Crystal Gardens (9 page)

“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 along 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.”

“Which would not be wise because it would conclude the story a bit too soon, don’t you think?”

“Yes, miss.” Molly dimpled. “I’m sure Patricia will find a way to escape the villain’s clutches without losing her virtue or breaking her neck.”

“I think it’s safe to say that you are right.”
Because John Reynolds is no longer the villain
, Evangeline added silently. “You may go home after you bring in the tea.”

Molly was crestfallen. “Are you sure, miss? I don’t mind staying for a while. You will want help washing up after Mr. Sebastian leaves.”

“I appreciate the offer but we’ll muddle along without you.”

“Yes, miss. Just so you’ll know, I should tell you that my brother, Ned, delivered the eggs, milk, butter and cheese you ordered. And I made a lovely salmon-and-leek pie for you and your London friends to eat tonight.”

“Your salmon and leek pie is the best I’ve ever eaten,” Evangeline said.

Molly’s smile held pride and satisfaction. “Thank you, miss. Just wait until I tell my ma that Mr. Sebastian called on you today.”

Evangeline wondered what Mrs. Gillingham would say if she knew that the only reason Lucas Sebastian was taking up space in the parlor was his tenant had been chased onto the grounds of Crystal Gardens sometime after two in the morning by a knife-wielding murderer. Then, again, those details would not cause nearly as much breathless gossip as the news that the tenant in question had arrived at the abbey attired only in her nightclothes. There were some things best left unexplained.

“Go along to the parlor, ma’am.” Molly motioned toward the door.
“You don’t want to keep a fine gentleman like Mr. Sebastian waiting. It’s a great honor to have him here for tea.”

“Thank you for reminding me of my duties as a hostess,” Evangeline said.

But the irony was lost on Molly, who was fussing very earnestly with the tea things.

Muffled voices drifted down the hallway. Alarmed, Evangeline rushed back to the parlor. She yanked open the door, nipped inside and hastily shut the door behind her.

“For heaven’s sake, keep your voices down,” she said in a loud whisper. “If Molly hears you talking about Sharpy Hobson or the events of last night, the gossip will be all over town before the sun goes down.”

Lucas gave her a benign smile. He lounged with easy masculine grace, one shoulder propped against the wall near the window. His arms were folded across his broad chest.

Clarissa and Beatrice were sitting on two of the spindly chairs, the skirts of their walking gowns draped around their high-button boots. They both chuckled.

“You may be surprised to know that we had already deduced that for ourselves,” Beatrice said. “As a matter of fact, we were discussing farming matters.”

“Farming?”
Evangeline sank back against the door, both hands behind her wrapped tightly around the knob. “Why on earth would you want to talk about agriculture at a time like this?”

“I was explaining to Miss Lockwood and Miss Slate that the farms around Little Dixby have always been extremely productive,” Lucas said. “Crops thrive here. The villagers will tell you that you can grow anything on these lands and they have done so for generations. The roses in local gardens are extraordinary.”

“Oh, I see.” Evangeline frowned, thinking about what he had said.
“I expect the fact that this place is a vortex has something to do with the success of the local farms and gardens.”

Lucas’s brows rose. His beast-of-prey eyes heated a little. “You are aware that Little Dixby may be a paranormal vortex?”

“Yes, and if my father was correct, the focal point is Crystal Gardens,” Evangeline said. “That’s why I’m here, you see.”

“No,” Lucas said deliberately, “I do not see.”

“Never mind, it’s not important.” She heard the rattle of cups on a tray. “That will be Molly.”

She whirled about and opened the door. Molly walked into the room, moving very carefully with the heavily laden tray. Lucas straightened away from the window.

“That looks heavy,” he said. “Let me take that for you.”

Molly blushed a bright pink. “It’s no trouble, sir.”

But Lucas had already removed the tray from her hands. He set it on the small table.

