Free Carolyn Jourdan - Nurse Phoebe 03 - The School for Psychics by Carolyn Jourdan Page A

white hair tied back with a ribbon into a short ponytail. It might’ve been powdered hair, or maybe a wig. He was dressed in a jacket and knee britches in a medium shade of blue silk. He flopped down on a long chair and began to untie his white cravat. A woman in an elaborate silk gown and taller white wig walked toward him. She bent down toward the man.
    Then the scene faded.
    “Found it,” she whispered. “Don’t know what it is, but it’s here—or was here at one time. And I’ve seen some people. I don’t recognize them, but at least I know what they look like.”
    “Tell me.”
    “There’s a small but exquisite domed garden pavilion in front of us. Inside it is … was … a man with powdered hair or a wig, dressed in blue knee britches, and a lady with powdered hair and a fancy gown. I can feel what the man was feeling, but nothing in relation to what the woman was experiencing.
    “ The man was here to relax in a way that was not possible anywhere else and his only wish was to sit in this building with her and be alone for a while. That’s what this place was built for. He loved her. She was his friend.”
    Phoebe wanted to cry at the warmth of feeling between the man and woman. She wished she’d ever had such a close and deep friendship with a man. It was what she’d been looking for all her life.
    “How old are they?”
    “The white hair makes it hard to say. Not old. Neither of them is fifty yet. He’s somewhere in his late thirties or early forties, I guess. She’s younger, her early thirties maybe. But that’s just a guess.”
    “Any sense of who they are?”
    “Yes, but I don’t trust it. The color of blue he’s wearing makes me think the man might be Louis XV. He’s exhausted and desperate for some peace and quiet, like someone who’s shy and has to submit himself to crowds frequently. But whenever I use my brain to say who it is, I’m just guessing.
    “ All I know for sure is that this is a really important man, there is a great deal of warmth and love radiating from him, and the lady is very attentive to him and trying to help him any way she can. Maybe it’s CR and Madame P.”
    “Describe the furniture,” J.J. said.
    “I only saw one small area. The man sat down and put his feet up.”
    “Was the chair made in one piece or two? Was it a long chair, a chaise longue , or did it have a separate foot stool, a duchesse brisée ?”
    “I’m not sure .”
    “Shall we go in?” he asked. He had to urge her to move. He could tell she was reluctant to go any closer.
    Phoebe sighed and moved at his instigation. The emotion around the place was overwhelming. Great love and tragic loss. The couple, whoever they were, weren’t permitted to have as much time together as they might’ve. Something sad had come between them.
    “Great sadness here, grief,” Phoebe said. “It’s coming from him. It’s hard to bear it.”
    “Is it all coming from what’s in front of you? Or is some of it coming from behind and to our left?”
    Phoebe looked around her and realized for the first time that they were close to a fancy house. She’d been so homed in on the signal from CR, she hadn’t been aware of anything else.
    She turned to face the grand building , but she got almost nothing from it.
    “Maybe a little, but not much time spent in there . That’s a woman’s house,” she said, turning back toward the pavilion. “But something very important happened in this little place. This is where he was himself. The guy I’m supposed to find was here for sure. I’m certain.”
    “Take me to it,” he said.
    Phoebe walked J.J. down one of the narrow gravel paths that led to the tiny jewel box of a building. Then she led him up three wide, shallow stairs to a set of French doors. “The place is shaped like a stubby cross that radiates out from a large central room.” She shaded her eyes and leaned forward to peer though the glass.
    “The main room is round, or octagonal really, with a domed