Crystal Gardens (13 page)

Evangeline looked quite different this afternoon than she had this morning. The fashionable blue walking dress, matching gloves and bonnet and the high-button boots she had worn to see her friends off at the station were gone. She was dressed for the grimy work she was overseeing in a severely plain housedress and an apron. Both were outdated and much too large, especially in the bosom. He wondered which of Molly’s more buxom female relatives had loaned them to her. Evangeline’s amber hair was tightly pinned beneath a white cap. The apron was stained with what looked like dirty water from a mop bucket and there were sooty smudges on her cheeks. She gripped a feather duster in one hand.

She looked altogether entrancing, he thought.

“From what I can tell, your uncle did not even bother to use the dining room,” Evangeline said. “It appears he took his meals in the kitchen, if you can believe it.”

“That is precisely what Stone, and I have been doing since we arrived,” Lucas said. “The arrangement has worked quite well. Stone does the cooking. He finds it more efficient to eat in the kitchen.”

“That is all very well for Stone, but you can hardly expect your aunt to dine in the kitchen and you certainly cannot tell her that she must sleep in a bedroom that has been shut up for years.” Evangeline pointed one finger toward the ceiling. “There’s an inch of dust on everything
up there. Thankfully the furniture and carpets in all the rooms were well draped and your uncle’s housekeeper appears to have taken care of the linens. Nevertheless, there is a great deal to be done before your aunt arrives later today. Thank goodness Molly’s relatives were available to help out.”

Lucas folded his arms. “Do you know, Evangeline, I thought I had accounted for even the smallest details when I concocted the plan to move you here, but it never occurred to me that you would insist on scrubbing the house from top to bottom.”

“Only a few rooms, not the whole house.” Evangeline walked halfway across the room and stopped. “You sound as if you are annoyed, sir. No one is asking you to pick up a mop bucket.”

“Now why would I be annoyed? Perhaps because I have been forced to take refuge in this room while my house is turned upside down by strangers? Maybe because I had your safety in mind, not a spring-cleaning, when I brought you here today? Or do you think it might just possibly have to do with the fact that I don’t like being confronted by someone wielding a broom every time I go around a corner? I’m trying to solve one murder and prevent another, yours, to be specific. Damn it, I don’t have time to dodge people armed with mops and buckets.”

“Ah, so that’s it,” she said calmly. “I thought so.”

“You thought what?”

“I’m sure that you long ago learned to take a well-run household for granted. However, like a piano, a house must be properly tuned if it is to function smoothly and efficiently.”

“This particular household does not have to function at all. With any luck we will not be here more than a few weeks at most.”

“That is far too long to sleep on pallets, eat cold meals and go without a fire in the evenings. You are welcome to do all those things, if that is your preference, but as long as I am living here I must insist on
the basic trappings of civilization. Those include, at a minimum, a clean kitchen, a well-stocked pantry, a proper bath and fresh linens on the beds. I’m sure your aunt will agree with me.”

“No offense, Evangeline, but given your current predicament, I’m surprised you are so obsessed with maintaining such high standards.”

She gave him a cool smile. “Where would we be without standards, Mr. Sebastian?”

“An excellent question. Never mind, it is obvious that I’ve lost this battle. What’s done is done. Just see to it that none of Molly’s relations wander outside beyond the terrace, is that clear?”

“Yes, of course, but I really don’t think there will be a problem in that regard. The Gillinghams, like the rest of the good people of Little Dixby, are terrified of your gardens.”

“With good reason,” he said. “And speaking of the Gillinghams, I want every last member of the family gone by sundown. As I have explained, the gardens are more dangerous after dark.”

“I understand. Trust me, no one except Molly seems to have any inclination to remain on the grounds at night. Molly had considerable difficulty persuading her relatives to come here to clean during the day. I had to promise that you would pay double the usual wages.”

“Did you, indeed?” He raised a brow. “Spending my money rather freely, aren’t you?”

