Garden of Lies (29 page)

The warehouse was suddenly filled with constables who appeared from the interiors of several crates and descended from the loft. One man in a suit and tie walked toward Cobb.

“Did you hear enough, Detective Inspector?” Slater asked.

“More than enough,” the detective said. He reached through the netting and collected the revolver. “Plenty of witnesses heard this man's confession, as well. Mr. Cobb, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Lord Fulbrook and the American named Hubbard. There will be other charges, as well. Someone's got to answer for the deaths of Rosemont, Wyatt and Anne Clifton.”

There was a sudden disturbance in the doorway. A light appeared.

“What's going on in here?” the cab driver shouted. “Tom. Tom, are you all right? Where are you, son?”

Slater went to where he had hidden Tom a few minutes earlier.

“You can come out from behind the crate, Tom,” he said. “You're safe.”

Tom jumped to his feet. He took in the scene with an awed expression. Then he ran to his father.

“That man, the one that was going to pay us so much to haul the crate to the ship, I heard him say he cut someone's throat,” Tom said.

The driver pulled Tom close against his side. “There, there, son, looks like the police have him in hand.”

Slater walked across the floor through the lantern light and stopped a short distance from Cobb.

“Bastard,” Cobb hissed.

“Welcome to London,” Slater said.

L
ady Fulbrook has gone into seclusion in the country.” Otford checked his notes. “She is said to be distraught over the murder of her husband.”

“I'll wager that's a bit of an exaggeration,” Ursula said. “I'm quite certain that
vastly relieved to have him out of the way
would be a more accurate description of her feelings.”

They were gathered once again in Slater's library, listening to the latest news from a very excited Otford. Ursula was seated on the sofa beside Lilly, who was pouring tea. Slater was behind his desk. Ursula thought he was strangely calm for a man who had faced down a violent crime lord a few hours earlier. For her part, she was not feeling nearly so cool and collected. But there was, she had to admit, a great deal of relief and satisfaction in knowing that Cobb had been arrested.

Otford flipped another page in his notebook. “I could find only one person at the Fulbrook house in Mapstone Square, a gardener. Managed to speak to him through the back gate. He said Lady Fulbrook had let the entire household staff go except for him. According to the gardener, Lady Fulbrook got into a hired carriage shortly before noon and departed for the country house.”

Ursula picked up her teacup. “Lady Fulbrook hated all of the servants. She didn't trust them. She believed they spied on her.”

“She was a prisoner in her own home.” Lilly looked thoughtful. “And now she is free.”

Ursula turned to Slater. “What will happen to Damian Cobb?”

“I'm told he has sent a telegram to his lawyers in America who will, no doubt, arrange for him to hire the best lawyer in London.” Slater scooped up his notes. “There is, of course, the possibility that he will go free, in spite of the confession and the facts of the case. But if he is that fortunate, I predict that he will book passage to New York on the first available ship.”

“He won't dare hang around London, that's certain,” Otford said. “He'll be notorious after the trial. The press and the penny dreadfuls—especially
The Illustrated News of Crime and Scandal—
will be filled with stories about him for months. The court may find him not guilty but public opinion will hold an entirely different view. You know how it is, Mrs. Kern.”

“Yes.” Ursula set her cup down with a loud clink of china-on-china. “I know very well how it feels to be notorious.”

Otford stiffened and then flushed a dull red. “Sorry to bring up the subject. Well, I'd best be off. Got a meeting with a printer. The first issue of the
Illustrated News
goes on sale tomorrow.” He paused and glanced uneasily at Slater. “Our deal still stands, sir, does it not? I assured the printer that he would be paid because you were backing my magazine.”

Slater leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “I will instruct my man of business to issue you a check no later than this afternoon.”

Otford radiated excitement. “Thank you, sir. I promise you that you'll have a free lifetime subscription to
The Illustrated News of Crime and Scandal
.”

“I will look forward to every issue,” Slater said.

“Right, then, I'll be on my way.” Otford nodded at Ursula and Lilly. “Good day to you, ladies.”

He scurried away through the door.

