She felt his strong fingers move on her, stroking all the secret places. When she touched him intimately he shuddered in response. She could feel the perspiration on his sleek back.

He lowered himself on top of her and slowly, reverently joined their bodies together, generating the intimate currents of the most powerful force on the spectrum—the energy of love.

FORTY-FIVE

“How did you find us last night?” Mrs. Crofton asked.

They were gathered once again in the tiny parlor. The space was crowded. Virginia and Charlotte occupied the sofa. Mrs. Crofton sat on one of the dainty chairs. The four Sweetwater men ignored the spindly furniture. They lounged around the room like great cats or propped themselves gracefully against the walls and mantel.

“I discovered that a woman named Alcina Norgate was the sole beneficiary of Lady Hollister’s will,” Owen said. “But it appeared to be a dead end. So I went back to the start of the case and considered events from another angle.”

“What angle?” Nick asked.

Owen gripped the marble edge of the mantel. “It occurred to me that the killer was too sure of himself, too certain that his experiments with Ratford and Hackett were not likely to be disturbed. Later, after I did disturb them, he felt confident enough to place the curiosities on guard.”

“I understand,” Virginia said. “You wondered why he felt comfortable returning again and again to the scenes of the crimes.”

“It is not uncommon for a villain to do that,” Owen said. “But this particular killer seemed especially casual about it. There was one obvious reason why that might be true. If he owned the houses, he could make sure they remained empty as long as he wished.”

“Of course.” Enthusiasm leaped in Nick’s eyes. “He did not need to fear that a new occupant would move in.”

Owen looked at Virginia. “I paid a call on the agent who rented this house to you. It took some time, but I eventually discovered that Welch was your landlord. I also learned that he owned the two houses that had been rented by the glass-readers who were murdered.”

Tony grinned. “As my father would say, that is an example of the importance of basic detective work. No paranormal talent involved.”

“It wasn’t proof that Welch was a murderer,” Owen said. “But it did raise some interesting questions and suggested some answers.”

Virginia winced. “No wonder Mr. Welch was so helpful when I signed the contract with the Institute. He was delighted to find another glass-reader. He directed me to the agent who rented this house to me. I expect that is how the other two glass-readers came by their leased houses as well.”

“Yes.”

Charlotte looked at him, intrigued. “How did you discover Mr. Welch’s address?”

“That was not so easy,” Owen said. “The agent did not have it. He simply deposited the funds into a bank account. But I was fairly certain someone else did know where Welch lived.”

Mrs. Crofton’s brow wrinkled. “Who was that?”

Owen looked at her. “Gilmore Leybrook.”

Virginia raised her brows. “You called on Leybrook?”

Owen smiled his Sweetwater smile. “He was very helpful.”

Virginia groaned. “I doubt that. Please tell me that he is alive and in reasonably good condition.”

“Leybrook is recovering from a shock to the senses, but he is fine,” Owen said.

Virginia decided not to pursue that subject. She turned to Mrs. Crofton. “What did you learn from the Hollister housekeeper?”

“Mrs. Tapton was deep into her gin when I found her. She talked quite freely. Told me that Lady Hollister was mad but that Hollister himself was the one who terrified the staff. The only reason Mrs. Tapton stayed was out of loyalty to Lady Hollister. She had been with her since Lady Hollister was a girl in her teens. When Lady Hollister entered the mansion as a young bride, the housekeeper went with her.”

“Did the housekeeper and the rest of the staff know what was going on in the basement of the Hollister mansion?” Charlotte asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” Mrs. Crofton said. “I’m sure they sensed that something dreadful was happening inside that house, but they took the sensible approach.”

“In other words, they did not go looking for trouble,” Virginia said.

“They were paid well to look the other way,” Mrs. Crofton said. “And it is not as if the Hollister household was the only one in London that held secrets that the staff preferred not to know.”

“No,” Owen said. He caught Virginia’s eye. “Every house holds a few secrets.”

“Some secrets are decidedly more dreadful than others,” Virginia said briskly. She frowned in thought. “There is still one question that we have not answered. Who helped Lady Hollister stage the scene in the mirrored room under the mansion so that it would appear that I had murdered Hollister?”

Mrs. Crofton looked at her, surprised. “Isn’t it obvious? Who else could the lady of the house count on at such a time?”

“Of course,” Virginia said. “The housekeeper.”

FORTY-SIX

“Well?” Virginia said. “Have you decided whether or not to make an appointment with Dr. Spinner?”

“I have decided that I won’t require Dr. Spinner’s therapy after all.” Charlotte poured tea into the pot with a serenely confident air. “As it happens, I have recently discovered another very effective cure for female hysteria.”

“Have you, indeed?”

“It is, I suspect, the same therapeutic remedy that you have begun to employ.”

Virginia smiled knowingly. “I had a feeling that might be the case when I saw you with Nick this morning. There was a certain energy in the air around you.”

“I love him, Virginia.” Charlotte carried the pot to the table and sat down. “I don’t understand it, and I certainly cannot explain it, but I realized the day I met him that deep inside I recognized him. It was as if I had been waiting for him to walk through the door of my shop my entire life.”

Virginia thought about the night that she had met Owen’s eyes in the mirror at the Pomeroy reading. “I know what you mean.”

“It was all very odd and confusing, I must admit. Nick says it was the same way for him, but he claims that it always happens like that for the men of the Sweetwater family when they find the right woman. He thinks it is a side effect of their talent, something to do with their ability to survive their peculiar psychical natures.”

They were seated in Charlotte’s small kitchen. Outside, the morning was sunny and warm. It felt to Virginia as if all of the shadows and darkness that had haunted her world for the past few weeks had been burned away by the fires that had been unleashed in Alcina Norgate’s mansion.

There would be more shadows and more darkness in the years ahead for both Owen and herself. It was the nature of their talents and the work that their abilities compelled them to do. It was also the nature of life. In that sense the Sweetwaters were no different from any other family, she thought. But she knew now that the bond of love that she shared with Owen would see them through the years ahead, regardless of what the future held.

She picked up the teacup that Charlotte had filled. “Perhaps it’s true what they say about love between two strong talents,” she said. “It does forge a metaphysical connection.”

“Just like in a sensation novel,” Charlotte said.

Virginia laughed. “Something tells me that no sensation novelist would approve of the heroine marrying into the Sweetwater family. That particular family does possess some unusual secrets.”

“Bah. Every family has secrets.”

“You’re right.” Virginia raised her cup in a small salute. “And you and I will keep those secrets.”

“Absolutely,” Charlotte said.

The bell over the door tinkled. Owen walked into the shop. Nick was with him.