Free Quicksilver by Amanda Quick Page B

There is a long tradition of swords and armor and daggers that are encrusted with jewels and detailed with gold.”
    “Have you started searching for the clock maker?”
    “I’ve asked my cousin Nicholas Sweetwater to pursue that angle of the investigation.”
    “There are no doubt a great many clock makers in London.”
    “Yes,” he said. “But Nick has a talent for that sort of hunting.”
    O wen went home an hour later, satiated by the excellent tea and tarts that Mrs. Crofton had served, and energized by the time spent with Virginia. He could grow accustomed to calling regularly on Number Seven Garnet Lane, he reflected.

NINE
     
    O wen returned to Garnet Lane that evening in an anonymous hired carriage. Virginia was waiting for him. She wore a hooded cloak against the chill of the night. He sensed the mix of excitement and foreboding that animated her. When he took her gloved hand to assist her into the carriage he could have sworn that electricity sparked between them. The hair stirred on the nape of his neck.
    They spoke little on the drive to the quiet street where Mrs. Ratford had rented a small house, but Owen was intensely conscious of Virginia’s nearness the entire time. He would have given a great deal to know if she felt the same sense of awareness.
    When they reached their destination he sent the carriage on its way. There would be other cabs about later, when they left the scene of the murder.
    There was an empty, shuttered feeling about the house where Mrs. Ratford had died. The curtains were drawn closed across the windows.
    “You’re certain there is no one home?” Virginia asked.
    “I checked again earlier today. The house is still vacant. The rumors concerning the former occupant’s death have probably made it difficult to attract new tenants. Prospective renters are no doubt reluctant to move into a house in which the previous resident may have been dispatched by spirits from the Other Side.”
    Virginia looked at him. A gas lamp burned close by in the mist, but he could not see her face clearly. Her features were shadowed by the hood of her cloak.
    “There are always rumors about those of us who read mirrors,” she said. “Many people are convinced that we see ghosts and spirits. They do not understand that what we perceive are simply afterimages caught in the glass. Mirrors are nothing more than paranormal cameras that capture some of the energy given off at the time of death or near death.”
    “I understand.”
    They went down the alley behind Number Fourteen. Owen opened the gate that guarded the tiny garden. They went up the back steps. Owen inserted the lock pick into the kitchen door. The lock gave way immediately.
    “May I ask where one buys that sort of tool?” Virginia asked.
    He smiled a little at the bright curiosity in her voice.
    “This particular pick was crafted by one of my uncles. He has a knack for that sort of thing.”
    “Yours is an interesting family, sir.”
    “That is certainly one way to describe my relatives.” He opened the door and listened for a moment with all of his senses. “Still vacant.”
    Virginia moved past him to enter the house. He heard the soft, sultry swish of the ruffles at the hem of her gown as they brushed across the toe of his boot. Her scent briefly clouded his mind. He was aroused not just by the anticipation of the hunt but by the woman who shared it with him tonight.
    He followed her into the narrow hall, closed the door and turned up the lantern he had brought along. The light did little to alleviate the heavy gloom.
    “Death always affects a house, doesn’t it?” Virginia looked around. “One can sense it in the atmosphere.”
    “Yes. Which is why so many people find it easy to believe in ghosts.”
    “What, exactly, are we looking for?” she asked.
    “Something, anything, that will give us a clue to how Mrs. Ratford was killed. I went through this house, and Mrs. Hackett’s as well, shortly after I accepted the