Serpent in the Garden (31 page)

He shook his head. In a sense he had only himself to blame for not realizing much sooner that she acted carelessly, not from malice. Lizzie’s central concern was Francis. Her family predicament could only add to her anxiety that no one threaten her marriage to Francis. Compared with her own future, what would his downfall matter?

But it was surely most significant that Lizzie had never mentioned her brother to Joshua; neither had she mentioned the family’s straitened circumstances, nor her interest in horticulture. Why had she pressed so insistently to involve herself in his enquiries? Was there more than innocent fondness for Francis?

Joshua sprang up from his bed, only to be wrenched by aches and throbs. A bulky dressing was wrapped around his forehead. Bandages were bound around his wrists and palms, leaving only the tips of his fingers free. It was a good half hour before he accomplished the feat of pulling on buff breeches, buttoning a brown coat with ocher frogging, and tying a yellow cravat. Then, having tied his dark hair back—a wig was out of the question with the bandage—and maneuvered himself into his boots, he glanced at himself in the mirror. All things considered, he looked not too bad. With this consoling thought he hobbled downstairs.

HE FOUND Bridget seated in the breakfast room with Herbert and Caroline. The trio looked perfectly at ease. “Mr. Pope,” said Caroline, “are you quite well and recovered? I had expected you to sleep until late and said as much to Miss Quick. You look better, though still a little peaky, if truth be told.”

“I am very well,” Joshua replied, rubbing his head, which was pounding uncomfortably. “And as you see, I am perfectly recovered.”

Joshua turned to Bridget. “Miss Quick, you are still here. My apologies for abandoning you. I feared you would have lost patience and returned to London.”

“Not at all, Mr. Pope,” replied Bridget, replacing her cup lightly in its saucer. “Miss Bentnick was kind enough to apprise me of your condition and to offer me a bed for the night. And I have enjoyed a promenade in the gardens with Mr. Bentnick as a guide. All in all, I have been most hospitably treated.”

Joshua was struck by her easy manner. She held her head high; her neck was longer and more slender than he remembered; her bosom swelled enticingly within her bodice; her hair was attractively arranged—was that a rose in it? Most important, she seemed not at all put out by his absence the evening before. After the antics of Lizzie Manning, this was welcome relief.

In a more optimistic frame of mind, he turned to Caroline Bentnick. When she had come to attend to his wounds the previous day he had perceived a certain softening in her manner; and now she met his gaze with a friendly directness. What had effected this transformation?

“Miss Quick is a most welcome guest,” said Caroline, as if she had read his thoughts. “She has been most practical in her advice regarding preparations for dinner and is welcome to stay longer, if she chooses. Why, Mr. Pope, after all the help she has given, you should bring her to the ball on Friday.”

Bridget glowed with delight at Caroline’s offer. Joshua thought she would accept. But remembering her mother, he swiftly intervened.

“Your offer is most generous, but Bridget—Miss Quick, I mean—has to return to London or her mother will be anxious. And she is kept very busy in town. I doubt she has time to socialize …”

You can hardly remain here another three days. Think of yourBridget frowned. “Not at all,” she interposed. “I told my mother I might stay the night with my aunt at Twickenham. If I don’t return, she will presume I am there.”

“You can hardly remain here another three days. Think of your duties to your poor mother … her rheumatism.”

“Then if she must go, she shall return tomorrow. London is no more than a couple of hours from Richmond, after all,” cut in Herbert, in a voice that countenanced no refusal. “Meanwhile, Mr. Pope, since you are unable to paint, you might turn your thoughts urgently to recovering Mrs. Mercier’s necklace. I hear Sir William Manning, the justice, is due to return any day now. As soon as he does, if you have made no progress, I intend to put the matter in his hands. I don’t say I think you are guilty, Pope. If I did I would hardly invite you to my table. Nonetheless you must see things might look different from other perspectives. As I told you before, Mrs. Mercier believes I have shown you excessive leniency.”

With this chilling announcement, Herbert discarded a crust of toast on his plate, dropped his napkin on the table, and stalked from the room.

“It’s settled, then,” said Caroline, as if her father’s outburst and Joshua’s imminent doom were no more than a trifle. “You will spend the morning taking Miss Quick on a drive to see a little of the local region, Mr. Pope. That will give you something to do—and I wager you have yet to take a stroll on the hill, or in the gardens at Kew. Your bandages should stay on your hands for at least two days. I have told my father you will be unable to paint until Wednesday at the soonest. And since today is only Monday, you have plenty of time to fill. Miss Quick is extremely sensible and will make sure you don’t overexert yourself after your recent ordeal.”

“But the necklace … You heard what your father said. I really should do something more,” Joshua objected.

“Do not worry yourself about that odious object,” said Caroline, wafting a hand as if whisking away a bluebottle. “I warrant my father’s threats have no substance whatsoever. In my opinion we are all better off without the wretched thing.”

