Shuttle nodded. “It was the same way for me.” "Do you remember seeing anyone outside in the gardens?” Delbridge asked.
“A couple of guests came out onto the terrace for a few minutes but it was too cold for what they had in mind so they went back inside,” Paddon offered.
“This is a waste of time,” Delbridge said. “Leave, both of you.”
Paddon and Shuttle exchanged glances.
“About our fees,” Shuttle said. His voice had lost its deferential edge.
“You’ll be paid, before you leave,” Delbridge assured him impatiently.
The two men stalked out of the kitchen. Delbridge waited until he could no longer hear the heavy thuds of their boots.
“Do you think that they were in on the theft?” he asked.
“Perhaps,” Hulsey said. “But I’m inclined to doubt it. Something about the calmness and speed with which they awakened just as dawn arrived makes me suspect another possibility.”
“What is that?”
“I wonder if they were put into an hypnotic trance.”
A chill shivered through Delbridge. “Mesmerism?”
“It would explain the condition in which we found them.”
“Which of the thieves was the hypnotist?” Delbridge said. “The man or the woman?”
“If I am right in concluding that the woman was the crystal worker, then it follows that her companion was the hypnotist. As I’m sure you are aware, when it comes to the truly powerful paranormal talents, individuals get only a single type. A person might be a crystal worker or a hypnotist but not both.”
“Whoever he is, he’ll be dead within hours.”
“Perhaps,” Hulsey said.
Delbridge did not care for the expression on Hulsey’s face. The scientist looked as if he were pondering other possibilities.
LANCING REPORTED BACK an hour later. He was soaked and not in a pleasant frame of mind.
“No body,” he said tersely.
“Damn it! Whoever he is, he cannot have escaped the effects of the vapor,” Delbridge insisted.
Lancing gave one of his annoyingly elegant shrugs. “Then you had best assume that the woman somehow managed to take him away in a carriage.”
“She would soon have found herself in the company of a violent madman,” Hulsey pointed out. “Unless—”
Delbridge and Lancing looked at him.
“Unless what?” Delbridge demanded.
Hulsey removed a cloth from his pocket and began to polish his spectacles. “Unless she knew how to save him from the hallucinations.”
“Impossible,” Delbridge said.
Hulsey put the spectacles back on his nose. Behind the lenses his eyes gleamed. “Interesting, actually.”
7
THADDEUS OPENED HIS EYES to the heavy gray light of a fog-bound day. For a moment he lay still, trying to orient himself. Nothing about the small room with its dingy green walls and grimy windowpanes was familiar.
From his position on the bed he could see his coat hanging on a wall peg. In one corner there was a rickety-looking washstand that stood next to a small, battered chest of drawers. The sheets on the bed did not smell fresh.
Memories returned in a rush: the fascinating woman with golden eyes, Delbridge’s poisoned vapor, the headlong flight in the private carriage, the knowledge that he would probably not survive the night, at least not with his sanity intact.
Leona. Last night her name had been a talisman.
He remembered the crystal aglow with moonlight and the compelling certainty in her voice. “I am going to walk through your dreams with you.”
He sat up slowly, pushing aside the ragged quilt. Cautiously he let himself recall the details of the struggle against the hellish world of dark fantasies that had threatened to engulf him. Mercifully the images were now no more than fading fragments, uncomfortably sharp in places, to be sure, but no worse than the memories of any other particularly vivid nightmare. He was no longer hallucinating.
The mysterious Leona had used the crystal to save him from descending into a hell from which he might never have returned.
Sorceress, he thought, smiling a little.
And he had repaid her by trying to force himself on her.
He stopped smiling. The shattering memory brought him to his feet. Perspiration dampened his brow. He had never before lost control the way he had last night. Never. The powers of self-mastery that he had perfected in order to deal with his hypnotic talents had served him well in all aspects of his life, including the realm of sexual desire. But last night the poison had induced in him a feverish lust that he had not been able to restrain.
Disgust swept through him. He had not even tried to control his ravenous hunger. In the grip of the hallucinations he had told himself that he had every right to take her. He had convinced himself that she was his true mate, the only woman he had ever encountered whose power matched his own. The only woman who had learned the secret of his talent and did not fear him.
Thankfully, her own talent had saved her from his predatory desire. She had managed to stop him. Nevertheless, the realization of how close he had come to hurting her sickened him. He would have to live with that knowledge for the rest of his life.
Glancing down he saw that he was fully dressed except for his boots. He found them under the bed next to a badly chipped chamber pot.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and put on the boots. Where in blazes was he? He forced himself to think.
After the session with the crystal he had been overcome by an irresistible exhaustion. He had partially awakened when the carriage had halted, but he had been too groggy to take note of his surroundings. Leona and her companion had half carried, half dragged him out of the vehicle and into a room. There had been an unlit fireplace. He remembered that much. Also a man and a woman who looked as if they had been summoned from their beds. And a narrow flight of wooden steps.
It was when he had found his arms draped across not one but two sets of delicate shoulders that he had finally understood that Leona was not the only female dressed in men’s clothes. Her friend, the coachman, was also a woman. What was the name she had used? Oh, yes, Adam.
