Shades of Winter

by Linda Fallon

  A MAN POSSESSED

  Lucien opened his eyes slowly. Bright white sunshine flooded through the uncovered window, lighting the long-neglected room. Dust motes danced in the air. The candle on the dresser had been snuffed out when it burned down to a height of less than one inch. For a moment he was surprised to realize that he was alive. Hadn’t he been sure at one moment that he was going to die?

  He was warm, beneath the covers. Warm, because Evie was under the covers with him, snuggled up against his body, her arms wrapped around him and her head resting against his side. She had said that if she ever needed to be there to pull him from the world of the dead into the world of the living, she would do it.

  Last night, she had done just that …

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Copyright

  For Beverly, a true friend.

  May all your dreams come true.

  One

  Plummerville, Georgia

  January 1886

  Eve perched on the edge of the wing chair by the window and clasped her hands in her lap. On occasion she watched her fingers tapping against the skirt of her new dress as if the simple motion were fascinating. The simply cut day dress was blue, flecked with pale yellow flowers. The dressmaker, Laverne, said the color suited her. Lucien liked it well enough. Earlier in the day it had seemed a suitable choice for the occasion. Oh, she should have worn something brown! Something plain and muted that would help her to fade into the woodwork.

  She had seen many frightening things, in her years as a ghost researcher, but nothing had ever terrified her this way.

  Uncle Harold and Aunt Constance sat side by side on the parlor sofa. Constance Phillips was Eve’s mother’s younger sister. Eve didn’t remember her departed mother well enough to know if she had ever been this sour. The loving way her father had spoken of the wife he’d buried too soon … she thought not.

  Constance’s daughters, Eve’s cousins, stood behind the sofa with their backs straight and their eyes wide as they stared at Lucien. Both girls were dark-haired and green-eyed and well-dressed in matching shades of moss green. Penelope was eighteen, and pretty in a delicate way. Millicent was twenty, shorter and rounder in shape but still very attractive. The girls had a tendency to whisper in high-pitched voices and giggle until Eve wanted to throttle them both.

  Lucien, the object of their attention at the moment, stood before the fireplace, a roaring fire behind him. If anything about this situation calmed Eve, it was watching Lucien. He had dressed nicely for the arrival of her relatives, in a new white shirt and his second best black suit. He had not cut his hair, but he had combed the longish dark strands. Six foot two, lean and handsome, he looked very dignified.

  “I don’t understand, Mr. Thorpe,” Uncle Harold said crisply. “You make your living … how?”

  “Lucien is a scientist,” Eve said brightly. Informing her staid aunt and uncle that she was marrying a man who spoke to the dead on a regular basis would send them into a tizzy. Explaining to them that he made his living ridding houses of unwanted ghosts would not go over well. And she did want her wedding to be perfect!

  “A scientist specializing in studies of …” Lucien began.

  “It’s all very boring,” Eve said, standing quickly and stepping toward Lucien. “Physics and mathematics and mechanics and that sort of thing. I don’t understand most of it myself.” She put her arm through Lucien’s, but when Constance gave her a disapproving glare Eve dropped her arm and clasped her hands once again.

  Lucien fought back a smile. Eve caught the twitch at the corner of his fine lips, the twinkle in his blue eyes. “Very boring,” he said.

  The last time she and Lucien had planned to marry, her only family and the man she loved had not met. Her aunt and uncle and cousins had arrived the day before the wedding, not several days ahead of time as they had for this ceremony, and Lucien … Lucien hadn’t shown up at all.

  That disaster of a wedding was behind them, now. He’d explained what had happened, and while she didn’t like the idea that she’d been forgotten in favor of an interesting ghost, she had forgiven Lucien. It was just as well. She loved him so much more now than she had then. Their wedding would be all the more special, since their love had grown.

