Serpent in the Garden (38 page)

Lizzie’s eyes, appearing darker and more brooding than usual, had purplish circles beneath them. She looked innocent and fragile, which only went to show, he thought ruefully, how deceptive appearances could be. Even when they were side by side on the path, she walked as far from him as possible. Hostility emanated from her.

Joshua felt his headache worsen. “The air feels uncommonly oppressive,” he said. “It is well we have come early: the weather might break soon.”

She glanced at the heavens, screwing up her eyes slightly, as if to verify the truth of what he said. “In that case, we shouldn’t waste any time in finding my brother,” said she curtly. Then: “Not that way. It will be quicker by this path.”

She turned at right angles from the track Joshua was following, taking another, which appeared to lead toward a dense copse of trees. Joshua’s earlier feelings of confidence, brought on by the fact she had tried and failed to find Cobb’s bag, were now interspersed with rumblings of irritation. His headache made him unusually short-tempered. He was tempted to ask what she meant by her uncivil tone. Yet, remembering how important her presence might be, and to what lengths she had gone to pursue her aim, he ordered himself to act benevolently and say nothing.

“Have you been to the grotto before?” he questioned her instead. “Are you certain this is the best path?”

“I have heard of it often enough, and since I know this garden almost as well as my own, I am sure I will be able to find it.”

The serpentine path Lizzie had chosen now veered away from the lake, traversed a small woodland plantation, and then, to his chagrin, turned back toward the left side of the water, where the cascades and grotto were situated. Proximity to the water speedily distracted Joshua from all other considerations. He clenched his jaw and looked at his feet as a way of containing his fears, but he remained unsettled—so much so that when the path made a sharp bend, and he came face-to-face with the head gardener, he nearly walked straight into him.

Granger was carrying what appeared to be a small scythe in one hand and a bundle of rooted box cuttings in the other. The sight of him going about his everyday business brought Joshua to his senses. “Good morning, Mr. Granger. I wonder to see you in this part of the garden so early.”

Granger bowed slightly and gave a wry smile, which seemed to stretch the scar on his cheek as taut as a violin string. He looked Joshua straight in the eye, but if he was surprised at seeing the two guests out so early, he betrayed not a jot of it. “My cottage is two hundred yards in that direction. I am on my way to my office in the kitchen garden.”

There was an awkward silence while Joshua surveyed the shrubbery over his shoulder. Plainly he would have to offer some explanation for their early morning excursion.

“We were on our way to visit the cascade and grotto,” said Lizzie. “Mr. Pope was curious to see them—he wonders about putting some such natural yet picturesque feature in the background of his painting. He tells me the light at early morning is advantageous for an artist’s needs. And besides, I thought it might make a pleasant surprise for Mr. Bentnick and Mrs. Mercier. So if you will excuse us, Mr. Granger, we’ll be on our way before the early light is gone.”

Joshua was all too aware that this was a lame excuse. Granger might well have asked why, if art was his purpose, Joshua had apparently brought no drawing materials with him. And yet, perhaps he understood he had intruded in a matter of some delicacy, for he nodded as if a promenade at six in the morning were the most normal thing in the world.

“In that case, you will require a key to enter both places; the grotto has been kept locked for many months now. As you know, Miss Manning, it was devised by Mrs. Bentnick with the assistance of Mr. Brown. It was unfinished when she and Mr. Bentnick went on their voyage to Barbados; since her death all work has been curtailed. Mr. Bentnick told me he can’t bear to visit the place, for it reminds him too much of her. As for the octagon house, that is kept similarly secure to discourage vagabonds from entering there in search of shelter and falling into the water.”

“How often do you inspect the buildings, Mr. Granger?” said Joshua. He was surprised to hear the buildings were kept locked. This was something he hadn’t considered.

“It varies according to circumstances. At present, I go to the octagon house once a fortnight; more, if there’s a severe storm and the overflow is in use.” With this, Granger took out from his pocket a large ring on which several keys were suspended. He began to inspect the bundle.

“When did you last visit?”

“I don’t remember precisely, but it would have been the last time we had rain. Last week, I believe that was. Why? Is it important to your study?”

Joshua shrugged his shoulders, adopting an air of mysterious authority. “And you noticed nothing untoward?”