“Nonsense, you know perfectly well that as the owner of Crystal Gardens you are expected to contribute to the local economy. Hiring workers is one way to do that.”

“I will not argue the point.”

Evangeline frowned. “Why are you so set against having any servants in the house at night? I’m sure I could persuade Molly to stay. She is much more adventuresome than her relatives.”

“I plan to carry out my investigations of the gardens after dark, when the energy is at its height. The last thing I need is for young
Molly or one of her relatives to see me wandering around outside at midnight. There are already too many rumors of occult activities circulating about this place as it is.”

“Oh, dear, I do see what you mean.” Evangeline gave him a sympathetic smile. “But I’m afraid it may be too late to convince the locals that you are not eccentric like your uncle.”

Lucas winced. “I was afraid of that.”

“Is that why you happened to be outside the night before last when I arrived in the gardens at two in the morning? You were conducting your investigations?”

“Yes.”

“I see. Well, that explains it then.”

He frowned. “Explains what?”

“Clarissa and Beatrice asked me why you happened to be so conveniently at hand when I needed help. I was forced to tell them that I was so rattled at the time that I had neglected to inquire why you and Stone had more or less magically appeared, fully dressed in the gardens, at such a late hour.”

“There is no great mystery involved. As I told you, we were outside already and heard you enter the grounds.”

“Speaking of Stone, have you had any word from him yet?”

“He sent a telegram saying that he will be arriving on the same train as Aunt Florence. He indicated he had some news to report.”

Excitement flashed across Evangeline’s expressive face. “That sounds hopeful.”

“We shall see.”

Evangeline looked toward the vine-covered window and then turned back to him. “Please understand that I am grateful for your offer of protection, sir, but I cannot help but feel that I should be in London with my friends.”

“No,” he said.

“I do not like the idea of them conducting inquiries into this matter without me. After all, I am at the heart of this problem. I should at least be working on my own behalf. I feel utterly useless loitering about here in Little Dixby while the others are investigating.”

“You are hardly loitering about. You have been working like a demented housekeeper all morning.”

She exhaled a wistful little sigh. “Trying to keep busy, I suppose. The activity takes my mind off what may be happening in London.”

He came up off the corner of the desk and walked toward her. “If it makes you feel any more useful, I can assure you that we are far more likely to obtain results with you here in the country.”

“Why do you say that?” Her expression cleared. “Oh, I see. You think that the person who hired Hobson will make another attempt and that it will be easier to catch the villain if that attempt is made here in the country. Yes, I understand your logic. But what if you are wrong? What if the killer decides to simply wait me out? Sooner or later I will have to return to London. I cannot remain here forever. He must know that.”

Lucas stopped in front of her. “I feel certain that we are dealing with a desperate individual, Evangeline. Desperate people are not good at waiting.”

Take me, for example
, he thought.
How much longer can I wait for you?

He was growing more desperate for her by the hour. Something deep inside him had stirred and was now fully awake and hungry. The need would not be satiated until he had claimed Evangeline.

The realization that he wanted her so intensely should have alarmed him more than it did. Under most circumstances he was very good at waiting. He had long ago mastered the art of self-control. He had been forced to do so, not because of any outward compulsion but because of his need to control his talent.

He had comprehended early in life that if he did not master the psychical side of his nature, it would overwhelm him, just as it had the handful of others on the family tree who had been cursed with his kind of talent. He had vowed that he would be the one to break the cycle—had even dared to convince himself that he had achieved his goal.

Now Evangeline was making him question his self-assured assumptions. Her very energy was a potent drug to his senses. When he was around her he felt reckless in ways that he knew were dangerous, but he could not bring himself to keep his distance.

She looked at him, sharp interest in her eyes. “You do seem to know a great deal about how villains think. I know you said that you had studied the criminal mind, but how, exactly, did you go about that task?”

“It’s a long, dull and rather complicated tale.”

“In other words you are not going to tell me.”

He smiled. “Perhaps someday.”

