“So your friend at the Yard asked you to look into the matter?”
“Yes. I broke into Bancroft’s library and found his journals. He had very carefully recorded the details of what he called his conquests. He did not bother to list the prostitutes he had abused. But the names and descriptions of the women he considered respectable were all there. Over the years any number of governesses, hired companions and young women from families that had no social power had fallen victim to him.”
“You found Judith’s name on the list?”
“Yes.”
Evangeline made a small fist. “I am glad you were able to assure her that he died by violent means.”
Lucas raised his brows. “That sounds a bit bloodthirsty, Miss Ames.”
“Yes, it does, doesn’t it? It was the fact that there was no justice for her all those years ago, to say nothing of the trauma she experienced and the price she paid that has been the real source of her inner turmoil all along, not you and your talent. She fixed on you as the source of her fear because she sensed that you knew her most closely held secret.”
Lucas set the letter opener down with great care. “I did not tell her everything about Bancroft’s death.”
“You told her enough. The important thing for Judith is that Bancroft paid for what he did to her. There was no need to tell her that you are the one who was responsible for his death.”
Lucas stilled. “You guessed that, as well?”
“I know you. I know what you would have done after you found Judith’s name on the list.”
“I made sure that Bancroft understood at the end exactly why he was going to die. He had some difficulty grasping the fact that I would kill him because of what he had done to a woman years earlier.”
Evangeline walked to Lucas and put her arms around him. “You explained things to Bancroft, I trust?”
Lucas folded her close against his heart. “I told him that he had committed a crime against my family and that he was going to pay the price.”
“Of course,” Evangeline said.
Thirty-eight
The dark, seething energy struck Beatrice’s senses like a wave of icy water. She caught her breath and stopped just inside the front hall of the town house. She stared at the foot of the stairs.
“Clarissa,” she said. Shock tightened her voice to a mere whisper.
“What is it?” Clarissa closed the front door of the town house and looked at her. “You sense something? What’s wrong?”
“He was here.” Beatrice turned quickly to face her. “Right here in our house.”
“Who was here?”
“The actor, Garrett Willoughby. This is the same energy I sensed in his dressing room not more than an hour ago.”
The old man sweeping the floor of the theater had demanded a sizable bribe in exchange for allowing them into Willoughby’s dressing room, but Mrs. Fitch and Mrs. Marsh had made it clear that money was no object in the investigation.
“He must have been watching this house,” Clarissa said. “He would have seen our housekeeper leave to visit her sister earlier this morning. He waited until we left and then he broke in.”
Rage and panic arced through Beatrice, bringing back memories of her dreadful time in Dr. Fleming’s Academy of the Occult. She suppressed the past with an effort of will and forced herself to stay focused on the immediate threat.
“He was searching this place while we were asking after him at the theater this morning,” she said.
“So much for the story that he sailed for America in search of new opportunities,” Clarissa said. “But what did he hope to find here? He obviously knows that Evangeline is in Little Dixby. He sent Hobson there to murder her at the cottage.”
“He must have hoped to find something he could use against Evangeline.”
“But what could that be?”
“I don’t know,” Beatrice said. “But we must find out.”
A great sense of urgency was beating at her. She whirled around, grasped handfuls of her skirts and flew up the staircase. Clarissa followed her.
“For heaven’s sake, have a care,” Clarissa said. “He may still be in the house.”
Beatrice elevated her senses and shook her head. “No, he is gone now.”
They stopped on the landing and looked down the hallway. Beatrice saw the telltale traces of energy on the doorknobs.
“He was searching for Evangeline’s room,” she said. “He found it. He left the door open.”
They walked quickly to the open door and looked into the bedroom. There was no sign that anything had been disturbed. The bed was still neatly made. The wardrobe and the drawers in the small writing desk were closed.
“He was here,” Beatrice said. “I can sense it. He searched this room, I think, but what was he looking for? What did he find?”
“He was looking for her secrets,” Clarissa said.
Beatrice did not question that assessment. Clarissa knew more than most people did about secrets and how they could be used against a woman. She had, after all, been obliged to invent a new life, indeed an entire new identity, for herself.
“Well, he would not have found Evie’s greatest secrets,” Beatrice said. Relief cascaded through her. “I’m sure she was not so foolish as to set them down in her journal. In any event, she took her journal with her.”
Clarissa walked to the desk and started opening drawers. She stopped when she saw Evangeline’s small, neatly organized file of correspondence.
“He found something useful here,” she said.
“But Evie has very few correspondents.” Beatrice hurried across the room. “She has no family or friends, except us.”
“That does not mean that she doesn’t send and receive letters.” Clarissa reached into the file and plucked out a small handful of papers. She spread them out on the desk. “Here is her correspondence dealing with the rental of the cottage in Little Dixby, for example. There is also a note from her dressmaker informing her that her new gown is finished and ready to be delivered.”
Beatrice flipped through some more papers. “I remember this note from the bookshop in Oxford Street letting her know that the new novel she requested had arrived.”
