Serpent in the Garden (25 page)

He shrugged his shoulders. “She and I rarely speak.”

“Come, sir,” Joshua pressed. “Let us go to the house, and on the way, you shall tell me why you and she have quarreled. Whatever it is, it will easily be forgotten. Such a delightful girl as she would not harbor a grudge for long.”

Arthur Manning now abandoned his earlier hostility. Perhaps the effort of maintaining it was too much in his inebriated state. He draped his arm about Joshua’s back as if they were old friends reunited. “I cannot go with you, Pope,” said Arthur Manning, shaking his head with exaggerated solemnity. “Best thing to do is this. You go back to the house. Bring some brandy and some food—I have eaten nothing all day, and by God I am famished. It’s a fine evening for a little supper outdoors, is it not?”

Joshua recoiled at this familiarity. It struck him nonetheless that Manning’s face might have looked quite pleasant had he shaved and were it not for a wolfish gleam in his eye. Feigning ignorance, he said, “Why cannot you accompany me into the house? As Miss Manning’s brother you would surely be most welcome.”

“It’s a long story—won’t go into it now. Be a good fellow, get the brandy, come back, then we’ll discuss it.”

Joshua conceded. He returned to the dining room via the garden door, helped himself to a cut-glass decanter of brandy and a pair of glasses, and draped his coat over this contraband in case he ran into Herbert. But there was no one about in the dining room, nor did he spy any servants. He was back at the glade in less than half an hour.

Arthur Manning was sitting against a beech tree, smoking a long clay pipe. “Ah,” he said, snatching the brandy decanter and pouring a considerable quantity directly into his mouth, “I knew I could rely on you. Good man. What did you say your name was?”

To judge by the speed he was gulping from the decanter, the fog of brandy would soon be impenetrable. However, his present condition, uninhibited, garrulous—though admittedly not entirely lucid—provided Joshua with a valuable opportunity.

With a little prompting Arthur confided his misfortunes. In the past twelve months he had been tricked by a charlatan (who he was sure now had used weighted dice and marked cards), in a room at the Swan in Water Lane in Richmond, into gambling more than he should. Had he known he didn’t stand a cat’s chance of winning he would never have stayed in the game. Guilt over his losses had spurred him to accept Caroline Bentnick’s offer of a loan. She had pressed the money on him; he never petitioned her for it. He intended to repay his father directly, but further misfortune befell him. Passing through the neighboring town of Sheen, on his way to meet his father, he had been held up by a highwayman. Incensed, he put up a struggle and only narrowly escaped with his life. Furthermore—iniquity of iniquities—no one believed him! His father had treated him as a veritable outcast; his sister sulked. So furious had he been at them he had left Barlow Court for a fortnight to stay with friends in Bath. Since his return he could not bear to speak to his father or Lizzie. Joshua had only to speak to the watch in Richmond and they would back up his account. He had every intention of repaying the money somehow, though as yet he was unsure how.

Joshua listened, nodding and making sympathetic noises, but he was far from taken in. Arthur Manning, to judge from all he had seen of him, was a drunken reprobate, a liar, and a thief. He had stolen from his family and from their close friends the Bentnicks; he had taken advantage of Caroline Bentnick’s fondness.

Nonetheless, when his story of woes came to an end, Joshua put on a friendly expression. “I am sorry to hear all this. No one should have to endure such misfortune. By the by, what have you heard of Mrs. Mercier and her daughter?”

Arthur laughed, a trifle grimly. “Caused quite a stir, them coming to Astley so soon after Jane Bentnick’s death. Handsome woman, though—can’t say I blame old Herbert. And as for the daughter, Violet—a dainty dish, very dainty. Can’t think what old Francis is waiting for. Surely not my sister!”

“Are you acquainted with the Merciers, then? I thought your disgrace took place before their arrival.”

Arthur pushed out his chin. “My most recent troubles happened only a fortnight ago. Told you, Pope, it’s impossible for me to enter the house openly. But that doesn’t mean I cannot go there at all.”

“What are you saying, Mr. Manning? That you have been in the house clandestinely?”

He laughed, spluttering half-swallowed brandy down his shirtfront in the process. “In a manner of speaking.”

“How, then? Tell me what you saw.”

He looked bleary-eyed into the middle distance. He was dribbling a little and slurring his words quite heavily. “I go in, sometimes, at night. I swear, Pope, if you let this be known I will kill you.”

“For what purpose?

He shrugged his shoulders. “Idle curiosity, I suppose.”

Joshua didn’t believe this for a minute. “Did you enter my rooms two nights ago?

“Possibly.”

“You removed a card from my pocket. Why?”

Arthur blinked slowly, licking his lips as if he was parched. “I was looking for something. I thought it might be there. You stirred in your sleep and I feared you would waken. I left with the card by mistake.”

“You were looking for something? What, precisely?”

Arthur looked mulish. “I caught sight of your return. You were clutching something. I thought I would see what it was.”

He was lying, Joshua was certain of it. Had he witnessed the encounter on the road? “Did you know a man named Cobb?”

