“What am I supposed to do until then? I should be here, trying to rouse and speak to Alistair again, or working on the specter-o-meter, or…”
“Please,” she said, and at that moment he knew her asking him to leave had nothing to do with her reputation or becoming ordinary or being proper. She was afraid. Not of ghosts, not of gossip, not even of him. She was afraid of that kiss.
He assisted Eve to her feet as he stood, bent down to give her a quicker, sweeter kiss, and then headed for the back door.
He heard her sigh of relief as the door closed behind him.
*
Lucien had been gone almost an hour when a knock sounded at her front door, making Eve’s already uncertain heart leap. Surely he wasn’t back already! She had just managed to get her heartbeat back to a normal rhythm, to dismiss the crazy notions that kiss had brought to life. She wasn’t ready to face him again.
Of course, she didn’t have to answer the door.
A quick peek out the parlor window, and Eve felt a rush of relief. It wasn’t Lucien, after all. It was Daisy, carrying a plate covered in a linen towel.
Eve opened the door on her openly curious friend. “Is he here?” Daisy asked as she stepped into the foyer.
“Who?” Eve asked calmly.
“Lucien Thorpe!” Daisy handed over the plate. Eve lifted the towel to see a nicely arranged dozen or so cold, hard biscuits. “I thought he might like some biscuits.”
“Mr. Thorpe isn’t here, at the moment.” Eve offered the plate back to her friend. “Would you like to try delivering these to Miss Gertrude’s?”
Daisy made a decidedly unfeminine sputtering sound as she headed for the parlor and her favorite chair by the window. “No, of course not. They’re not very good. At least I didn’t burn them, this time!”
“So, those biscuits were just an excuse?”
“Of course.” Daisy’s eyes sparkled. “I simply had to come by. You missed all the excitement!” she said as she sat down, her yellow skirt settling nicely around her chair, the pale curls that framed her face bouncing softly.
Eve sighed as she placed the plate of biscuits on the table by the parlor door. “Did I?”
“Reverend Younger came into the general store after you and Mr. Thorpe left, and he was absolutely raving.”
Eve sat on the couch, landing a bit harder than was graceful. Her own skirt never settled with ease around her legs, the way Daisy’s always did. Her skirt bunched and wrinkled. At the moment, she barely noticed. She had more important concerns. Of course the preacher was raving. She should have known word would spread quickly.
“Is it true?” Daisy whispered.
“Is what true?” There was no telling what Reverend Younger might have said. Something to discredit them, she supposed, in case they persisted in asking questions about Viola Stamper.
“He said your Lucien Thorpe was some kind of swindler who tries to make people think he can communicate with the dead.”
Eve closed her eyes. “Lucien is not a swindler.”
“I didn’t think so,” Daisy said. “I know full well that you are not the kind of woman to be taken in by a swindler. You’re much too sensible for that.”
The rumors had begun. Rumors about Lucien, not haunted houses. Not ghosts. Why hadn’t Justina Markham started talking about the spirits in this house? Why hadn’t Douglas Hunt? Word spread quickly in a small town like Plummerville. If word about the ghosts had begun to spread, Daisy would have heard that by now, too.
She had hoped to keep this all quiet. Lucien. The ghosts. What a foolish idea. People would find out what was going on here, one way or another. They would find out who Lucien was, and they’d discover what her association with him had been. There would be no normal life for her, not here, not anywhere.
“Miss Gertrude stopped by, too,” Daisy continued when Eve offered no explanation. “She said…” with a wave of her hand, Daisy dismissed Miss Gertrude. “Well, you can’t believe half of what that woman says. She can twist a simple piece of gossip until it no longer bears any resemblance to the original rumor. Besides, I’d rather wait to hear this from the horse’s mouth.”
“Hear what?” Was Miss Gertrude spreading the word that Lucien intended to ask Eve to be his wife?
