The Outrider - A Paranormal Regency Romance ONC 2022

Chapter 16

In which our heroine employs some skills

The housekeeper worried Corinna the most, so she would start with that woman.

Mrs. MacGregor struck her as being a kind, caring person and a most unlikely undercover operative. But one never knew, the reason she now hid behind a heavy damask curtain in coffee brown, ready to send out her consciousness. Next to the curtain stood a potted palm that not only provided shelter but also some much-needed greenery. The chandeliers washed the ballroom with light, which meant Corinna's vision would not be clouded. She'd sorely need all the help available.

Corinna plucked a slim leaf from the palm and rubbed it between her fingers. The scent of the moist soil in the pot rose into her nose. With the doors thrown open on the balmy evening, the environment—while not exactly natural—gave her enough of the ingredients required to ply her craft.

Mrs. MacGregor, seated on a wicker garden chair, chatted with a stout, short woman with a hint of mustache shading her upper lip. According to Demoral, she was the cook, and she too featured on his lordship's list. The footman, Jones-Evans, another kind person Corinna would hate to find guilty, an under-gardener, and a stable boy made up the rest of the list.

"The latter two are unlikely candidates," Demoral had said when he scanned the crowds for his suspects. "But they joined during the right time period, so we must be sure."

"They wouldn't get into the house," Corinna had pointed out. "I mean, theoretically, the gardener can lurk in the bushes and listen at the windows, but that won't give him enough intel. The stable boy...I think not."

"Nor do I, but I want to know where I stand. My gardeners are too busy to lurk in bushes, I dare say, but I must admit the information given by the other hedge witch turned out a bit of an eye opener. Without her, governesses and valets would still spy on us at their leisure." He gently squeezed Corinna's arm. "People like you. Try not to disappoint me."

"I can try, nothing more."

"Do that." He sauntered off, and it had been up to her to find a spot suitable for her forage into mental espionage. There she stood, a green scent in her nose, ready to send her consciousness across to the table with the two women.

Not that she precisely heard or read words they formed in their mind. Things simply didn't work like that.

Every human being exuded life energy, and it was that Corinna could touch with her extended consciousness. It felt a bit like bouncing against an invisible soap bubble, a bubble that left an impression behind. Nor did this mind-travel constitute a precise art by any means. Impressions were limited to a person's general disposition, stress, discomfort and such like, nothing more.

Since neither Mrs. MacDonald nor Madame Caupon should experience stress when chatting amicably and eating tasty morsels, such a state would be a warning.

What if the cook discovers she's burned the pudding? She might well fret over such a mishap.

Corinna drew a deep breath. First, she would find out what there was to find out. If need be, she could then worry about her find.

She imagined her mind growing, swelling like a balloon until it covered the few meters between the curtain and the table where the two ladies now toasted each other.

It was an odd feeling for sure, since she seemed to exist in two places at once—hiding behind the curtain, dimly aware of a draft, and the rest of her mind pooling behind the chair occupied by Mrs. MacGregor.

Once Corinna's consciousness encountered Mrs. MacGregor's life energy, she had her proof that at least here she need not worry.

Content, warm and pink, filled the housekeeper's mind.