Manning’s eyes opened so wide that Joshua could see the tracery of veins crisscrossing the jaundiced whites; then he began to guffaw with such resonating rowdiness that Joshua feared they might be heard. In between his paroxysms of laughter he looked down at his brandy-stained front, as if mulling over the tremendous joke. His pauses gradually became longer and longer, until at last he fell entirely silent.

“Mr. Manning,” Joshua said, “I beg you, did you see me meet Cobb? Did you ever know a man named Cobb?”

But in place of the answer he so urgently wanted came a loud and protracted snore.

N
EXT MORNING Joshua waited at the breakfast table over an hour for Lizzie Manning to appear. When she still hadn’t descended by nine and all the other members of the household apart from Herbert had arrived, he ventured to ask where she was. Caroline was on her way out of the room, her progress hastened by the arrival of Sabine, Joshua presumed. She turned back from the doorway to answer.

“Miss Manning left yesterday afternoon. She is not expected back before the ball in a week’s time. Good morning to you, Mr. Pope.”

Joshua maintained a look of disinterest; he didn’t wish to arouse suspicions, but the news frustrated and perplexed him. Had she found the opportunity to speak to Violet or her maid? What had she discovered? Why had she concealed her knowledge of horticulture? Above all, why had she left when she could easily have stayed on the pretext of continuing their drawing lessons?

Joshua put down his coffee cup. He would tackle Violet Mercier himself. Perhaps, if she was amenable, he could arrange an opportunity to talk to her in private and find out directly what he needed to know. He began cautiously. “I wonder, Miss Mercier, whether Miss Manning showed you any of her drawings yesterday. She made sterling progress.”

Violet raised a perfectly arched brow. Her lips gathered in a pout. “Drawings, Mr. Pope? I don’t recall seeing any. Was there some reason I should take an interest in them?”

Joshua persisted. “But, Miss Mercier, you did see Miss Manning yesterday before she left?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I am puzzled by her sudden departure. I thought we had agreed to continue our tuition today.”

“Evidently you were mistaken, Mr. Pope. And since you ask, we did have a brief conversation, but she said nothing whatsoever of you or your drawing lesson.” With this, she set down her porcelain tea bowl carefully in its saucer, bowed her head, then left the table.

Joshua was ready to follow her but Sabine thwarted his departure. “More drawing lessons, Mr. Pope? What did you hope to garner from them today, may I ask?”

“As I told you before, madam, Miss Manning can provide insignts that are most beneficial. In any case it seems I shall have to manage without them, for she isn’t here.”

“Mr. Pope, may I remind you of our appointment for a sitting this afternoon?”

“I had not forgotten, madam.”

“I am glad to hear it, Mr. Pope, for I must take you to task over your bad manners in neglecting another appointment. You asked my permission to question my maid yesterday afternoon. On my instruction Marie waited for you, yet you never went to speak to her. Tell me, Mr. Pope, are you in the habit of making arrangements and then ignoring them whenever it suits you? Or is this merely occasional treatment you have accorded me and my staff, along with frequent tardiness and losing my necklace?”

Joshua had forgotten the appointment because he had become caught up with Arthur Manning, thus succeeding in doing the very thing he wanted to avoid: further annoying Sabine and heaping more disapproval upon his own shoulders. He had to appease her but there was no reason to reveal his meeting with Manning. He shook his head as if ashamed of his error. “My profound apologies, madam, to you and your maid. I was waylaid yesterday evening by my painting. By the time I put down my brush, I thought it too late to trouble her.”

“Then I shall expect to see great progress in the work when I come for my sitting today,” said Sabine.

“As I am sure you shall, my dear,” said Herbert, as he entered the room.

“You may rest assured on it,” answered Joshua smoothly.

Herbert sat down with a heavy sigh to two coddled eggs and a slice of toast. “Well, Pope, any progress to report? Have you discovered the thief yet, or had any more nocturnal encounters, or caught the hapless killer of Mr. Hoare?”

Joshua didn’t know whether to resent his whimsical tone or be glad of it. “No, sir,” he replied solemnly, “though as I told Mrs. Mercier, I believe both matters are wrapped up with the dispute over the jewel. May I ask, sir, did you ever meet either Mr. Hoare or Mr. Cobb?”

Herbert raised his eyes from his egg-laden toast. “No, I never did.”

Recalling the evidence of the landlord Dunstable that he had seen Herbert embroiled in a quarrel with Cobb, Joshua recognized this for a barefaced lie, but nonetheless he kept quiet. If Herbert had something to hide, he would pursue another tack to discover it.

“I told Mr. Pope yesterday that I am not convinced the dispute has anything to do with the necklace’s disappearance and that he should not waste more time than necessary on Hoare’s death,” interrupted Sabine.

“Quite so,” said Herbert soothingly, “but if Mr. Pope believes the matters are connected, we must allow him a certain freedom to investigate. After all, I am sure he has not forgotten, his reputation depends upon it.”

Joshua was not so troubled by this implicit threat that he failed to notice the silent communication that passed between the couple. Sabine met Herbert’s gaze. He sensed from the set of her chin and the quizzical raising of her brow that she wanted to respond to Herbert, but Joshua’s presence impeded her.