Serpent in the Garden (27 page)

B
ARLOW COURT lay off the Sheen Road, some three miles distant by road from Astley House, on a wide stretch of land fronting the river Thames. The house was all but invisible from the road, set low down a long drive behind a dense screen of willow trees and reeds that flourished in the swampy ground.

Joshua had sent Lizzie Manning a note the previous evening saying he would call on her first thing, and having donned a smart but simple blue coat, clean breeches, a black silk cravat, and a dove gray waistcoat, he left Astley alive with expectation. His eagerness was thwarted, however, when at the Astley stables he was told by the lugubrious head groom that one spare horse was lame, a pair of bays were needed to pull the chaise, Mr. Bentnick’s mare was never ridden by anyone without his permission, and the same went for Francis’s chestnut. The only mount available was a barrel-bellied old piebald that used to pull wagons round the park.

Nevertheless, when this lowly beast, with its handsome cargo, had plodded the short distance to Barlow Court, Joshua was told by a manservant, “I regret, sir, Miss Manning is not at home.”

“Not at home? Where has she gone?” he cried, infuriated that once again she had eluded him.

“I’m not certain, sir,” said the manservant. “I’ll search out the housekeeper. Perhaps she will know.”

Left alone in the drawing room to wait, he morosely surveyed his surroundings. The room he was standing in was of moderate proportions, with sage green painted wainscoting and a large wooden chimneypiece positioned opposite two long sash windows. There were no ornaments on the mantel shelf; the walls were without a single adornment, though from the faded marks on the paintwork Joshua judged that numerous pictures had lately been removed. The furniture was sparse and simple: a single settee, two armchairs upholstered in brocade that must once have been sumptuous but was now threadbare and torn, a plain walnut cabinet, a small round tea table. Nothing more. The furniture needed polishing, cobwebs hung from the wall sconces, motes of dust clung to the bare oak boards. The whole place had a run-down air suggestive of owners in straitened circumstance.

Somewhat depressed by the gloomy interior, and still feeling ill-tempered on account of Lizzie’s absence, Joshua turned to consider the gardens, of which Granger had spoken so highly. The windows looked south across a small raised terrace, with steps leading to lawns bordered by parterres. Columbines, marguerites, lavender, periwinkles, pinks of various kinds, as well as a multitude of roses of every possible hue, bloomed in lush profusion, though most were overgrown, poorly staked, and infested with weeds. Between the parterres was a winding pathway, which, like the flower beds, seemed poorly tended, for grass had encroached upon its borders and docks sprouted along it like candlesticks set out on a dining table. Beyond lay sweeping parkland, punctuated with copses of trees, that led down toward the river, where a small summerhouse nestled among a bed of reeds.

After some minutes had passed, the housekeeper, a girl of no more than twenty, appeared. “Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Pope, sir?” she said.

“I thought Miss Manning expected me,” said Joshua, crossly brushing a speck of dust from his perfectly pressed lapel.

“I believe you sent her a message. She told me to make apologies and to say she had an urgent call that wouldn’t wait. She went out first thing this morning. She said to let you know she would be back later this afternoon if you care to call back.”

“Assuming I have nothing better to do,” said Joshua. But no sooner had he made this petulant retort than a shrewder thought occurred to him. Lizzie’s actions suggested whatever had taken her out this morning had some relevance to him. Why else would she ignore their rendezvous, depart so early, yet leave word for him to call back? “Did she mention where she was going?” he asked casually.

“I believe it was to visit a nurseryman at Chertsey.”

Joshua’s eyebrows knotted. “A nurseryman?”

“Aye, sir, I believe that was it.”

“But today is Sunday. Did she say why she was calling on him on this of all days?”

“No sir, she did not.”

Joshua was now consumed by a spirit of inquiry. He considered following her, but on his ancient mount he had no time to get to Chertsey and back in time to meet the midday stage with Bridget on it. In any case, if she discovered anything, he would learn of it in due course. In the meantime he might as well pass the hours before Bridget’s arrival by pursuing another equally pressing avenue.

“Tell me, then, is her brother, Mr. Arthur Manning, at home?”

The girl shook her head, uncomfortably. “No sir, he’s not been seen here for some time.”

“Since when precisely?”

“Two or three weeks. I thought he had gone abroad. That was what Miss Manning said, at any rate.”

“So you have no idea where I might find him?”

“No sir, I haven’t.”

Doubly thwarted, Joshua headed back toward Richmond and the Star and Garter, where he intended to drink an ale or two with the landlord while waiting for Bridget’s arrival. A drink or two might spur Dunstable to remember something more of relevance pertaining to Cobb and Hoare. Above all, Joshua longed to trace Cobb’s whereabouts. Perhaps here too Dunstable might help.

