Evangeline did some brief calculations in her head. “Are you talking about the Courtesan Killer?”
“You remember the crimes?” Lucas frowned. “You would have been very young at the time.”
“I was thirteen or fourteen. The accounts in the papers left a very strong impression on me.”
“And on me, as well,” Lucas said grimly. “They caught my attention immediately because they did not fit the patterns I had learned on the streets. The predators I had been trained to hunt usually chose victims who would not be missed, at least not by respectable society. They take prostitutes, beggars and street urchins for the most part.”
“I see what you mean. These victims were prostitutes but they were very elegant prostitutes. Courtesans.”
“It was as if the killer was challenging those who moved in the better circles. Several gentlemen packed their mistresses off to the Continent for extended vacations. Others hired bodyguards. But most left the women to fend for themselves. I went to the scene of the first two murders and realized that there was a pattern. Before I could work it out, however, there was a third murder. I managed to get to the scene of the fourth crime while the woman was still alive.”
“I recall reading that the fourth courtesan survived and that the killer was found dead at the scene. The victim claimed that she had been saved by a stranger who happened to pass by and realized that she was in desperate straits. The stranger was never found. That was you, I assume?”
“It was all supposed to end somewhat differently. The killer had sensed that I was closing in on him. He planned to kill both the courtesan and me and leave evidence at the scene that would make it appear that I was guilty of the murders. But by then I knew the real identity of the killer. I arrived well before I was expected.”
“You saved the fourth woman and you dispatched the murderer. I have forgotten the name of the villain who perpetrated the Courtesan Murders but I do recall that he was a gentleman who moved in the highest circles of society.”
“Edward Cox,” Lucas said. “My mentor and teacher. The Master who taught me how to hunt and how to kill.”
Twenty-seven
Lucas stood over his desk, hands flattened on the large map of the abbey grounds that he had spread out and pondering the three odd marks that Chester had made. Something told him the marks were important but he could not see why. There were no notes.
Footsteps sounded in the hall. Two people, he concluded, a woman and a man. Both were almost running. He looked up as Beth and Tony arrived in the doorway.
Beth had one of Chester’s notebooks clutched in her hands. She was alight with excitement. Tony looked equally exhilarated.
“We think we may have found something of great importance in Uncle Chester’s last journal,” Beth announced.
Her enthusiasm brightened the atmosphere around her. No wonder she did not want to marry one of the dull, stiff-necked men who were courting her, Lucas thought. She needed someone who could appreciate her intelligence and her bright spirit.
“Come in, both of you,” Lucas said. “Tell me what you think you’ve discovered.”
“We found a reference to two of Uncle Chester’s colleagues who apparently visited him here at Crystal Gardens about a month before he died,” Beth said. She walked to the desk and put the notebook down on the map. “Unfortunately, Uncle identified them only by their initials, not complete names, but the initials of the given names fit with the names that you heard them call each other last night, H and B.”
“Horace and Burton,” Lucas said quietly. Energy crackled across his senses, arousing the hunter in him.
“Yes.” Tony came to stand next to Beth. He, too, was flushed and energized. “What is more, the last initial of each is the same, T.”
“Meaning they may share the same last name,” Lucas said. “They might be related.”
“Exactly,” Tony said. “It occurred to us that it may be possible to go through Uncle Chester’s correspondence and discover names that match the initials and, with luck, the addresses of the two men. It is obvious that Chester invited the pair here to the gardens. There ought to be some record, a letter or a telegram.”
“This is excellent news,” Lucas said. “Well done, both of you.”
Beth glowed. Tony grinned.
“Show me what you found,” Lucas said.
“The first references to HT and BT are in early June.” Beth opened the notebook to the place she had marked with a strip of paper and pointed to one of the handwritten entries. “Uncle Chester writes that he has invited the pair to view the results of his latest experiments. A few days later he says he received a telegram stating that the two men would arrive the following Friday. He mentions in passing that Mrs. Buckley was not pleased at the prospect of guests, but he adds that she has been in a bad temper for some time. He sounds irritated with her.”
Tony reached out to turn a few pages. “These notes are from the following week. HT and BT have arrived and are staying here in the house. Uncle Chester is very excited because the two guests have brought a new device that can be used to navigate the Night Garden. He says it looks rather like a small lantern and that it is powered by a crystal.”
They all looked at the small brass-and-glass lantern that was sitting on a nearby table.
“Son of a—” Lucas began. He remembered that Beth was standing right in front of him and stopped abruptly. “That certainly gives us at least a partial answer to one of the questions we are dealing with. You’re right, the next step is to identify HT and BT.”
“If you have no objection Beth and I will start going through Uncle Chester’s correspondence immediately. We have a good notion as to the dates. Shouldn’t take long to find those names.”
“There is one problem with that plan,” Lucas said. “I have already gone through Chester’s correspondence, what little there is of it. He was too impatient to write letters, for the most part, and he rarely kept the few he received.”
