Serpent in the Garden (50 page)

“The history of the necklace you related when you came to visit me reminded me of a story I was told about an estate I was engaged upon. I should add I never knew any of the names of the participants involved. In any case, as I said, perhaps you are no longer interested, since the necklace has already been returned …?”

“Stop toying, Brown. Of course I’m devilishly interested.”

Brown grinned; there was a mischievous gleam in his nut brown eyes. “Very well, I shall tell you the tale. Some years ago, I designed a garden at Beechwood House, a mansion in the vicinity of Luton, belonging to the Seebright family. The history of the house and estate was most unusual, and for that reason I suppose it has remained in my mind.”

“Did you say Beechwood?” uttered Joshua, his nostrils flaring and his lips tight with interest.

“Yes. The house was acquired by the present owner, Mr. Seebright, after the previous incumbent, a titled lady, was forced to sell following a most tragic sequence of events. And this is what struck me as oddly similar to your tale: she owned a necklace that was no ordinary jewel; it was fashioned in emeralds and shaped as a serpent.”

He paused as if uncertain whether to proceed. Joshua was busily muttering, “Beechwood? Beechwood?” to himself as if it were a question. At length Joshua broke off, and with a wave urged Brown to continue.

“Family history recorded that the jewel had been presented to one of the lady’s forebears by Charles the First, as a royal token of gratitude. The lady concerned was doubtless a royal mistress. There was a peculiar superstition attached to the jewel: that it would bring ill luck if it ever changed hands for money.”

Joshua nodded impatiently. History was all very well; he recalled Violet relating part of this tale, but that was not what interested him. “I can scarcely credit you take this so seriously, Brown. In these days, men of enlightenment and science give little credence to such fanciful histories.”

Brown looked chagrined. “Of course, I concur with you. And no doubt it is mere coincidence that the lady’s misfortunes began immediately after the loss of her necklace at cards. She had two children, the elder of whom, a boy, within six months of the necklace being lost, died from a bout of typhus, which also killed her husband. Stricken by grief, the lady continued to play without restraint. A year later, having been forced by mounting debt to sell Beechwood House and the estate to Mr. Seebright, she took her own life.”

“What became of the other child? Was it a boy, or a girl?” said Joshua, suddenly sitting bolt upright.

Brown shrugged his shoulders as if the question had never occurred to him. “I regret I cannot tell you. I don’t believe I ever knew.”

Joshua sank back into his pillows, half closing his eyes. “That is a pity, for it is that fact which interests me most, my friend, not the legend. No matter, with what you have told me I will soon discover it.”

Brown gave a hefty yawn and came slowly to his feet. “I have no doubt you will, sir,” he said, amiable as ever, “but now, however pressing it seems, I recommend you let it wait. After our recent ordeal, what we both need is a good night’s sleep.”

Left alone, Joshua pondered the implications of what he had learned. He had grasped the significance of Brown’s statement the moment the words left his lips. Now he strung these new pieces together with what he already knew. The countess had come from Beechwood, an estate that was linked in several ways with Astley. Having been cheated of an inheritance by a profligate mother, her only surviving child would have a strong motive to wish to regain possession of the necklace. There were only two questions he had now to ask himself: who was that child, and was he or she the murderer?

Faces and images seemed to flash upon Joshua’s mind’s eye like exploding pyrotechnics. Beechwood. He had heard it mentioned by Mrs. Bowles and now by Lancelot Brown, but where else? He envisaged Caroline Bentnick’s terrorized expression the night Sabine had insisted she wear the necklace. He remembered her calmness when she tended his wounds, her lack of concern at Herbert’s threats regarding the necklace, and her dreadful death. He relived the terrible moment that his own role in this first struck him, and Herbert’s accusation and his banishment.

It was not until the clock chimed eight that he came to his senses again. Two theories had emerged in his mind with diamond clarity: the reason for the necklace’s disappearance and the identity of the countess’s child.

But theory was not enough. By allowing his mind to run on and by speaking injudiciously, he had made too many false accusations. Until he was certain, until no glimmer of doubt remained, he would keep his thoughts to himself.

Joshua rang the bell on his side table and summoned Peters. He asked for a writing box and, when this was delivered, sent Peters to the library in search of a historical gazetteer for the county of Bedford. In no time Peters returned bearing a large red morocco-bound tome tooled in gold with the Bentnick family crest emblazoned on the front.

“Is that all, sir?” enquired the footman, putting the book down carefully on the side table.

“Pass it to me, if you please,” said Joshua urgently. No sooner had the door closed behind Peters than Joshua began to search its pages. It took him ten minutes or so to find what he was looking for, whereupon he nodded sagely to himself. This was just as he expected. Then he put the book to one side and began composing a letter to Herbert Bentnick.

