Margo Maguire (19 page)

“I don’t know,” Lilly replied, her color deepen
ing. “Somehow the apparition shifted out of my control.”

Sam tried, but he couldn’t wrap his mind around this strange ability of Lilly’s. There was no known data to support the existence of such a talent. It could not be.

But he’d seen Charlotte on the verge of death, then impossibly rescued. Nothing could have accomplished that feat, other than the talent Lilly described.

“What of the hands…touching me?”

She looked down at the sand. “I didn’t know I was doing it at first.”

Sam tried to swallow, but his throat had gone dry. “And what I feel for you?” He could barely choke out the words. “What I
thought
I felt?”

He rubbed at the hammering behind his forehead, but it didn’t feel any better. If Lilly hadn’t been aware that her thoughts were touching him, then perhaps she didn’t know that she’d made him fall in love with her.

“I never made you…” she began. “I didn’t intend…” She turned away from him.

How could Sam believe her? Everything about Ravenwell was a fraud. The ghosts, the gardens, the woman.

The afternoon sun shone brightly, and birds chirped nearby. The world seemed just the same, although Sam now knew differently. Unbelievably, Lilly was some kind of witch, a sorceress who could cast spells to attain her every desire.

Sam wondered if that was why she was so beautiful, so impossible to resist.

He couldn’t breathe. After all he’d seen, after all she’d said, he had to get away.

L
illy didn’t know where Samuel had gone. Only that he’d stalked angrily away from her.

There was nothing more to say. He was clearly disturbed by what she’d already told him, and unwilling to trust that she hadn’t used her talent to manipulate him.

She sat down hard on one of the rocks where she’d left her shoes and tried not to cry. But it was no use. Bitter emotion welled in her chest and throat, threatening to choke her. She covered her face with her hands and let the tears come.

There was no point in weeping—she’d lost Samuel well before he’d seen her use her power. She had already faced the fact that he was leaving for India while she remained here.

But it hurt nonetheless. Maude had called her talent witchcraft, although Lilly had never practiced any craft. She didn’t call upon any dark powers to help her, nor did she practice some occult ritual. Her talent just
was.
It existed in spite of anything Lilly did about it.

And Maude had been right about keeping her tal
ent to herself, never using it, never telling anyone about it. Samuel had been horrified by her, possibly more than Charlotte or Tom might have been, had they known. After all, Sam had slept with her, and she was an aberrance. A monstrosity.
A witch.

Another useless tear slid down Lilly’s cheek and she wiped it away. It was pointless. Whatever Samuel had said before Charlotte’s crisis was meaningless. She couldn’t have gone away with him in any event.

But knowing he had a poor opinion of her was like having a knife twist in her heart.

She leaned over and brushed the sand from her feet, then donned her shoes. Carefully avoiding the dead chestnut tree that was now fully in bloom, Lilly took the path back to the inn. Her clothes were a mess and she suspected her face was little better, so she went ’round to one of the side entrances in the hope of avoiding an encounter with any of the guests. Unfortunately, Mr. Payton was there, seemingly waiting for her.

“Oh, there you are, Miss Tearwater,” he said. “I wonder if you could tell us the best way to get to Grasmere— Uh-oh, what’s happened to your clothes?”

“Oh, I just took a bit of a—”

“Are you all right, Miss Tearwater? You seem…”

“Yes, quite,” she said, straightening her shoulders and drawing herself up to her full height. It was time to take charge again. To resume as though her heart were not lying in shreds. “I’ll have Davy hitch the buggy for you. Will you need a guide?”

“Not today, Miss Tearwater. It looks like rain. But
I would appreciate it if you could arrange the trip for tomorrow.”

She concluded her business with Mr. Payton and walked away with as much composure as she could muster. Davy was not behind the desk in the reception area, but the office door was ajar, so Lilly assumed he—or possibly Charlotte—was there. She skirted the desk and stopped cold when she caught sight of the mess in the office.

Drawers hung open. Papers and files were strewn about the floor. The ink pot had tipped and a huge blot stained her ledger.

The door to her private apartment was open, and Lilly stepped carefully over the clutter to get to it. A feeling of dread clutched at her as she entered the sitting room and saw that all the cushions had been pulled from the furniture. The lampshades were askew and her precious books had been torn from the shelves. One of the windows was broken.

In shock, Lilly gaped at the damage to her home. Who had done this? And why?

And, more to the point,
where was Charlotte?

Lilly scrambled through the rooms, over discarded clothing and broken pottery, looking for her sister. But there was no sign of Charlotte anywhere in the apartment.