She straightened her shoulders. “Very well, sir, you are entitled to your secrets. Can you at least tell me how you go about your consulting work for Scotland Yard?”

I’m doomed
, he thought. In that moment he did not give a solitary damn. He embraced his fate. More specifically, he wanted to embrace Evangeline. He ached to pull her into his arms and drag her down onto the cushions of the old sofa. He wanted to feel the gentle swell of her breasts against his bare chest and grip her thighs in his hands. He wanted to drown his senses in her intoxicating energy and lose himself in her.

You’re a fool, Sebastian, and sooner or later you will pay the price
.

“I mentioned an acquaintance at the Yard,” he said, selecting his words with great care.

“A detective inspector, yes.”

“Donovan has some talent himself. He understands that psychical
energy is real and that there are often traces of it at the scene of a crime. Criminals who possess a powerful talent are often difficult to catch.”

“Yes, I can well imagine,” Evangeline said.

“When Donovan concludes that he may be chasing one who possesses paranormal abilities, he sometimes asks me to give my opinion.”

“I see.” Her brow furrowed a little as she considered that information. “What can you tell about the criminal from the energy left at the scene?”

He had come this far, he might as well tell her a bit more—not the whole of it, but some of it. With her own strong talent she might at least comprehend the compulsion he felt to employ his other senses.

“Mostly I am called to investigate murder, Evangeline.” He watched her steadily, steeling himself for the first hint of shock and revulsion. “That is usually the crime that lays down the most intense emotions.”

“You
sense
the killer’s emotions?”

“Yes. They can often tell me something of his or her personality and supply clues to the motive. Those are the kinds of facts that Donovan can use to conduct his investigations.”

The brilliant energy in her eyes did alter, but not as he had anticipated. There was shock but no revulsion or horror. What he saw and sensed was comprehension—true recognition—of what he went through at the scene of a crime.

“You catch a glimpse of the killer’s mind,” Evangeline said softly.

“In a way, yes.”

“I see.” She shivered. “I hadn’t realized.”

Finish it, Sebastian
.

“Murder is always a disturbingly intimate act, involving the darkest emotions,” he said evenly.

“Your investigations must be dreadful experiences for you.”

“I would like to tell you that is true,” he said, “because it would at
least make me appear decent in your eyes. But the reality is that I find the hunt a thrilling challenge. I find it satisfying, even gratifying in ways that no
decent
gentleman ought to acknowledge.”

“I understand what you are saying,” she whispered.

“Do you?”

“Yes, of course,” she said. “The fact that you find the hunt for a killer deeply satisfying does not mean that you are not a decent, honorable man. It simply means that you are doing what you were born to do—find justice for the victims.”

He smiled humorlessly. “You really were born to write romantic fiction, weren’t you?”

Anger heated her eyes. “Do not mock me, sir. You hunt killers. That is noble work.”

He shook his head. “You are very naive, Evangeline.”

“I don’t think so.”

“It is not a wholesome thing, this business of hunting killers.” He looked out into the dark gardens. “And those who kill by paranormal means are the worst of their kind.”

“I do not doubt it.”

“The intimacy of the experience is impossible to describe.” Now that he had started he could not find the will to stop. He wanted her to know what it was like for him. He needed her to know. “In the case of a murder by paranormal means the killer’s aura must resonate with that of the victim right up until the last beat of the heart. That is how it is done, you see. The killer must find the vulnerable currents in his victim’s energy field and dampen them until the heart stops.” He looked back at Evangeline. “He
experiences
the victim’s death in the most intimate manner possible. What makes it a thousand times more dreadful is that such killers usually enjoy the kill. For some, it is an intoxicating drug, the ultimate sensation of power.”

She clenched her fingers in her apron. “Yes.”

He turned back to the vine-draped window. “It takes a great deal of energy to stop the heart of another person. That is why there are invariably traces of psychical residue left at the scene.”

“And that is what you sense,” she said quietly. “It must feel as if you are actually in the killer’s mind at the moment when she inflicts death. How terrible that must be for you.”