Serpent in the Garden (19 page)

“Halt, if you please, sir,” said the stranger, taking a pace toward Joshua, as if he wanted to see what would happen.

The man’s voice was more genteel than Joshua expected, though there was no mistaking the menace it contained. As the man advanced, Joshua saw that his left foot dragged behind him. He wondered if the man had observed him at the Star and Garter. He could well have spied Dunstable handing over the valise. Perhaps he had followed him all the way, waiting to reach a suitably deserted spot before making his attack. Presumably he hadn’t realized Joshua was armed.

“What do you want?” Joshua replied boldly. His heart fluttered in its rib cage, like a bird desperate for freedom. But his mind was icy calm as his hand reached stealthily for his sword.

“My due.”

There wasn’t a trace of nervousness in his voice. Joshua was incensed by his audacity. “And what might the due of a common footpad be other than to hang until you are dead?”

“I am no footpad. I want the bag in your hand. It belongs to me. Drop it if you please, sir, and continue on your way. I give you my honest word I will do you no harm if you do as I ask.”

“I shall do no such thing. I warn you, man, if you approach me, I will defend myself.”

The man came toward him until he was so close Joshua could smell gin on his breath and see the gleaming whites of his eyes. He swayed slightly but perceptibly. Clearly, Joshua thought, the fellow is drunk. Emboldened by this observation, with a single, swift movement Joshua extracted his sword and thrust it toward the man, holding it so that the tip rested on his scrawny neck.

“I fail to see that this bag is your due. I say again, who are you but a footpad?” Joshua said.

The man gave a barking laugh, which turned abruptly into a coughing fit that doubled him up. Joshua was forced to withdraw his weapon a little or risk slitting the man’s throat. At length, the man brought his spasm under control. He raised himself up, spat a large globule of phlegm to the ground, then looked straight at Joshua.

“My name is John Cobb.”

N
O SOONER HAD this astonishing announcement left his lips than the stranger made a grab for the bag at Joshua’s feet. Joshua was stunned by the man’s claim but managed to grasp his assailant’s wrist and raised his sword. Writhing and jostling, the man bellowed, “Now you give me no choice.” With that, he gave a violent contorted tug and pulled out a pistol from his pocket with his free hand. He cocked the weapon, pointing its muzzle directly at Joshua’s eye. “Leave me be, sir. Have I not told you the bag is mine? I came to fetch it from the inn, only to see you leave with it before I had a chance to speak to the landlord there.”

Joshua dropped his weapon and handed over the bag. “You are a bare-faced ruffian and an impostor,” he said, furious to have been outdone when so clearly he had the advantage. “I do not know how you came to settle upon the name John Cobb. Perhaps you overheard my conversation with the landlord. In any case I will tell you, since you are bold enough to try it, that John Cobb is dead and has been so the past five days.”

The man fixed his gaze on Joshua. In the dark his expression was invisible, though from the gleam on the barrel Joshua could see that he had dropped his pistol a fraction. “Dead, is he? Can you be sure?” he said.

“As certain as if I had seen the corpse with my own eyes.” Using the man’s momentary lapse of concentration, Joshua retrieved his sword and sliced at his arm.

The man gave a shriek. The pistol exploded loudly as he dropped it. “You dare call me a scoundrel! It is you who are the thief!” he cried out, before loping off into the shadows.

For some minutes later, Joshua heard the man rustling in the darkness, stifling a coughing fit. He was wounded. Joshua might now be able to apprehend him. Yet the shock of the encounter combined with his ale with Dunstable made Joshua unusually muddleheaded. It seemed to him there was no purpose in pursuing the man and risking further assault. All he wanted was to return unscathed to the relative safety of Astley with Cobb’s bag and to discover what it might contain.

With no more than a parting glance and prayer that neither his assailant nor any other malefactor would confront him again, Joshua let the bleeding, limping man disappear into the night and hurried on his way to Astley.

It was nearly midnight by the time Joshua arrived. Finding the house securely locked and all the servants abed, he was forced to wake the housekeeper by knocking on her window. He murmured an apology when she came, bleary-eyed, to the door to let him in. Taking the lighted stub she begrudgingly proffered, he thanked her and then hurried upstairs to his chamber.

