Burning Lamp by Amanda Quick Page A

a hidden pocket sewn into the folds of her elegant skirts and pulled out a crisp pasteboard.
    Adelaide took it from her and glanced at the name of the firm printed in very fine black script.
    “JoNes aNd JoNes,” she read.
    “Should you ever feel the need of our services, I trust you will send word to our office. Jones and Jones prides itself on discretion.”
    “That is very good to know, Mrs. Jones.”
    Adelaide slipped the card into the pocket of the starched white apron that covered her from throat to ankle. Beneath the apron was a fresh, plain day dress. She had sent Jed to fetch Mrs. Trevelyan shortly after arriving at the Abbey. Demonstrating her considerable professional competence, the housekeeper had quickly packed a trunk that contained fresh clothes and a variety of personal toiletries. She had also put in a set of silk sheets and one of Adelaide’s silk nightgowns.
    Mrs. Trevelyan had never asked any questions about the silk sheets. She no doubt assumed that Adelaide’s rule of sleeping only in silk was simply an eccentricity. The reality was that it was a necessity as far as Adelaide was concerned. The disturbing energy of other people’s dreams and nightmares soaked into bedding and mattresses over the years and made sleep virtually impossible for someone with her unusual talent. She had discovered long ago that silk acted as a barrier to the unpleasant residue of old dreamlight.
    Having seen to her employer’s immediate needs, Mrs. Trevelyan had promptly sailed into the kitchen and taken charge of the household. She reported to Adelaide that the large man named Delbert had put up some resistance at first. But he and the other enforcers had been won over when the fragrant aromas of a hearty breakfast and strong coffee had begun to emanate from the kitchen.
    “Men generally respond very well to a good meal,” Mrs. Trevelyan explained to Adelaide. “Indeed, it has been my experience that they are more faithful to a good cook than they are to a lover.”
    Delbert waited now at the foot of the stairs with Lucinda’s cloak. His coat was fastened around his bulky frame in a less than successful attempt to conceal the large revolver he carried in his shoulder holster. If Lucinda noticed the bulge she was too polite to question it.
    Delbert was clearly unaccustomed to the business of assisting a lady into her cloak. He fumbled a bit with the long, sweeping length of fine wool and turned quite red when it did not settle properly around Lucinda’s shoulders. But Mrs. Jones did not seem to notice.
    “Thank you,” she said politely.
    “Yes, ma’am.” Delbert turned even redder.
    Out in the street, rain was falling steadily. Adelaide watched from the doorway as Delbert used a large umbrella to escort Lucinda down the steps to the waiting carriage. The vehicle’s windows were securely closed against the damp weather.
    The carriage door opened when Lucinda got close. A man dressed in a high-collared coat and a low-crowned hat kicked down the steps and got out. The heavy rain, combined with the hat, the coat and the fact that Delbert’s broad back and the bobbing umbrella were in the way, made it difficult to get a clear view of the gentleman. Adelaide was certain, however, that she was looking at the other half of Jones & Jones .
    There was a subtle intimacy in the way Caleb Jones handed Lucinda up into the cab. It spoke volumes. Mr. Jones, Adelaide thought, was very much in love with his wife and she with him.
    The carriage door closed and the vehicle rolled off into the rain. Adelaide opened her senses and looked at the prints that the Joneses had left on the pavement. Hot energy burned in the rain.
    Delbert lumbered back up the steps, paused to shake out the umbrella and then moved into the hall. He closed the door and looked at Adelaide. Anxiety scrunched his broad features into a grim mask.
    “Will the Boss really be all right, ma’am?” he asked.
    “Yes,” Adelaide said. She was aware of the