Serpent in the Garden (16 page)

Barlow Court, Richmond

25th May

Mr. Pope,

I have, as I promised, spoken with Violet’s maid, Marie. She is Barbadian by birth and has been employed by Mrs. Mercier for the past ten years as lady’s maid for her daughter and herself. She is not at all happy with her move to England, displays little loyalty or affection toward Violet and her mother, and longs to return to Bridgetown. I tell you this only so that you understand why she leapt at my offer of some friendly discourse. I easily persuaded her to describe to me the events of their stay in London. I confess myself quite mystified as to what bearing her information has on the death of John Cobb, yet I cannot help my conviction there must be some connection. After all, was not Herbert spotted at the Star and Garter arguing with Cobb? Yet I should also say I find it impossible to believe that Herbert, whom I have known since a child, and who has been a kind benefactor to me on several occasions, could be responsible for Cobb’s death. His fiancée and her daughter are, to my mind, quite another matter.

The day before Mrs. Mercier discovered the body in the pinery, Marie had accompanied Violet to London. Violet had an appointment with her dressmaker and had been invited to visit the theater with a relative of Herbert’s. They intended to pass the night in town before returning to Astley.

According to Marie, Violet had recently been out of sorts and the day of the visit to the dressmaker, Mrs. Bowles, was no exception. The gown fitted miraculously, the trimming was exquisite. There were tiny seed pearls embroidered on the bodice in a pattern of rosebuds, silk roses stitched to her shoulders and neck, satin bows and Brussels lace trimming the neck. To Violet, such details were usually of the utmost importance, but that day nothing could vanquish her lackluster spirits, or spur her to offer poor Mrs. Bowles one word of encouragement.

I pressed Marie to tell me what lay at the heart of Violet’s misery. Had it to do with John Cobb? She revealed that several weeks ago there had been a “fondness” between Violet and Cobb, but that when Sabine discovered this, she had intervened to curtail it. And since her arrival at Astley, Violet has developed an ungovernable fondness for Francis Bentnick. As soon as Caroline saw this, she told Violet that Francis was as good as promised to me. According to Marie, Violet thinks I am no match for her, and as far as Marie is aware, no man has ever refused her anything. Francis’s elusiveness only seems to make her more determined. You can imagine I wasn’t much pleased to learn of Violet’s intentions, but though I sensed the maid wanted some response, and I own I longed to say something on the matter, I kept silent.

After the fitting, Violet and Marie passed down Southampton Street, toward Covent Garden. They paused to look in the windows of shops selling fans and ribbons and pomades. A pair of sedan chairs pushed roughly past. Marie hastily pulled Violet to the shelter of a doorway to save her from being trampled.

It was while they waited for the commotion to pass that they chanced to look back up the Strand, in the direction from which they had come, and saw Mrs. Bowles turn the corner of Southampton Street on the other side of the road and pass by not a dozen paces in front of them. She was wearing a hat with ribbons and bows and feathers and now appeared almost like one of the gentry. Violet and Marie accidentally fell into step some distance behind her on the opposite side of the road. They followed her up Southampton Street, until she came to the piazza and turned into Floral Street. Here they saw her halt in front of a door between a bookseller and a chandler’s. She briefly knocked, the door was opened, and she entered as comfortably as if she had been there a dozen times before—or as if she lived there.

They were about to continue on their way when their attention was caught by a second familiar figure approaching from the opposite direction. This person, a gentleman, seemed somewhat preoccupied and looked more than once at his pocket watch as if late or pressed for time. He stopped outside the same door, knocked, and entered. He was dressed in a dark tricorn hat and a fine brown suit with horn buttons. Even from this distance they could not fail to recognize him instantly. The man to whom Violet’s mother, Sabine Mercier, was engaged had apparently arranged a secret assignation with her dressmaker. Herbert Bentnick was taking tea in Mrs. Bowles’s drawing room and looking for all the world as if he was quite at home there.

Is this not a most curious incident? It does explain the peculiar conversation between Violet and Herbert that we both remarked the other evening, though it also raises a further question: why did Herbert deny the visit? What was he trying to hide? Perhaps you might call on Mrs. Bowles. I look forward with eagerness to hearing your thoughts and learning how you have fared with Mr. Hoare. I will endeavor to call on the Bentnicks in the next few days in order that we may discuss how to advance our strategy.

