Page 76 of Winterset

“Maroon waistcoat,” Kit described succinctly.

“Ah, yes, I remember. What do we know about him?” Reed frowned. “When you say ‘older,’ do you mean he would have been alive at the time of the first murders?”

Anna shrugged. “Alive, probably, but I would think no more than a child.”

“I don’t know much about his life,” Kit mused. “He used to live in London, I believe, for he often talks about the City. ‘When I was living in the City…’” Kit assumed a rather pompous voice. “I think he once said his cousin was a baron. I rarely see him except when he comes to Felton’s card games.” He paused, frowning. “You know, it doesn’t have to have been one of the people playing cards. It could have been one of the servants. Or another person entirely could have slipped in sometime and put something in the whiskey. We meet there every week for our games. Everyone knows about it. And there are always all sorts of patients in and out of Felton’s house.”

“I suppose we cannot rule out an outsider,” Reed agreed. “Certainly a servant could have slipped something into your drink or food. Who was serving you?”

“A maid brought in the food,” Kit said. “I don’t remember what she looked like. I believe the doctor poured the drinks himself.” He paused and looked at Anna and Reed. “That doesn’t mean he put anything in them. And,” he added, “we don’t even know that anything was put into my drink or food at his house. It could have happened earlier. Perhaps the potion took a long time to work. Or perhaps I just got sleepy, so I didn’t notice when someone sneaked up behind me and knocked me on the head.”

“You are right. We don’t know. Doubtless there are others who know about sleeping drafts besides the doctor.” Reed glanced toward Anna, and she knew that his thoughts had turned toward Nick Perkins, who certainly knew a great deal about all sorts of remedies. But she could conceive even less of his committing these crimes than she could Dr. Felton.

“It must be someone else,” she said, half to herself.

“I think it’s worth checking into the others,” Reed agreed. “I’ll have my man in London look into this Mr. Barbush. If he did indeed live there, my man will be able to learn of his past. I think I’ll have a talk with the constable, too, to see what information he may have been able to find out about the murders.”

They talked for a few more minutes before Reed took his leave. Anna and Kit ate their dinner in a subdued silence, having little to say about anything other than their recent conversation and having no desire to talk about that in front of the servants.

Kit made arrangements with the butler for two of the footmen to take watch that night. Kit himself volunteered to take the first one. Anna went up to her room early. She tried mending a few things, then reading, but she could not concentrate on anything, for her thoughts kept straying to the murders, going over and over the same paths. Finally she gave up the effort and got ready for bed.

Before she got into bed, she peered out through the drapes. There was no sign of the ominous visitor she had spotted the other night. Looking closer to the house, she saw a man standing just beyond the side door, smoking a pipe as he looked around him. He was one of Reed’s servants, she supposed.

They were as safe as they could make themselves, she reminded herself, but it did little to calm her jittery nerves. When she lay down, it took a long time to fall asleep, and her dreams were troubled. She awoke twice, once with her heart pounding and a vague memory of being chased by a looming, faceless form, and the other time with her loins warm and heavy and Reed’s name upon her lips.

She rolled over with a groan, wishing the empty ache between her legs would cease. Was this the way the rest of her life would be—always wanting, never having? It had been better before Reed came back, she told herself. She had been resigned to her life—content, really—the heartbreak and yearning years in the past. Now every day brought anew the knowledge of just how much she had given up, a fresh reminder of how much she wanted him.

Yet she could not wish that Reed would leave. No matter how much she ached when she was with him, still she wanted him there.

She rode over to Winterset the following morning after breakfast, with one of the grooms riding with her. She chafed at the restriction, but she was not foolish enough to ride out without escort. As she had told Kit, it was only sensible to take precautions.

The butler led her to the drawing room, and a moment later Reed entered. They had planned to visit Nick Perkins that morning, but Anna had had another idea.

“I have been thinking about what we were talking about yesterday—about trying to use my ‘gift’ or ‘curse,’ whatever you call it, to discover more about the murders. I want to try it this morning.”

“Now? Here?”

Anna nodded. “I thought I could try sitting down somewhere and opening up my mind to it, encouraging such thoughts. I—I would feel better if you were with me. I’m sorry, but it’s a little frightening.”

“Of course it is. I am not at all sure you should even try it,” Reed said, his brow knitting in concern.

“I think I have to. We must try everything we can.”

“All right. Well, shall we try it here?”

They looked around the elegant room, decorated in heavy mahogany furniture, the blue velvet cushions faded from time. It scarcely seemed the place to try something so odd, but, then, Anna did not suppose anywhere would seem really suitable for such an experiment.

She sat down in a chair, and Reed took a seat on the couch that lay at right angles to her. Anna settled back into the chair, holding her hands loosely in her lap, and closed her eyes. She felt extremely foolish.

She tried to clear her mind of all thoughts. It was difficult to do, knowing that Reed was sitting only a foot away from her. She thought of Estelle, instead, remembering the day when she had seen her sneaking in the back door at the Manor. She remembered the guilty look on Estelle’s face, the fear that Mrs. Michaels would discover her, and the saucy, grateful smile she had tossed at Anna when she did not give her away.

Nothing came to Anna’s mind. No feeling struck her. She tried instead to remember the way she had felt in the woods the day she met the twins, but while she could recall the feelings she had had, she could not feel them flooding her again. She sighed and opened her eyes. Reed was watching her. She shook her head.

“Nothing. I’ll try again.”

She closed her eyes and thought this time of the body that she and the twins had stumbled upon. Again she could remember the sick horror, the fear and pain that had stabbed her like a knife, but again it was like pulling out a memory, not experiencing it once more.

Anna opened her eyes. “I’m not feeling anything. I tried thinking of Estelle, of the Johnson lad, but I don’t feel anything. I’m sorry.”