The Serpent In The Garden_ A Novel Part 4

Joshua watched Violet drift across the room to bring her mother over.

He had met her only fleetingly prior to her departure for London, on the morning after his arrival. Already he had remarked the perfect symmetry of her face and the elegance of her bearing. She was a remarkably handsome young woman: as tall as Juno, finely boned, with plentiful hair dark gold in hue, blue-gray eyes fringed with dark lashes, and the same honey-colored complexion as her mother. Her dress, he noted with great pleasure, was as immaculate as her face: she wore a bodice and skirt of lilac silk embroidered with flowers and trimmed with a tulle pleated frill about the neck and cuffs. The skirt was pinned back to reveal a petticoat of rich purple brocade.

Her face and garb were like those of an angel, that much was clear to Joshua, but he had found unraveling her character less simple. At their first meeting she had avoided light conversation whenever possible, speaking only in response to direct questions, then gazing into the distance, seemingly oblivious to her immediate surroundings, as if some pressing matter preoccupied her. Now, however, he began to suspect that it was Caroline's animosity toward Violet that had made her reticent and withdrawn. This evening, with Lizzie Manning to encourage her, she presented an altogether different side. By the time supper was finished and the a.s.sembled party had moved to the drawing room, where the men sat down for a hand of cards, Lizzie Manning and Violet threaded their arms together and appeared to be on the most cordial terms.

THE DRAWING ROOM was long and narrow, with an ornate molded ceiling and walls lined with pea green damask silk, studded with landscapes and portraits of various Bentnick forebears. In the center of one wall, above a grand chimneypiece, hung a full-length portrait of Jane Bentnick painted by Thomas Gainsborough at Bath only a year or two earlier. Few artists, in Joshua's opinion, gave the viewer pleasure with such ease as Gainsborough. There was depth yet enviable naturalness to his style. Jane wore a fas.h.i.+onable Van Dyck costume of sky blue silk with a pointed lace collar and a lavishly plumed hat. She looked the ideal of graceful womanhood, and yet, in the turn of her head, the set of her mouth, and in those heavy-lidded brown eyes there was wit, determination, character in abundance. Such was the spell Gainsborough wove that for some time Joshua paid little attention to the cards he was dealt. What would Jane Bentnick have made of her husband's choice of new bride? What would she have thought of her children's suspicions? Was Herbert's hurried engagement a sign that his union with Jane had been blissfully contented, or unhappy?

Joshua regarded the ladies, who had settled themselves on gilded chairs around the fire. Caroline Bentnick took up her embroidery, then she began to plead with Lizzie Manning to divert them by playing something on the piano. "And I shall sing," declared Violet, looking more radiant than ever. Lizzie Manning agreed and the two moved to the piano, just as Herbert gave a loud cough and urged Joshua to concentrate on the cards on the table. From the corner of his eye Joshua saw Sabine move closer to Caroline, and he dimly heard the beginnings of their conversation.

"Your father tells me you intend to wear a dress that belonged to your mother at our engagement ball," said Sabine without preamble. "I think that is a delightful notion. Now, tell me, what jewelry will you wear with it? Did your mother leave you anything?"

"My mother cared little for jewels. I have a small locket that will serve admirably," said Caroline warily.

Stroking the jewel at her throat, Sabine smiled benevolently. "Never mind the locket, dear Caroline, you may wear my necklace with your mother's dress. I don't offer it lightly. But I believe it will be appropriate-after all, I will soon become your stepmother."

Sensing disapproval beneath Herbert's fidgeting and coughing, Joshua turned his attention to his cards. Only after winning several hands did he glance back at the women.

Caroline was sitting motionless and silent, some distance away from Sabine, gazing on the emerald necklace about Sabine's neck. The expression on her face seemed to suggest she believed it the foulest object she ever set eyes on (a sentiment with which Joshua heartily concurred). Joshua saw her turn wildly to her brother for a.s.sistance, but Francis was immersed in his hand of cards. She pressed her palms to her neck as if she burned with embarra.s.sment and could not think what to do.

Some minutes pa.s.sed, during which not a word was uttered, and Sabine stared at Caroline with an odd, fierce expression. Eventually Sabine broke the silence. "Then you accept my offer," Joshua heard her say clearly just as Violet began to sing a tuneful accompaniment to Lizzie's playing.