As he passed by the spot where Cobb had apprehended him, Joshua drew in his reins and surveyed the scene. He knew it was too much to expect that Cobb might be waiting for him. The spot was, not surprisingly, deserted. How different it looked by day. The bracken that had seemed to loom so menacingly was only harmless fronds in a delicate shade of yellowish green; the thickets of elder, hawthorn, and bramble that had impeded his way were not as impenetrable as he recalled. To his left the terrain rose quite steeply toward the hill. To his right it shelved away equally precipitously, revealing the river snaking ominously through the town of Richmond below.

He began to move slowly on when his eye was caught by a mound of stones and a lichen-covered wooden beam lying among a patch of brambles. He stopped and forced his mount to back up; he looked more closely and glimpsed, further down the slope, crouched between a cluster of boulders and some straggling hawthorn trees, the corner of a stone wall.

Was this wall a boundary, or did it form part of an old building? From his present vantage point the undergrowth obscured his view. There was no pathway leading to it, which seemed to suggest it was not a building. And yet it occurred to Joshua that if Cobb was living rough in the vicinity, this might be the type of shelter he would choose. Like a hound who catches a faint scent of its quarry, Joshua’s enquiring spirit was thus fired into action. Ablaze with energy and heedless of danger, he dismounted and led his horse to the verge, where he tethered it to the sturdy branch of a hazel. He began to make his way impatiently down the slope toward the wall, but he had traveled barely five yards before realizing that the hill was steeper and the ground softer than he had anticipated. His breeches caught on brambles, his coat was spattered with mud; but his craving for truth propelled him on.

By the time he approached the wall near enough to see it was not just a boundary, but formed part of a tumbledown building, his boots were laden with clay, his hands scratched by and bleeding from brambles, and his clothes all but ruined by the mud. He was panting heavily. Sweat clung to his brow; his eyes had darkened with concentration and a hawkish, predatory expression. There was only one thing on his mind, to find Cobb.

The building had no windows to the rear or on the side he could see. The thatched roof was rotten and had fallen in. The stone walls were in a similar state of disrepair, with crumbling mortar and missing sections. Now that he had drawn close, Joshua became aware of the scent of wood smoke. He looked again at the broken roof and thought he saw a wisp of smoke rising through. But then the wind blew and he was uncertain whether he had imagined it.

Presuming that the door and any windows faced the river, Joshua rounded the corner, forcing his way through chest-high brambles to do so. As he approached this side of the building he felt the first prickle of apprehension. To recover his breath he stood for a moment with his back pressed against the solid wall of the building. The smell of smoke suggested this was some form of human habitation. If it was Cobb’s hideout and he was inside, he could hardly fail to have heard Joshua’s approach. Would he be lying in wait as he rounded the corner, making for the door? But then Joshua remembered Cobb’s feeble health: his cough, his limp, the wound to his arm. He wouldn’t escape a second time.

He came to the point where the side of the building met the front wall. He edged forward on all fours, arming himself with a large stone. Turning the corner, Joshua saw that the building was a dilapidated barn. There were no windows and the only way in was through a wide doorway. The door stood ajar, blocking his view of the interior.

There was a wide crack in the doorjamb, between the wall and the gaping door. Joshua pressed his eye against it. The interior was gloomy but the hole in the roof gave enough light for him to make out sheaves of hay and straw heaped up against the back wall and a broken ladder leading to an open loft above, where more sheaves were stacked up. In the center of the floor was a mound of ashes and charred remains of logs—the source of the smoke he had seen. As far as he could tell, the barn was deserted. Joshua stood up and went in.

He kicked about in the ashes; those underneath still glowed red. There were numerous footprints visible in the soft mud of the floor and a couple of bones, as if someone had recently consumed a meal here. The sight of them made him nervous. He heard a faint rustle overhead and jerked his head. As he did so he had the curious impression of a large black silhouette, resembling a gargantuan bat or monster eagle, looming over him. He felt a heavy thud and his skull seemed to crumble like a blackbird’s egg; then came a dull throb of pain as his legs gave way beneath him. A hot trickle of blood oozed from the wound to his head. Too dazed and shocked to feel fear, he was aware only of being furious at having been caught out, of rough hands taking a grip of him, of being trussed with rope and gagged and hauled, feetfirst, into the sky. He could see the blood form a luminous pool in the dark earth beneath him. And then there was nothing.

W
HEN JOSHUA came to, his arms and legs were tightly bound. His tongue was swollen and tender, as if he had bitten it, and a gag in his mouth salty with the taste of blood. He lay on his side in a bed of damp straw. His skin felt as if it were made from parchment. Even the smallest movement made his head spin. From the corner of his eye he could see the floor of the barn and a pulley attached to a long rope net dangling overhead. Presumably the contraption was used to lift hay and straw to the loft, but Joshua realized that it was how he had himself been hauled up to the loft.

Despite his pounding head, his recollections of what had happened until the moment he was struck were clear as candlelight. He had entered the barn and been aware of something looming over him. He had never seen his attacker’s face.