“Not that I recall. Should I have done?”

Joshua ignored the question. “And the grotto? Do you recall your last inspection there?”

“I don’t rightly remember. I have little call to go there now the work’s been stopped. A month or two ago perhaps.”

Joshua met Lizzie’s gaze. “We should proceed at once, Miss Manning.”

She nodded. “I said the very same five minutes ago, Mr. Pope,” she said tartly.

Granger was still holding two keys in his hand. He seemed reluctant to pass them over. “Would you like me to accompany you, Mr. Pope? It would be a wise precaution, bearing in mind that neither one of you is familiar with the grotto. There was an accident there some months ago in which several lives were lost. An excess of water entered one of the natural passages and drowned three men.”

Lizzie intervened. “As I recall, after that tragedy a metal gate was installed to prevent the water entering the passages, was it not?”

Joshua noted that her tone toward Granger was cordial.

Granger nodded. “Even so, miss, if you wandered into one of the tunnels it would be all too easy to lose yourselves for days in the darkness—perhaps, though I shudder to say so, with the direst of consequences.”

Lizzie’s face grew pale. Her eyes looked larger and more bruised than ever. Joshua wondered whether, if she were faced with real peril, her testiness might ebb. He waited, but she showed no sign of accepting Granger’s offer. Nevertheless he wasn’t foolish enough to court danger deliberately. Speaking in a composed tone that concealed his own trepidation he said, “Very well, Granger, please escort us.”

And so the three of them trooped off together, Granger leading the way. Lizzie and Joshua walked in brisk, but slightly less hostile, silence. They skirted the lake, then branched off on a trail that led up a steep incline parallel to the cascade. On their right a torrent of water gushed down a series of stone steps and splashed noisily into the lake. The water created a fine mist that seemed to hang low over the ground like a layer of gossamer. Through this delicate veil Joshua discerned mossy boulders, between which sprouted clumps of reeds, tall grasses, and purple flags. Elsewhere the garden was planted as an artful wilderness. Vast granite boulders reared up here and there, interspersed with ferns and willow trees and flowering shrubs, all of which flourished in the damp atmosphere.

A hundred yards further on, a large rock set upright in the ground like a gigantic black tooth guarded the entrance to the cavern.

“This way,” directed Granger, stepping behind the massive pillar.

They were in front of a yawning black maw, barricaded by metal railings. Through the railings they could see a passage and main chamber beyond. The cavern was roughly oval in form, extending to some thirty feet at the widest point, with a ceiling that soared up perhaps twenty feet. What struck Joshua most, however, was not the cavern’s scale but its decoration. Every inch of the walls and ceiling was studded with shells of various form and hue, arranged in mosaiclike concentric circles, spirals, and flowers, creating a richness akin to a gentleman’s embroidered waistcoat. On one wall a small fountain gushed from the wall into a basin hewn from rock. The surface of the floor and walls around it was encrusted with moss and lichens, and here and there filigree ferns had found crevices in which to grow, giving this corner the appearance of a subterranean garden.

A gate was set in the center of the railing. At present it was fastened by a large padlock, which didn’t appear to have been tampered with, but Joshua reckoned Arthur Manning might easily have entered here. The railings were only about eight feet high and there was a gap of several feet between the top and the roof of the tunnel. It would be simple enough for an agile young man to scale this barrier and clamber over if he wanted to.

Judging by Granger’s lengthy efforts to open it, the lock had not been used for some time. Eventually, after much jiggling and maneuvering, the mechanism yielded and the hasp came free. The door creaked loudly as Granger pulled it open. Before stepping aside to allow them to pass, he turned and gave Joshua a quizzical look. “I don’t pretend to know your purpose in coming here, Mr. Pope, though I surmise it has naught to do with painting. In any event, that’s none of my business. But I would remind you, most emphatically, that since we have brought no torches with us, and we have a young lady present, it would be the gravest folly indeed to venture into the tunnels.”

Joshua looked past Granger into the grotto. The interior was shadowy and mysterious; toward the back of the chamber he could see the shadow of a passage meandering into darkness. Joshua shuddered inadvertently. “Fear not, Mr. Granger, we have taken your warnings to heart.” He paused, then added rather condescendingly, “By the by, Granger, I thank you for your discretion. We have come here on a delicate matter, one that we are not at liberty to discuss.”