He recalled what Adam had said as she and Leona hauled him through a doorway. “Mark my words, we’re going to regret this. Should have left him beside the road.”
You were right, Adam, he thought. Neither of you has seen the last of me.
A light, tentative knock on the door snapped him out of his brooding memories. It occurred to him that he had no notion of whom he might find standing in the hall outside.
He crossed the room to where his coat hung on the wall. He reached into one of the pockets without much optimism. There was an object inside, but it was not his gun. He pulled it out and saw that he was holding a lady’s rouge pot. He remembered picking it up off the floor near the body.
Another knock sounded on the door.
He tried a different pocket. This time he found the gun. When he removed the weapon he was further gratified to see that it was still loaded.
The gun was not the only thing inside the pocket. A brown-haired wig cut in a shaggy, unkempt masculine style was snagged around the barrel.
“Yes?” he called out.
“Cook thought ye might be awake and wanting some coffee and yer breakfast, sir.” The voice was that of a young person.
He dropped the wig back into the coat pocket. Keeping the gun out of sight alongside one leg, he opened the door a couple of inches. A girl of about twelve stood in the hall. She wore a neat white cap and an apron over a simple gray dress. There was a heavily laden tray in her hands. The smell of coffee and the sight of a plate heaped high with eggs, toast and kippered salmon made him realize how hungry he was.
“Thank you,” he said, opening the door wider. “Please set it on the table.”
“Yes, sir.”
The maid carried the tray into the room. When her back was turned he leaned out into the hall to make certai
n it was empty. Satisfied that no one lay in wait, he slipped the gun into the pocket of the coat.
The maid turned around and dropped a small curtsy.
“Will there be anything else, sir?”
He smiled at her. “Would you mind answering a few questions? I confess my recollection of my arrival last night is somewhat vague.”
“Aye, sir. Pa said you were as drunk as a lord. He had to help yer friend and his coachman take you up the stairs. Yer friend told him that when you woke up this morning you would probably be—” The girl paused, frowning a little in grave concentration. “—considerably confused. But he told Pa not to think for one moment that you were a lunatic. He said you were a very important person with friends in high places.”
In other words, the crystal worker had warned the innkeeper not to try to take advantage of him.
“She was right about my confusion,” he said mildly. “What is the address of this place?”
“Kilby Street, sir. Yer at the Blue Drake.”
That answered the most pressing question. The two women had left him at an inn located in a decent but none-too-prosperous London neighborhood.
“One more thing,” he said. “Did my friend happen to tell your pa where he and his coachman intended to go last night after they deposited me here?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so, sir.”
Of course not, he thought. The pair had not wanted to provide any clues. They had planned to disappear.
“Thank you for the breakfast tray,” he said. “It looks very appetizing.”
The girl beamed. “Yer welcome, sir. Yer friend said to be sure to feed you right and proper this morning as you’d had a very hard night. Paid for the food and the room in advance, he did. Tipped Pa handsomely into the bargain.”
That explained the overflowing plate on the tray.
“I don’t suppose my very good friend left a message for me?” he asked.
“No, sir. He just said to tell you that he said good-bye and wished you well. Then he drove away in the carriage.” The maid hesitated.
“What is it?” he prompted.
“Nothing important, sir. It is just that, well—”
“Well, what?”
She cleared her throat. “I heard Pa and Ma talking this morning. Pa said that yer friend seemed downcast when he left last night. Pa said you’d have thought that he was saying farewell forever, as if he never expected to see you again.”
“If that was the case, my friend was wrong.” He thought about the wig in his coat pocket. “We will most certainly meet again, just as soon as I can arrange it.”
8
YOU AND ADAM LEFT Mr. Ware asleep in an inn?” Behind the lenses of her gold-rimmed spectacles, Carolyn
Marrick’s expressive eyes narrowed with sharp disapproval. "That was extremely risky, don’t you think?”
“It is not as though we had a choice in the matter,” Leona said. She removed a small stack of chemises from a drawer and put them carefully into a trunk. “We could hardly toss him out of the carriage and leave him by the side of the road.”
Carolyn paused in her packing, looking quite blank. “Why ever not? That sounds as though it would have been an excellent way to get rid of him.”
“I will admit that Adam did suggest that approach to the problem,” Leona said. “I refused to go along with it. After all, he saved my life, Carolyn. What else could I do?”
The conversation was not going well. To ease her frustration, she paused on her way back to the chest of drawers to pat Fog. The big dog raised his head and grinned his wolfish smile.
It was early afternoon. The three of them were in Carolyn’s bedroom. Two large traveling trunks, one filled with books and notebooks, the other with neatly folded clothes, stood open. Carolyn was preparing to set out on her honeymoon trip. In the morning she would marry George Kettering, a dashing Egyptologist who shared her passion for antiquities.
Neither the bride nor the groom possessed any close family, and neither wished to wait a moment longer than necessary to set out for Egypt. The ceremony was to be a small, private affair with only Leona and a friend of the groom’s in attendance. The couple planned to leave on their journey directly afterward. It would be months before they returned, and when they did, Leona thought, things would not be the same.