“Thank you, sir,” Molly said. She gave Evangeline a hopeful look. “Shall I pour, ma’am?”

“No, thank you, Molly.” Evangeline smiled and sat on the sofa, automatically twitching her skirts into the proper folds. “I’ll take care of it. Run along home.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” Molly dipped another stiff little curtsy and went back out into the hall. She closed the door quietly.

Evangeline picked up the teapot and began to pour. Everyone paid a great deal of attention to the tea service until they heard the muffled thud of the kitchen door closing. A moment later Molly could be seen through the front window hurrying away down the lane.

The news that Lucas was taking tea with the new tenant at the cottage and her fashionable London friends would soon be common knowledge in the neighborhood, Evangeline thought. It was fortunate
that Clarissa and Beatrice were here. Their presence ensured an aura of respectability.

The social rules that governed relationships between the sexes were more relaxed in the country than they were in London, but there were limits and it took so little to start people talking in a small town such as Little Dixby. Evangeline was well aware that there had been much speculation about her in the past two weeks. A single woman who lived alone was always watched closely. A single woman from London who dressed in a fashionable manner and who was rumored to be writing a sensation novel was even more interesting.

“We can talk now,” Evangeline said.

“It’s a great pity this dreadful Hobson person is dead,” Clarissa said. “It would have been useful to question him. I don’t quite understand how he died. Evangeline said something about thorns.”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Hobson blundered into one of the more dangerous portions of the gardens,” Lucas said. “His death was in the nature of an accident.” He munched a small cake. “Not unlike Douglas Mason’s accident.”

Evangeline froze. Clarissa and Beatrice became very busy with their tea.

Predictably, it was Clarissa who recovered her composure first. “The thing is, why on earth would anyone send a criminal to murder Evangeline?”

Lucas gave Evangeline a considering look. “All I can tell you at the moment is that someone was willing to pay Sharpy Hobson a considerable sum to do so. Someone wants you dead, Miss Ames, and if you’re certain there is no jealous lover lurking in the background—”

Evangeline choked on her tea. She sputtered and grabbed a napkin. “I am certain of that much.”

Beatrice pursed her lips. “I agree. We can exclude the notion of a rejected lover. There simply isn’t one in Evangeline’s case.”

“And her death would benefit no one,” Clarissa added helpfully, “so money cannot be a factor.”

“Always nice to know one’s worth,” Evangeline said into her teacup.

“It appears we have only one option open to us,” Lucas said.

He polished off the last of the tea cakes and brushed crumbs from his hands. It seemed to Evangeline that his eyes heated a little. Not with desire, she realized. It was lust of a very different sort she sensed in him—the dangerous aura of the hunter who is setting a trap for prey. She was sure that this was not the first time he had done so.

Beatrice also detected the charged atmosphere. She watched Lucas with an expectant air. “What option is that, sir?”

“Men like Hobson, who can be hired to commit murder, are not actually as common on the ground as one might believe,” Lucas said. “Those who are skilled at that particular sort of work have reputations in the criminal world.”

Clarissa shuddered. “I can well imagine that is true.”

“We must find out who employed Hobson,” Lucas continued. “Fortunately, we have Stone.”

Evangeline looked up from her tea. “What does Mr. Stone have to do with any of this?”

“He has connections on the streets of London.” Lucas looked out at the dark woods. “He knows people in that world. This morning he took the train to the city where he will make inquiries about Hobson. With luck Stone will discover some information that will lead us to the person who hired Hobson.”

Evangeline stilled. She was aware that Beatrice and Clarissa had gone equally quiet. They looked at one another. Evangeline saw the questions in their eyes. She raised her brows. “I did tell you that Mr. Sebastian has studied the criminal mind.”

“Yes, you did.” Beatrice sat up very straight and put her cup and saucer down with a determined air. “We are fortunate to be able to
take advantage of his knowledge and connections. The problem here is that we are dealing with members of the professional criminal class. That is not our area of expertise.”