Serpent in the Garden (20 page)

T
HE CLOCK HAD YET to chime seven. Joshua went to the window, pulled back the curtain and let his melancholic eye survey the scene. The garden was heavy with dew and a morning mist clung to the ground, but the sky was clear. He looked down over the roof of the vast conservatory gleaming in the early morning sun. The only sign of life was on the far side of the conservatory from the pinery, where Granger was working. Accompanied by a couple of men, he was training a vine into a regular serpentine form, and trimming its side shoots.

In Joshua’s mind, Cobb’s death and the disappearance of the necklace were as confused as the stems of the vine. He could see a connection between the two, though what it was precisely remained unclear. The necklace might very well be the disputed property that had drawn Cobb to England from Barbados and had brought about his death. The fact that the necklace had disappeared after Cobb’s death might point to a coconspirator, but might also be proof of his assailant’s declaration that he was Cobb.

If the man had spoken the truth, who was the man in the pinery? Granger was the only person apart from Sabine who had seen the corpse. Joshua finished dressing, choosing a workmanlike blue woollen jacket, a plain blue cravat, and a dark curled wig, and made his way to the conservatory.

By the time Joshua caught up with him, Granger was heading toward the kitchen garden.

“Good day, Granger. What are your men doing?”

Granger stopped walking and turned. “I have instructed them to water the vine to help the fruit swell and to deter insects. You can only do it before the sun reaches the plant, hence it must be done early.”

Joshua was impressed by the subtlety of this operation. Perhaps there was more to gardening than he knew. “How did you learn such matters?”

“I was taught about vines while I was still an apprentice at Beechwood, but I am certain it is not vines you come to discuss.”

“You are right, I have come because I wish to put your memory to the test. How well did you scrutinize Cobb’s body?”

Granger seemed taken aback. “Cobb’s corpse?” he repeated.

“Yes. When Mrs. Mercier asked you to deal with it, did you take time to look closely?”

Granger’s leathery complexion darkened. He shrugged his shoulders. “Not especially, sir.”

“Could you describe him for me?”

“Describe him? There was naught remarkable in him, apart from the fact he was dead.”

“How tall would you say he was? My height? Taller than you?”

Granger looked at Joshua. “About your size maybe. He was lying down, mind, so I can’t be exact.”

“I have Cobb’s bag. His clothes are those of a tall man—someone, I would hazard, who is considerably taller than I am. An inch or two taller than you even.”

Granger walked a little further down the path and squatted to crumble some earth, as if testing the soil for moistness or some other quality. “I told you, sir, I can’t be precise. He was lying down.”

“But you saw Cobb on the previous occasion, when he came to the garden. You said so yourself. How tall was he then?”

“Yes. He was a tall man; I remember now.”

Granger’s obstruction was exasperating. “Are you quite certain, Mr. Granger, that the man you accosted in the gardens and the man lying dead in the pinery were one and the same?”

Granger shrugged his shoulders and fell silent. Though Joshua could not be certain—Granger’s back was turned to him—he thought he seemed a little stiffer than usual. He waited for Granger to speak.

“I assumed it was him on account of the letter,” Granger mumbled at last, conceding defeat by standing up and facing Joshua. “But maybe, now you come to mention it, it wasn’t.”

“What precisely do you mean, Granger? A man is dead, possibly murdered. Was he the same man you met in the garden?”

Granger lowered his voice and furrowed his brow. There was a new urgency in his tone. “In truth, sir, I can’t be certain of anything. I hadn’t seen a dead man before. It disturbed me to see the corpse like that, and the smell—on account of him vomiting—and the heat made it worse. In short, sir, I confess I didn’t look straight at him. Mrs. Mercier had put her handkerchief over his face. I saw no need to remove it. I looked in his pockets, like she asked. Then I called two undergardeners to put him on the cart and take him to the undertaker.”

“Then you never properly inspected the corpse?”

“No sir. I didn’t.”

FRUSTRATED, Joshua returned to the house. He felt hungry and wondered if it was too early for breakfast. As he opened the door to the hall he remembered the letter Herbert had secreted in his writing desk on the morning the corpse was discovered. It now seemed more imperative than ever to find this communication.

To search Herbert’s bureau seemed a most perilous undertaking. The drawing room was at the hub of the house, at the foot of the stairs. During the morning the family passed through it on their way to the morning room. Late afternoons and evenings were always spent there. At other times servants came and went to perform their duties.

Joshua would need to remain there for some time without being observed. Herbert was presumably still in London, sifting through Joshua’s possessions for incriminating evidence. The rest of the household remained at Astley. He was unfamiliar with the servant’s routines. He had missed his opportunity to search the drawing room last night, after everyone went to bed. If he waited until later, the family would be about; this evening Herbert might return and the task would grow even riskier. Thus, he concluded, steeling his wavering resolve, the present hour—it was barely eight o’clock and no one was yet risen—was his best chance.