Later, when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies by the fire, Francis Bentnick went immediately to Lizzie's side. She began to recount a yarn that involved her taking on the voice and character of at least half a dozen personalities. Herbert, whom Joshua had vanquished modestly enough for him to remain in genial humor, drew up a chair beside Sabine and Violet. Joshua stood by the fire, his hand in his pocket, c.h.i.n.king the two sovereigns he had won. His attention was all on Caroline. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. Her long, narrow jaw twitched with tension and her cheeks were unnaturally flushed. Her face seemed ... what, exactly? For an instant he was unsure-not anger, not embarra.s.sment-then it flashed upon him: she looked terrified.

Chapter Ten.

THE STAR AND GARTER was set high upon the crest of Richmond Hill. It was a tall brick building resembling a n.o.bleman's mansion, with a garden behind that was famed throughout the vicinity. Honeysuckle and jasmine and roses trailed over paths, and sweeps of lawn lay between trees and avenues of lime. Joshua had paced the main street of Richmond, asking himself where he might go were he a stranger recently arrived from Barbados in need of a bed for the night, and had already been refreshed in the Red Lyon, the Talbot, the Feathers in Water Lane, the Compa.s.ses, and the Rose and Crown.

"And what can I be doing for you, sir?" said James Dunstable, the landlord, spying Joshua hovering by the counter in his front room. He took in Joshua's satin-lined cape, his embroidered waistcoat, his lace cravat. Joshua could almost hear him wonder what manner of gentleman dressed with such extravagance to promenade the high street of Richmond at eleven o'clock of the morning. The thought pleased him no end.

Joshua placed his tricorn on the counter. "I'll have an ale if you please, sir. I have come in search of a Mr. John Cobb. He has arrived recently from overseas. I believe he might be staying here."

Dunstable took down a pewter tankard from a high shelf and examined it for signs of dirt.

"Mr. Cobb from Barbados? And what's he to you?" he said as he gave the mug a hefty shake.

"He's an acquaintance of mine. I have a proposition for him."

Dunstable edged the tankard beneath the nozzle of the pump and pulled slowly on its handle. "Whatever the nature of your proposition, I regret to say you have come too late," he said, handing over the foaming vessel.

Joshua sipped his ale, regarding Dunstable from behind the tankard's rim. "Would you not take a drink for yourself, sir? Why am I too late?"

"He paid for his lodgings two days ago. Said he'd be back shortly for his portmanteau. I've seen and heard nothing of him since."

"How long did he stay here?" said Joshua with scarcely a pause.

"Three or four weeks. You may tell him when you find him that his portmanteau is still gathering dust and I'd be grateful to see the back of it." Dunstable fairly gulped down his ale as if he'd not drunk for a week.

"Did he have any visitors during that time?"

"Aye, a few. But there was one that made him wait."

"What d'you mean?"

"Cobb was forever asking if anyone had called; if any letters had arrived."

"He never said who the person he expected was?"

"Not in so many words, but it was a lady. He said more than once, 'If anyone comes, tell her I will not be long, and look after her well till my return.'"

"Do you remember any of the callers who did come? Did they leave names?"

"Hold on, not so fast," said the landlord, thumping his empty mug on the counter. "What's all this to do with your proposition?"

"Another drink, Mr. Dunstable? I need to talk to Cobb," Joshua said, lying through his teeth without any visible qualm. "It's a delicate family matter." Here he winked knowingly at Dunstable and tapped the side of his nose. "If I can trace one of his visitors, perhaps they will help me find him. I would be most grateful for your a.s.sistance."

Dunstable shrugged his shoulders and refilled his mug to the brim. "One was a solicitor, who worked for a London office."

"How d'you know?"

"He left a card with a message for Mr. Cobb."

"His name?"

"Bartholomew h.o.a.re, attorney of Gray's Inn Lane."

"Any others?"

"Herbert Bentnick. He had a grand disagreement with your Mr. Cobb."

"Herbert Bentnick? Are you certain it was he?"

"As certain as I am there's paint on the end of your nose."

Joshua dabbed at his face hastily with a handkerchief. "And what was the argument about? Were you present when it took place? Did you overhear it?"

Dunstable looked a little peeved at this suggestion. "The gentlemen were at the seats you see there." He waved a broad, hairy hand in the direction of an oak settle in a dark corner of the inn. "So I could hardly fail to, could I?"

