“Ah, Miss Ames. How nice to see you again.”
“Allow me to introduce my friends from London,” Evangeline said. She made the round of introductions quickly. “They are interested in guidebooks to the antiquities.”
“Yes, of course, I have an excellent selection of books and maps as well.” Irene plucked her glasses off her nose and inserted them into the silver chatelaine case at her waist. “Let me show you.”
She swept out from behind the counter and crossed the room to a bookcase. She pulled one of the volumes off the shelf.
“This is Samuel Higgins’s History of Roman Antiquities in the Vicinity of Little Dixby. I believe it to be one of the finest accounts of the local ruins.”
“I would like to examine it, if I may,” Beatrice said.
“Yes, of course.” Irene gave her the book and reached for another volume.
Clarissa pushed her eyeglasses higher on her nose and studied Irene’s chatelaine. “That is a very elegant spectacles case. I have been looking for one of my own. So handy to have one’s eyeglasses close at hand. Do you mind if I ask where you purchased it?”
“My spectacles case?” Irene touched the silver case at her waist. She smiled. “Thank you. It is new. I lost my old one some time back. I was quite pleased when I discovered this one in a shop in London recently. I will write down the name of the establishment before you leave.”
Clarissa brightened. “I would appreciate it. My friends tell me that I am rather dull and boring when it comes to matters of fashion. I am determined to become more stylish.”
Beatrice raised her eyes to the ceiling. “For heaven’s sake, Clarissa, Evie and I never called you dull and boring, did we, Evie?”
“Not once,” Evangeline declared.
“I regret to inform you that telling me that I dress as if I were an instructor in a girls’ boarding school is the same thing,” Clarissa said.
Half an hour later, their purchases secured in brown paper and string, the three crossed the street to the tea shop.
Evangeline waited until the pot of Assam and a small plate of insipid-looking tea sandwiches had been set on the table before she looked at Clarissa.
“Do Beatrice and I really imply that you are somewhat staid in your dress?” she asked gently.
“‘Dowdy’ might be the more appropriate word,” Clarissa said. She helped herself to a tiny sandwich. “But it’s all right. You are my friends and I forgive you.”
Beatrice bit her lip. “Truly, we never meant to make you feel unfashionable. It is just that there are times when Evie and I feel you might enjoy dressing in a more cheerful manner. It is bad enough that the three of us must dress as hired companions when we are working. There is no reason to go about in such attire the rest of the time. It is not good for the spirits.”
Clarissa wrinkled her brow. “My spirits are fine, thank you.”
Evangeline picked up her cup. “If that is so, why did you inquire about Miss Witton’s pretty spectacles chatelaine?”
Clarissa munched her sandwich and swallowed. “I was merely curious. It is a very stylish case, don’t you think?”
Evangeline exchanged a knowing look with Beatrice and was very sure they were both thinking the same thing. Clarissa’s birthday was coming up next month. A lovely silver spectacles chatelaine would make the perfect gift.
Seven
That’s it?” Clarissa said. Incredulous sympathy rang in her words. “That is all there is to do here in Little Dixby? Tour a few ruins, have tea and a few tasteless sandwiches and stop in a bookshop?”
“I’m afraid so,” Evangeline said. “The most interesting sites around here are locked away behind the walls of Crystal Gardens.”
They were walking back to Fern Gate Cottage. It was only four-thirty and there were hours of summer sunlight left in the day. But the shadows in the narrow lane through the dense woods were already long and dark. There was no more need for the parasols. Evangeline closed hers. Beatrice and Clarissa did the same.
“However have you managed to survive for the past two weeks?” Beatrice asked. “No wonder you have been bored to tears.”
“I certainly was until last night,” Evangeline said.
Clarissa made a tut-tutting sound. “Nothing like being attacked by someone who wants to slit one’s throat to save one from succumbing to acute ennui, I always say.”
Evangeline was about to respond but a shiver of awareness raised the hair on her nape. Instinctively she looked down the lane and saw Lucas Sebastian walking toward them. She stopped.