The clasp on Cobb’s valise was unlocked. Inside Joshua discovered a small leather case containing brushes, combs, pomades, a razor. Beneath lay a dark blue woollen coat, clean but plain and of middling quality; a double-breasted wool waistcoat, vertically striped in blue and brown; two pairs of breeches, one black, one buff; two linen shirts, both worn, though of reasonable quality; a pair of stockings; a muslin cravat; three pairs of linen drawers; a nightshirt. At the very bottom, in another leather case, was a traveling walking stick, divided into three sections and fashionably capped with a carved pineapple finial. How appropriate, thought Joshua.

He could see that nothing here was in the least remarkable. All in all it was a perfectly ordinary traveling case of an ordinary middle-ranking gentleman; not quite as fine as his own luggage, but not so different either.

Joshua next searched the pockets of the coat thoroughly for any letter or paper that might offer some clue as to Cobb’s untimely death. The only thing of any interest was one of Hoare’s visiting cards inscribed with the following message: “Arrive afternoon of 20th inst. Will call on you directly.” Hoare had evidently arrived in Richmond the same day as he had, and later that same evening Cobb had died. Was this significant? Could Hoare’s absence since the meeting with Cobb point to his guilt? But what reason could there be for an attorney to murder a client?

Joshua put Hoare’s card back where he had found it and began to return the clothes to the case. He was halfway through this task when the candle stub gave a final flicker and expired. There was nothing to do but to remove his boots and outer clothes and crawl into bed, whence he fell almost immediately into welcome oblivion.

NEXT MORNING, Joshua turned back to Cobb’s bag. He picked up the coat, put it on, and walked to the looking glass. Joshua’s middling stature and swelling girth were a source of chagrin, a subject on which he tried not to dwell excessively. Now, however, he was forcibly reminded of them. The sleeves of Cobb’s coat dangled three inches below his wrists, the tails swamped him, falling practically to his knees, the buttons wouldn’t meet about his middle. Evidently Cobb was a flagpole of a man.

Joshua was about to remove the jacket to put on his own when he recalled the card in the pocket. Perhaps there was something he had missed in last night’s dwindling candlelight that would stand out in day. But when he groped in the pocket, he discovered to his confusion that the card was no longer there. He fumbled in the pocket on the other side. Still nothing. He looked around the room, then dropped to his knees to scour the floor. It was nowhere to be seen.

Joshua scratched his head and paced about the room, wondering if he had perhaps dreamt he had seen the card, but he was sure he hadn’t, for everything else was exactly where it should have been. He had no alternative but to confront a disturbing possibility. Some nocturnal intruder had come into his room while he slept and taken the card away. What other explanation was there? But what possible interest could a card bearing such a mundane message hold for anyone? The encounter with the footpad returned to his consciousness—and in hindsight it now seemed a hundred times more frightening. The man had demanded Cobb’s valise and had nearly stolen it from him. Had he followed Joshua here, gained entry to the house, and lain in wait for an opportunity to search Cobb’s belongings? Who was his assailant? What had prompted his claim to be Cobb? Was he Cobb’s murderer? Was this Hoare? Furthermore, if the murderer had come to his room in search of Cobb’s bag, and was still determined to recover it, how long would it be before he tried again?

This daunting realization did nothing to diminish Joshua’s resolve. Rather, he felt a strange sense of satisfaction at having gained some advantage. Assuming the bag contained something incriminating, it might serve as bait. Joshua stowed all the clothes and other objects back inside the bag. He cast about for a suitable hiding place. He noticed that in a corner of the room a few feet from the washstand, there was a hinged door set into the wainscoting. On closer examination he discovered that there was a neatly concealed cupboard, probably intended as a linen closet, that contained no more than a few empty boxes and a plentiful supply of cobwebs. Joshua put Cobb’s bag inside and pulled his washstand a few feet to the right. He stood back. The door was now hidden. Unless someone knew the cupboard was there and pulled the washstand away, they would never find it.