"Quite so. I didn't mean to suggest you were intruding."

"No, well, perhaps not. But I have to mind what happens here ..."

"Yes, yes, Mr. Dunstable, but did you hear anything?"

"Have patience; I'm telling you now, aren't I? They had scarce taken a sip of their wine when Mr. Bentnick set to shouting at Mr. Cobb. 'I tell you she will not see you and there's an end to it,' he fairly bellowed, whereupon Mr. Cobb says, 'I ask for no more than is rightfully mine.' Then Mr. Bentnick responds, 'There is only your say-so on it,' and Cobb says, 'No, there's more. I have letters to prove it.' At that point the two stood and faced each other and I grew afraid for their safety. Mr. Bentnick says he knows nothing of any papers, but he's sure they must be counterfeit if they exist. Next thing Cobb's thrown his tankard and soaked Mr. Bentnick, who's told him if he stays a moment longer, he'll be in danger of doing Mr. Cobb some terrible injury. Then he stormed off, drenched to the skin and fuming."

This was all most interesting; Dunstable had earned his ale and another besides. "Were there other encounters between the two of them?" Joshua asked as he sipped.

"None that I witnessed, though 'tis my guess that the lady they spoke of and the lady he was always waiting for were one and the same. 'Tis possible she was the lady who came the very day Cobb disappeared."

"Who was she?"

"There I cannot help you. I was occupied with the stables and the grooms; I caught a brief glimpse of her entering the inn. That is all. She wasn't known to me."

"What variety of lady was she?"

"A fair one."

"Her age? Manner?"

"Wigged, powdered, twenty or thereabouts, dressed in the grandest style feathers, and flowers and ribbons and lace and anything else you care to mention. As conscious of her charms as anyone with her attractions would be."

"What makes you a.s.sociate her with Mr. Bentnick?"

Dunstable looked down at his half-empty mug. "Naught in particular. Only I have heard there's ladies staying, and having heard a lady mentioned in the argument, I suppose I just a.s.sumed it."

THREE tankards of ale and one hour later, Joshua glanced out the window. He contemplated the short walk back to Astley without enthusiasm. The sky had grown low and heavy, and a sharp north breeze had begun to blow. He left the inn, knowing that if he lingered he would be late for Sabine Mercier's sitting, and that a downpour was imminent, but wis.h.i.+ng he could stay. With little choice but to spoil his new leather boots, he b.u.t.toned his coat and adjusted his cravat and set out.

Half a mile down the road, large gouts of rain began to drop on his hat. Within a quarter of an hour the downpour had strengthened sufficiently to make inroads to his collar and seep down his neck. He was certain that by tomorrow he would have to take to bed with a cold. At worst there was the possibility of contracting fevers and ailments he didn't even want to speculate upon. To make matters worse, the road had now veered so close to the detestable river he fancied he could smell it. So damp and morose and uneasy was he that the creak and jangle of cha.s.sis and harness signaling a coach-and-two thundering over the summit of a hill from the direction of Astley didn't make him alter his stride; nor did he move to the verge of the road to avoid being splashed. Since he was already soaked and saturated beyond recognition, what difference would a little more mud and water make?

The carriage splashed to a clattering halt in a large puddle three feet in front of him. A quart of gritty brown water slopped over his boots. A gloved hand pushed down the window and a dun bonnet framing a pair of sparkling gray eyes peered out. "You have chosen a nasty day for a promenade, Mr. Pope. Would you not care for a ride?" It was Lizzie Manning, dressed in her dreary outdoor garb, but wearing an expression that was a study in amus.e.m.e.nt, solicitude, and curiosity.

"If it is not an inconvenience, then that is most kind indeed," said Joshua, drawing near, "for, as you so astutely remark, the weather has turned very dirty indeed."

"Do not mention it, I beg of you," answered Lizzie Manning with an airy wave. "The carriage is Mr. Bentnick's. He has sent me home in it. It will be no trouble at all for the driver to return with you, since he will be going there anyway. Besides, I am perfectly sure Mr. Bentnick would not desire his latest portraitist to fall ill with a virulent fever."