There were several more letters of a similar nature but Beatrice knew when they found the correspondence that mattered. The dark currents of energy seething on the pages were unmistakable. Clarissa sensed it at the same time.
“This is what he needed,” she said. “He found her vulnerable spot.”
“He chose his part well,” Beatrice said grimly.
Clarissa looked at the papers in Beatrice’s hands. “We must send a telegram to Evie at once.”
Thirty-nine
Evangeline was in her bedroom, working on the next cliff-hanger ending and taking advantage of the peaceful atmosphere of the nearly empty house. Lucas, Stone, Beth and Tony were at work in the gardens, using Chester’s map to identify the locations of the three crystals.
Quick footsteps sounded in the hall. Molly appeared in the doorway. She was alight with excitement.
“There’s a Mr. Guthrie to see you, Miss Ames.”
“Guthrie? My publisher?” Evangeline put down her pen, unable to believe her ears. She felt a sudden fluttering sensation in her stomach. “He’s here? In this house?”
“Yes, yes, that’s him.” Evangeline sprang to her feet. “He said he is staying at one of the inns in town. Asked if you got his telegram advising you of his arrival.”
“No, indeed, I did not.”
“I expect Mr. Applewhite’s bicycle broke down again.”
“Did Mr. Mayhew bring him from town in his cab?”
“No, miss, I expect Mr. Guthrie walked.”
“Never mind. The important thing is that Mr. Guthrie is here. Let me think, we can’t put him in the library. Those vines on the windows make most people nervous. Please show him into the parlor. It’s on the sunny side of the house.”
“Yes, miss. You’ll be wanting te
a?”
“Yes, yes, of course, and some of your wonderful little cakes, as well. Perhaps I can persuade him to stay for dinner. No, wait, that might not be such a good idea. He would have to be driven home through the woods and that forest can be unnerving after dark.”
Molly stepped back into the hall. “I’ll go prepare the tea tray.”
“Thank you, Molly.”
Evangeline hesitated in front of the wardrobe. She was wearing one of her more comfortable day dresses, a simple, dark blue gown. There was no elaborate draping and only one petticoat. The urge to change into a more fashionable gown was overwhelming but she dared not keep Guthrie waiting.
She contented herself with repinning a few stray strands of hair and fluffing up the scarf she had used to fill in the neckline of the gown. Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she went out into the hall and down the stairs.
A moment later she swept through the parlor doorway and paused. The man standing at the window had his back to her. His hair was gray and his coat was cut in the staid, conservative fashion that one expected middle-aged gentlemen to wear. He gripped a walking stick in one hand.
A whisper of intuition aroused her senses. There was something wrong with Guthrie’s hair. She was suddenly quite sure that he was wearing a wig. He certainly would not be the first bald-headed man to do so, she thought. Men were entitled to their small vanities.
But the obvious explanation did not satisfy her intuition. She suppressed her unease and summoned a welcoming smile.
“Mr. Guthrie,” she said. “How kind of you to call. I’m so sorry I did not receive your telegram. But fortunately you found me at home today.”
“It is fortunate, indeed, Miss Ames.” Guthrie turned around. “You have already put me to a great deal of trouble. I would not have been pleased if you had made things even more difficult.”
Evangeline’s insides went ice-cold. Now she could see Guthrie’s right hand. It was that of a man who was nowhere near middle-aged and there was a pistol in it. The initial shock stole her breath for a few seconds.
“You are not Mr. Guthrie,” she said. “I should have paid attention to what my senses were trying to tell me.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about but, no, I’m not your publisher. My name is—”
“Garrett Willoughby, Douglas Mason’s brother.”
Garrett’s eyes hardened. “I’m impressed, Miss Ames. You’re very quick, aren’t you? My brother did say that you are far too smart for your own good.”
“People are searching for you.”
“Yes, I know.” Garrett pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket. “This was intended for you. It is from a Miss Slate advising you that she and her friend do not believe that I am on my way to America in search of new theatrical opportunities. They suspect that I may, in fact, be on the train to Little Dixby and that I am disguised as your publisher. She was right. When I found the letters from Guthrie and the contract in your desk drawer, I knew that he was the one person you would see without question.”
“How did you intercept the telegram?”
“I was concerned that there would be some in London who would not believe that I had sailed for America. I took the precaution of calling in at the local telegraph office on my way here this afternoon to inquire about messages for a visitor who was staying at Crystal Gardens. When I discovered that one had just come in, I offered to deliver it as I was on my way out here.” He motioned toward the door with the gun. “We are leaving now.”
Evangeline edged back out into the hall. “You cannot possibly hope to escape. Lucas Sebastian will hunt you down.”
“You are wrong, Miss Ames. Sebastian is a soft, pampered man of the upper classes. I cut my teeth on the streets of London robbing men who were far more dangerous than he could ever imagine.”
“You don’t know him very well, do you?”
