Serpent in the Garden (36 page)

Francis looked up and greeted him in a polite but distant manner. Lizzie said not a word. She remained frozen with her book in her hand, her chin set firm, her knuckles white. Joshua presumed that she felt he had offended her when they had met on Richmond Hill. At the time he had felt a sense of satisfaction at having ruffled her. After all, she had irked him by disappearing when he needed her. Now, having learned of her affection for her brother, and having formulated his plan, he felt differently. Without her cooperation, Arthur would be harder to find.

He set about thawing her frostiness, but bearing in mind Francis’s presence, he took a circuitous route.

“I am just returned from a visit to Mr. Lancelot Brown.”

“Is that so?” said Francis. “He once was employed here, you know.”

“So I gather,” responded Joshua. “And at Barlow Court too, I believe?”

“I believe so, yes,” said Francis levelly.

Joshua ignored him and stepped toward Lizzie. He spoke softly, in a voice intended to convey sympathy. “Miss Manning, the reason I raise this subject is because Mr. Brown gave me a message for you. I wonder if I may ask you for a moment in private to deliver it?”

Silence again. She pointedly turned her page, making a show of reading, as though oblivious to Joshua’s presence. Francis coughed and stood up. Holding out his right arm, he beckoned like a convivial host who wishes to welcome a late-coming guest. “I think, Pope, it might be best if you and I take a turn together.”

And so Joshua followed Francis back down the steps to the path leading from the terrace to the flower gardens. They walked along a wide strip of lawn flanked on either side by trellised roses planted under with clumps of columbine and lavender.

As soon as they were a safe distance from Lizzie, Francis spoke without preamble. “Mr. Pope, you can see that Miss Manning has no desire to speak to you. If you want to know why, I will tell you. It is because you wounded her deeply this morning by your tactless reference to her brother. She is devoted to him, but as you know he has brought much shame on her family and she hardly ever speaks of him. Take my advice, Pope: leave the poor girl alone for the time being; and keep off the subject of Arthur. She has enough to endure without you adding to her burdens.”

“It is for that very reason I came,” Joshua said, regarding Francis’s handsome, troubled face with measured caution. “I sensed I spoke out of turn and wanted to apologize. Moreover, as I said, I have a most urgent message to give her.”

“What is the message? Give it to me if it is so important—and I will pass it on to her.”

Joshua hesitated. He didn’t think there was any side to Francis, but he had encountered treachery where he least expected it several times in recent days. Besides, he was determined Francis should not spoil his scheme. “I know, sir, you are as good as affianced to Miss Manning, but I gave Mr. Brown my word I would deliver the message to her and no one else. I will tell you in confidence my message concerns her brother; thus, despite your advice to avoid the subject, I think I am right that she would be eager to hear it.”

The heat was suddenly bothersome to Francis. “Concerns her wretched brother, does it?” he said, mopping his shiny forehead with a lace-trimmed handkerchief and looking suddenly plum red with the heat.

It was no surprise to see evidence of ill feeling between Arthur and Francis. Arthur had, after all, relieved Caroline of part of her inheritance. While the opportunity presented itself he decided to press the subject further. “Has Miss Manning said anything about her brother to you?”

Francis frowned. “No, but that does not surprise me. You know, I suppose, what he did to my sister—borrowed a sizable sum with the aim of paying back some of his debts and then lost the lot.”

“He said he was accosted on the road by a highwayman.”

“A very convenient encounter, I would say.”

“D’you have proof the story was a fabrication?”

“He reported nothing to the beadle or the constable, though both were on duty in the town when the assault was supposed to have taken place. Manning is notorious for his love of play. He’s the mainstay of half a dozen gambling houses in Richmond. You have only to walk down Brewers Lane and ask anyone in the Magpie or Lilliput, or go to George Street and visit the Black Boy or the Flying Horse, to learn the truth of it.”

“Do you believe him capable of theft?”

“Was not that what he did to my sister?”

“In a sense, I suppose—but might he have taken the necklace?”

Francis shook his head impatiently, as if the subject were a beggar who followed him wherever he went. “I tell you this, Pope—but not a word to Miss Manning. Arthur was fair enough when sober, but for as long as I have known him he has always been a man of dubious character when in drink. It was a bottle of Hollands gin that did for Barlow Court—that and a couple of aces in his opponent’s hand, I daresay.”

“Nevertheless, sir, you would do me a great favor if you would tell Miss Manning I wish to tender my apologies, and that I have a message concerning her brother.”

Francis seemed irked that Joshua wasn’t more forthcoming. He nodded curtly and returned to the terrace. Joshua strolled the gardens, wondering what, if anything, Francis would tell Lizzie, and what his next move should be. Half an hour later he had resolved that his best course was to assume Francis had said nothing. He would apologize profusely to her, while hinting that he knew where her brother was. This, with any luck, would win her round and they could arrange a rendezvous in private to discuss Arthur.

Joshua returned to the house and found Francis, Violet and Sabine Mercier, and Caroline Bentnick on the terrace, seated beneath their parasols. Granger had brought a basket of strawberries and was currently engaged in conversation with Sabine. There was no sign of Lizzie.

It was most strange to find Francis and Caroline conversing together with the Merciers as if they were old friends, when Caroline believed Sabine was responsible for the death of her mother, and possibly the death of Hoare as well. Thus, when Caroline Bentnick began to question him on the whereabouts of Bridget Quick, and how his wounds progressed, he was unable to resist the opportunity to probe.

