Private Dicks (41 page)

"Is that so," the woman replied. "We could use the help, but please be careful, dear." Having established that Quinn was completely harmless, she hummed to herself as she turned to bustle toward the kitchen, adding, "My name is Mary."

Quinn introduced himself as well and followed her, looking for something with which he might be able to help. "Did Lawrence work here long?"

"Lawrence?" Mary repeated distractedly. "He just started a few weeks ago. He said he was saving up to buy his sweetheart a brooch."

"Was he here last night?"

Mary gave him a suspicious glance. "Why are you asking?"

Quinn thought of an excuse quickly. "I wanted something to tell his mother. Of his last day, I mean."

Mary's gaze once again softened. "That's a very sweet thing of you to do. And now that I think of it, he was here, leaving late as usual."

"Did he seem worried about anything? Or scared?"

"Not at all. He mentioned he would be buying Annabelle's trinket the next day. Have you met her? She sounded like a sweet girl." After a moment, Mary shook herself from the memories. "Enough questions. I need your assistance in the dining room, Quinn."

It turned out that she required his assistance in bringing out the dinner plates. The idea of coming face to face with nobles terrified Quinn beyond explanation, but he had asked for this, hadn't he?

The dining room was as opulent as he had imagined, the table made of a dark, heavy wood and covered in black silk, and seating four people. The man closest to Quinn reminded him of a pig. When Quinn set the plate down, he eyed the food with beady eyes and licked his lips like he could already taste the meal in front of him. In contrast, the woman Quinn supposed was his wife eyed the food distastefully, as if it were yet another challenge to be conquered. She gave Quinn an irritated look as he set the plate before her.

When he looked up, he saw that Mary had already served the lady of the house and her companion. Lady Covington was by far the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, her light blonde hair secured at the back of her neck and very little jewelry adorning her body. Her manner showed her wealth far more than gems ever would have. Her companion was equally as beautiful, but no one would have ever mistaken him for a fawn. An amused smile curled his lips as he listened to Lady Covington's story, but his eyes focused on Quinn. Quinn nearly dropped the plate in his hand when their eyes met.

"Have you hired someone new already, Abigail?" His accent made the words sound pretty and exotic, but it was his eyes that caught Quinn's attention. His amethyst eyes made Quinn feel very much so like prey in the sights of a predator. It should have been terrifying.

"What do you mean, Sebastian?" Lady Covington looked over at Quinn, and remarked, "Oh dear, Mary, we do have someone new. What happened to poor Lawrence?" It shocked Quinn that Lady Covington would even know the name of those that worked in her home, much less care about their wellbeing.

"This is Lawrence's friend, Quinton. He informed me that dear Lawrence has passed."

A look of horror passed over Lady Covington's face, before sadness settled. "How horrible!"

"Yes, truly horrible," the bird-like woman agreed, as she took a small bite of her food. "But such sadness does not belong at the dinner table." She gave Quinn a sharp look and he took an automatic step back.

Lady Covington gave her an irritated look in return. "How old are you, Quinton?"

"Nearly twenty milady."

"Nearly twenty? Do you have a young lady?"

Quinn thought of Oz and felt warmth fill his face. "There is someone I am fond of," he admitted.

"Unrequited love," Sebastian observed, sounding unimpressed. There was something old and knowing in his eyes, as if he had seen far too much and found himself disinterested in it all. Quinn was far more curious about him than he should have been.

"How romantic!" Lady Covington clapped her hands together, and in her cheer, resembled a woman half her age. "Does she know? Does she return your feelings?"

The portly gentleman came up for a break from his food at last. "Lady Covington, perhaps this is not the best of times."

Lady Covington looked disappointed, until Sebastian pointed out, "You will have other times to speak to him and share your romantic woes, Abigail."

Lady Covington favored him with a sweet smile. "Yes, of course. I apologize for interrupting your work, Quinton. Thank you for taking a moment to speak with me."

Quinn was so shocked by her gratitude that he stumbled over his next few words and hurried from the room. When both he and Mary had returned to the kitchen, he asked, "Is she always like that?"

