you that Mr. Sebastian has studied the criminal mind.”
“Yes, you did.” Beatrice sat up very straight and put her cup and saucer down with a determined air. “We are fortunate to be able to take advantage of his knowledge and connections. The problem here is that we are dealing with members of the professional criminal class. That is not our area of expertise.”
Clarissa drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair, her serious face pinched in a worried expression. “No, that is quite true.”
Lucas surveyed the three of them with a thoughtful expression. “It would be rather extraordinary if you ladies did have some practical experience with the criminal class. That is usually the province of the police.”
“Mmm,” Beatrice said politely. She sipped her tea.
“Yes, of course,” Clarissa murmured. “The thing is, when you call in the police, you often find yourself dealing with the press. The police have their talents but they are not known for discretion.”
Evangeline cleared her throat. “As it happens, Mr. Sebastian and I discussed that very point last night.”
“When you were standing in his garden dressed only in your nightclothes?” Clarissa’s brows shot upward. “Yes, I expect that you did have a conversation about whether or not to summon the authorities.”
“For heaven’s sake,” Beatrice chided. “This is hardly the time to speak of such matters.”
“Nonsense,” Clarissa said. “Everyone in this room knows the facts of the situation. Evangeline and Mr. Sebastian made the right decision. One can only imagine the scandal that would have ensued if the story had landed in the London newspapers.”
“If the attempted murder had its origins in the incident which occurred shortly after I left my last post, as Mr. Sebastian believes, I doubt that the police would have been of much help in any event,” Evangeline said. “Mr. Mason’s death was just an unfortunate accident.”
“True,” Beatrice said neutrally.
There was a short silence. Evangeline realized that Lucas was once again studying the three of them with keen attention.
“I think,” he said after a moment, “that it is time you told me what it is that you ladies do to make your livings. And in particular, Miss Ames, I would very much like to know a bit more about what happened in the course of your last post.”
Evangeline looked at Clarissa and Beatrice.
“I think we can trust Mr. Sebastian,” Beatrice advised.
“I don’t see that we have much choice,” Clarissa said. “Evangeline’s safety, perhaps her very life, is at stake here.”
Evangeline sat back, cup and saucer in hand. “I did tell you, Mr. Sebastian, that my friends and I work for an agency that supplies paid companions to a very exclusive clientele.”
“You mentioned your profession last night,” Lucas said. “But it has become clear to me that none of you is typical of the sort of unfortunate women who are obliged to pursue that particular career.”
“Really, sir?” Evangeline looked at him over the rim of her cup. “And just how many paid companions have you been personally acquainted with?”
Lucas’s mouth quirked at one corner. “You have me there, Miss Ames. I must admit that you are the first professional paid companion I have spoken to for more than thirty seconds. They tend to be the retiring sort, always sitting in the shadows, working on their knitting or reading while their employers go about their lives. One tends not to notice them.”
Evangeline gave him a cool smile. “Which is precisely why we are so very, very good at what we do, sir. No one ever takes any notice of us when we are at work.”
“And the nature of your work?” Lucas asked.
“We are private inquiry agents,” Evangeline said.
She waited for the inevitable signs of astonishment and disbelief to appear on Lucas’s face. She knew that Clarissa and Beatrice were waiting, too. They were all doomed to disappointment.
“Interesting,” Lucas said. He sounded oddly satisfied. He swallowed some tea and set the cup down on the saucer. “That certainly explains a few things.”
Clarissa narrowed her eyes. “Such as?”
“Miss Lockwood’s comment about the criminal underworld not being your area of expertise, for one thing. You deal in crimes in high society.”
“With the utmost discretion,” Evangeline added.
He smiled. “Obviously, or the firm of Flint and Marsh would have gone out of business a long time ago. Your professional work also explains your daring and resourcefulness last night. It was obvious that you’ve had some experience keeping a cool head when confronting danger.”
“I assure you that we rarely experience actual physical danger in the course of our work, sir,” Evangeline said. “Our employers take great care not to place us in such situations. We are not, after all, the police. Generally speaking, our clients are ladies who want discreet inquiries made into the character and finances of gentlemen who are attempting to become involved with a family’s finances.”
