Crystal Gardens (5 page)

“His accent is straight from the streets of London.”

“Yes, I did notice that.”

“In my experience, the members of the criminal class who ply their trade in the city rarely venture into the countryside.”

Evangeline looked at him. He sensed her curiosity and smiled a little.

“Why is that?” she asked.

“It is an alien environment to them,” he explained. “They flourish in dark alleys, hidden lanes and abandoned buildings. They are urban rats. They don’t know how to survive outside their native habitat. What is more, they tend to stand out in the countryside.”

“I see what you mean.” Evangeline sounded intrigued. “Their clothes and accents would mark them as outsiders.”

“Yet Sharpy Hobson pursued you all the way to Little Dixby.”

“Well, it isn’t as if he had to travel to the ends of the earth or even to Wales.”

He smiled. “No. London is only a few hours away by train.”

“True.” She exhaled a small sigh. “Although I must admit at times it feels as if Little Dixby is located on the far side of the world or perhaps in another dimension.”

“Yesterday in the bookshop you gave me the impression that you were enjoying your stay in the countryside, at least until tonight.”

“Let’s just say that, until tonight, it has been restful to the point of boredom.”

“You are from London,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Like Hobson.”

“Are you implying that there is some connection between me and that villain?” she asked, her tone sharpening.

“It seems a likely possibility.”

“I understand your logic but I honestly cannot imagine what it would be. I told you, I have never before encountered Sharpy Hobson. Believe me, I would have recalled such a meeting.”

“There are some mentally unbalanced men who sometimes develop unwholesome fixations on a certain woman. They follow their victims, at first trying to frighten and control them. Eventually they become violent.”

“I am not naive, Mr. Sebastian, and I have not lived a sheltered life. I am aware that such men exist. But even if I did unwittingly manage to attract the attention of such a deranged individual, why didn’t he attack me in London? And why wait so long to follow me to Little Dixby? I have been living here for nearly two weeks.”

She was truly bewildered, he concluded.

“There is no way to fathom the thinking of a madman,” he said.

“No,” she agreed. “But you will admit that Sharpy Hobson did not appear to be unbalanced tonight. He claimed that I was worth money to him.”

“Hobson may not be the one who is deranged. The unbalanced person in this mystery is possibly the one who sent him here to find you.”

Evangeline tightened her grip on the lapels of his coat. “Good heavens, yes, you are right. But that logic does not hold, either. I cannot think of anyone who might want to kill me, let alone pay someone to do the deed.”

He listened to the dark murmurings and sighs of the dense woods on either side of the lane and considered what he knew of murder. There were those who believed that he knew far too much about the subject. They were right.

“A discarded lover seeking revenge might hire a villain off the streets to kill the woman who had rejected him,” he offered.

“‘A lover’?”
The words were uttered on a half-choked squeak of pure disbelief. Evangeline hastily composed herself. “Good grief, sir, I assure you that is not the case.”

Her response was interesting, he thought. It was as if she found the notion a complete impossibility. But he, in turn, found that difficult to swallow. Evangeline Ames was far too interesting, too compelling.

“Perhaps the person who commissioned the murder is not a man. Is there a woman who might have cause to be jealous of you?”

“Your imagination is certainly quite creative, sir. Do you write novels, by any chance?”

“No, Miss Ames. Nor do I read them.”

She shot him a cool look from the corner of her eye. “Do you have something against novels, Mr. Sebastian?”

“I prefer to take a realistic view of the world, Miss Ames. Novels by their very nature are anything but realistic, with their scenes of overwrought emotions and the ridiculous happy endings.”

She gave him a chilly smile. “They call it fiction for a reason, sir.”

“Yes,” he said, “they do.”

“Some people find that reading novels is very therapeutic precisely because it does allow one to view reality from an entirely different perspective.”

“I will take your word for it. Let us return to our mystery.”

“I told you, I don’t have any answers,” she said.

“Then let us go back to the beginning.”

“The beginning?”

“Why do you remain here in Little Dixby? You have made it plain that you are not altogether charmed by country life.”

She pondered the question for a few seconds. In the moonlight, he could not make out her expression but he sensed that she was deciding just how much of the truth to tell him.

“As you know, I am a professional hired companion,” she said.

“A very well-paid professional companion, judging by your clothes and the fact that you can afford to rent my cottage.”

“I explained that I work for an exclusive firm.” Her voice was crisp with impatience now. “But as it happens, I have other aspirations. Do not mistake me, I take great satisfaction from my work with the Flint and Marsh Agency but I am determined to move on to another career.”

“What other career?”

She angled her chin. “One that I’m certain you will not approve of. I hope to be able to make my living as an author of sensation novels.”

He was surprised by his own crack of laughter. “I should have guessed.”

“I have, in fact, recently signed a contract with a gentleman who publishes a number of newspapers, Mr. Guthrie. Perhaps you have heard of him?”

“Certainly I’m aware of the Guthrie newspaper empire. He has made a fortune selling society gossip, accounts of lurid crimes and serialized sensation novels.” Lucas broke off, realizing what he had just said. “Oh, I see.”

“He will be publishing my first novel in serialized form.” Evangeline said. “The first chapter of
Winterscar Hall
will appear next week in six of his smaller country newspapers. If I prove popular in the regional press, he will publish me in his London paper.”

“Congratulations,” Lucas said.

“You needn’t pretend to be polite about it. You have made your opinion of sensation novels quite plain.”

“It’s true I do not read novels but I applaud your determination to take command of your life. You are a fascinating woman, Evangeline Ames. Indeed, I have never met anyone like you.”

“Yes, well, I assure you that I find you one-of-a-kind, too, Mr. Sebastian.”