Lilly looked at Slater. “You've certainly made Mr. Otford's dreams come true.”

Slater took off his spectacles and started to polish them. “Always nice to have the press on one's side.”

“Even if one must pay for the positive publicity?” Ursula asked.

Slater put on his eyeglasses. “So long as I get my money's worth, I have no complaints.”

Lilly put her cup and saucer down on the table. “You must excuse me. I am going shopping. News of the Fulbrook murder is spreading rapidly and I suddenly find myself in great demand because of my connection to the Kern Secretarial Agency. Everyone is aware that one of their secretaries was a victim of the American assassin. Invitations have been pouring in all morning. At this rate, my calendar will be completely full for the next month or so.”

She whisked through the doorway. Ursula waited until she was gone and then she looked at Slater.

“I can scarcely believe that it's finished,” she said. “Everyone is talking about Fulbrook's murder but all I ever cared about was Anne's death.”

“I know.” Slater watched her across the expanse of the big desk. “It's possible that Cobb will evade the hangman's noose and go home to New York. But even if that is the case, he will not be able to escape the stain on his reputation. He has been labeled a murderer in the press on both sides of the Atlantic. He will never be free of the repercussions. Will that be enough for you?”

“Yes,” she said. “I wanted answers and you helped me obtain them. If the judge and jury fail, I am certainly not going to allow you to assume the responsibility of meting out justice. There has been too much darkness. It is time for a bit of sunlight.”

“Agreed.” Slater looked toward the window. “As it happens, the sun is shining at this moment. Would you care to walk out with me?”

She smiled and got to her feet. “I would be delighted to go walking in the sunlight with you, Slater. I'll run upstairs and get my bonnet.” She paused, gathering her nerve. “When we return, I really must pack and move back to my own house.”

He watched her go toward the door. “There is no need for you to rush back to your home. You are welcome to stay here for a few more days—or longer. It's about time we got back to work cataloging my collection. This investigation business has created a serious delay.”

She froze. After what they had just been through, his chief concern was the cataloging of his artifacts?

“I will be happy to assist you in the work,” she said grimly, “but I can do that just as well while living in my own house.”

He studied the collection of relics. “This house will feel . . . empty when you are not here.”

“We both know that I can't stay here indefinitely as your houseguest,” she said. “I must go home. The sooner, the better, I think.”

He looked stricken. She told herself she must be strong for both of them.

“I'll just be a moment,” she said. She went to the doorway.

“Ursula?”

A giddy sense of hope made her pause in the doorway. She turned quickly.

“Yes, Slater?” She tried to inject encouragement into her voice.

He came out from behind his desk. “It occurs to me that, from a certain perspective, there is one person who has come out of this tangle in remarkably good condition.”

Her heart sank. “You refer to Mr. Otford?”

“I am thinking of Lady Fulbrook.”

“Oh, I see what you mean.”

“She has it all now, doesn't she?” Slater folded his arms and lounged back against the desk. “The Fulbrook money, her freedom and a conservatory crammed with the ambrosia plant. If she were of a mind to do so, she could go into the drug business, herself.”

“Perhaps,” Ursula said, “but I doubt that she will do that. She is a very wealthy woman now. I am glad for her sake that she is free of that dreadful marriage but she did not get what she wanted most. She truly loved Cobb, you see. It's all there in her letter poems. She dreamed of running off to New York with him. That dream has now been shattered.”

“Perhaps not,” Slater said. “As I've said, I am sure Cobb will have an excellent lawyer. He commands wealth and power back in New York. He may yet be able to make Lady Fulbrook's dreams come true.”

“But it would never be the same as it was in her fantasies. She knows the truth about him now.”

He nodded. “Fantasies are gossamer things, are they not? Reality invariably crushes them.”

Ursula turned swiftly to face him, anger flashing through her. She would not let him crush her fantasies, she vowed. She would fight to preserve them.

“Goodness,” she said. “Will you just look at the time? I don't believe I have time to walk out with you, after all, Mr. Roxton. I must go upstairs and pack.”

Slater unfolded his arms and straightened abruptly. “But you agreed . . .”