  Aunt Constance shook her head. Her brown hair streaked with white had been piled atop her head, and tightly restrained curls bobbed. “Eve, what were you thinking to plan a January wedding! Spring is a much better time for such an event. There are more flowers to choose from, and travel is much easier for your guests, and personally I much prefer the fashions which suit warmer weather. Early summer would have been ideal.”

  How to explain to a prim woman that waiting was impossible? She and Lucien were already lovers. Hiding their relationship, sneaking about so no one would suspect the nature of their relationship, had been horrid. She wanted the world to know that Lucien was hers and she was his. She wanted to wake every morning to see his face beside her, not usher him out before dawn so he could sneak into his room in the Plummerville boarding house.

  While Eve searched for an explanation, Lucien took her hand and raised it to his lips. “I must admit,” he said as he lowered her hand, keeping it clasped easily in his, “the rather hasty timing of the wedding was my idea.”

  Aunt Constance’s lips pursed tightly.

  “I could not take the chance that such a wonderful woman might come to her senses and decide not to become my wife, when she could have any man in the world as her husband,” he said. “I don’t deserve Evie, and I want her to marry me before she realizes that for herself.”

  Aunt Constance seemed slightly mollified, Penelope and Millicent sighed in unison, and Uncle Harold rolled his eyes.

  Harold Phillips was a reserved, quiet, difficult man. He wasn’t at all mollified. “You will show up this time, won’t you?”

  Until now, no one had dared to mention aloud that Lucien had left Eve waiting at the altar, more than two years ago.

  “Of course I’ll be there,” Lucien said, unsmiling. “Nothing could keep me away.”

  “Because if you embarrass my niece again,” Uncle Harold continued, “I will kill you.”

  “Daddy!” Millicent gasped.

  Aunt Constance patted her husband on the knee. “Now, now, Harold,” she said calmly. “Eve is my dearly departed sister’s child. If anyone kills Mr. Thorpe, it will be me.”

  “Please!” Eve said, growing concerned for the safety of her groom.

  “It’s all right, Evie,” Lucien said with a smile. “Your aunt and uncle are being protective of you. I can understand that. And I don’t fear for my life because I will be there. On time.”

  “You’d better be,” Uncle Harold murmured.

  “I really should be going,” Lucien said. “My landlady gets concerned for me when I’m out too late.”

  His landlady was Miss Gertrude, the biggest busybody in town.

  “I’ll walk you to the door,” Eve said. “Let me fetch your coat.”

  “Don’t be long, Eve,” Aunt Constance called after them, censure in her tight voice.

  Eve collected Lucien’s long, black overcoat from the entryway coat rack, and mouthed I’m sorry as she offered it to him. Aunt Constance had particularly sharp ears, so she didn’t dare speak aloud.

  Lucien grinned as he took the coat and
slipped it on. Oh, she wished he were going to be here with her tonight! Instead of holding him close as she fell asleep, she’d be crowded into her bed with Penelope and Millicent. And she was quite certain they giggled in their sleep.

  Lucien took her hand, opened the front door, and hauled her onto the small sheltered front porch of her cottage. “I must love you very much,” he said softly, as he pulled her into his arms and the red door of her cottage closed behind them. The night was cold, but it was very warm here with Lucien’s arms around her.

  “You must,” she whispered. “I imagine most men would have run hours ago.”

  “Immediately upon the arrival of your relatives.”

  “Yes.”

  He tilted her head back and kissed her quickly. “I will miss you tonight,” he said, his wonderful mouth close to hers. “And tomorrow night, and the next. But on the night after that you will be my wife, and there will be no more slinking off to a rented room I don’t want or need. No pretending that I don’t crave you to distraction. No pretending that your bed isn’t my bed.”

  “Soon,” she said.

  “Not soon enough to suit me.” He lowered his head and kissed the side of her neck. That quick caress sent shivers up and down her spine. “You could sneak out tonight,” he whispered. “Come to my room. I promise to have you back here well before sunrise.”

  “I can’t,” she answered softly. “If my aunt didn’t catch me sneaking out, Miss Gertrude would surely catch me sneaking in.”

