What had always jumped out to him was the stark emotion attached to a piece, and he had not examined the subtleties. He had generally thought of the person who had held it as a man or woman, but that had been because he knew for whom he searched. Today when he met Sabrina had been the first time that he had sensed the identifiable presence of a certain personapart from his twin.
That had made it easy to feel the same sensation in the objects. Her necklace, for instance, had been swimming with it. Picking up that thread had made it clearer that one of the other strands was also a lingering remnant of a different entity.
Suddenly he was discovering a whole new way to look at his abilityas a multitude of strands, some vivid, some dull, each one carrying its own distinct quality of emotion or place or person. The difficulty was in pulling out a particular thread from the tangled knot. It was an intriguing thing to explore. Unfortunately, it was of little use here as he could not form an image or identity for the person from the strands.
The one thing he had learned was that the money had probably been in the possession of the second man, the one who did not possess the jacket, for a longer time. Somehow this mans presence felt heavieror perhaps fuller was the better word. More developedthat was it. He suspected the other man was older. It was speculation, of course, but then everything about his ability was merely his interpretation of a message.
There was little to be gained from the train ticket, which had been handled by many people and in Sabrinas possession for only a short time. The handkerchief, too, had been handled by others, a servant who had washed it in all likelihood. There was a flicker of something when he touched the stitched monogram, and he held that tightly between his fingers for a moment. Not Sabrina, but a womanthe person who had embroidered it, perhaps? But again, that could have been anyone from a seamstress to a servant to a relative.
Finally, he picked up the thing he held the most hope forthe mans pocket watch. He had gotten a definite flash of a place from it. With some concentration, it might become clearer. He folded his hand around the watch and focused.
A man, and again he had that sense of weight, gravity, that made him think he was older. But he was not one of the other two men he had sensed on the jacket and money. There was a sense of satisfaction. A strong element of love. Alex concentrated on separating that particular strand.
And there it was: a pleasant house, clearly the property of someone of wealth, but not ostentatious. Queen Anne style, white, with crisp black trim, carriage lamps on either side of the entry and a gold knocker on the dooragain, not grand or attention-grabbing, just a plain gold knocker and plate.
It sat in a row of elegant town houses, and he was almost certain it was located here in the city. He was even more certain that whoever the man who had carried this watch was, this house had been his home. Pride, love and security permeated Alexs sense of him.
Excitement rose in him. Now this, at last, was useful. Alex knew houses. He began to dig through his pockets. He had never quite given up his childhood habit of picking up odds and ends and stuffing them in one pocket or another; as a result, he always had a pencil or two and some scrap of paper.
He found a rolled-up flyer someone on the street had handed him the other day. Flattening it out on the bench beside him, he began to sketch the house on the blank back of a testament to the wonders of Dr. Hinkleys Miracle Tonicguaranteed to eradicate all ones aches and pains.
Alex worked as he always did, absorbed in the task, fingers moving quickly and surely over the page. He paused, studying it, then added a few more details. He spent another few minutes holding the watch and trying to summon up a fuller picture of the house, then added a bit of decoration at the corners and over the door. He would give the drawing to Tom Quick and set him looking for the place. Alex could make a pretty good guess as to what areas in the city it was most likely to be located.
He tucked away both drawing and pencil and turned to the final object. He had been curiously reluctant to examine it again. Foolish, of course. The small gold band set with diamonds wasnt necessarily a wedding ring. Even if it was, it wasnt necessarily Sabrinas. It didnt mean she was married.
Moreover, there was really no reason to be downcast at the idea. He barely knew the woman. He was not the romantic soul Con was, believing that all Morelands fell in love on sight. None of his sisters had; indeed, Olivia had had such an argument with her future husband when she first met him that both of them had been tossed out of the séance they were attending. And while Rafe had rescued Kyria from that tree, as Alex recalled she had been more irritated than bedazzledof course, that could have had something to do with the fact that she had been trying to pull Alex and Con out of trouble. Thisbe had had a normal sort of courtship, if studying chemical concoctions could be considered a courtship.
No surprise that his vague, bookish father would have been smitten the moment he met the fiery-haired, forceful reformer who would become his wife. The duchess was, after all, something of a force of nature. Reed had pined for Anna for years, but Alex found it hard to believe that Reed, the most sensible of the Morelands, had really fallen head over heels the moment he saw her. And the whole account of Theos seeing his wife in a dream as he lay dying was too bizarre to count as falling in love on sight.
What they had felt was attraction, just as he was attracted to Sabrina. It made sense. No Moreland could resist the lure of the unusual, and when it was accompanied by big blue eyes and a cloud of black curls and a mouth that invited kisses, of course he would be interested in her, even attracted. The connection between them was odd; hed never felt it with any woman before, but that didnt mean it was love. He didnt know what it meant, but love had to be something more than sensing her presence.
It also had to be more than wanting to help her and protect her. Anyone would have felt a rush of sympathy at her plight, anger at the sign of bruises on her creamy skin. It wasnt the first time he had tried to help someone.
Which was exactly what he ought to be doing, instead of sitting here uselessly ruminating on his motives. Alex picked up the ring and closed his fist around it. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the circle in his hand.
The aura it gave off was muddled, as if it had been handled by many people. There was less trace of Sabrina on it than on the handkerchief. If it was, indeed, a marriage ring, surely that meant it was not Sabrinas. Women rarely took off their wedding bands. Perhaps it was an heirloom, passed down through generations.
He had a suspicion that this line of reasoning was more wishful thinking than logic. The feeling of it was not murky and heavy, as old things often were, with generations of emotions darkening them, layer on layer. It was more...empty, almost, barely brushed with emotion.
That quality made it seem more likely that the ring was new, that it had sat in a jewelry store, looked at and held by many, but worn and cherished by no one. It made it seem likely that it was a recent acquisition, perhaps a present. Perhaps a wedding ring placed on Sabrinas finger only days ago.
Was she a newlywed? Had she run away from her husband? The bruises on her face would certainly indicate that she had good reason for leaving hima frightening brute of a husband who sent her fleeing into the night. Alex realized his fist had tightened around the ring, and he forcibly relaxed it.