Daisy had a way of smiling that made her look half angelic, half demonic. That expression had sent many a man running, and had drawn many more straight to her. For some reason, she sent them all packing. She gave Eve that look now. “Poor Garrick,” she said, completely dismissing Lucien’s landlady. “He will be heartbroken when he hears that there’s a man in town who calls you Evie and buys you peppermint.”
Garrick, Douglas Hunt’s youngest child and only son, had attempted to court Eve on occasion. She tried to be friendly without encouraging him, but he persisted. Fortunately for her, he spent a lot of time at the mill he ran with his father.
“I’m sure Garrick doesn’t care that…”
“Eve!” Daisy interrupted. “He’s the most eligible bachelor in town, and he has been mooning after you since you moved to Plummerville.”
“Only because you turned him down flat last year. And the year before, or so I hear,” Eve added.
Daisy waved a dismissive hand. “Garrick is lovely and wealthy and has impeccable manners when it suits him, but he’s not my type.”
“What is your type?”
“We’re not talking about me,” Daisy said with a light trill of laughter. “We’re talking about you. Yes, Garrick will be heartbroken.”
“I doubt that very much.” Eve’s heart thudded too hard, for a moment. She often tried to picture the ordinary life she wanted. The life she longed for. A man like Garrick would be necessary to that life. He was handsome; much more fair in coloring than Lucien and a bit shorter, but still quite nice-looking. He drank too much, on occasion, but he wasn’t what one would call a drunk. Exactly. And Garrick was, as Daisy pointed out, wealthy and well-mannered.
But when Eve looked at him, spoke with him, thought of him, nothing inside her stirred. Nothing came to life.
She couldn’t imagine living her life with Garrick Hunt an important part of it, and it had nothing to do with the fact that if she married Garrick, Douglas Hunt would be her father-in-law. That thought alone was enough to give her chills.
Lucien gave her chills all the time, but they were of a different sort. Perhaps ordinary women didn’t feel the kind of agitation and excitement and passion she did when Lucien kissed her. Perhaps she wasn’t supposed to.
“Well,” Daisy prodded. “What is he doing here?”
“Lucien?”
“Yes, Lucien. Of course, Lucien.” Daisy sighed with impatience. “Who else?”
If word was going to spread about town—and it appeared that the process had already begun—Eve didn’t want Daisy to hear half-truths in whispered gossip. A friend deserved better.
“Would you like some tea?” Eve asked. “You and I, we need to have a nice, long chat. Tea is definitely called for.”
Daisy’s face lit up. “I would love some tea and a nice long chat. Does this chat have anything to do with your Mr. Thorpe?”
Eve stood, ready to escape to the kitchen to make tea and carefully plan her words. “It has everything to do with my Mr. Thorpe.”
She wouldn’t have the time to prepare her words, after all. Daisy briskly followed, declaring that this sounded like a kitchen conversation. She brought the plate of cold, hard biscuits with her.
In the end, an unprepared Eve simply told Daisy that she and Lucien had once been very close. She didn’t even tell about the wedding that had never taken place. It was the coward’s way out, to say so little when there was so much to be said.
A good friend, Daisy allowed Eve to be a coward, and they passed their time in the kitchen eating cold, hard biscuits and talking about flowers and recipes and where Garrick Hunt might turn his attentions next.
Chapter 10
Alistair was not a murderer; Lucien knew it without
doubt. But he had no proof. He couldn’t even convince Evie to consider the possibility.
Not for the first time, he wished he had more control over his abilities, that he could fine-tune his gift, when necessary. It would be nice if he could summon Alistair and Viola and insist that they take shape and form and then tell him everything that had happened that night. Unfortunately, he had no control over what, if anything, he learned from an earthbound spirit.
Refining his abilities was something he worked at constantly. He saw and heard extraordinary things, but he could do so much more if he gained better command of his talents. If only he could seek out and find evil at will. If he could look at a man’s face and know if he was telling the truth or not, perhaps he could find the murderer. Now, that would be a useful gift.
Miss Gertrude stood in the front parlor of her boarding house, the large, square room that also served as her lobby. She had a broom in her hand, but was not sweeping at the moment. The broom almost seemed to be for show, much like the crisp, clean apron she wore.