"Lady Covington? Yes, she's a very kind lady, bless her soul. Many people will say bad things about this house, but not a poor word escapes about Lady Covington." Mary seemed fond of Lady Covington, and in Quinn's experience of talking to those who worked for nobility, that was not very common. "She's a very lonely woman."

"But she has those guests."

"That's true, and Sebastian stays from time to time, but she always struck me as lonely." Quinn thought of the woman who had been gaily entertaining her guests—the same woman that had shown genuine remorse for the loss of her employee. Perhaps she was lonely; perhaps that was why she sought to know her employees.

Turn back.
Quinn jumped and spun to face Mary. "Pardon?"

Mary turned from where she was neatly stacking plates. "What was that?"

Quinn glanced around to ensure that there was no one nearby. "I thought I heard something."

Mary looked concerned. "Perhaps all those plates at once were too much. You can go on home now. Don't worry," she continued when he started to protest, "you've already been a big help to us since poor Lawrence has left us. You can go on home."

Quinn nodded. "What time will you need me tomorrow?"

"Dinner again would be lovely, and you're just about tall enough to reach some of the taller shelves."

Quinn nodded again. "Thank you, Mary." There was a part of him that wanted to protest the assumed weakness on his part, but the voice scared him a bit. He knew he had heard it, but Mary clearly had not. Who was the voice, then, and why was it speaking to him? Quinn considered himself practical if nothing else, and was not one to believe in ghosts, but he knew no one had been there. Something had spoken.

But why had they told him to turn back?

Suddenly, Quinn felt another sharp pang in his chest, this one more painful than the last, as though something inside of him was fighting to get free. There was no way he could be sure of the cause, but he fought the feeling nonetheless. It had the same aura of the house, liquid dark and full of …
something
, but unlike the house, it did not feel evil; simply powerful.

When Quinn came to again, Mary was hovering over him worriedly. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. I apologize." But before he could so much as get the words out, Mary had organized two of the bigger boys that helped outside of the house to help him lie on a cot in one of the closets. "Nothing is wrong with me."

"Just rest here for a moment," Mary cooed, and closed the door, leaving Quinn in the dark. Quinn had never been the sort to be afraid of the dark, but the house was bothering him. Whispered words that no one else could hear, sudden pangs of pain … He wanted nothing more than to flee this house and never return. But Lawrence; he had to find the person behind Lawrence's death. And to find out who was warning him and about
what
they were warning him. He carefully stood, worried that the pain would return. As he reached the door, he heard voices, and for a moment, he worried that the voice had returned. But when he opened the door a bit more, he saw Lady Covington and Sebastian talking.

"You will not last much longer," Sebastian was saying, his tone grave. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocket watch. It looked old and rusted, but Quinn could sense something from it. He could hear the steady ticking from his hiding place.

Lady Covington nodded slowly. "I am aware."

"And still you delay?"

"You would not understand, Sebastian. The reason I choose to stay would not make sense to a person like you." Quinn was surprised at the amount of bitterness she injected into the statement. "This is something I must do. I cannot allow myself to fall. Not now."

Sebastian looked like he might say more, but suddenly glanced in Quinn's direction. Quinn choked on his gasp—Sebastian's eyes were amethyst no longer, but a dark, smoky color that gave Quinn a sense of vertigo. Quinn stumbled back and tripped over the cot, falling hard to the floor. Oddly enough, the first to investigate was Mary, who stared down at him with worried eyes.

"I-I tried to get up. And I … knocked something over." The words tumbled out of Quinn's mouth when he saw Sebastian and Lady Covington standing over Mary's shoulder.

Mary sighed. "Quinton, you're a bit clumsy."

"I apologize," Quinn whispered. He could not take his eyes off of Sebastian standing behind the two women, his gaze knowing. But what did he know? Did Quinn want the truth? And did it make sense that he feared the truth of Sebastian's knowledge more than he feared the man himself?

"As long as you're not hurt," Lady Covington remarked, her voice drawing Quinn's attention. "What sort of employer would I be if my employee seriously injured himself on the first day?"

Quinn glanced back at Sebastian and saw that his eyes were back to normal. Sebastian noticed him watching and offered a knowing smile. "I should be getting home," Quinn squeaked, under that penetrating gaze.