“You have not answered my question,” he said gently.

“The reason I am in Little Dixby?” There was amusement in her tone now. “You are not easily distracted, are you, sir?”

“Not when I want something very much.”

“And you want answers.”

“Yes.”
And I want you, as well
, he thought.

“I do understand, you know,” she said. “I have a great sense of curiosity myself.”

“Ah, yes, those forays into the gardens before I arrived.”

“You will admit they proved useful,” she said.

“Because tonight when you were attacked you knew you could hide from Hobson if you could get inside the walls.”

“I was not certain if he would follow me through the wall, of course, but I sensed that if he did, he probably would not be able to navigate those gardens as well as I could.”

“You appeared to be aiming for the gazebo. What was your plan?”

“The pond,” she said. “There is some sort of strange energy in that water. I hoped that if Hobson stumbled into it he would become disoriented, perhaps quite panicked.”

“Very good, Miss Ames. You were right. The paranormal currents in the pond induce great confusion in most people, especially at night.”

“I thought so.”

“You still have not answered my question. What brought you to Little Dixby?”

“My writing,” she said. “I thought you understood. Mr. Guthrie is publishing my story in chapters but I have only got the first three written. To meet Guthrie’s schedule, I must complete a chapter a week, and the contract stipulates that each chapter must be about four thousand words. I cannot afford to miss a single deadline.”

She was telling the truth, he decided. She was also lying through her teeth.

L
ucas brought Evangeline to a halt in front of the entrance to the small cottage. The little wooden gate was unlatched. It hung on its hinges, partially open. The mute evidence of Evangeline’s wild flight sent a jolt of anger through him.
If Hobson were not already dead …

Lucas cut the thought off abruptly. Emotional thinking invariably obscured logic.

He pushed open the gate and ushered Evangeline into the fern-choked garden. The graveled path was barely visible amid the thick sea of moonlit fronds.

“My uncle did not pay much attention to the cottage,” Lucas said. “But he did run a few experiments with ferns, as you can see.”

“I noticed.” Evangeline gestured toward the thick woods that surrounded them. “Everything seems to grow so lushly near the abbey.”

“It’s the energy from the hot spring at the center of the gardens. The
paranormal currents are not nearly so strong outside the walls but they nevertheless affect the foliage in the vicinity.”

He did not add that the power of the spring had been growing in the past two years.

“How did Hobson get into the cottage?” he asked.

“The kitchen door,” Evangeline said. “He forced the lock.”

“Let me take a look.”

They walked around to the back of the cottage and made their way through the kitchen garden. There were no vegetables or lettuces in the ground. The small space, like the front garden, was a miniature fern jungle.

When they reached the open door Lucas struck a light, heightened his talent a little and examined the broken lock.

The dark miasma of Hobson’s anticipation of the kill seethed in the atmosphere.

Lucas shut down his senses before the psychical residue could cause his own talent to flare in response.

He straightened and moved into the kitchen. “He was not even trying to silence his approach.”

“No,” Evangeline said. She followed him across the threshold. “He was very sure of himself. Looking back, I think he wanted me to hear him.”

“The bastard wanted you to have time to be afraid.”

“How did you know that?”

“It’s there in his prints.” He gestured back toward the broken lock.

Evangeline looked at the muddy boot prints on the floor. “You can sense his intentions in his footprints?”

“Not his footprints. I can read the psychical residue that he left here.”

Evangeline turned back to him, eyes widening. “The ability is an aspect of your talent?”

“Yes.”

She thought about that for a few seconds and then nodded, once, accepting the explanation. “In the end, he was the one who knew great fear.” She shivered. “I heard it in his final scream.”

“He very likely pricked himself on one of the Blood Thorns,” Lucas said absently. He turned up the wall sconce. The gaslight illuminated the small kitchen. “According to my uncle, the poison induces terrifying hallucinations and panic. Hobson probably started running. That is never wise inside the maze.”

Evangeline gave him an odd look. “I’ll try to remember that.”

“You won’t be going into that maze,” he assured her. “No one will enter it except me. It is far too dangerous. Usually the gate is locked. The only reason it was open tonight is because I was inside when you and Hobson arrived.” He glanced back at the door. “I’ll send someone around to repair that in the morning.”

“Thank you.”

“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll have a quick look around before I leave.”

“I’m sure I am quite safe now that Hobson is dead.” Evangeline paused. “At least for tonight.”

“I agree. But I will send Stone down here to keep watch until dawn. That is not far off.”

“Oh, really, that is quite unnecessary.”

“There is no cause for concern about Stone. He is utterly reliable. In any event, he will have instructions to remain outside the cottage.”

“Mr. Sebastian, I am trying to tell you that there is no reason to post a guard on this cottage.” There was a steely edge on the words. Evangeline did not take orders well, he noted.

He smiled. “Have you considered that I might be doing it for my own peace of mind?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I would like to get some sleep tonight myself. That will not be possible if I am worrying about your safety. As your landlord, I am responsible for you.”

“For pity’s sake, sir, this is ridiculous.”

“Not to me. I would like to get some rest. I will not be able to do that knowing that you are down here all alone.”

She opened her mouth but immediately closed it again. Her eyes narrowed faintly. Evidently she realized that further protest was useless.

He moved through the tiny parlor and went along the short hall past the bath. When he reached the bedroom the sight of the tumbled bedclothes and the open window sent another flash of ice-cold fury through him.
The son of a bitch had gotten so damn close
. If Evangeline had not been awake, if she had not heard the sound of the kitchen door being forced, if she had not been a spirited, quick-thinking woman with a measure of talent—so many ifs. He could not allow himself to dwell too long on what had almost happened.