Joshua bowed low, thinking what a miracle it was to find someone so considerate of his health. He opened the door and climbed in. He had scarce time to utter a pleasantry or even reiterate his thanks for her charity when he was a.s.saulted by a battery of questions. Where had he been? Why had he gone there? What had he learned? To begin with, his replies were measured. Lizzie Manning was as good as a member of the Bentnick family. He a.s.sumed anything he confided to her would be relayed to them. And did he really want Herbert Bentnick to know he had been prying into Cobb's comings and goings? Or that Herbert had been witnessed in some mighty disagreement with the fellow he claimed never to have set eyes on?

After Joshua had provided a modified account of the morning's activities, she smiled knowingly. "That is all very well, but since there's another two miles till we arrive at my door, you may as well speak candidly, Mr. Pope. Don't you trust me? What really engaged you this morning?"

Joshua tried to conceal the astonishment he felt. Before he married he had enjoyed several close friends.h.i.+ps among the female s.e.x. Rachel and he had enjoyed easy conversation. Even his mistress, Meg, was something of a chatterbox, yet he was unaccustomed to females speaking so boldly and with so little pretence at decorum, and thus confronted he wasn't entirely sure how to respond.

Lizzie must have sensed his consternation; she patted his arm comfortingly. "You will find me the very essence of discretion, Mr. Pope. Why, I have heard secrets as would make your ears tingle, yet I have never spoken a word to anyone."

Any niggle of disapproval he felt was no match for her easy candor. Why should he not explain a little-after all, there was a possibility she knew something of relevance. He began, guardedly, to speak of his discoveries. He told her he had gone in search of the truth about the recent death in the pinery, because any man deserved as much when his death was so untimely and bizarre. Furthermore, Sabine had instructed him to find what he could about the dead man from Granger. According to Granger and Francis Bentnick, the man had been seen in the garden some days before he died. He was recently arrived from Barbados. Francis suspected there was some intrigue between the dead man and Violet; and Sabine might also have been acquainted with him, or so Granger thought. His name was discovered on a letter in his pocket. It was John Cobb.

"John Cobb?" echoed Lizzie. "Is that who he was?"

"Did you know him?"

"Know him? No, I didn't. But I believe you are right to be wary of Sabine Mercier and her daughter," said Lizzie, smiling brightly. "And your sentiments are most commendable. I agree with them wholeheartedly. How could Mr. Bentnick behave so callously toward a corpse in his pinery? Does he think it flew there like a dead leaf carried on the wind? Why, the very least he should do is to make some enquiries. I should write immediately and tell him so."

"No, no, Miss Manning," said Joshua. "I pray you will do no such thing. Why, don't you see that if there is some subterfuge here, then it might be of a dangerous variety? Cobb is dead, perhaps even murdered, for what else explains the singular circ.u.mstances of his death? You might cast both of us in peril if you reveal too much to the wrong person."

Lizzie Manning's eyes opened round as sovereigns and she begged him to explain his suspicions. He replied that he had none. His only other research thus far was a conversation with Dunstable, the landlord of the Star and Garter, where Cobb had stayed for several weeks prior to meeting his end. Cobb had received several visitors-Bartholomew h.o.a.re, a lawyer from London, and more intriguing, Herbert Bentnick, with whom he had had a violent disagreement. He had also received a lady visitor, who was described as fair, well dressed, and youthful of appearance, but her ident.i.ty remained a mystery.

"Mystery be d.a.m.ned," said Lizzie Manning, forgetting feminine propriety. "The woman must certainly be Violet. Who else do you think would fit the description? Certainly not Caroline or I."

Joshua reddened. "You may be right," he conceded, "but let us not forget there are sure to be other fair-haired beauties in the vicinity of Richmond. And there is nothing to say the visitor didn't come from further afield. Violet is not unique in respect of her coloring."

With this, Lizzie fell uncharacteristically silent. Joshua felt a strange sensation of anxiety and pleasure stir in his heart. Yesterday evening he had seen Lizzie's sociable exterior. She had amused him, entertained him, bewildered him. Today he regarded her anew. Few women of her youth would take an interest in these events. The fact that she was concerned for the fate of the dead man-a stranger-the fact she had defended Caroline and viewed the Merciers with ambivalence, were touching testimony of her humanity, loyalty, and intelligence.

The carriage lurched up the rutted drive of Barlow Court and drew to a halt. Lizzie Manning, thought Joshua, wasn't the mercurial flibbertigibbet he had suspected; she might be volatile, but beneath that external show lay a woman of discernment and surprising depths.

