Crystal Gardens by Amanda Quick Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Amanda Quick
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 fewcreepers 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
B eatrice Lockwood angled her fashionable frilled parasol against the warm afternoon sunlight.
“Who could have guessed that the countryside would be so dangerous?” she asked. “It is quite pretty here in Little Dixby but it does appear rather dull. Not exactly a hotbed of criminal activity.”
“And to think that Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh banished you here so that you could recover from your case of shattered nerves,” Clarissa Slate added. “Wait until we tell them of how you were attacked in your own bed by a man armed with a knife.”
“Make certain they realize that I was not actually in the bed when the villain got to the bedroom,” Evangeline said. “No need to alarm them any more than necessary. By the time Hobson arrived I was halfway out the window.”
“As if that will reassure them,” Clarissa said. “You know that they have both been very concerned about your nerves since the events ofthe Rutherford affair. They packed you off to the country to recover and just see what happens.”
“I did try to tell Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh that I was not suffering from shock as a result of the incidents that followed the Rutherford case,” Evangeline said.
It was mid-afternoon and they were walking along the lane that would take them into Little Dixby, where they planned to have tea and tour the ruins. Earlier, Evangeline had met her two friends at the station with a hired carriage. Mayhew, the owner of the town’s only cab, had driven the women and their luggage to Fern Gate Cottage. After unpacking, Clarissa and Beatrice had declared themselves eager to see some of the antiquities.
Evangeline was feeling a great sense of relief now that her friends had arrived. Although she was certain that her nerves had not been shattered by the events of the night, the truth was that this morning she had discovered that she was far more shaken than she cared to admit. The assault had revived all of the fearsome emotions she had experienced two weeks ago when Douglas Mason had lunged out of the bedroom doorway and held a knife to her throat. Really, she thought, how many such violent attacks should a lady have to endure in a month?
She was very glad that Clarissa and Beatrice were planning to stay for the next two nights. With luck she would get some sleep. If she had been obliged to spend the next two evenings alone in the unnervingly quiet countryside, she was certain she would have spent the long hours of darkness lying awake, listening for the sound of footsteps in the hall and watching for
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 fewcreepers 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
B eatrice Lockwood angled her fashionable frilled parasol against the warm afternoon sunlight.
“Who could have guessed that the countryside would be so dangerous?” she asked. “It is quite pretty here in Little Dixby but it does appear rather dull. Not exactly a hotbed of criminal activity.”
“And to think that Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh banished you here so that you could recover from your case of shattered nerves,” Clarissa Slate added. “Wait until we tell them of how you were attacked in your own bed by a man armed with a knife.”
“Make certain they realize that I was not actually in the bed when the villain got to the bedroom,” Evangeline said. “No need to alarm them any more than necessary. By the time Hobson arrived I was halfway out the window.”
“As if that will reassure them,” Clarissa said. “You know that they have both been very concerned about your nerves since the events ofthe Rutherford affair. They packed you off to the country to recover and just see what happens.”
“I did try to tell Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh that I was not suffering from shock as a result of the incidents that followed the Rutherford case,” Evangeline said.
It was mid-afternoon and they were walking along the lane that would take them into Little Dixby, where they planned to have tea and tour the ruins. Earlier, Evangeline had met her two friends at the station with a hired carriage. Mayhew, the owner of the town’s only cab, had driven the women and their luggage to Fern Gate Cottage. After unpacking, Clarissa and Beatrice had declared themselves eager to see some of the antiquities.
Evangeline was feeling a great sense of relief now that her friends had arrived. Although she was certain that her nerves had not been shattered by the events of the night, the truth was that this morning she had discovered that she was far more shaken than she cared to admit. The assault had revived all of the fearsome emotions she had experienced two weeks ago when Douglas Mason had lunged out of the bedroom doorway and held a knife to her throat. Really, she thought, how many such violent attacks should a lady have to endure in a month?
She was very glad that Clarissa and Beatrice were planning to stay for the next two nights. With luck she would get some sleep. If she had been obliged to spend the next two evenings alone in the unnervingly quiet countryside, she was certain she would have spent the long hours of darkness lying awake, listening for the sound of footsteps in the hall and watching for