“Never met the man and I hope to keep it that way. But just to be sure, I rented a horse and a small, closed carriage from the livery stable in town. It is waiting just out of sight down the lane. You and I are going to take a short journey. Short for you, I should say. Move, you murderous bitch.”
Evangeline edged out into the hall. The silence of the big house seethed around her. Garrett prodded her toward the front door.
“Outside,” he ordered. “If you scream, you will die here and now.”
She opened the front door and moved out onto the step. “You are being very foolish, Mr. Willoughby. If you had any sense, you would run for your life while you can.”
“Don’t waste your breath trying to frighten me.” Garrett followed her outside and closed the door. He motioned with the gun again. “Quickly now, into the trees at the edge of the drive.”
Evangeline walked into the thick woods that bordered the cobblestone drive. Garrett was directly behind her. The woods closed around them, cutting off much of the view of the big house.
“Where do you intend to take me?” she asked quietly.
“Somewhere private. With luck it will take Sebastian and the others days to find your body in this forest, if they ever find it at all. By then I will, indeed, be on my way to America.”
“Why should I walk another step?”
“For the same reason that so many prisoners walk obediently to their doom. As long as you are alive you have some faint, flickering hope of escape or of being able to plead for your life. And as it happens, I do have some questions for you.”
“You want to know how your brother died, don’t you? You don’t really believe that he fell down those stairs but you don’t understand how I could have overcome him.”
“I know bloody well he didn’t fall and break his neck.” Garrett’s voice shivered with the force of his fury. “He went there that day to kill you. He was enraged because you had ruined the scheme to marry the Rutherford heiress. He told me that it was your fault that he was exposed as a fraud. He said that it was as if you were haunting him.”
“Oddly enough I thought he was the one haunting me. I could scarcely believe my eyes when I saw him that first day on the Rutherford case. I know he did not recognize me. When did he realize who I was?”
“He watched Lady Rutherford’s house for a time after his proposal had been rejected. He wanted to know how the old lady had discovered that he was a fraud. When he saw you leave with your suitcase in hand, he became suspicious. He said you no longer walked or acted like a hired companion. There was something familiar about you, he said.”
“He followed me back to the agency.”
“When you emerged without your wig and spectacles, he recognized you instantly.”
Evangeline saw the horse and a small carriage through the trees.
“So he set his trap,” she said.
“What did you do to my brother that day?”
“Why should I tell you?” Evangeline stopped and turned around. “As soon as I answer your question you will kill me.”
“Not here, not unless you make it necessary.” Garrett smiled. “Who knows? Perhaps if you answer my questions, I’ll give you a sporting chance. Let you make a run for it.”
“I doubt it.”
Garrett’s eyes flashed with rage. “Get into the carriage.”
“No,” Evangeline said.
Garrett raised the pistol as though to strike her with the handle. “You’ll do as you’re damn well told, you murdering little bitch, or you will suffer a great deal before you die.”
Dark energy howled through the woods. The horse flung its head in panic and lurched forward, dragging the carriage down the lane.
“What is that?” Shocked, Garrett spun around in a circle, searching for the source of the nightmarish energy. “What is happening?”
“This is the end of the hunt for you,” Evangeline said.
Garrett froze when he saw Lucas a short distance away, moving through the trees toward him. There was a shiver of movement in the undergrowth on the right. Stone materialized.
“On
e thing is for certain,” Lucas said. His eyes burned with icy fire. “I am not in a sporting mood.”
“Bastard.” Garrett grabbed Evangeline as she attempted to move out of reach. He wrapped his arm around her throat and dragged her back against his chest. “Where did you come from?”
“Let her go,” Lucas said quietly.
“Stop whatever it is that you’re doing to me or I’ll kill her now, I swear it.”
Lucas looked at Evangeline. “Are you all right?”
“I will be soon,” she said.
She had the physical contact she needed. She clutched Garrett’s arm with both hands and sought the strongest currents of his aura, his life force. Cautiously she started to dampen them. She had learned from the experience of healing Lucas, she reminded herself. She did not have to kill Garrett in order to stop him. All she had to do was render him unconscious.
“W-what’s happening to me?” Garrett tightened his hold on Evangeline.
“It’s the energy of this place,” Lucas said. “Haven’t you heard the local legends? These woods are dangerous. Some say they’re haunted.”
“No,” Garrett choked. He reeled away from Evangeline.
When she lost contact with him she lost her ability to manipulate his aura. But Lucas took control. More waves of fierce energy swelled in the atmosphere.
Garrett staggered, clawed at horrors only he could see and frantically tried to aim the pistol at Evangeline.
“This is your fault,” he gasped. “All of it. Your fault.”
“Get away from him, Evangeline,” Lucas said quietly.
She was already moving well beyond Garrett’s reach. But he was no longer paying any attention to her. He was lost in the storm of nightmares that had engulfed him. Horror replaced the rage in his eyes.
He put the pistol to his temple and pulled the trigger.