Lucas’s eyes gleamed with icy understanding. “You expose fortune hunters.”
“And those who are not above attempting to defraud widows and spinsters,” Clarissa added.
“But you are correct, sir,” Beatrice said. “One way or another, the business of unmasking fortune hunters constitutes the majority of our commissions. More often than not we are asked to investigate the backgrounds of men who wish to marry either a young heiress or a widow with some money of her own to protect.”
“How do you attract clients?” Lucas asked. “I can’t envision the firm advertising such services in the papers.”
“Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh acquire clients by referral,” Evangeline said.
Lucas was clearly intrigued. “And their employees? How do they find unusual women such as the three of you?”
“In the same way,” Beatrice said. “Word of mouth. Not everyone is suited to the work. It requires a certain … aptitude.”
Lucas considered that with a thoughtful expression. “This aptitude for the work that you speak of. Would it by any chance include a measure of psychical talent?”
Clarissa and Beatrice looked at Evangeline.
“I did tell you that Mr. Sebastian takes the paranormal quite seriously,” she said. She looked at Lucas. “I have a question for you, sir. There were obvious reasons for not summoning the authorities last night. But sooner or later you must report the death. How do you intend to explain a dead man in your gardens to the police?”
“There won’t be any need for explanations,” Lucas said. “Bodies don’t last long in Crystal Gardens.”
Eight
Lucas watched the three women with great interest as they dealt with the news of how he had disposed of the body in the garden. Their shock was plain on their faces. Eyes widened, jaws dropped slightly, teacups froze in midair.
Evangeline swallowed hard. But of the three she recovered first, most likely because she knew how Hobson had died, Lucas decided.
“I see,” she said. “Well, I suppose there is no need to make a fuss over Hobson. He was trying to murder me, after all.”
“My thoughts, precisely,” Lucas said.
Clarissa got her mouth closed. She nodded, satisfied. “Under the circumstances it sounds like a very convenient way of handling the problem.”
“I certainly thought so,” Lucas said.
Beatrice eyed him with some suspicion. “Are you serious, Mr. Sebastian? You intend for Sharpy Hobson’s body to simply disappear into your gardens?”
“Hobson won’t be the first to do so, Miss Lockwood. The deeper one goes into the Gardens, the more aggressive the plants become. In the maze and the Night Garden, nature works very swiftly, especially at night.”
Clarissa looked interested at that information. “The time of day makes a difference?”
“I have observed that paranormal energy of any sort is often enhanced by darkness,” Lucas said. “But the currents that emanate from the natural forces of the earth are invariably more powerful at night. My uncle’s theory is that sunlight interferes with the wavelengths at the far ends of the spectrum or, more likely, makes it difficult for those of us with some psychical ability to sense those currents.”
“My father also came to the same conclusion,” Evangeline agreed.
Lucas looked at her. You mentioned that your father had an interest in the science of the paranormal, Miss Ames.”
“Yes,” she said. “He possessed some psychical ability himself, you see.”
Lucas did not take his eyes off her. “It is a trait that is often passed down through the bloodline.”
“It is because of his interest in the paranormal that I decided to spend the month here in Little Dixby,” Evangeline said. “In one of his journals he wrote that he considered this region to be a vortex.”
Lucas nodded in a thoughtful manner. “A place where paranormal forces in the earth come together in such a way as to generate a great deal of energy. Fascinating. Uncle Chester was convinced of the same thing. He believed that Crystal Gardens was the center of the Little Dixby vortex.” He paused. “So it was your interest in science that led you to rent the cottage, Miss Ames?”
“Well, no, not exactly,” Evangeline admitted. “I am not especially keen on scientific matters. But when I made the decision to spend a month in the countryside, I recalled what I had read in my father’s journal. I came here seeking inspiration for my writing. I thought the paranormal elements in the area might give me some ideas for my plot.”
Lucas grimaced. “I should have guessed.”
She fixed him with a cold look. “We writers are a sensitive lot, Mr. Sebastian. We are inspired by all manner of things, including the energy in the atmosphere around us.”
“Right. I must remember that in future.”
Her jaw tightened. “What is this about the plants on the grounds of the old abbey becoming stronger and more aggressive? What on earth is happening at Crystal Gardens, sir?”