Beatrice and Clarissa halted beside her. They all watched Lucas. He was dressed for a country walk in an informal coat, trousers and boots. His head was bare. He moved through the shadows in near silence.
“Let me hazard a guess,” Beatrice whispered. “Would this by any chance be Mr. Sebastian?”
“Yes,” Evangeline said just as softly. She felt energy shiver in the atmosphere and knew that her friends had slipped into their other senses.
Clarissa became very serious. “Oh, my. You were right when you said that he possesses a great deal of psychical talent. I can see it in his aura, even from this distance. Very dark. Very powerful. He could, indeed, be very dangerous, Evangeline. You must be careful.”
Beatrice’s fey eyes widened slightly.
“No,” Beatrice said. “Evie will be safe with him.”
Clarissa glanced at her. “Are you certain?”
“I’m sure of it,” Beatrice said.
“I agree that he is unlikely to do her any physical harm,” Clarissa said. “The energy of his aura does not show any taint of the murky light that one sees in men who abuse those who are weaker than themselves. But we all know that there are other ways a woman can be hurt. When it comes to matters of the heart, a woman must always be on guard.”
“Matters of the heart?” Evangeline yelped, outraged. “Have you gone mad? There are no matters of the heart involved here. Someone tried to murder me last night. I assure you that had nothing to do with my heart. Believe it or not, discovering who would want to do such a thing is my chief concern.”
“Yes, of course,” Beatrice said.
This time she actually did reach out one gloved hand and pat Evangeline—not on the head, but on the arm. Evangeline sighed and reminded herself that her friends meant well.
“Under the circumstances, I am hardly likely to lose my heart to Mr. Sebastian,” she said very quietly. “And even if I were so foolish as to do such a thing, I am quite sure he would return it immediately.”
“Mmm,” Beatrice said. But she was still watching Lucas and she did not look convinced.
There was no more time to try to correct the wrong impression, Evangeline realized. Lucas was almost upon them. Hastily she summoned up a smile.
“Mr. Sebastian,” she said. “How nice to see you again. Allow me to present my friends, Miss Slate and Miss Lockwood. I have told them of the events of last night.”
Lucas stopped in front of them and inclined his head. “Miss Ames. Ladies.”
“A pleasure, Mr. Sebastian,” Clarissa said.
“Mr. Sebastian,” Beatrice murmured politely.
Evangeline felt another shiver of energy in the atmosphere and knew that Beatrice and Clarissa were both taking a closer look at Lucas. She could tell by the glint of amusement in his eyes that he was aware of the psychical scrutiny. This is awkward, she thought.
Frantically she searched for a distraction. “What of the body, Mr. Sebastian?” She leaned down to unlatch the garden gate. “Were you able to recover it from the maze and examine it for clues?”
Lucas’s mouth kicked up at the corner. “Do you know, Miss Ames, no other lady of my acquaintance has ever begun a conversation with a question like that.”
“Pay no attention to Evie,” Beatrice said. “She is a writer. Their conversations can take very odd turns.”
“Yes, I’m discovering that,” Lucas said.
Evangeline flushed and pushed open
the gate. “Sorry, the question has been on my mind all day.”
“The other problem in dealing with writers,” Clarissa said in her most academic fashion, “is that they tend to view even the tiniest of incidents as grist for the mill, so to speak. They are always looking for inspiration for their plots and characters, you see. They collect such material the way some people collect stray bits of string.”
Lucas did not take his attention off Evangeline. “I appreciate the warning, Miss Slate.”
“That is quite enough,” Evangeline announced. She went briskly along the graveled path through the fern forest. “I am attempting to have a serious conversation with Mr. Sebastian. The least he can do is answer my questions.”
“The answer to your inquiries,” Lucas said, “is that I did find the body but I learned very little about Sharpy Hobson that we had not already guessed. He appears to have been a professional criminal who traveled here on the train from London. I found a couple of knives and a train ticket and a theater ticket stub. Hobson was evidently fond of melodramas.”