She gave him a steely smile. “You appear bewildered, perplexed, perhaps even a trifle disoriented. Why don't you go downstairs and walk your labyrinth. All the answers you seek are there, are they not? Don't bother seeing me to the door. I'll ask Webster to have the carriage brought around. I'll be out of your way within the hour.”

She grasped fistfuls of her skirts and whipped out into the hall. Very deliberately she closed the door on a stunned Slater.

A woman could only do so much. Slater was on his own now. This was about emotions, not logic. He knew where to find her when he finally came to his senses.

. . . If he came to his senses.

S
he had not miscalculated. She walked through the front door of her town house less than an hour later.

As homecomings went, it was not much to speak of. She had forgotten to send word of her impending arrival to Mrs. Dunstan. The silence of the front hall reminded her that the housekeeper was still at her daughter's house.

The little town house was very still, shadowed and chilled.

“You can put the trunk in the first bedroom on the right, Griffith,” she said.

“Yes, ma'am.”

Shouldering the trunk, he climbed the stairs with a slow, heavy tread. Like the Websters, he insisted upon acting as if her departure from Slater's mansion had once again plunged the household into deep mourning.

She took off her bonnet and gloves. Griffith came back downstairs and hovered for a moment.

“Shall I light a fire for you, Mrs. Kern?” he asked. “The fog is getting thick outside.”

“I can deal with the fire, Griffith. Thank you for taking the trunk upstairs.”

“Yes, ma'am. Well, if there's nothing else, I'll be off. Got to find a barber.”

She blinked. “A barber?”

Griffith turned a dull red but his eyes were very bright. “Mrs. Lafontaine gave me two tickets to her latest play. Miss Bingham has agreed to go with me and have a late supper afterward.”

“You? And Matty? Good heavens, I hadn't realized.” It dawned on her that she had been so caught up in her feelings for Slater and the mystery of Anne's death that she had not been paying attention. She smiled. “That's wonderful, Griffith. I know you will enjoy yourselves.”

“Expect so.” He looked around. “You're sure you're all right here alone?”

“I'll be fine, Griffith.”

She closed the door behind him and stood in the hall for a moment, trying to decide if she had done the right thing. She had more or less given Slater an ultimatum. The question was whether he had gotten the message and, if he had, what he would do about it.

Now she was starting to wonder if perhaps she had been too subtle. Slater could be a difficult man to read. What if she had misjudged his feelings for her entirely? Perhaps she believed that he loved her simply because she knew now that she was in love with him.

The possibility that she had created a fantasy for herself was unnerving. That was exactly what Valerie had done. She had constructed a fairy tale that featured a murderous crime lord in the role of the hero.

“Well, one thing is certain,” Ursula said aloud to the empty house, “Slater is not a murderous crime lord.”

Surely that indicated that she was not quite as foolish as Valerie.

She went down the hall to the study, where she turned up the lamp and set her satchel on the desk. She knelt to light the fire. The warm blaze on the hearth took the chill off the small room. She drew the curtains open, allowing the foggy afternoon light to enter.

Valerie's words of warning to Anne floated through her mind.
“The foolish woman thought she was so clever seducing a man who is far above her reach. That's what killed her in the end, you know.”

Ursula thought about that for a moment. At the time Valerie had implied that Anne was a fool to try to seduce Lord Fulbrook. But what if Valerie had known the truth—that Damian Cobb was the object of Anne's attempt at seduction?

The question sent a shiver of alarm through Ursula. Impossible. Anne would never have been so foolish as to reveal that she had tried to seduce Cobb with packets of seeds and the secrets of cultivating the ambrosia plant. Anne was too smart. Too clever.

But Anne was dead. She had not been smart enough or clever enough to avoid a killer.

Ursula crossed the room. Crouching, she unlocked the safe and took out the packets of seeds, the small bundle of Mr. Paladin's letters and the velvet bag that contained Anne's small collection of jewelry. She carried the items back to her desk and sat down.

For a time she contemplated the collection of damning objects. Then she started to read the letters from Mr. Paladin.