Serpent in the Garden (11 page)

Joshua regarded the ladies, who had settled themselves on gilded chairs around the fire. Caroline Bentnick took up her embroidery, then she began to plead with Lizzie Manning to divert them by playing something on the piano. “And I shall sing,” declared Violet, looking more radiant than ever. Lizzie Manning agreed and the two moved to the piano, just as Herbert gave a loud cough and urged Joshua to concentrate on the cards on the table. From the corner of his eye Joshua saw Sabine move closer to Caroline, and he dimly heard the beginnings of their conversation.

“Your father tells me you intend to wear a dress that belonged to your mother at our engagement ball,” said Sabine without preamble. “I think that is a delightful notion. Now, tell me, what jewelry will you wear with it? Did your mother leave you anything?”

“My mother cared little for jewels. I have a small locket that will serve admirably,” said Caroline warily.

Stroking the jewel at her throat, Sabine smiled benevolently. “Never mind the locket, dear Caroline, you may wear my necklace with your mother’s dress. I don’t offer it lightly. But I believe it will be appropriate—after all, I will soon become your stepmother.”

Sensing disapproval beneath Herbert’s fidgeting and coughing, Joshua turned his attention to his cards. Only after winning several hands did he glance back at the women.

Caroline was sitting motionless and silent, some distance away from Sabine, gazing on the emerald necklace about Sabine’s neck. The expression on her face seemed to suggest she believed it the foulest object she ever set eyes on (a sentiment with which Joshua heartily concurred). Joshua saw her turn wildly to her brother for assistance, but Francis was immersed in his hand of cards. She pressed her palms to her neck as if she burned with embarrassment and could not think what to do.

Some minutes passed, during which not a word was uttered, and Sabine stared at Caroline with an odd, fierce expression. Eventually Sabine broke the silence. “Then you accept my offer,” Joshua heard her say clearly just as Violet began to sing a tuneful accompaniment to Lizzie’s playing.

Later, when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies by the fire, Francis Bentnick went immediately to Lizzie’s side. She began to recount a yarn that involved her taking on the voice and character of at least half a dozen personalities. Herbert, whom Joshua had vanquished modestly enough for him to remain in genial humor, drew up a chair beside Sabine and Violet. Joshua stood by the fire, his hand in his pocket, chinking the two sovereigns he had won. His attention was all on Caroline. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. Her long, narrow jaw twitched with tension and her cheeks were unnaturally flushed. Her face seemed … what, exactly? For an instant he was unsure—not anger, not embarrassment—then it flashed upon him: she looked terrified.

T
HE STAR AND GARTER was set high upon the crest of Richmond Hill. It was a tall brick building resembling a nobleman’s mansion, with a garden behind that was famed throughout the vicinity. Honeysuckle and jasmine and roses trailed over paths, and sweeps of lawn lay between trees and avenues of lime. Joshua had paced the main street of Richmond, asking himself where he might go were he a stranger recently arrived from Barbados in need of a bed for the night, and had already been refreshed in the Red Lyon, the Talbot, the Feathers in Water Lane, the Compasses, and the Rose and Crown.

“And what can I be doing for you, sir?” said James Dunstable, the landlord, spying Joshua hovering by the counter in his front room. He took in Joshua’s satin-lined cape, his embroidered waistcoat, his lace cravat. Joshua could almost hear him wonder what manner of gentleman dressed with such extravagance to promenade the high street of Richmond at eleven o’clock of the morning. The thought pleased him no end.

Joshua placed his tricorn on the counter. “I’ll have an ale if you please, sir. I have come in search of a Mr. John Cobb. He has arrived recently from overseas. I believe he might be staying here.”

Dunstable took down a pewter tankard from a high shelf and examined it for signs of dirt.

“Mr. Cobb from Barbados? And what’s he to you?” he said as he gave the mug a hefty shake.

“He’s an acquaintance of mine. I have a proposition for him.”

Dunstable edged the tankard beneath the nozzle of the pump and pulled slowly on its handle. “Whatever the nature of your proposition, I regret to say you have come too late,” he said, handing over the foaming vessel.

Joshua sipped his ale, regarding Dunstable from behind the tankard’s rim. “Would you not take a drink for yourself, sir? Why am I too late?”

“He paid for his lodgings two days ago. Said he’d be back shortly for his portmanteau. I’ve seen and heard nothing of him since.”

“How long did he stay here?” said Joshua with scarcely a pause.

“Three or four weeks. You may tell him when you find him that his portmanteau is still gathering dust and I’d be grateful to see the back of it.” Dunstable fairly gulped down his ale as if he’d not drunk for a week.

“Did he have any visitors during that time?”

“Aye, a few. But there was one that made him wait.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Cobb was forever asking if anyone had called; if any letters had arrived.”

“He never said who the person he expected was?”

“Not in so many words, but it was a lady. He said more than once, ‘If anyone comes, tell her I will not be long, and look after her well till my return.’”

“Do you remember any of the callers who did come? Did they leave names?”

“Hold on, not so fast,” said the landlord, thumping his empty mug on the counter. “What’s all this to do with your proposition?”