Chapter Forty-six

 

Astley House, Richmond

 

Sir,

I cannot blame you for holding me partly accountable for your daughter’s murder. I too feel burdened by guilt, and it is that sentiment which spurs me to write this to you now. Unless I explain my conclusions, her death, as well as that of Mr. Hoare, will have been in vain. Thus, despite your misgivings, I would implore you to read this communication and consider its contents most seriously.

During my enquiries several members of your circle, including you, sir, have fallen under the shadow of suspicion. There was never any doubt in my mind that your poor daughter, Caroline, was strangled because the murderer believed she could identify him or her. I also think that the murderer may have concluded this as a result of an ill-considered remark Caroline made to me on the terrace. Far more complex was the first killing. Bartholomew Hoare was at first identified as John Cobb. Neither man was a member of your household. Thus the key questions were these: How was Hoare murdered? What was he doing on your property? Was Hoare, or Cobb, the intended victim?

I believe (though I cannot prove it conclusively) that Hoare was poisoned by unripe pineapple, probably mixed with wine and honey to make it palatable. Unripe pineapple is a powerful purgative, though it is not usually lethal. In poor Hoare’s case it was certainly strong enough to cause him to lose consciousness, although the actual cause of his death
may
have been accidental. Granger confessed that, as misfortune would have it, the boy whose duty it was to regulate the temperature of the pinery at night fell asleep on the night Hoare died. The heat within the building grew so intense that, coupled with the poison, it was enough to kill him.

Having learned how Hoare died, let us next consider what he was doing there in the first place. Cobb told me he received an invitation, purporting to be from Violet, asking him to a nocturnal rendezvous in the gardens at Astley. He was prevented from keeping the appointment by Hoare, who, worried that Cobb might persuade Violet to run away with him, plied Cobb with brandy on the pretext that it would be good for his ailing health. When Cobb drank so much that he fell to the floor in a stupor, Hoare went in his place.

Although I hesitated to believe you capable of killing your own daughter, I confess I fleetingly considered the likelihood that you were in some manner involved in the first death. Your fondness for Mrs. Mercier might have led you to murder Hoare because he was acting for the claimant for her necklace and thus threatened to remove from her a jewel that she held exceptionally dear. Violet reported seeing you in a clandestine rendezvous with Mrs. Bowles. Was Mrs. Bowles Charles Mercier’s daughter? I pursued this theory for some time, only to discover she was nothing of the kind. Your meeting was merely a means of arranging a secret gift for your future bride.

I turned then to the source of this malicious rumor, Violet Mercier. Hoare was an obstacle between herself and Cobb, with whom, despite her denials and letters to the contrary, she was engaged in a clandestine affair. Hoare discovered the truth and threatened to reveal it to Sabine. It would have been easy for Violet, with Cobb’s connivance, to write the letter luring Hoare to the pinery, and leave Cobb to poison him with a substance whose effects she well knew from her mother, while she went to London for a few days. Perhaps, too, Violet stole the necklace, intending that the money raised from its sale would finance her life with Cobb. She might subsequently have returned it when she discovered that Cobb’s financial circumstances had changed (I will explain this presently) and that the theft was no longer necessary.

Sabine Mercier had two equally compelling motives. First, she was troubled by the possibility she would lose the necklace she treasured so dearly; second, she was worried that her daughter was poised to elope with a penniless attorney from Bridgetown—Cobb. If she
had
sent the message to the inn asking Cobb to meet her late at night in the gardens at Astley, she could not have foreseen that Hoare would arrive in his place; nor, since she had never met either man, would she have recognized that it was Hoare not Cobb whom she poisoned.

A further possibility only struck me more recently: Lizzie Manning, whose family misfortunes, it transpires, have been largely brought about by Cobb. Arthur Manning and he met at a gaming house in Richmond and after two or three evenings’ play, Cobb relieved his opponent of two thousand pounds drawn upon Barlow Court. Lizzie kept her brother’s circumstances concealed from me; furthermore, from the very beginning she insisted on involving herself in my investigations into Hoare’s death. She inveigled her way into my bedchamber after she learned I had acquired Cobb’s bag, in which the banknotes drawn upon the family account were hidden. Thus I asked myself, did she kill Hoare, believing him to be Cobb, in a desperate attempt to recoup her brother’s losses?

And so, my dear sir, we come to the inevitable questions. Who among this wretched cast of players was the guilty culprit who killed Hoare and then, to preserve this evil secret, killed poor Caroline? Which of them stole the necklace, and for what motive? I now believe the answer to the first question is, none of them.

My final revelation has come only tonight, after a conversation with our mutual acquaintance Mr. Lancelot “Capability” Brown. As you know, the necklace came into the possession of Charles Mercier after it was lost some decades ago by a certain countess, who wagered it on a hand of cards. If you ask Brown he will tell you the sad history of this lady. Once you have heard it, I advise you to consult the historical gazetteer of Bedfordshire, which I borrowed from your library and have left by my bed. The answer to this mystery is to be found within the entry for Beechwood House, near Luton, on page 414. The truth lies before us all in its details.