He stood politely aside, waiting for Clarissa and Beatrice to enter the garden. He followed them and paused to latch the gate.
“That’s all you were able to discover?” Evangeline asked.
“There was a large sum of money,” Lucas said. “The first half of his fee, I believe.”
Beatrice glanced back at him. “His fee?” Understanding dawned. “Oh, I see, for murdering Evie. Good heavens.”
Evangeline went up the steps. “How much am I worth, Mr. Sebastian?”
“A great deal, as it happens.” He told them exactly how much money he had discovered on the body.
Evangeline was shocked. “Good grief.”
“How odd that he would risk traveling with so much money,” Clarissa mused. “It sounds quite dangerous, what with all the thieves and pickpockets around at the train stations.”
“What else could he do with it?” Lucas asked. “He came from the criminal underworld, probably born and bred on the streets. He would not have trusted any of his associates and no legitimate bank would have accepted him as a customer. He likely concluded that his money was safer on his person than anywhere else. After all, he was Sharpy Hobson, a feared knifeman. Who would be so foolish as to try to steal from him?”
Beatrice was impressed. “You seem to have some familiarity with the criminal mind, Mr. Sebastian.”
“He has made a study of it,” Evangeline said, before Lucas could respond.
Clarissa’s eyes widened. “Really? How fascinating.”
Lucas was looking amused again, Evangeline noticed. That was probably not a good sign.
“Never mind Mr. Sebastian’s obvious expertise,” she said. “The point is that the money Hobson was carrying on his person appears to be another bit of evidence indicating that someone did indeed hire him to murder me.”
“There was never any doubt in my mind,” Lucas said mildly.
“Well, there was in mine,” Evangeline said. “I suppose it is still possible that this is a ghastly case of mistaken identity.”
“I don’t think so,” Lucas said.
She removed her key from her small chatelaine purse. “I just cannot imagine—”
The door opened before she could get her key into the lock. Molly Gillingham, the young daily maid, stood in the opening. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement. She darted quick glances at Lucas, while she greeted Evangeline.
“Welcome home, Miss Ames,” she said. Her accent was uncharacteristically formal.
“Thank you, Molly.” Evangeline waited. When Molly failed to step back, she smiled. “Perhaps you might remove yourself from the doorway?”
Molly turned red and hurriedly got out of the way. “Yes, right, I beg your pardon, Miss Ames.” She cast another quick glance at Lucas. “Will you be wanting tea, miss?”
It was on the tip of Evangeline’s tongue to inform Molly that she and Clarissa and Beatrice had just had tea in town but it occurred to her that Lucas presented a dilemma. There was nothing for it but to offer him tea.
“Please, Molly.” She untied the strings of her bonnet. “We will take it in the parlor.”
“Yes, Miss Ames.” Molly dipped an unpracticed curtsy and rushed off to the kitchen.
Evangeline waited while her friends removed their bonnets and gloves and then she waved Clarissa, Beatrice and Lucas into the parlor. “Please be seated, Mr. Sebastian. I’ll just go and have a word with Molly.”
She ushered the three into the small space, closed the door and went quickly into the kitchen. She found Molly bustling about in a state of great excitement.
“It’s Mr. Sebastian himself, right here in this very house,” Molly said, speaking in a loud whisper.
“Yes, I did notice.”
“Wait until I tell Ma and Pa that I served tea to the new owner of Crystal Gardens.”
“Try to contain yourself, Molly,” Evangeline said.
“They say in town that Mr. Sebastian is very likely as mad as his uncle but he doesn’t look the least bit deranged to me.”
“He certainly doesn’t look deranged to me, either,” Evangeline said briskly. “And I think it would be best if you did not pay any attention to such gossip.”
“No, miss.”
“I just wanted to make sure you could deal with tea for so many people.”
“Never fear, miss, I help my ma make breakfast and supper for my family, all ten of us, every day. During the harvest I’m in the kitchen with the other women cooking from dawn until dusk for the men in the fields. Tea for the four of you is nothing.”
