“You’re still convinced that what you saw on the wall was a shadow.”
“And apparently, you’re still equally convinced that it wasn’t.” He skimmed his knuckles briefly down my bruised cheek as his gaze softened. “Believe it or not, there is a reasonable explanation for all of this.”
“So you keep saying.”
“Years ago when I worked at the Institute, we were always sent in pairs to investigate any unusual activity. Sometimes my partner and I would see or feel or hear the same thing at the same moment only to discover later that we’d experienced a sort of shared delusion brought on by the power of suggestion. It still occasionally happens in police investigations. No matter your best efforts, your mind will go where it’s predisposed to go.”
“You think that’s what happened to us last night? A shared delusion? Brought on by what?”
“The gruesome history of Kroll Colony. It’s been on both our minds for days.”
I wanted to believe it was that simple. A shared delusion conjured by our preoccupation with all those mysterious deaths, but I knew better, and deep down, Devlin did, too.
Nelda came through the garden just then and gave us a cheery wave. “Looks as if the storm blew itself out last night. The breeze was pleasant though, wasn’t it? I trust you had a good sleep.”
I smiled and murmured something noncommittal as her gaze slid to Devlin.
“Good morning,” she said. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Miss Toombs... Neddy, I’d like you to meet John Devlin. He drove in from Charleston last night. I’m hoping to show him the cemetery this morning after my meeting with Louvenia.”
If she was surprised by his presence at the cottage, she didn’t show it. Instead, she seemed quite taken with Devlin as he went down the steps to greet her.
“How do you do, Miss Toombs?”
“Quite well, Mr. Devlin. Thank you.” She smiled demurely as she offered her hand. “I trust you had a good sleep, as well?”
“The cottage is very comfortable,” he said with a neat sidestep. “You have a lovely place here.”
“I try my best.” Reluctantly, she shifted her focus back to me. “About that meeting with Louvenia. I’m to tell you she’s running late and will meet you later at the cemetery. She would have telephoned you directly but she didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Thank you.”
“And there’s a message from Dr. Shaw, as well. I’m afraid he’s feeling under the weather and would like for you to come up to see him before you leave.”
“It’s nothing serious, I hope.”
“Just a bug, I imagine. Anyway, I’ll be serving breakfast shortly. Would you like some coffee or tea in the meantime?”
“Coffee would be great,” Devlin said, and she beamed.
“Maybe tea a little later,” I said. “Right now I’d like to check on Dr. Shaw.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” Devlin asked when Nelda had gone back inside the house.
“No, just sit here and enjoy your coffee. I’ll be back soon.”
“Amelia...” He caught my arm and I turned to glance up at him.
He looked as if he wanted to tell me something, but instead he bent to kiss me. “Go see about Dr. Shaw. We’ll talk when you get back.”
I left him in the garden while I went up to Dr. Shaw’s room. He answered the door in his robe and slippers, looking frailer than I’d seen him in months.
“Dr. Shaw, are you all right? Nelda said you’re not feeling well.”
“It’s nothing to worry about,” he said as he motioned me into a small sitting area. “I expect I’ve overtaxed myself. I’m used to spending all of my time in the office these days. Field investigations are a young man’s work.”
“Can I get you anything?” I asked in concern. “Do you need to see a doctor?”
“No, thank you, my dear. As you can see, Miss Toombs is taking very good care of me.” He sat down at the table where a tea service had been placed and motioned for me to join him. “A morning’s rest and I should be as good as new.”
But I wasn’t so certain. The pallor of his skin worried me and I couldn’t help noticing how badly his hand trembled as he poured our tea.
“Where’s your associate?” I asked as he handed me a cup. “He hasn’t already left for the cemetery, has he?”
“He had to return to Charleston on another matter and I’m not sure when or if he’ll be back. So I’m afraid neither of us will be able to accompany you this morning. However, I did hear from my friend about the braille inscription.”
“Oh?” I leaned in anxiously. “What does it say?”
“It’s from a seventeenth-century poem by Henry Vaughan. I’ll forward you the email, but in the meantime, take a look.” He opened up his tablet and handed the device across the table to me. “Vaughan was one of the metaphysical poets. Welsh, I believe.”
I read aloud from the screen:
“O calm and sacred bed, where lies
In death’s dark mysteries
A beauty far more bright
Than the noon’s cloudless light.”