She was thrilled for Carolyn, who literally glowed with love and excitement. Nevertheless, deep down, she had to squelch a pang of incipient loneliness. The truth was, she had never envisioned that her association with Carolyn would take this unexpected turn.
When they had met nearly two years ago, a pair of impoverished spinsters alone in the world, it had seemed that they were destined to become close friends, each dedicated to her career, sharing a house and an abiding, lifelong friendship. But all that had changed when Carolyn had met George, a widower with a passion for Egyptian antiquities that matched her own.
Tomorrow night, Leona thought, things would be different. In truth, things already were different. Not wanting to alarm Carolyn any more than necessary, she had not told her all of the details of the night’s adventure. Among other things, she had not mentioned the dead woman in the gallery. There was no point. Carolyn would have been horrified. The anxiety would likely have ruined her wedding day and the joy she felt as she embarked on her new life.
I’m keeping secrets again, Leona thought. I’m already back in the habit of being alone. Just like the old days after Uncle Edward left for America and never returned.
Enough of that nonsense. You are happy for Carolyn and you will not feel sorry for yourself. Remember Uncle Edward’s advice: Never waste time dwelling on the negative. Where is the logic in that? Concentrate on the positive. You have a career, a roof over your head and a faithful dog. What is more, you are not entirely bereft of friends. There is Adam Harrow.
Well, yes, but Adam’s first priority will always be Mr. Pierce.
What of it? You will make new friends.
Fog raised his head from his paws and looked at her intently with his fathomless eyes, his ears pricked. He was very sensitive to her moods. She reached down and gave him another pat, silently reassuring him.
“It seems to me you did more than enough when you saved Mr. Ware from the hallucinations brought on by that strange vapor,” Carolyn said, busy with her brushes and combs. “Adam was right. You should have gotten rid of him as soon as possible. Everyone knows that hypnotists can be extremely dangerous.”
Another secret, Leona thought. She had not told Carolyn that Ware’s mesmeric abilities were of a paranormal nature.
“I admit that there have been a great many lurid reports in the papers concerning the dangers of mesmerism and how the talent can be used for criminal purposes, but they are all based on wild speculation,” Leona said. “There is very little in the way of actual evidence.”
She hardly needed to defend the mysterious Mr. Ware, but for some murky reason she felt compelled to do so.
“I read an article just the other day about a young man who stole a pair of silver candlesticks while under the influence of a hypnotist,” Carolyn announced.
“Hypnosis sounds like a rather convenient excuse to pull out when one has been caught red-handed filching the silver.”
“There have been actual scientific demonstrations of how a hypnotist can persuade someone to commit a crime.”
“Most of those demonstrations took place on the Continent, primarily in France.” Leona took a straw bonnet out of the wardrobe and put it in one of the trunks. “Everyone knows the doctors there have been feuding about mesmerism for years. I do not think we need to take their so-called experiments seriously.”
“What about all the reports of women right here in London who were taken advantage of by hypnotists who claimed to be treating them for hysteria?” Carolyn shot back with an air of triumph. “Are you going to deny them, as well?”
Leona felt the heat rise in her cheeks as certain memories of the night returned in full
force. “Really, Carolyn, I fear you spend far too much time reading the sensation press. You know as well as I do that such reports are highly suspect.”
Carolyn raised her brows. “Some of those women treated for hysteria ended up pregnant.”
“There are other explanations besides hypnosis that can account for that condition.”
Carolyn pursed her lips, briefly defeated. “Well, yes, I suppose that’s true. Nevertheless, you will admit that hypnotists, in general, are not well regarded by the medical establishment.”
“Professional jealousy, no doubt.”
“Let’s be plain, here. You know nothing at all about this Mr. Ware except that he was after your crystal. That fact, alone, should have been sufficient to cause you to be extremely cautious.”
“Adam and I did take precautions. Trust me, there is no way that Mr. Ware can find me.”
“I would not depend on that, if I were you.” Carolyn paused in front of the dressing table and looked at Leona in the mirror. “Now, in addition to worrying about Lord Delbridge, you must anticipate the possibility that Ware may also come looking for you. I said from the start that your plan might well lead to disaster, did I not?”
“Yes, you did,” Leona agreed dryly. “And as I have mentioned on more than one occasion, your unwavering optimism has always been one of the things I admire most about you.”
Carolyn made a face. “You can hardly blame me for pointing out the pitfalls of your scheme. I am an archaeologist by training. I take note of even the smallest details. Not that Mr. Ware sounds like a small detail, mind you.”
Leona thought about the unyielding masculine strength she had felt when Thaddeus Ware had held her tightly against him. Definitely no small details there.
“Mmm,” she said aloud.
In the mirror Carolyn’s eyes narrowed. “I know why you wanted the crystal. But why do you think Mr. Ware wants it?”
“I don’t know. There was no time to discuss the matter.” But she had done a great deal of thinking about that very issue since leaving Ware at the inn. “I told you something of the crystal’s history.”
“You said that over the years it has been stolen many times, usually by someone connected to the secret society of eccentric paranormal researchers you mentioned.”