"Should you be walking home hurt as you are?" Lady Covington worried.

"You can't go home," Mary stated. "You're injured. What if you're attacked by some vagabond?"

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Women: always there to strip you of your pride. I will escort him home, then."

The women protested and Quinn wanted to join them; he was fairly sure that that last thing he wanted was to be alone with Sebastian. But he kept his thoughts to himself and Sebastian won his argument against the women. The next thing Quinn knew, he was being lifted in strong arms and made to lean against Sebastian, who smelled like something Quinn could not quite identify over his abject embarrassment, as Sebastian helped him to the carriage.

Before he could do so much as beg for his life, Sebastian had him bundled away inside and had given the driver instructions, and then climbed inside of the carriage, taking the seat beside Quinn. They sat in silence as the carriage started to move, but Quinn could sense a shift, beginning with the scent of lavender. Quinn had smelled it earlier on Sebastian, along with the sweet smell. Only a few minutes passed and Quinn could feel the tension heavy around them. He was uncomfortably aware of Sebastian beside him, studying him in the dark. Their shoulders brushed when the carriage hit a bump, making Quinn's skin tingle. He scooted over as far as he could, but it somehow didn't seem quite far enough.

"Why did you offer to escort me home?" Quinn finally asked when the tension got to be too much.

"Why do you think I escorted you home?" Sebastian asked cheekily, but Quinn was not fooled by the foppish exterior. He had seen into Sebastian's eyes; he knew the truth of what lay there. With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, Sebastian finally answered, "Well, I intend to ask you some questions. The rest depends upon your answers to them."

"What are you?" Quinn asked.

"You're not very good at this, are you?" Sebastian remarked. "I said I would ask the questions. Your job is to sit there prettily and answer them." While Quinn tried to tell himself not to take offense at being called pretty and deal with the fluttering in his stomach, Sebastian cleared his throat. "My first question is, what are you?"

"I just asked you that!" Quinn accused, and Sebastian laughed.

"Yes, Quinton, but right now I ask the questions. You may ask yours when I finish. What are you and what do you want with Lady Covington?" Despite the levity of his tone, Quinton could hear the clear demand of his question.

Quinn was not sure why he was so disappointed. Of course Sebastian would be interested in Lady Covington. A man did not visit a woman as often as Mary implied Sebastian did without having a romantic interest in her. "I have no idea what you mean by asking what I am. I just happened to realize that there was an opening, so I came up here for a job."

"Why are you lying?" Sebastian asked calmly, and Quinn blanched.

"I—I am not—" Sebastian continued to stare at him, and Quinn flushed. "There are some things a gentleman keeps to himself," he finished primly.

"I suppose." But Sebastian sounded more amused than anything else. "What do you want with Lady Covington?"

"Nothing," Quinn answered. "She seems like a very nice person."

"Sometimes," Sebastian murmured.

"What were the two of you talking about?" Quinn asked curiously, figuring that his chances of getting an honest answer were fairly low.

"What was it you said? Some things a gentleman keeps to himself?" Sebastian laughed at Quinn's frown. "Not as fun in the reverse? Well, I know what your plan is, Quinton, and you will not find Lawrence's killer in that house."

Quinn paused. How would Sebastian know that? Unless he could truly read minds—or perhaps he was the one behind Lawrence's death. Quinn was reluctant to believe it, but it was completely possible, especially considering Sebastian's manner, that aura of creepy mystery. "How do you know that? Do you know who killed him?"
Did you kill him?

"I know many a thing, young Quinton. You do not wish to share in my knowledge." For a moment, he seemed to loom over Quinn, beautiful and terrifying all at once and his eyes were again full of mist. Quinn's breath caught in his throat.

"I'm not afraid of you," And it was true: he was not afraid. There was a fluttering in his stomach that had started his heart beating faster. It felt like fear, but without the lingering bitterness that fear usually held.

Sebastian pulled back with an inquisitive look, and suddenly Quinn could breathe again. "Oddly enough, I believe that." The worst part was realizing that it had never really been fear all along. His heart was beating faster and his skin tingled where Sebastian touched against him.