“Another drink, Mr. Dunstable? I need to talk to Cobb,” Joshua said, lying through his teeth without any visible qualm. “It’s a delicate family matter.” Here he winked knowingly at Dunstable and tapped the side of his nose. “If I can trace one of his visitors, perhaps they will help me find him. I would be most grateful for your assistance.”

Dunstable shrugged his shoulders and refilled his mug to the brim. “One was a solicitor, who worked for a London office.”

“How d’you know?”

“He left a card with a message for Mr. Cobb.”

“His name?”

“Bartholomew Hoare, attorney of Gray’s Inn Lane.”

“Any others?”

“Herbert Bentnick. He had a grand disagreement with your Mr. Cobb.”

“Herbert Bentnick? Are you certain it was he?”

“As certain as I am there’s paint on the end of your nose.”

Joshua dabbed at his face hastily with a handkerchief. “And what was the argument about? Were you present when it took place? Did you overhear it?”

Dunstable looked a little peeved at this suggestion. “The gentlemen were at the seats you see there.” He waved a broad, hairy hand in the direction of an oak settle in a dark corner of the inn. “So I could hardly fail to, could I?”

“Quite so. I didn’t mean to suggest you were intruding.”

“No, well, perhaps not. But I have to mind what happens here …”

“Yes, yes, Mr. Dunstable, but did you hear anything?”

“Have patience; I’m telling you now, aren’t I? They had scarce taken a sip of their wine when Mr. Bentnick set to shouting at Mr. Cobb. ‘I tell you she will not see you and there’s an end to it,’ he fairly bellowed, whereupon Mr. Cobb says, ‘I ask for no more than is rightfully mine.’ Then Mr. Bentnick responds, ‘There is only your say-so on it,’ and Cobb says, ‘No, there’s more. I have letters to prove it.’ At that point the two stood and faced each other and I grew afraid for their safety. Mr. Bentnick says he knows nothing of any papers, but he’s sure they must be counterfeit if they exist. Next thing Cobb’s thrown his tankard and soaked Mr. Bentnick, who’s told him if he stays a moment longer, he’ll be in danger of doing Mr. Cobb some terrible injury. Then he stormed off, drenched to the skin and fuming.”

This was all most interesting; Dunstable had earned his ale and another besides. “Were there other encounters between the two of them?” Joshua asked as he sipped.

“None that I witnessed, though ’tis my guess that the lady they spoke of and the lady he was always waiting for were one and the same. ’Tis possible she was the lady who came the very day Cobb disappeared.”

“Who was she?”

“There I cannot help you. I was occupied with the stables and the grooms; I caught a brief glimpse of her entering the inn. That is all. She wasn’t known to me.”

“What variety of lady was she?”

“A fair one.”

“Her age? Manner?”

“Wigged, powdered, twenty or thereabouts, dressed in the grandest style feathers, and flowers and ribbons and lace and anything else you care to mention. As conscious of her charms as anyone with her attractions would be.”

“What makes you associate her with Mr. Bentnick?”

Dunstable looked down at his half-empty mug. “Naught in particular. Only I have heard there’s ladies staying, and having heard a lady mentioned in the argument, I suppose I just assumed it.”

THREE tankards of ale and one hour later, Joshua glanced out the window. He contemplated the short walk back to Astley without enthusiasm. The sky had grown low and heavy, and a sharp north breeze had begun to blow. He left the inn, knowing that if he lingered he would be late for Sabine Mercier’s sitting, and that a downpour was imminent, but wishing he could stay. With little choice but to spoil his new leather boots, he buttoned his coat and adjusted his cravat and set out.

Half a mile down the road, large gouts of rain began to drop on his hat. Within a quarter of an hour the downpour had strengthened sufficiently to make inroads to his collar and seep down his neck. He was certain that by tomorrow he would have to take to bed with a cold. At worst there was the possibility of contracting fevers and ailments he didn’t even want to speculate upon. To make matters worse, the road had now veered so close to the detestable river he fancied he could smell it. So damp and morose and uneasy was he that the creak and jangle of chassis and harness signaling a coach-and-two thundering over the summit of a hill from the direction of Astley didn’t make him alter his stride; nor did he move to the verge of the road to avoid being splashed. Since he was already soaked and saturated beyond recognition, what difference would a little more mud and water make?

The carriage splashed to a clattering halt in a large puddle three feet in front of him. A quart of gritty brown water slopped over his boots. A gloved hand pushed down the window and a dun bonnet framing a pair of sparkling gray eyes peered out. “You have chosen a nasty day for a promenade, Mr. Pope. Would you not care for a ride?” It was Lizzie Manning, dressed in her dreary outdoor garb, but wearing an expression that was a study in amusement, solicitude, and curiosity.

“If it is not an inconvenience, then that is most kind indeed,” said Joshua, drawing near, “for, as you so astutely remark, the weather has turned very dirty indeed.”

“Do not mention it, I beg of you,” answered Lizzie Manning with an airy wave. “The carriage is Mr. Bentnick’s. He has sent me home in it. It will be no trouble at all for the driver to return with you, since he will be going there anyway. Besides, I am perfectly sure Mr. Bentnick would not desire his latest portraitist to fall ill with a virulent fever.”