“In that case,” said Granger, retreating so that they could pass through, “I will wait here until you have finished and then escort you to the octagon house.”

“There’s no need for that, Mr. Granger,” interposed Lizzie sharply. “You have had Mr. Pope’s assurance. I know the way to the other building very well. Give us the key, and we will return it to you the instant we have finished with it.”

Granger furrowed his brow. “There are dangers there too, miss. Suppose one of you should fall in the water?”

“Mr. Pope is perfectly capable of seeing where the water is and avoiding it. I am equally familiar with its dangers. You have our assurance we will leave the place secure as we found it.”

Granger smoothed his ruffled brown hair with a hand. His countenance still seemed troubled. Did he honestly believe they wanted to kill themselves? “Very well. If that is your wish.”

With that, he disappeared back up the trail. They heard the crunch of his boots as he descended the slope. Some minutes later Joshua wondered whether it was prudent to have sent him away, and half wished he could call him back. If the unpredictable Arthur Manning should suddenly choose this moment to make an appearance, and if he should take against Joshua, the presence of Granger could have proved mightily useful.

Without a further word to each other, Lizzie and Joshua entered the cavern. They stood in the center and looked up at the roof and its elaborate encrustations, then they circled the perimeter, and brushed their hands over the thousands of shells that had been so meticulously collected and arranged on the walls. Joshua made no attempt to speak to her and instead searched for signs that another person had recently entered here.

The floor was covered in stone flags; there was no trace of any footprint. Joshua didn’t know what else he expected to find—a piece of clothing, perhaps?—but the chamber was devoid of any evidence of human life. As he searched, he wondered if his protracted silence might provoke Lizzie to say something, to give some hint of her thoughts and feelings, but she remained mute, touring the chamber, staring at the elaborate patterns in brooding silence.

On reaching the fountain at the opposite side of the cave, Joshua lowered his head to drink from the stream of water that fell into the basin below. As he did so, he caught sight of something in the bottom of the bowl. He peered more closely. It was a small transparent object.

Joshua looked surreptitiously round at Lizzie; she was still frozen in silent contemplation with her back toward him. Without a word, he reached into the basin. The water was not much more than a foot deep and he reached the object easily, though in the process he soaked the bandages that still bound his wrists. Grasping the object, he brought it to the surface.

He recognized it instantly. It was one of the crystal brandy glasses he had taken with him on the night when he had met Arthur Manning. He was so astonished to see it here that, without thinking, he dropped it and it sank back to the bottom.

Plainly Arthur Manning had been here. Should he pursue him? What should he say to Lizzie? What effect would knowing he was somewhere in the vicinity have upon her? Furthermore, Joshua couldn’t help asking himself, would his discovery make her treat him a little more civilly? Minutes ticked by. Joshua paced about, while Lizzie continued to ignore him.

In the end he opted for caution. Assuming Manning had fled into the cavern at the sound of their approach, what chance would he have of apprehending him in the dark tunnels? At the very least, he needed another able-bodied man to support him, and some torches.

Just as he reached this decision, she spoke.

“We have seen all there is to see here, Mr. Pope. Nothing has presented itself. Let us leave now and hope the other place will be more fruitful.”

“As you wish, Miss Manning,” said Joshua, smiling as he ushered her out of the gate with a flutter of relief in his heart.

She barely waited for him to secure the padlock before she quickly walked off on a path that meandered through stands of birch trees and led up the incline toward the cascade. Joshua sprinted to catch up with her and was vexed when this exertion, coupled with the steepness of the slope, had him panting like an old man, while she showed no evidence at all of strain.

Some two hundred yards further they clambered down a steep slope and came to the octagon house, a two-storey building nestled between two large willow trees where the cascade tumbled into the lake. The windows were set high up under the eaves, but there was a wide arched aperture on the side nearest the lake. The door, a heavy Gothic structure studded with iron nails, stood on the opposite side. It crossed Joshua’s mind that if someone had forced entry here, he would have had to do so by this entrance. But there were no signs of an intrusion. It seemed more probable than ever that Arthur Manning was not here but hiding in the grotto.