Serpent in the Garden (46 page)

The wind had picked up and a swath of purple clouds had parted to reveal a thin melon slice of sun. The only sounds were the patter of water dripping from the leaves and the faint rustle of wet foliage. There was no evidence of activity, no sound of voices. Presumably the workers had gone home when the storm broke.

Joshua shivered. By his estimation it was only about six o’clock, but the murky weather made the day seem prematurely dark.

A few minutes later found him at the entrance to the small brick-built shed that Granger called his office. Granger was not inside, although there was evidence that he had not gone far and would return shortly. His clay pipe, which Joshua had rarely seen him without, was lying on the desk atop a neatly ordered pile of papers, alongside a half-eaten crust of bread and mutton. Joshua sat down on the only chair in the room to await his return.

S
OME MINUTES LATER, the door swung open. Granger stood there, a look of bewilderment upon his face. His outer clothes were as drenched as Joshua’s. He had evidently sprinted back to the shelter of his office, and his face glowed with his exertion. Once he had overcome his surprise at seeing Joshua, he looked far from pleased to find him dripping water all over his tidy floor.

“Mr. Pope,” Granger said. “I thought you had gone away.” Clearly he must have heard Herbert’s last bellowing command that Joshua leave his property immediately, yet he was much too circumspect to mention it.

Joshua decided his wisest course was to be equally politic. “You are correct in that respect, Granger. I have returned only briefly to speak to Mr. Brown. He left a message for me that he would see me here. I believe he is visiting Astley this afternoon?”

“If that is so, then I haven’t been informed of it.”

He looked wary now that he had recovered his breath a little and Joshua saw that he would have to speak frankly if he was to get anywhere. “Mr. Granger, I have a favor to ask of you. No doubt you heard Mr. Bentnick’s parting words. He sent me away in a temper and warned me against returning to Astley. I cannot show my face at the house just like that, for I fear his reaction may be unreasonable. Yet Mr. Lancelot Brown has something of importance to tell me, and I also have something I would communicate to him. I should be grateful, therefore, if you would go to the house and let him know of my arrival here. Please do not, whatever you do, let anyone else know of my presence here.”

Granger’s delicate fingers flicked nervously on a packet of seeds. A sheaf of worried channels appeared between his brows. “Don’t think me disobliging, Mr. Pope, but I would not wish to anger Mr. Bentnick on account of your presence in my office, particularly since I didn’t invite you here. I have my position to consider—it might be jeopardized …”

The strain of the past hours raised a surge of annoyance in Joshua’s breast. Nevertheless he quashed his self-pity and his temper and managed to respond evenly to this objection. “Quite so, quite so, Mr. Granger. Getting you into his disfavor is the last thing I would wish to do. I will wait for Mr. Brown in the pinery, if that is more convenient for you.”

Granger mulled this over, then gave a curt nod. He wordlessly donned his hat and coat and trudged toward the kitchen entrance to the house.

Joshua headed directly for the pinery. He was still bubbling with anxiety for Brown, irritation toward Granger, and the injustices of his fate in general, mainly because his heart was still shattered by Bridget’s duplicity.

Once inside the pinery, the heat hit him like a wall. Steam began to rise from his sodden coat like moisture from a sunlit manure heap. An unpleasant, pungent smell of rotting bark and dung infiltrated his nostrils. Seething with frustration, Joshua ripped off the garment, flung it at the wall, and began to pace the path, staring blankly at the ranks of pineapples. Suddenly he sympathized with Hoare, who in his final death throes had wrought havoc in this orderly place. Joshua, too, felt an overwhelming desire to kick the pots, hurl one on top of another, see the white roots snap and break and the young fruits smash on the stone walls. If Sabine had spent just half the money she had lavished here, she might have saved poor Nell Lambton’s life. What, he asked himself, was the point of pretending a Surrey garden could emulate one in Barbados? Pineapples were not destined to belong in the soil of Richmond, any more than he belonged here.

He sat down on the wall and fell into a reverie in which he ran through what he would have liked to say to Bridget and Lizzie and Sabine were they here.

HE WAS ROUSED by a slight cough at the doorway. “Mr. Pope,” said Granger, “I have tried to pass your message to Mr. Brown, but I couldn’t find him at the house. Apparently he is gone to the grotto. It seems Mr. Bentnick has called him in to resume the scheme.”

“Is he alone?”

“I believe so.”

“Then I must go there immediately.”

“You must allow me to accompany you. I have already explained the dangers. The place is more treacherous than ever in such bad weather. As I explained to you, there is a channel that links the tunnels to the octagon and the cascade. If the water rises too high, the whole place might flood.”

Joshua remembered clearly Lizzie Manning telling him that Herbert had taken measures to make the place safe by installing the metal door in the octagon house, but he had little appetite to argue. Anyway, he reasoned, it might prove useful to have Granger with him.

Joshua put on his steaming coat and hat and, with Granger by his side, sprinted toward the grotto. He felt twinges of alarm at the thought of what might happen if Herbert or Sabine caught sight of him—or if Arthur Manning were lurking in the vicinity. But he reminded himself that the chances of anyone venturing out in the rain were slim. Once he had found Brown and warned him, both of them could leave.