T
HUS IT WAS AGREED that Bridget Quick was to be his constant companion for that day and, unless he could muster some plausible excuse, his partner at the forthcoming ball as well. Joshua accepted the situation with outward good grace—Bridget was undeniably appealing—but inwardly, frustration raged. A clutch of evils was gathering against him like waves on the horizon. If he didn’t act, they would wash him away. He was threatened with the loss of all he had accomplished. In this turbulent sea Bridget Quick, however attractive, represented a further peril, one that, had he only made some glib excuse, he could have easily escaped. But he had been so flabbergasted by Herbert’s menacing manner he had said nothing. The tracing of a murderer, the discovery of a lost heirloom, and the avoidance of his imminent disgrace were his priorities. Amusing a lady, however pretty, did not feature in his plans. How could he be expected to make any form of progress when he was thus hampered? Herbert might as well manacle his feet, tether him to a tree, and demand he run a hundred yards.

WHEN BRIDGET left the breakfast room to prepare for their outing, Joshua turned to Caroline Bentnick. Avoiding the subject of Bridget, he sought to salvage something from her amenable mood. “I am most grateful for your kindness in dressing my wounds yesterday. Indeed, I hardly know how to thank you. I was in the most intolerable discomfort and you soothed it miraculously.”

Caroline looked slightly taken aback and dabbed her lips with her napkin several times. “It was no more than I would have done for anyone. But your burns are severe and you must take care of them.”

“Where did you acquire your medical knowledge?”

She smiled, a mite oddly, he thought. “I have no great knowledge, Mr. Pope. The little I know is from my mother, who was well versed in the medicinal properties of herbs, as are most housewives. I have her book of receipts, which I believe she inherited from her mother. I have some success in preventing the first occasion of sickness. I do not pretend to be capable of any more.”

“Then tell me,” Joshua said, to test her, “I am often bedeviled by agonizing aches of the head. I have one now that feels as if a monster fist has wrapped itself about my skull and would wring my brains from it. What do you recommend?”

“Have you a cold when the headaches come?”

“Not necessarily. They are brought on by extremes of humor. If I am anxious, or when I become agitated, I am in danger of starting one.”

She nodded and thought for a minute. “According to my mother’s Culpeper, lettuce cools and moistens, and the juice mixed or boiled with oil of roses and applied to the forehead and temples procures sleep and eases the head. I will make some for you to try if you wish.”

“You are most kind,” he said. “Perhaps, in return, I can offer you something.”

“What have you in mind?”

“Some instruction in drawing. I know from your father you are an enthusiast—I fancy you will have more application and diligence than your friend Miss Manning.”

Caroline smiled. “I would be honored to have such an eminent tutor. You implied last night that Lizzie had annoyed you. Let me remind you of what I firmly believe. Lizzie can be headstrong and she is frequently outspoken. Yet she has an extraordinary capacity for life. You cannot deny it.”

Joshua gritted his teeth and managed a smile and a nod, even though her attempts at deceiving him were still a source of annoyance. “Without doubt she is a remarkable person. I understand there is some romantic attachment between Miss Manning and your brother?”

“More than an attachment: an unofficial engagement. It has been known to both the families for some time. The wedding date is not yet set, nor is it likely to be under the present circumstances.”

“What do you mean?”

“My father’s impending marriage,” she said flatly. “Lizzie would not dream of stealing his glory. That’s why her engagement to Francis has not been discussed, even though it was as good as settled before Sabine arrived.”

Joshua winced as he reached forward for the butter and felt his muscles complain. “I gather the Mannings’ fortunes have lately been unhappy.”

“Arthur Manning has been the cause of a great deal of unhappiness. He has disappointed me and his family. I would prefer not to discuss him.”

“Miss Bentnick, may I speak frankly to you?”

“What about?”

“You have made no secret of your dislike of Mrs. Mercier. A moment ago when you spoke of your father’s marriage, your disapproval was plain. What is it about her you find so objectionable?”

She pursed her lips and twirled her spoon on her saucer. Her eyes had a mournful look; her long face looked more elongated and gaunt than usual. “Why should I discuss this with you? What business of yours are my feelings toward my future stepmother?”

Joshua held up his hand. “I do not pry willingly. You heard your father’s demand that I find the missing necklace. I am unjustly accused. My reputation—indeed, my life itself—has been cast under a shadow. I may add I have no allegiances, to your father or anyone else. I am utterly objective. My only aim is to clear my name and discover the truth.”

Caroline leaned back in her chair and tilted her head to one side. “Very well, Mr. Pope. I trust that if I speak, you will listen with a sympathetic ear. You won’t think me fanciful, and what I say will go no further than this room?”

“You have my word on it.”

“I cannot rid myself of the feeling there is something unwholesome about Sabine Mercier. I know she is beguiling in her looks and manners; I know my father is entirely taken in by her. Perhaps you think I am swamped by jealousy, a grown daughter who should have a lover of her own and feels excluded from their happiness. But I give you my word that has nothing to do with it. Sabine deserves my doubts. There is something that makes me distrust her. I hate to say these words, but why should I not, since I have thought them often enough? It would not surprise me in the least to learn that she had a hand in Hoare’s death, or in her previous husband’s, or my mother’s.”