  Lucien groaned. “You’re right. I know you’re right. Dammit, Evie, I am a very patient man, under most circumstances. But where you’re concerned I have no patience at all.”

  “Our wedding day will be here soon enough,” she promised.

  “Soon enough?” Lucien asked with raised eyebrows.

  Eve smiled. “Soon, then. In just a few days I’ll be Mrs. Lucien Thorpe, and no one will be able to run you out of this house. Not ever. I love you, Lucien,” she said gently.

  “And I …”

  The door behind them flew open, and Aunt Constance appeared there, the light of the brightly lit entryway behind her. Eve and Lucien jumped apart.

  “Eve Abernathy,” the persimmon-mouthed woman snapped. “Get into this house this instant. You’ll catch your death of cold out there.”

  “Good night, Lucien,” Eve said as she backed toward the open door.

  “Good night, Evie,” he said with a soft smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Not likely,” Aunt Constance said as she drew Eve into the warmth of the house. “We have so much to do tomorrow, I feel quite sure Eve won’t have time for visitors.”

  “But …” Eve began.

  “Good night, Mr. Thorpe.” Aunt Constance slammed the door in Lucien’s face.

  “You needn’t have closed the door so violently,” Eve chastised gently.

  “It’s cold outside,” Aunt Constance explained.

  “And tomorrow …”

  “Have you allowed that man to kiss you, Eve?” Constance interrupted.

  “Well …”

  “Don’t say a word,” Constance said with a raised palm. “I see the way you two look at each other. You have allowed him to kiss you.” She tsked loudly, and then leaned in close. “Tomorrow afternoon, when Harold and the girls are busy with wedding preparations, you and I will have a little chat. Woman to woman. Since your mother isn’t here, I suppose I must stand in.”

  “That’s really …” Not necessary? A frightening concept? At twenty-seven, Eve hardly needed instruction on marital relations. “Very sweet, but …”

  “It’s my duty,” Constance said, patting Eve on the arm. “You musn’t be afraid, dear.”

  “I’m not …”

  Constance spun around. “Harold, I’m quite exhausted from the day’s travel. I’m off to bed. We have so much to do tomorrow!”

  Eve watched her aunt and cousins climb the stairs and head for their bedrooms. Her heart was heavy, and she missed Lucien already!

  Blast him, he’d been right all along. They should’ve eloped two months ago.

  On his walk to town, Lucien stopped in front of the Cassidy house. He didn’t knock on the door, not at this late hour, but he did stand there on the roadway and study the place for a few minutes. It was a nice little one-story house, not as nice as Eve’s cottage, perhaps, but cozy and well kept. Katherine took good care of the home her husband had left to her upon his death.

  He’d thought ridding the house of Katherine’s late husband’s ghost would be simple work, but it had not been easy at all. Jerome Cassidy was hanging on with every mean-spirited bit of his measly soul.

  The widow Katherine Cassidy was a member of the Plummerville Ghost Society, a secret club of six people interested in the study of the psychical world. He and Evie were among those six. The others were … well, they had no supernatural gifts, that he had been able to discern, but they were all accepting of his own abilities. That in itself was amazing, to him, after a lifetime of being treated as an oddity, or worse. He suspected they accepted him because of their affection for Eve. She loved him, and so they welcomed him into their midst.

  He wished Hugh and Lionel, friends and fellow researchers, were arriving sooner. They would be here late in the afternoon on the day before the wedding, according to Hugh’s last telegram. Friday. Almost two days from now. Perhaps if they could be persuaded to stay a while after the wedding, they could assist in Lucien’s attempts to send Jerome Cassidy on.

  It was too cold to stand still for long, so Lucien resumed his trek to town. He would much rather be taking Eve to bed, right now, than walking to a dreary room where he would have to pretend that they weren’t already man and wife in every way except legally. But Eve’s reputation was important to her, and therefore important to him. She cared about what her aunt and uncle saw and heard. She wanted this one part of their lives, their wedding, to be as normal as possible.

