Crystal Gardens

  “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.

  Four

  Lucas 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 i
f 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.

  This time he did not raise his talent. He did not dare. He knew what he would find, knew what it would do to his senses. He could not afford to lose his control, not now, not with Evangeline only a few steps away. He could not risk letting her see that side of him.

  Besides, the bastard was dead.

  Lucas stayed very still for another heartbeat or two, one fist locked around the edge of the door. When he was certain that he was in full command of himself he turned back toward the kitchen.

  He did not question his reaction to the scene in the bedroom but he was more than a little surprised by the fierceness of it. He had, after all, known what to expect. After Evangeline’s description of the attack, he’d had a very good idea of what he would see at the scene. The important thing to keep in mind was that she was unhurt. She was safe, at least for the moment. That was all that mattered.

  Still, the intensity of his reaction was unsettling. It was not as if he had not encountered other far more horrific crime scenes. But for some reason the graphic evidence of the attack on Evangeline had slammed through all his carefully erected psychical barriers and struck him at his core. He barely knew the woman and yet here he was reacting as if the two of them were intimately connected, as if she belonged to him. As if it was his right to protect her. One thing was certain: From now on he intended to do a better job of taking care of her.

  He turned away from the bedroom and went back down the hall to the kitchen. Evangeline was waiting.

  “Satisfied?” she asked.

  “All is well,” Lucas said.

  “I was sure it would be,” she said. She gave him a sheepish smile. “Nevertheless it was kind of you to make certain.”

  “Try to get some sleep.”

  “An excellent notion. As I told you, my visitors from London arrive tomorrow. I shall be very busy entertaining them.”

  “I am glad to know that you will have company for the next couple of days,” he said.

  She searched his face in the glary light of the kitchen sconce. “You are concerned that whoever sent Hobson to kill me will make another attempt, aren’t you?”

  “Under the circumstances, I think we must assume that will be the case. However, I think we have some time before the person who commissioned your death makes his next move.”

  “Because he will not know immediately that Hobson failed?”

  “Right. And even after he realizes that his hired killer is not coming back for his pay, it will take time to concoct another plan. It is not as if one can just walk down to the street and find that sort of talent loitering about on the corner.”

  She looked amused. “That sort of talent?”

  He grimaced. “A poor choice of words. In addition to the difficulty of hiring a professional killer who is willing to travel to the country, the fact that you escaped the first attempt will make whoever is after you more careful the next time.”

  She tilted her head slightly and regarded him with acute attention. He could have sworn that her eyes heated a little, whether with interest, alarm or simple curiosity, he could not say.

  “No offense, sir,” she said, “but it strikes me that you seem to know a great deal about how this sort of business is conducted.”

  “One could say that the nature of my talent has compelled me to make something of a study of the criminal mind.” He stopped and then decided to tell her the rest. “Much to my family’s dismay, I occasionally consult for a detective inspector who is an old friend of mine at Scotland Yard.”

  “Your family does not approve?”

  He smiled. “I think the twins, my brother and sister, find it rather intriguing but their mother does not.”

  “Their mother? Not yours?”

  “Legally speaking, Judith is my stepmother. My mother died when I was fifteen. Judith has gone to great lengths to keep my work for the Yard a deep, dark family secret.”

  “I see. I must say, I agree with your brother and sister. Your consulting work sounds fascinating.”

  He thought about it. “I’m not sure ‘fascinating’ is the correct term to describe it. ‘Compelling’ comes closer.”

  A knowing look came and went in her eyes. “I understand. Something to do with the nature of your talent?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  It seemed to him that the atmosphere in the room was becoming more highly charged with each passing moment. He should be on his way, he thought. The longer he stayed here alone with her, the harder it would be to leave.

  “I’ll be going now,” he said.

  She slipped out of his coat and held it out to him. “Here, you mustn’t forget this.”

  He took the coat from her. Unable to think of an excuse to linger, he went out onto the step. He stopped, one foot on the second step, and looked back at her.

  “I suggest that you brace the door with one of the kitchen chairs for the rest of the night,” he said.

  “That is a very good idea. I’ll do that.”

  He waited until she closed the door. The scrape of wood chair legs on the floorboards and a soft thud told him that she had taken his advice on a makeshift lock.

  Satisfied, he shrugged into his coat. The garment was still warm from her body and carried her scent, a sweet, spicy, feminine perfume that was unique to Evangeline. The fragrance carried the essence of the woman and was somehow infused with her energy. He knew that he would never forget it.

  Five

  Stone was waiting for him in the kitchen. He had made a pot of coffee.

  “That smells very good,” Lucas said.

  “Reckoned you wouldn’t be bothering with sleep for a while yet,” Stone said. He poured coffee into two thick mugs. “Not with that body waiting for you in the maze.”

  “You’re right. I’ll have to find it before dawn if I want to examine it. Bodies don’t last long in the maze, or the Night Gardens, either, for that matter. To those plants, Sharpy Hobson is just so much fertilizer.”

  He sat down at the old kitchen table. Stone sat down across from him. They drank their coffee in a comfortable silence. They were employer and employee but they were also friends who had saved each other’s lives on more than one occasion. Stone was one of the very few people in the world whom Lucas trusted. But, then, Stone was one of the very few who knew Lucas’s secrets and was not nervous around him.

  “When you finish your coffee I want you to go down to the cottage and keep an eye on it until morning,” Lucas said after a while. “I’m sure there is nothing to be concerned about tonight but I want Miss Ames to have some peace of mind. She has been through an ordeal.”

  “I’ll watch her for you.” Stone put down his mug and got to his feet. “Are you sure you won’t be needing any help with the body?”

  “No. I’ll examine it but I don’t have much expectation of learning anything useful. Still, you never know.”

  “I’ll be off then.”

  Stone walked out of the kitchen and went down the hall. Lucas waited until he heard the side door open and close. Then he put down the mug, got to his feet and went outside.

  He walked across the terrace,
went down the steps and started along the narrow path framed by two towering, faintly luminous hedges. Bizarre flowers, unnatural in size and color, glowed in the night. Chester Sebastian had transformed Crystal Gardens into a living botanical laboratory. The results of the paranormal experiments he had performed over the decades had taken on a life of their own. In recent years, they had run dangerously out of control.

  It was no accident that the curious hybrids that Chester had developed flourished on the grounds. He had chosen the old abbey for his laboratory because of the paranormal aspects of the waters from the hot spring.

  Unlike the waters that had made the town of Bath a popular destination for both the Romans and modern-day visitors, the spring that fed Crystal Gardens had acquired a far more sinister reputation.

  The local townsfolk were not the only ones who were convinced that Chester had been killed by one of his own unnatural specimens. Most of the members of the Sebastian family believed that as well.

  It did not take long to find the body in the maze. Hobson had collapsed face up, his expression frozen in a mask of horror. A few creepers and vines were already starting to twine around the dead man’s legs and arms.

  Lucas pulled on a pair of leather gardening gloves and wrenched the body free from the tenacious grip of the creepers. It was not easy.

  He went quickly through Hobson’s clothing. There wasn’t much to find, a rather impressive amount of money, a couple of ticket stubs and two concealed knives. One of the tickets was for a cheap seat in a London theater where a melodrama titled Lady Easton’s Secret was playing. The train ticket indicated that Hobson had arrived in Little Dixby on the afternoon train that day. The timing fit with Evangeline’s estimate of when she started to feel that she was being watched.

  Lucas tucked the knives and the ticket stubs into the pocket of his coat, kicked the body back to the hungry plants and walked out of the maze.

  Six

  Beatrice Lockwood angled her fashionable frilled parasol against the warm afternoon sunlight.