He paused in the hallway. To his left was the open door to the breakfast room, where he could see the table set for six. Silverdomed dishes had been set out on burners to keep the food warm on the serving table. The bell to summon the servants was in the center of the table. The room was deserted.

The drawing room door on the right was closed. His heart palpitated, but he urged himself to proceed. He went in, closing the door behind him. The curtains were drawn back and the room had already been tidied, with the chairs and tables pushed back to the wall. He hoped that meant there would be little threat of interruption by a zealous housemaid with a duster. He tried to calm himself. He was not yet in any danger. He would be able to hear the family descend the stairs and enter the breakfast room.

The desk had a front flap that opened out by means of a key, and as fortune would have it, the key was in the lock. Joshua drew up a chair and opened the desk. Inside were two rows of small drawers and pigeonholes crammed with all manner of letters and papers. He sighed. No wonder Herbert felt little need to keep his desk locked. Amid such a quantity of papers, how would any prying outsider discover what he wanted?

He took a bundle of papers from the first pigeonhole. They were letters from Sabine to Herbert prior to her arrival in England. The missives were full of affection and excitement, coupled with detailed instructions regarding the preparations for her pineapple house. Joshua felt a disconcerting twang of envy and put them back. In the next compartment were various household bills and accounts and a booklet charting the servants’ wages and other household expenses. He flicked these morosely to one side, thinking he would never find anything of note. Some minutes later he came across something more interesting: a letter sent from London, addressed to Herbert, and dated six days ago—the day the body was found. It was written in large and rather fanciful script, with many twirls and curlicues; by contrast, its message was short and simple.

Mr. Bentnick,

I have done my utmost to exercise my self-control, but you have tested me to the limit. I see now that after all this time you have merely feigned sympathy with my cause, yet never truly listened to a word I said to you. My patience is now at an end, and none but you have driven me to make this ultimatum. Since you have not extracted what is mine, I will come immediately and retrieve it in person.

The letter was signed with an unintelligible monogram. Was “what I asked” the necklace, or did it refer to some other dispute? wondered Joshua. Was the scrawl Cobb’s? This seemed unlikely: the elaborate script looked as if it was a woman’s hand. Joshua put the letter between the pages of his pocket book and secreted it in his pocket. He was about to move to the next pigeonhole when he noticed a slender folder lying in a large horizontal compartment under a pile of fresh writing paper. On the cover was a label, with the word DAYBOOK inscribed upon it. Joshua untied the folder. Here were the most recent correspondence Herbert had received and copies of letters he had sent. The last paper was a mud-stained folded letter. The address was inscribed in heavy black ink: “To Mr. John Cobb, Star and Garter Inn, Richmond.”

Surely this was the letter Granger had taken from the dead man’s coat. Without unfolding the letter, Joshua placed it with the other in his pocket book. As he did so, he heard a light rustle somewhere close. He turned to the door but saw no one.

Briskly he closed the daybook, returned it to its compartment under the papers, and closed the flap. As he was locking the desk he heard the rustle again. He spun round. Standing in the doorway, a look of unmistakable accusation glinting in her eye, was Lizzie Manning.

M
ISS MANNING,” Joshua said quietly, masking his sinking heart with the flicker of a smile. “I did not hear you enter. Nor did I know you had arrived and were staying in this house.”

“Evidently,” she said with
froideur
. “I received your letter, in which you told me of the disappearance of Mrs. Mercier’s necklace and requested my assistance to prove your innocence. I came as speedily as I was able, only to find you rifling through the Bentnick family’s private possessions. Tell me, Mr. Pope, what do you think I should make of it all?”

“Why, madam,” he said, drawing himself up, “surely you don’t think I was doing anything wrong? I searched the desk for evidence. I saw Mr. Bentnick place a letter there on the day the body was discovered in the pinery. There is a chance it was one of the letters that Granger, the gardener, handed him, and it might therefore have some bearing on these perplexing matters in which we are embroiled.”

“We? Do you imply I am also fallen under a shadow of suspicion? I think not, sir.”

Joshua’s eyes flashed. Did she, too, doubt his integrity? Could she not see the urgency of his predicament? The answer to both questions was plainly yes. Yet he should not blame her for these shortcomings when it was he who had ignored his own instincts and deluded himself about her usefulness.

“No, madam, I did not mean what you think. What I meant was—”

“Never mind that, Mr. Pope. Just tell me straight, did you find anything?”

“I cannot be certain.” His retort was unusually sharp. He hoped it would remind her who he was.

“Please explain yourself a little more lucidly, Mr. Pope. I confess I cannot follow your drift thus far.”

He took on a tone even more lofty than hers. “Forgive me, Miss Manning, for not making myself clear when it is plain you are in a state of confusion. I have found a letter that may be relevant. It is addressed to Mr. Cobb at the Star and Garter, but I have not yet had a chance to read it. And I found another letter that is certainly most perplexing. But just now, I fancy, is not the moment to linger among Mr. Bentnick’s correspondence.”