  He wanted to give her that, since the rest of their lives would likely be anything but normal.

  “Look!” a familiar voice called from the darkness. “It’s our happy groom!”

  Lucien turned as Garrick Hunt, president of the Plummerville Ghost Society, and Buster Towry, a young man who worked a nearby farm and also a member of their secret association, stepped from the shadows. Garrick was well on his way to drunk, as usual, and Buster was doing his best to keep Garrick out of trouble. Lucien didn’t think the two had been friends before the formation of the Plummerville Ghost Society, but these days the son of the richest man in town and the pleasant farmer were often seen together.

  “A drink!” Garrick offered his flask as he and Buster joined Lucien on the roadway. “A toast to the upcoming wedding!”

  “No, thank you,” Lucien said.

  Garrick drew the ever-present flask in close to his chest. “You’re a bit of a stick-in-the-mud, Lucien. Have I ever told you that?”

  “Several times.” Lucien resumed his walk, and the two men bracketed him so that they sauntered along the roadway side by side.

  “I have an idea,” Garrick said. He wasn’t yet drunk, but he was certainly on his way. “We haven’t done much, as an organization, and as president I feel it’s my duty to make sure that things move along for our little group.”

  “Move along in what way?” Lucien asked suspiciously.

  “We really should do something besides meet for pie now and then. Old ladies could do what we’ve done so far.”

  “Well, we did try to get rid of Katherine’s husband,” Buster said defensively.

  “A dismal failure,” Garrick said darkly. “Besides, Katherine’s house is right here in town, on this very street. How tediously ordinary. I think we should have ourselves a grand adventure.”

  “Adventure?” Buster asked suspiciously.

  “We’ll discuss it at the next meeting,” Lucien said, in hopes that by that time Garrick would have forgotten his whiskey-induced idea.

  “Yes, we’ll tell the ladies
all about it at that time,” Garrick said with a wave of his hand. “But don’t you want to know what site I’ve chosen for our escapade?”

  “You’ve already chosen a place?”

  Garrick nodded. “The Honeycutt Hotel,” he said proudly.

  “Never heard of it,” Lucien said.

  “Oh, I had forgotten about that place,” Buster said.

  It was the peculiar tone of Buster’s voice that grabbed Lucien’s attention. “What’s so special about the Honeycutt Hotel?” he asked.

  Garrick grinned widely. “It used to be some kind of resort. Rich people from Adanta and Savannah used to come to spend a week or two soaking in the waters from a nearby underground spring that supposedly had some sort of healing power. It was an impressive business, for a while, and then six years ago the doors to the exclusive Honeycutt Hotel were closed.”

  Garrick tried to make his voice sound ominous, but so far, Lucien was not impressed. “Hotels, even fancy spas, do go out of business on occasion.”

  “Not like this one,” Garrick said gleefully. “Apparently there was a ghastly murder at the Honeycutt Hotel, and in the ensuing investigation it was revealed that over the years a number of guests had checked into the hotel and never left. They simply …” Garrick paused for effect before whispering, “disappeared.”

  “And no one knew about these disappearances?” Lucien asked skeptically.

  “Oh, the hotel owner, one Marshall Honeycutt, knew very well. He and his staff had gone to some trouble to cover up the disappearances. And then one day …” Garrick gave a dramatic wave of the hand that clasped his flask. “He vanished, too.”

  It was nice to have something to think about besides the upcoming wedding and how he’d be sleeping alone for the next three nights. “That might be interesting. Where is it, exactly?”

  “North and west of here,” Buster said. “Not too far off the road to Adanta. Less than a day’s trip, I reckon.”

  “Just a few hours away,” Garrick added.

  “I would want to check it out first,” Lucien said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t want to drag the ladies into a house I hadn’t yet explored.”

  “In the spring, perhaps,” Garrick suggested. “You can examine the hotel and make sure it’s safe for the ladies, and then we’ll all go spend the weekend there.”