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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

     
    L ucas 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.