From one angle, the desk and rack of room keys was visible. From another, the room Miss Gertrude pretended to sweep looked like any other fine parlor.
“Mr. Thorpe!” his landlady said enthusiastically, as if he were a long-lost relative come home at last. “You’ve missed lunch, but I have plenty of leftovers in the kitchen. I’d be glad to warm something up for you.”
“No, thank you,” he said. Goodness, he was still full from breakfast! No wonder Miss Gertrude was rather plump. She ate her own abundant and tasty cooking. “I was wondering if you could direct me to a stable where I might rent a horse.”
“A horse?”
He was damned tired of making a number of treks between his boarding house in the business district of Plummerville to Eve’s house each and every day. At this rate he’d need another pair of shoes before Alistair and Viola went on their way. “And a buggy, if that’s possible.” Next time he and Eve came into Plummerville together, it would not be on foot.
“Why would you want a buggy?”
The woman asked a lot of questions. Normally he would tell her it was none of her business, but as this was Eve’s newly claimed home town he tried to rouse better manners. “I thought I might invite Miss Abernathy for an afternoon drive.”
Miss Gertrude smiled coyly. “How romantic. Oh, I’m sure she’ll be delighted. Let’s see, the blacksmith, Billy Joe Layton, he keeps a few horses and I believe he also has a spare buggy or two for just this type of occasion. And since he has a nice-sized stable, you can leave the horse there when it’s not in use.”
“Splendid.”
Pale eyes twinkled. “Have you asked Miss Abernathy to marry you?”
“Of course not.” Lucien was surprised to realize that he sounded horrified at the prospect. “It’s much too soon,” he added in a lowered voice.
She wagged a finger in his direction. “One should not drag one’s feet when it comes to matters of the heart, Mr. Thorpe.”
He refrained from telling her that one should mind one’s own business.
“Pot roast for supper,” a satisfied Miss Gertrude said, changing the subject quickly. “You will be here?” There was more than a hint of reproach in that question that was not really a question at all.
“Of course.”
“It certainly wouldn’t be proper for you to spend the evening at Miss Abernathy’s again.”
“Of course not.” Eve and her blasted reputation! “I’ll ask Miss Abernathy out for an afternoon drive, have supper here, and then retire early.”
“There’s nothing like a good night’s rest,” the old lady said smugly.
He wouldn’t know. “How true.”
Miss Gertrude gave him directions to the blacksmith’s, unnecessary directions since every business of importance was located on this main street.
Wonderful. He’d rather be staying in Eve’s house day and night, keeping an eye on her, hoping for another encounter with Alistair. Hoping for another kiss. And here he was, practicing deceit in the name of Eve’s blasted reputation. He positively hated deceit of any kind.
“Supper’s at six!” Miss Gertrude called as he walked out the door, shaking his head in wonder at his own foolishness.
*
“That’s it,” Eve said, shading her eyes with a gloved hand and pointing at the mill ahead.
Lucien brought the buggy to a halt and squinted at the massive and busy enterprise before them. “I imagine it’s changed and grown in thirty years,” he mumbled.
“I imagine so.”
“Were Alistair and Douglas Hunt partners for many years?”
“Seven.” Eve looked not at the mill before them, but at Lucien, sitting so close beside her. “What do you expect to find here?”
“Nothing, really,” Lucien admitted. “But you never know what you might discover, once you start snooping around.”
He looked very nice, with the sun on his face and the gentle breeze whipping strands of dark hair across his cheek. Not that she would ever tell him, or anyone else, such a thing.
“I never expected you to show up at my door with a horse and buggy.”
“Pretend I’m courting you,” he said curtly.
She couldn’t imagine Lucien courting a woman properly. In truth, he did nothing properly. Before, when he’d asked her to marry him, the proposal had been quite businesslike. They’d just finished a job, and she was off to her rented room to organize her notes for two articles she needed to write. He’d been headed to another haunting, one she had not been invited to participate in. His proposal, as they had been saying good-bye, had seemed almost an afterthought And she’d said yes so damned quickly!
