The herbs that grow there are rare and unique to the island. Lorring alerted the handful of apothecaries in London who stock Vanzagarian herbs. He asked them to notify him if anyone attempted to purchase some.”
“I see. One of them sent word that he had sold some of the rare herbs?”
“Yes. Lorring is so ill that he can no longer leave his home. So I went to see the apothecary as soon as the message arrived. But I was too late. He had been stabbed. He lived only long enough to tell me that whoever had purchased the herbs was planning to attend Ware’s house party.”
“My God.” A fresh wave of alarm shot through Emma. “Do you believe Miranda murdered the poor man?”
“If she is the one who possesses the recipe, I must assume that it is entirely possible that she killed the apothecary. And, perhaps, others as well. But do not fret, Miss Greyson. You will be safe so long as you play the innocent.”
“I am actually rather good at that,” Emma muttered. “It is a requirement in my profession.”
He gave her an odd smile. “Do you know, until I madeyour acquaintance, I had no notion that paid companions were so clever and resourceful.”
“It is a demanding career, I assure you, sir.”
“I believe it.” He paused meaningfully. “If you are satisfied with the description of your new duties, there is just one more thing I would like to have plain between us.”
“What is that?”
“If you ever do find your way into my bed, Miss Greyson, it will not be because I have paid you to do so.”
C HAPTER S EVEN
T he following evening, before he dressed for dinner, Edison lit a candle and set it on the floor. He sat down in front of the taper, legs folded into the correct position, and contemplated the flame.
He had long ago discarded most Vanza rituals. But once in a while, when he needed to look deep into his own thoughts, he used the candle.
Meditation with the aid of specially scented and colored candles was an ancient practice on Vanzagara. The monks used it in the temples, and every Vanza master taught his students how to use the flame to focus their concentration.
Traditionally each student received his first candles from his master. The particular scent and color of the tapers were unique to that particular master. There was an ancient Vanzagarian saying,
To know the master, look at the student’s candles
.
It was customary for the student to use the master’scandles until he had achieved the Third Circle. At that time he concocted his own meditation tapers, creating them with his personal choice of fragrance and color.
Edison had received his first candles from Ignatius Lorring. They had been a rich, dark purple. He would never forget the exotic scent.
Almost as exotic as Emma’s scent
.
Where the devil had that thought come from? he wondered. Irritated by his own lack of concentration, he focused again on the flame.
At about the time he would have been expected to craft his own candles, he had stepped outside the Circle. He had never got around to creating his own personal tapers. On the infrequent occasions when he elected to meditate, he used any ordinary household candle that came to hand.
Common sense told him it was not the scent or the color that enabled one to sink into that quiet place where truth existed. It was willpower and concentration.
He gazed deep into the flame. Methodically he went through the process of stilling his body so that his mind could focus more clearly. The cloak of stillness settled on him.
The flame flared more brightly, until he could see into its heart. He looked into the depths while he allowed his thoughts to chart their own course. After a while they took shape and substance.
The decision to bring Emma Greyson into the tangled mystery of the missing book might well prove to be a serious mistake. But after examining it, he was satisfied that his logic was sound. If Lady Ames was the thief and if she had convinced herself that Emma was susceptible
“I see. One of them sent word that he had sold some of the rare herbs?”
“Yes. Lorring is so ill that he can no longer leave his home. So I went to see the apothecary as soon as the message arrived. But I was too late. He had been stabbed. He lived only long enough to tell me that whoever had purchased the herbs was planning to attend Ware’s house party.”
“My God.” A fresh wave of alarm shot through Emma. “Do you believe Miranda murdered the poor man?”
“If she is the one who possesses the recipe, I must assume that it is entirely possible that she killed the apothecary. And, perhaps, others as well. But do not fret, Miss Greyson. You will be safe so long as you play the innocent.”
“I am actually rather good at that,” Emma muttered. “It is a requirement in my profession.”
He gave her an odd smile. “Do you know, until I madeyour acquaintance, I had no notion that paid companions were so clever and resourceful.”
“It is a demanding career, I assure you, sir.”
“I believe it.” He paused meaningfully. “If you are satisfied with the description of your new duties, there is just one more thing I would like to have plain between us.”
“What is that?”
“If you ever do find your way into my bed, Miss Greyson, it will not be because I have paid you to do so.”
C HAPTER S EVEN
T he following evening, before he dressed for dinner, Edison lit a candle and set it on the floor. He sat down in front of the taper, legs folded into the correct position, and contemplated the flame.
He had long ago discarded most Vanza rituals. But once in a while, when he needed to look deep into his own thoughts, he used the candle.
Meditation with the aid of specially scented and colored candles was an ancient practice on Vanzagara. The monks used it in the temples, and every Vanza master taught his students how to use the flame to focus their concentration.
Traditionally each student received his first candles from his master. The particular scent and color of the tapers were unique to that particular master. There was an ancient Vanzagarian saying,
To know the master, look at the student’s candles
.
It was customary for the student to use the master’scandles until he had achieved the Third Circle. At that time he concocted his own meditation tapers, creating them with his personal choice of fragrance and color.
Edison had received his first candles from Ignatius Lorring. They had been a rich, dark purple. He would never forget the exotic scent.
Almost as exotic as Emma’s scent
.
Where the devil had that thought come from? he wondered. Irritated by his own lack of concentration, he focused again on the flame.
At about the time he would have been expected to craft his own candles, he had stepped outside the Circle. He had never got around to creating his own personal tapers. On the infrequent occasions when he elected to meditate, he used any ordinary household candle that came to hand.
Common sense told him it was not the scent or the color that enabled one to sink into that quiet place where truth existed. It was willpower and concentration.
He gazed deep into the flame. Methodically he went through the process of stilling his body so that his mind could focus more clearly. The cloak of stillness settled on him.
The flame flared more brightly, until he could see into its heart. He looked into the depths while he allowed his thoughts to chart their own course. After a while they took shape and substance.
The decision to bring Emma Greyson into the tangled mystery of the missing book might well prove to be a serious mistake. But after examining it, he was satisfied that his logic was sound. If Lady Ames was the thief and if she had convinced herself that Emma was susceptible
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