Tony’s eager expression was instantly transformed into disappointment.
“Damnation,” he growled. “I was so certain we had found the answers.”
Beth was equally downcast. “I suppose we should have known that it wouldn’t be that simple.”
“We may have another option,” Lucas said. “Chester was a man of the modern age. When he did bother to communicate, it was generally by telegram. I suggest you go into town and have a chat with the telegraph operator. There should be records of telegrams sent and received by Chester. And while you’re there, talk to the train station manager and old Mayhew who operates the cab. Little Dixby gets a lot of visitors at this time of year but most come to tour the ruins in town. There were never many visitors here at the Gardens. Someone may remember something of note.”
Tony cheered instantly. “Should have thought of that myself.”
“We shall walk into town immediately,” Beth said. “With luck, we will have some answers within a few hours.”
They rushed out of the library before Lucas could respond. He went back to the desk and contemplated the map. He was still at it a short time later when he heard more footsteps. He smiled in anticipation just before Evangeline appeared.
“Molly tells me that Beth and Tony are on their way into town,” she said. “Did they discover something of interest?”
“They found two sets of initials in Chester’s last journal that could very well belong to the two men we encountered in the maze. They are going to ask a few questions at the train station and interview the telegraph operator.”
“That is very good news, indeed, but it may be unnecessary. Molly’s cousin, Norris, just arrived with word that the doctor was called out early this morning to attend a gentleman who was running a strange fever. Evidently the doctor returned home fearing the worst.”
Lucas came out from behind the desk and went swiftly toward the door. “Address?”
“A cottage on Willow Pond. According to Molly it is only about a mile from here i
f one takes the shortcut through the woods at the end of the lane.”
“Within walking distance,” Lucas said. The energy of the hunt whispered through him. “If they survived the energy storm, they might have made it back to the cottage.”
“I’m coming with you,” Evangeline said.
He paused in the doorway. “No. There is no telling what sort of reception we will get. If HT and BT are at the cottage, they may be armed.”
“It sounds like one of them may be dying,” Evangeline said. “If he is suffering from the same fever that you endured last night, you will need me.”
Twenty-eight
Horace was removing yet another fever-heated cloth from Burton’s hot brow when he heard the sharp, demanding raps on the front door. For a few seconds his spirits lifted. Perhaps the doctor had returned with some new medicine.
He dropped the cloth into the bowl on the dresser and rushed into the small parlor. He paused to peek through the curtains. When he saw Sebastian and the woman on the front step his heart nearly failed him. All was lost. There was no point trying to escape through the kitchen garden. He could not abandon Burton. The only hope was to bluff.
He opened the door. “Who would you be, sir, calling at such an hour?”
“Lucas Sebastian,” Lucas said. “This is my fiancée, Miss Ames. We met last night when you and your associate trespassed onto the grounds of Crystal Gardens.”
Horace fought to control his panic. “I have no notion of what you are talking about. There’s a sick man in this house. He might very well be contagious.”
“He’s still alive, then?” Miss Ames asked quickly. “I might be able to help him.”
Horace squinted at her through his spectacles. “The doctor has already been here. He said there was nothing to be done.”
“We believe your associate is afflicted with a fever of the paranormal senses. It is unlikely the doctor has ever encountered such an illness.”
“And you have, Miss Ames?”
“Yes,” she said. “I have. Just last night, in fact. Mr. Sebastian suffered a similar fever shortly after the energy storm in the maze. As you can see, he is very much alive and in excellent health today.”
“Because of you?” Horace asked. Suspicion warred with desperation.
“Miss Ames saved my senses last night,” Sebastian said. “Where is the harm in letting her examine your associate?”
“He’s not my associate,” Horace said. “He’s my brother.”
Miss Ames whisked up her skirts and moved through the doorway. “Where is he?”
In spite of his panic, habit took over. Horace fell back, allowing her to sweep past him into the shadowed parlor. Sebastian crossed the threshold in her wake. Aware that he had lost the small battle, Horace closed the door.
“Burton is in the bedroom,” he said.
But he was speaking to Miss Ames’s back. She was already moving through the bedroom doorway.
Sebastian glanced briefly into the room. Evidently satisfied that Miss Ames was not in danger from Burton, he turned around and regarded Horace with flat, cold eyes.
“You and I are going to talk while Miss Ames determines if there is anything she can do for your brother,” Sebastian said.
“I d-don’t understand,” Horace stammered. “My brother and I came to Little Dixby to sketch the ruins.”
He knew he sounded weak and insincere. He had never been much good at lying. But there was an aura of menace around Sebastian that was quite terrifying. Indeed, the ominous energy saturated the atmosphere in the parlor. Sebastian’s eyes appeared to be glowing a little. Like the eyes of a demon, Horace thought. He was a scientist, a modern thinker, but he had never been more frightened in his life. Burton could not protect him today.