Lucien set the horse and buggy in motion again, heading past the mill and only occasionally glancing in that direction. Eve drew her shawl, her protection against the chill, closer.
She had always been, would always be, an afterthought where Lucien was concerned.
They rode in silence, as the late afternoon air seemed to turn cooler. Lucien found a flat spot off the road to turn around and they headed back toward town. They both glanced at the mill as the buggy rattled past it, but neither of them said a word. What was there to be said?
This was a senseless excursion. There were no answers to be found at the mill where Alistair had once been a part owner. All the answers were waiting at her house, with Viola and Alistair.
The silence, as they plodded toward her house at the edge of Plummerville, grew awkward. Since Lucien had come back into her life, they’d argued, they’d reached a truce, they’d even kissed. But there was so much between them, unspoken but still very much there. Like a boil that had not yet been lanced, Eve thought.
The sound of a horse’s clopping hoofbeats behind them was almost a relief.
“Miss Abernathy!” an obviously delighted voice called out as the horse and rider approached.
Eve turned her head as the horse drew up alongside the buggy. “Mr. Hunt,” she said, slightly surprised to see Garrick leaving the mill so early.
Garrick did resemble his father, a little bit. He was a couple of inches shorter than Lucien, like Douglas Hunt, and they shared some of the same facial features. But where the father had once had very dark hair, as attested to by that which was not yet gray, Garrick’s was a pale brown and curled at the nape of his neck in a boyish fashion, even though he was thirty-four years old, nearing thirty-five. Garrick smiled often, unlike his father, and judging by his smile he apparently held no grudge against anyone or anything. Perhaps Douglas hadn’t told his son about the haunting and his insistence that Eve leave the house immediately.
“I thought I recognized you,” he said with a friendly smile, “when I saw the buggy go past. I was staring out the window of my office, bored almost to tears, and there you were, like the answer to all my prayers.” His eyes landed on Lucien and his smile faded. “And your friend is…”
“I’m not…” Lucien began in a low voice.
“Lucie
n Thorpe,” Eve interrupted. “A visitor to Plummerville and a very old friend. Lucien, this is Douglas Hunt’s eldest son, Garrick.”
Lucien cut her a glance. “Old friend?”
She warned him with a glance of her own, but Lucien didn’t recognize subtle. Ever.
“I’m courting Miss Abernathy, so move along if you don’t mind.”
“Lucien!” Eve glanced up at Garrick. “He’s such a terrible tease.”
“I am not,” Lucien responded. “I never tease.”
“Well, we’re not courting.”
“Yes, we are.”
Eve sighed deeply. “Fine,” she said. “We’re courting. It’s just that Lucien does such a poor job of it that I didn’t realize what was happening until he informed me, just now.”
Garrick, who seemed to be getting some kind of perverted pleasure out of this conversation, grinned and winked at her. “I’m glad to hear that you’re ready to be courted, Eve. You’ll be hearing from me, very soon.” With that, he galloped ahead of them, never looking back. What sounded like a merry whistled tune caught the wind and reached her ears.
Great. Now she’d have to discourage a persistent Garrick all over again!
“Courting?” she asked sharply when no one else could possibly hear but Lucien.
“It seemed a better response than, ‘We’re investigating a thirty-year-old murder and your father is smack-dab in the middle of it.’” Lucien worked his shoulders as if he had a crick in his neck. “So, what did he mean by that observation that he’s glad you’re ready to be courted?”
“Garrick called on me a couple of times, after I moved to Plummerville. I told him I had no interest in being courted, that I was too busy getting settled in to think of a social life.”
Lucien gave in to a small smile. “Good.”
“Of course, now that he thinks I’m allowing you to pay suit, he’ll be back.”
“I’ll get rid of him, if you like,” Lucien offered. “The same way I got rid of his father.”
“You will not!”
“Why?”
“Maybe I want him to pay suit!”
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