Lilly forced herself to stay calm. Just because the day had gone badly so far, it was no reason for her to jump to the worst possible conclusions. It was entirely possible that Charlotte had not returned home after her misadventure in the meadow. Or perhaps she’d gone upstairs to help the day maids with all the bed-making that was required on laundry day.

Tamping down her panic, Lilly hurried out of the
apartment and ran up the service staircase at the back of the inn. Two of the young maids came toward her, each carrying a bundle of clean linen.

“Clara, Meg—is Charlotte up here with you?”

“No, miss,” they replied in unison.

“Have you seen Davy?” Lilly asked.

“A while ago,” said Meg. “He was talking to Mr. Temple. And then Mr. Temple left.”

“Left?” Lilly’s heart sank as she pushed open the door to Samuel’s room.

“Packed up and left,” said Clara. “Davy is going to send the rest of his things to London.”

She shouldn’t feel so crushed, Lilly knew. There’d never been any question that Samuel would return to London.

“Maybe Miss Charlotte is in the kitchen. It’s nearly time for tea and she usually—”

But Lilly heard no more. She quickly retraced her steps and took the back hall to the kitchen. “I’m looking for Charlotte,” she announced.

“Miss Tearwater, your sister has not been in the kitchen since breakfast. I know, because she left in a snit over the soufflé,” Mr. Clive announced.

“Soufflé?” Lilly muttered the word. Mr. Clive was talking about soufflés when Charlotte was missing and her private rooms had been ransacked.

And Samuel was gone.

She turned away and went in search of Davy.

He stood behind the reception desk, gaping into the vandalized office.

“What in hell?”

“Davy, have you seen Charlotte?”

He shook his head. “Not today, Miss Lilly—or at
least, not since early this morning. I think she was going off to the beach. What happened here?”

“Someone came in here looking for something,” she replied. “And when they didn’t find it, they tore through our apartment, too.”

Davy swore under his breath. “I had to leave the desk for an hour while I unplugged the drain in the second-floor bath,” he said, then nodded toward the office. “I was only gone a short time, Miss Lilly.”

“It’s not your fault, Davy,” she said, reining in her panic. “You can’t be everywhere.”

“What do you think they were looking for?”

“I don’t know,” Lilly replied, suddenly remembering the other time she’d thought their apartment had been disturbed. “Davy, we’ve got to find Charlotte. Whoever did this—”

“Right. You stay here and check the inn, Miss,” he said. “I’ll run down to the beach and—”

“I just came from the beach,” Lilly replied. “She’s not there.”

“The field, then. Or Mrs. Webster’s.”

“All right. Go.”

Lilly considered asking Mr. Clive to come to the desk and keep watch until they found Charlotte, but she was loath to let the guests know anything was amiss, and the chef would soon be serving tea. Besides, the damage had already been done.

Starting with the attic, Lilly began her search. When she discovered no trace of Charlotte, she went downstairs to the guest bedrooms and knocked on every door. Most everyone was already in the dining room for tea, so she used her master key to enter the unoccupied rooms.

It wasn’t something Lilly would ordinarily have
done, but this was anything but a commonplace situation. Charlotte might be in any one of the rooms…even the one Samuel had vacated.

Lilly pushed open his door. It was empty of all his belongings now, but she remembered every detail: his battered valise, the folded maps, the unfinished letter on the desk, his boots. She closed her eyes and stood still, remembering.

His scent was still there. It was subtle, like the smells of the meadow and the lake, and Lilly breathed deeply.

He’d undressed her gently, made love to her so carefully, seeing to her pleasure, as well as his own.

She snapped her eyes open. Samuel was gone, and dwelling on the memories she’d made with him only caused her pain. Pulling the door closed, she brushed away tears and resumed her search of the guest rooms, finding nothing unexpected until she let herself into Mr. Dawson’s room.

It was empty, too.

He had cleared out. Every personal item he must have had was gone.

Within minutes, Lilly had ascertained that Mr. Hamlet had also gone, leaving no trace. There could be no doubt that the two men were somehow involved in the burglary and possibly with Charlotte’s disappearance, though Lilly could not fathom why Henry Dawson and George Hamlet would break in to her rooms or take Charlotte.

Lilly’s head began to spin. Her simple life at Ravenwell Cottage had become unreasonably complicated. The moment Davy returned, she would send him to Asbury for the magistrate. Lilly had the feeling that time was of the essence.

She took a deep breath and returned to the main floor. Still, no one was about, so she went outside. It seemed impossible that anything could have happened to Charlotte. It was more likely that she was in the barn, checking on Duncan’s kittens.

Hoping that was the case, Lilly ran to the far side of the inn and headed toward the outbuilding. She desperately hoped she would find Charlotte inside, blissfully unaware of the turmoil she’d caused.