Sebastian did not even bother to dismiss the flimsy explanation. “I assume you murdered my uncle because he would not allow you and your brother to search for the Roman gold said to be buried somewhere in the Night Garden.”
“Murder?” Horace stopped breathing for a few beats. “See here, I swear we did not murder Chester Sebastian. It is well known that he died from the effects of some toxic plant in his gardens.”
“That may be a popular theory here in Little Dixby, but I am convinced that he was the victim of foul play. I suspect you also killed his housekeeper, presumably because she could identify you.”
“No, please, I swear. Burton and I haven’t killed anyone.”
“You and your brother visited my uncle last month, shortly before his death.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“There is a record of your stay in his last journal.”
“His journal,” Horace repeated dully. “Yes, of course.”
“You brought with you a lantern powered by a crystal,” Sebastian continued relentlessly. “The device allowed you to navigate the maze and, presumably, the inner garden. It also functions as a weapon. You will be relieved to know that my man, Stone, survived it, by the way.”
Sebastian knew everything. Horace felt the floor starting to dissolve beneath his feet. A great black hole yawned beneath him. There was no point trying to prevaricate. The devil had come to drag him down into hell. He was shaking so badly he could no longer stand. He collapsed onto the nearest chair.
“The lantern was never intended as a weapon,” he said. “The crystal can be used to generate a beam that allows one to find one’s way in places where there is a great deal of energy clouding the senses. We hoped it could be used to locate the gold in the ground. But I realized soon after I perfected it that it could also focus a beam that would temporarily freeze all the senses, normal and paranormal. The result is a period of unconsciousness.”
“Last night when your brother used it at full power in the maze, it triggered an energy storm.”
“We had no idea it would do that,” Horace said. “You must believe me. Burton intended only to render you unconscious. It’s that bloody damn treasure, you see. He is obsessed with finding it.”
“Obsession can drive a man to commit murder.”
A great weariness came over Horace. Sebastian was about to have him arrested for murder and Burton was dying. There was no hope left.
“No, Mr. Sebastian,” he said. “We did not kill your uncle.”
“Why did you go after the treasure you believe to be in the Night Garden? There are Roman hoards buried all across England, just as there are ruins scattered about. Wealthy Romans often buried chests containing their valuables in the ground when they were forced to flee attackers or when they had to leave their estates for some reason.”
“Yes, but they rarely left maps, you see. And the odds against accidentally stumbling over a chest of gold buried in a farmer’s field centuries ago are slim, to say the least. But the legend of the gold on the grounds of the old abbey is much more specific. Burton’s research indicates that the hoard is in the Night Garden. He believed that with our talent and with the aid of the crystal device, we would have an excellent chance of locating it.”
“You knew the gardens are dangerous.”
“Of course.” Horace sighed. “I also reminded Burton that Chester Sebastian had been conducting his experiments at Crystal Gardens for decades and that if there were a treasure to be found, he would have discovered it. But my brother can be quite fixated on a goal.”
“Neither of you is a botanist, I take it?”
“No, but we do have a great interest in the paranormal, so it was not difficult to coax your uncle into inviting us to visit the Gardens.”
“He was always eager to talk to others who took his work seriously, but he was cautious,” Sebastian said. “Some of his colleagues were opposed to his research. Others wanted to steal specimens, even though he warned them that none of the plants would survive long if removed from the source of the waters.”
“We called on Chester and showed him my little lantern. He was very excited and agreed to conduct an experiment inside the maze. He said it was becoming increa
singly difficult to get through it, even with his talent. He was convinced that the energy in the gardens was growing stronger.”
“He was right.”
“He gave us a tour of the grounds. Burton concluded that the lantern worked. We thanked your uncle and departed to make our plans. The next thing we know, Chester Sebastian was dead. We assumed that would give us plenty of time to explore the grounds in a logical fashion. We rented this cottage and began preparations. Then you arrived. Burton feared you intended to settle in at Crystal Gardens. He became desperate.” Horace spread his hands. “You know the rest.”
Miss Ames appeared in the doorway. “Your brother is resting comfortably. The fever has abated.”
Horace shot to his feet, hardly daring to hope. “Burton will survive?”
“I believe he will recover, although there may be some permanent damage to his senses due to the duration of the crisis. I cannot say one way or the other because I have not had a great deal of experience with this sort of thing.”
Horace hurried to the doorway and looked into the bedroom. Burton was sleeping peacefully. It was clear, even from a few feet away, that he was no longer wracked with the paranormal fever.
“I do not know how to thank you, Miss Ames,” Horace said.
“You can do so by answering Mr. Sebastian’s questions,” she said.
“I have answered them all.” He looked at Sebastian. “I give you my word there is nothing left to tell you. All we wanted was the treasure. We did not intend to hurt anyone and I swear we did not murder your uncle.”
“What of the housekeeper? Do you know what happened to her?”
“No, I never paid much attention to her. She seemed a sullen sort.” Horace pushed his spectacles higher on his nose. “Do you intend to have Burton and me arrested?”