Joshua was panting loudly by the time they arrived at the cavern mouth. The metal door was ajar. There was no sign of Lancelot Brown. Joshua shouted out Brown’s name; it took all his efforts to make himself heard above the thunderous rain outside. There was no response. He shouted again. Still no reply.

Granger was as perplexed as he. “I was certain we would find him here, sir. The footman was quite convinced of it. And the door is open, which suggests someone has been here.”

“Might he have ventured into one of the tunnels?

“I doubt it, sir. Miss Manning said nothing of that.”

“Miss Manning?” Joshua’s voice rose an octave. “Did she hear you ask for Brown on my behalf ?” He raised his eyes to heaven. “Granger, did I not tell you expressly to avoid any mention of my name?”

“Yes sir.” Granger’s response was sharp, as if offended by the unjustness of Joshua’s accusation. “I did my utmost to observe the instruction. It was only that when I went to the servants’ hall to ask about Mr. Brown she happened to enter while I was in mid-conversation with the footman. She must have guessed our discussion concerned you, for she said something like, ‘I might have known Pope would not let the matter drop.’”

“And nor have you,” cut in a familiar voice behind.

Joshua spun round. Blocking the threshold of the cavern, silhouetted against falling rain, stood Lizzie Manning. At first Joshua could not make out her expression; the light was behind her and the cloak of her hood was raised. She was no more than an ominous shape. However, she moved quickly toward him, and though his first reaction was to back away, he managed to steel himself and hold his ground. As she approached, he could see her cheeks unusually flushed and her eyes ablaze. Another rustle caused him to look behind her. To his even greater amazement, he now saw that Lizzie had been joined by Bridget Quick, who bade him good day as normally as if she and he had just crossed paths in the middle of Saint Martin’s Lane. They had been escorted to the grotto by Francis Bentnick, who stood, arms crossed, Herculean and expressionless as ever.

Joshua took a step toward the ladies. For one rash minute he had it in his head to take the pair by the shoulders and shake them and tell them how furious he felt at their deception. But then he thought again. He remembered that one might well be a brutal murderess and the other was certainly the most duplicitous female conceivable. Francis Bentnick had doubtless come as their protector. Joshua had no wish to test the puissance of a man ten years his junior, and six inches taller, with thigh muscles the size of gammons of ham. “Miss Manning!” he exclaimed. “I had not expected to find you here. Do you come in search of your errant brother, or does some other quest now preoccupy you?”

She pushed down her hood and gave Joshua a mysterious smile. “I came to see you, Mr. Pope,” she said in a low voice.

“Then I should be flattered indeed.”

“Flattery has naught to do with it. I came to tell you to leave this place at once: you are not safe here. The rainwater has put twice the usual volume of water in the cascade. I told you about the tunnel joining this grotto with the lake; if the water seeps in, it might flood this cave.”

“You also told me that safety measures had been taken. And in any case, what of your brother? I told you before, I strongly suspect he might be hiding in one of the tunnels. Indeed, in view of the dangers posed by the weather, I will speak frankly, for I would rather not see another corpse. There is more to my warning than mere suspicion: I know for a fact he has been here.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know what makes you so adamant. But you may rest assured you are mistaken, sir. My brother returned to Barlow Court yesterday evening. We are quite reconciled. And since the necklace is now returned to its lawful owner, his name is no longer under a cloud and I have no further need to interfere in these investigations. I confess that was the sole reason I persuaded you to let me help you.”

“How good of you to speak so candidly, Miss Manning,” Joshua said curtly. “You omit to mention the small matter of the fortune he lost to Mr. Cobb, which was contained in Cobb’s bag. I believe that had something to do with your concern.”

“Of course it did,” said Lizzie evenly, “but as I said, Arthur and I are reconciled. We will manage somehow without it.”

“But have you forgotten that two people have lost their lives here? And one of those was your closest friend—Caroline Bentnick. Can you so readily turn your back on such heinous crimes, or do you ignore them because you already know the culprit?”

She drew back, gasping in disbelief at his accusing tone. “I have already confessed, Mr. Pope, that I led you along because I wanted to find out Arthur’s whereabouts and, I admit, to recover the money he lost. It was that, more than anything else, that troubled me. Caroline’s death has come as such a shock I scarcely know what I should think or do. But staying here and risking our lives won’t help her.”

Joshua scrutinized her face. Was the sorrow and confusion she expressed genuine? Anger welled up in him once again. He had intended to inform Herbert Bentnick of his suspicions regarding her, rather than confront her himself. He had meant to wait for Brown’s evidence before drawing his conclusions, yet his emotion got the better of him.

“You play the concerned sister and friend to perfection, Miss Manning. What an accomplished actress you are. But Mr. Cobb has told me that ever since the ill-fated night he relieved your brother of his fortune, there have been several attempts upon his life. He lives in terror, unable to show his face for fear of further reprisal. It strikes me that bearing in mind your eagerness to restore your family’s fortune, you might well have poisoned Hoare in the belief he was Cobb.”