“Miss Tearwater!”

The voice took Lilly by surprise. It was Henry Dawson, beckoning to her from the far side of the barn.

“Come quickly!”

Lilly’s heart leaped into her throat. “Is it Charlotte?”

“Yes! There’s been an accident!”

He hurried away from her, down the path toward the road. Lilly began to imagine all sorts of horrors as she followed him. She could not imagine what had happened, and in her haste, caught her skirt on a sharp twig and tore it. Since that was the least of her worries, she hurried after Mr. Dawson while a multitude of questions besieged her.

“Where is she?” Lilly called.

“Not much farther!” Mr. Dawson answered. “She needs you!”

Lilly must have misjudged Mr. Dawson and Mr. Hamlet. Surely he wouldn’t be leading her to Charlotte if they were somehow involved.

They moved out of sight of the inn, heading in the direction opposite Asbury, toward the trail to Penny Top. The terrain changed and they started to climb uphill. Suddenly, without warning, Lilly’s feet
flew out from under her and she crashed to the ground, face first.

“Grab her hands!”

She tried to push herself up, but someone shoved her head down, pushing her into the dirt.

“Hurry up! She’ll
do
something to us!”

It was George Hamlet’s voice.

“Where’s Charlotte?” Lilly cried. “What have you done with—”

Mr. Dawson thrust a heavy cloth permeated with a strange, sweet-smelling odor across her nose and mouth. Lilly struggled to get away, but Mr. Hamlet held her fast. She felt nauseated and started to choke, but then everything went dark.

The train station was deserted, except for Sam and the ticket agent, who was a good deal more talkative than Sam would have liked.

“Not too many ever come for the six o’clock to York,” he said, smoothing down his thick gray muttonchops. “In a hurry, are ye?”

Sam’s reply was little more than a rude shrug.

He was angry. Hell, he was furious!

He had never been so manipulated, so taken in. At least now he knew he wasn’t losing his mind with hallucinations of Lilly’s touch. And he knew how she’d managed the ghosts. He glanced up at the misty slopes of the fells in the distance and thought about magic, and realized he was no better off than before.

It was all scientifically impossible. Nature followed set patterns. Rules. Laws. No one could do what Lilly had done for Charlotte that morning.

Except that Sam had seen it with his own eyes.

He dropped his valise on the wooden planks of the railroad platform and began to pace. Everything she’d told him went against the very discipline he regarded so highly.

Science versus magic.

The universe would be pure chaos if people had the kind of power Lilly displayed. And if they suffered random repercussions from using that power the way Lilly described. It was inconceivable.

It was astounding.

“Looks like rain clouds gathering,” said the agent, glancing in the direction Sam was looking.

Sam nodded. He bet Lilly could make them disappear.

“We’ll likely catch it before your train arrives. It’s going to be quite a storm. Might as well go along for tea, since your six o’clock’s going to be delayed. Crofton’s Tea Shop is as good as any down London way.” He placed a Closed sign in his window.

“No, thanks,” Sam said, curtly.

The agent locked the door. He pulled out his watch and checked the time. “Be a good chap, will you, as long as you’re staying, and tell anyone else who comes that I’ll be back soon.”

“Sure,” Sam said, barely managing not to snap at the man. Ghosts. Well, at least he’d won the wager with Jack. Ravenwell wasn’t haunted.

It was merely inhabited by a sorceress who could manipulate nature as she pleased. She’d beguiled and bewitched him from the very first, until he’d started believing he’d lost his mind.

He stood still as the first drops of rain hit his shoulders. It felt good. And real. Unlike the phantom touches that Lilly had used to get past his defenses.

Sam couldn’t believe how well she’d exploited his weakness, touching him, caressing him…hell,
making love to him
—the poor, pathetic wreck of a man who’d lost his reason for living. Sam admitted it. He’d only been going through the motions of life when Jack had challenged him to travel up here and investigate Ravenwell’s ghosts.

Jack had said that there were things that couldn’t be explained by science, but Sam hadn’t believed it. He wasn’t sure he believed it now.

But could he ignore the evidence he’d seen?

Charlotte had been moments from death when Lilly had pulled her back from the brink. It did not appear as if Charlotte understood what had happened to her, although that might be due to her deafness, and not because of anything Lilly did.

The clouds opened and Sam sought refuge from the downpour. With the office closed, there wasn’t much shelter, just a small overhang beside the building. He moved under it and absently gazed at his old valise, being soaked by the rain while he wondered if he would ever have overcome his aversion to touch had Lilly not started the process with her magic.