In eager anticipation
,

                                  Elizabeth Manning

F
ASCINATED though he was, Joshua didn’t reply to Lizzie Manning’s letter. The reason for his inaction was twofold: First, bearing in mind her animosity toward Violet, he was unsure how reliable her testimony was and whether it was prudent to involve her in his future enquiries. Second, masculine embarrassment constrained him. The nature of Herbert’s assignment with the dressmaker seemed to Joshua to be perfectly obvious. No doubt Sabine intended to keep her bedroom door closed until the wedding night. If Herbert had an occasional rendezvous with a dressmaker to ease matters, what of it? Denying all knowledge of the woman was, in Joshua’s opinion, a manifestation of his gentlemanly discretion, and far from being evidence of some malicious subterfuge. By failing to comprehend this obvious fact, Lizzie Manning had merely revealed her naivety, but Joshua had no intention of explaining the matter to her.

The following day Joshua received a note from Herbert Bentnick.

Astley House

26th May 1766

Pope,

I would be greatly obliged if you would return to Astley without any delay. A matter of the utmost gravity has arisen. I believe you are the only person to help.

Yrs
,

Herbert Bentnick

The note was so abrupt, so unlike the effusive Herbert. There was no mention of Sabine’s return, which was when Joshua expected to be recalled. Had some other dreadful tragedy taken place? If it had, why would Herbert summon Joshua? Joshua began to worry that Lizzie Manning might have let slip something of their inquiries into Cobb’s death. How foolish he had been to trust her. The intelligence he thought he discerned was a delusion. The woman was nothing but a featherbrained chatterbox, incapable of keeping what she knew to herself. She had doubtless pursued her own course, or perhaps she had mentioned something of her conversation with the maid, Marie, to Caroline or Francis or Violet. Perhaps—Joshua shuddered—Sabine had learned of their enquiries and he was being summoned to explain himself.

In the midst of his preparations to leave for Astley there was a knock on his door. Bridget Quick had heard the clatter and had come to see what he was about. It was barely an hour since Joshua had breakfasted, yet she’d brought a slice of cherry cake and a jug of porter. “You might care for a little of this.” She held out the offerings and stepped in through the door before Joshua had the wit to halt her. She was wearing a dress of cream dimity with pale blue flowers printed on it. Her hair was slightly undone, and escaped wisps curled about her neck; she made a very fetching picture.

“You are most kind,” he said, groaning silently at the sight of the immense wedge on the plate, but drawn as ever to Bridget’s feminine attractions. “But as you see, you catch me when I am all a-fluster. I must leave directly for Richmond. An emergency has arisen.”

“Surely it cannot be so pressing you have no time to eat? Indeed, if it is so urgent, my assistance will come in useful. Sit down; let me pack your clothes.”

Joshua would have preferred not to let her among his things. Bridget’s helpfulness always made him feel defensive, because part of him yearned to be friendlier with her, but, remembering her mother, he forced himself to hold back. However, on this particular day his mind was preoccupied with Herbert’s letter and he was less alert than usual. He found himself letting her fold his linens and cravats and stockings. Bending low so that her skirts fanned out like a flower over her broad bottom, she stowed each article with great care in his portmanteau.

“Your costumes are very fine, Mr. Pope. I do admire them. I admire any man who takes pride in his garb.” She paused expectantly, waiting for him to say something. Joshua was torn between wanting to reply encouragingly and remembering that circumspection would be wiser.

“You too always look very charming—particularly so today, in that gown,” he said rather flatly, stepping away to give himself room to think.

Bridget shot him an unusually penetrating look. “Sometimes, however, I wonder if our preoccupation with dress is not just a means to deflect attention from deeper worries.”

What on earth did she mean? This was not the sort of remark he expected from his landlady’s daughter, no matter how pretty she was. Joshua looked down at the sleeve of his jacket as if he would find the answer inscribed upon it. “Indeed, Miss Quick. I am vastly grateful for your assistance and compliments. However, when it comes to your last remark, I cannot agree. Surely our outward appearance reflects what lies within.”

She smiled at him, a warm but enigmatic smile. “On occasion, but not always. Costume permits masquerade—you have only to visit the playhouse to see the truth of it.”

“I would like nothing better. But I fear the playhouse is out of the question for the time being. As I mentioned, I am off to Richmond. I don’t know when precisely I’ll be back.”

“It’s Richmond you go to again, do you? Where shall you stay? Are you still with the Bentnicks at Astley?”

He feared that this conversation was leading him into uncharted waters. He cursed mentioning the Bentnick commission to her last week. But he felt an invitation of some sort was expected and he didn’t want to cause offence.

“I tell you what,” he said pleasantly. “It won’t be prudent to meet where I am staying, since I fear something may be amiss and that is the reason I have been summoned so hastily. I will seek out a good place in Richmond; then, if you have the time, we might meet. I will drop you a note of it.” Once he was away he could decide how to proceed. If he thought the better of it, he could plead either a lapse of memory or other commitments.

Bridget leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. “I had best keep our arrangement a secret from my mother. We don’t want her knowing our private affairs, do we?”