It was clear Molly was thrilled at finding herself in such close proximity to the mysterious new owner of the old abbey. Evangeline did not have the heart to quash her enthusiasm. Pretty and rosy-cheeked, Molly was eighteen years old. She was an intelligent, irrepressible young woman who loved to read the serialized novels in the newspapers. When she had discovered that Evangeline was writing such a story, she had begged to be allowed to read the chapters being sent off in small batches to the publisher at the end of every week. Evangeline had been reluctant at first but in the end she had relented. Molly’s delight with each new scene in Winterscar had been gratifying.
It was a pity Molly was fated to marry one of the local farmers, Evangeline thought. Molly possessed a great curiosity about the world beyond the borders of the village where she had been born and raised. She talked often of saving her money for a trip to London. But Evangeline knew that the reality was that the girl was unlikely to travel any farther than the neighboring town to see a traveling circus or take in a fair. She would probably never get to London.
Molly’s future was not altogether dreadful, Evangeline reminded herself. There was, in fact, much to be said for life in a small, safe village, far removed from the dangers of London’s streets. But that life promised to be filled with a great deal of sunup-to-sundown work on a farm and very little in the way of mental stimulation. She sensed that sooner or later the endless routine and the drudgery would dampen even Molly’s bright spirits.
“Go on back to your guests, Miss Ames,” Molly said. “I’ll bring the tray in straightaway.” She used both hands to swing the heavy iron kettle onto the stove. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you that my uncle came by while you were out and fixed the lock on the kitchen door. Good as new now.”
Evangeline glanced at the new lock. It looked very sturdy. “Please tell your uncle that I am grateful.”
“It was no problem.” Molly opened a cupboard and began taking down cups and saucers. “He says it looks like someone broke the lock when you went out for an evening stroll. The burglar must have been scared off before he could steal anything.”
She had not gone for a stroll, Evangeline thought; she had been running for her life.
“Perhaps a dog barked,” she said, “or one of the neighbors went past in the lane and frightened him off.”
“None of the people who live around here are likely to drive al
ong the lane to Crystal Gardens at night,” Molly said. “Everyone thinks the woods are haunted. My uncle wanted me to tell you that he’s certain that none of the local lads would have done something terrible like kick in your door.”
“I never considered for a moment that it was someone from Little Dixby,” Evangeline said. And that, she thought, was nothing less than the truth.
“My uncle says it was probably one of the ruffians from that traveling circus over in Ryton. You know how it is with those circus folk. Everyone says you’ve got to keep an eye on them.”
When freshly washed clothes disappeared off the line or a tool went missing from a gardening shed, it was common practice in the countryside to blame the theft on the members of a traveling circus or carnival. It was certainly the simplest explanation in this case, but Evangeline was reluctant to let the innocent take the blame.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “At the time the break-in occurred the circus folk in Ryton would have been busy packing up for the move to the next town. No, I’m convinced that it was some villain from London who arrived on the train in search of criminal opportunities. Perhaps one who was recently obliged to leave the city to avoid the police.”
“Well, whatever the case, he’s long gone now.” Molly poured the hot water into a pot. “I’ll put some of my fresh tea cakes on the tray. A strong, healthy gentleman like Mr. Sebastian needs his food.”
Evangeline smiled. Obviously she was not the only female in the vicinity who had noticed that—speculation on the state of his mental health aside—Lucas was a strong, healthy male.
“Thank you, Molly.” She started to turn in the doorway.
Molly took the cover off the dish that held some dainty little cakes. “Oh, Miss Ames, I wanted to tell you that last night I stayed up late after Ma and Pa went to bed and finished the second chapter of Winterscar. It was very thrilling.”
Evangeline warmed with pleasure. “Thank you, Molly.”
“I can hardly wait to see what happens now that Patricia is trapped in an upstairs bedroom with that dreadful John Reynolds, who plans to compromise her so that she will be forced to marry him. The way you left the ending, it appears that Patricia’s only choice to save her honor is to jump out the window and break her neck on the rocks below the cliff.”