“Miss Quick returned to London this morning, after we spent a most enjoyable time touring the region. My wrists are not troubling me, though I am impatient to remove the bandages. I daresay you are all busy with final preparations for the ball?”

A shadow darkened Caroline’s face. Her eyes flitted in the direction of Sabine and Violet. Then she lowered her gaze to her teacup and stirred it so roughly the whirling liquid spilled into the saucer. “There’s something I have remembered that I wanted to tell you,” said Caroline. “It concerns Mr. Hoare. I will come to you at ten tomorrow morning and examine your bandages. Wait until then before removing them,” she said.

Joshua turned then to Violet, who looked as enchanting as a bird of paradise, in a robe of azure blue that matched her eyes. “Miss Mercier, how well you look in that particular shade. You are a treat for any artist to behold.”

Violet immediately looked toward her mother, blushed, and said, “Thank you,” in a small voice that suggested she would prefer it if he didn’t compliment her in future.

Sabine dropped her teacup into its saucer and shot a pointed look in Joshua’s direction. “I wonder you have time for frivolous compliments, Mr. Pope, when there are so many pressing matters to concern you. Need I remind you that you still have a portrait to paint and, more importantly, my necklace to recover? As far as I am concerned, until you accomplish the latter you remain under a cloud of suspicion. I had hoped to have the jewel for Caroline to wear.” She cast a brisk sideways glance in the direction of Caroline Bentnick, who flushed and regarded her hands. “Apropos of that, I would like a word with you, in private, if you please.”

Sabine rose and led the way to the drawing room. After the warmth of the sunny terrace the interior seemed dark and forbidding. She walked to the chimneypiece, above which hung the Gainsborough portrait of Jane Bentnick, and turned to face him. Joshua looked bleakly from the canvas face of the late Mrs. Bentnick to the flesh-and-blood visage of the future one. He couldn’t help thinking there was some deficiency in Sabine’s beauty—was it a lack of warmth, an absence of animation or indeed any expression? He wasn’t sure, but neither was he able to contemplate how Herbert could share his bed with this woman. He would prefer to sleep with a statue.

“You are no closer to finding my necklace?” said Sabine.

“I have not forgotten it. But you know, I believe, the matter is wrapped up with the claimant, and until I trace her I can do little more.” Mindful of the letter Marie had shown him from the claimant to Sabine agreeing to a meeting, he hoped this might elicit some useful response. A name perhaps.

He was disappointed.

“I told you before that is naught to do with it,” said Sabine crossly. “The answer to the disappearance lies here, in this house. Yet you have been gadding about all morning and drawn no conclusions. If you cannot tell me something, or at least where you have been, I will assume you are wasting time and not doing all you might. In which case, I will summon Justice Manning, with or without Herbert’s say-so. He is due to return late tomorrow. I want my necklace returned in time for the ball.”

Anger at his predicament began to smolder within him. Should he confront her over the letter? It was on the tip of his tongue, but at the last minute something restrained him. How could he mention the letter without revealing how he had found it? He had no desire to lose Marie her position. Yet he must say something. “I have been to call on Lancelot Brown.”

“Lancelot Brown, the landscape gardener? Whatever for?”

“I have only one suspect: Arthur Manning, Miss Manning’s brother … I believe he may be concealed somewhere in the vicinity. Brown knows every nook and cranny of the grounds.”

“What makes you think it was Manning and not Cobb?”

“I was attacked yesterday. That is how I sustained these injuries.”

“Cobb attacked you before.”

“Yes,” said Joshua, “but this man was powerful. Cobb is in poor health. I don’t believe it was him.”

She didn’t appear in the least surprised, although her gaze seemed to flash over his shoulder when he said the name. “And what do you propose to do next?”

“I intend to go in search of Manning.”

Again she glanced over his shoulder. “What delays you?”

“Nothing. I intend to leave at the first opportunity. Tomorrow morning at first light I think would be best.”

Sabine thought for a while before she nodded curtly, signaling that their interview was over. Her onslaught had begun so swiftly after they entered the drawing room that Joshua had assumed they were alone, but as she turned to leave, he heard a faint rustle of papers behind him and spun round.

At the far end of the room, Lizzie Manning was seated at Herbert’s writing desk. She was scribbling a note. Sabine must have seen her, but had done nothing to warn him; but then, Sabine cared little for the feelings of others. Lizzie finished her note, put down her pen, sanded her paper, then stood up and came toward them. She was dressed in her customary gray, though Joshua noticed that the shade was paler and more becoming than usual, and it seemed to bring out the warmth in her hair and the lustrous depths of her eyes.

“Mr. Pope, how fortuitous you should find me here,” she said, with the slightest of tremors in her bell-like voice. “I have this note to give you.”

He looked down at his name inscribed upon the thick paper in Lizzie’s elegant hand and felt uncharacteristically flustered. Lizzie was probably the only one who could help him find Arthur, yet knowing how deeply she cared for him, he recognized his gaffe. He had wanted to keep his suspicions concerning Arthur Manning silent for the time being. It was cruel coincidence that Sabine had forced him to speak out just when she was in the room. Every endeavor seemed doomed, foiled by Sabine.