BARLOW COURT, the Mannings' residence, was a stone Queen Anne mansion, set squarely in a small park, overlooking the river near Barnes. The view of the great swath of gray-blue water was one many people admired, although Joshua found it odious. While the footman opened the carriage door and dropped the step, Joshua descended from the carriage and stood in the rain to help Lizzie Manning down.

"Farewell, Miss Manning," he said, offering her his hand. He would have liked to say something more, something that would mark his new esteem for her; moreover, he was as keen to sketch her now as he had been the previous night. He found himself tongue-tied with confusion. "And may I express my heartfelt grat.i.tude for your stopping and permitting me to travel in your carriage," he managed to murmur.

Lizzie looked surprised, yet she smiled sweetly at him. "Don't mention it, Mr. Pope. It was no more than anyone would have done." Here she laughed aloud, revealing her small, perfectly even teeth. "I confess I am much intrigued by our conversation and your enquiries, and as I said before, I believe you are right to make them. Thus, if you will accept, I have a proposition for you."

"What manner of proposition?"

"I offer you my a.s.sistance," she replied. Joshua was flabbergasted and clearly showed it in his face, for her expression turned a little cross. "You may think me useless but I have my purposes-in gaining entry where you could not, for instance, and in extracting confidences you would not. I am quite famous for wheedling out what is hidden and obscure. Ask anyone who knows me."

Joshua wanted to say no. He was, in truth, uncertain even that he should be meddling in these matters. Lizzie's candid gray eyes held him captive, yet he was not so entangled as to forget to question the reason for her determination. "You are an audacious young lady. Do you not fear putting your life in jeopardy? Consider Mr. Cobb's fate," he replied.

She tossed her head. "You have already mentioned it. Have you no stronger argument?"

"Suppose you arouse your friends' displeasure? It may be that one of them is caught up in all of this. And since your father is the local justice, what would he say on learning of his daughter's involvement?"

Lizzie snorted disdainfully. "Displeasure? What displeasure? I don't give a halfpenny for any such thing. Caroline and Francis are the greatest of friends to me. I have no doubt of their probity. And since they have voiced certain doubts regarding Mrs. Mercier and her daughter, perhaps I may do them all a service if I aid you in discovering their involvement. As you point out, my father is the justice, so is it not appropriate that in his absence I a.s.sist you? I am sure my father would agree with me."

"And how do you propose to proceed?"

"By speaking to Violet's maid. She might know who this Cobb was."

Joshua drew himself back and looked at her directly. "Have you no fear at all?"

"I could ask the very same of you, Mr. Pope," she parried. "And while we are on the subject, may I suggest that you find some pretext to return to London and seek out Mr. h.o.a.re, the attorney, and discover the nature of his business with John Cobb?"

She said this just as Joshua had remounted into the carriage and was preparing to slam shut the door. He leaned forward to grab the handle. Her offer of a.s.sistance had filled him with misgiving despite his growing regard for her. Now, however, he grew annoyed. A man of Joshua Pope's standing didn't expect to be treated with condescension or ordered about like a footman-especially by a girl of barely one and twenty years. Her charm was no excuse. He half wanted to tell her to take up a more suitable pastime-embroidery or watercolors, for instance-and leave him be. Yet, though it pained him to admit it, she had described precisely what he had determined to do as soon as he had learned of the attorney's visit. Furthermore, her own resolve to question Violet's maid would prove extremely useful. By virtue of her s.e.x, she would stand more chance than he would of encouraging the maid's confidence and discovering something significant. Had he not experienced firsthand her capacity for extracting confidences? Besides, she would never agree to sit for him unless he humored her. And so, regardless of his reservations, he agreed.

Chapter Eleven.

HE WAS, as he feared, late for Sabine Mercier's sitting. He found her waiting in his rooms. She was examining the unfinished portrait on his easel, having removed the cloth with which he always covered unfinished works. Her eyes seemed to study her figure and that of Herbert, still vaguely delineated, and scan the sketchy outline of landscape beyond. There was no guessing her opinion of what she saw. The expression on her face wasn't one of pleasure or disapproval; rather, he judged it to be of remoteness, indifference even-as if the people in the portrait were strangers to her.

When she began to speak, however, there was no doubting her displeasure. "I confess, Mr. Pope, I am a little surprised to find myself waiting for our appointment close on three quarters of an hour. By now our sitting should be almost over, and you have yet to open your paint box."