Serpent in the Garden (42 page)

She looked as if she would fly at him for this retort, but by then his goods were safely tied onto the roof of the carriage, and unless she fancied climbing up there, he knew she would never find Cobb’s bag.

Lizzie Manning and the Bentnicks of Astley were a black chapter in his life. But the chapter was now closed. London was where his future lay.

I
T WAS MIDAFTERNOON by the time the carriage drew up outside Joshua’s lodgings. He knocked tentatively at his front door. Having given the key to Cobb, he had no means of opening it. He still felt uneasy about Cobb. If Hoare’s murderer was also Caroline Bentnick’s, it was unlikely Cobb was guilty. Nevertheless, with so much shift and alteration in all the characters he had encountered, Joshua’s confidence in his ability to read human nature was shaken. It would no longer greatly surprise him, he thought as he stood on his threshold, if everyone within this house had been slaughtered.

He was relieved when, after several minutes, the door jerked open to reveal the ancient face of Mrs. Quick, in the same formidable humor as ever.

“Mr. Pope. You return, having sent your unwholesome deputy in the meantime. Can we expect the pleasure of your company for long?”

Joshua raised his hat to her, trying to muster some semblance of dignity. “I am pleased to say I have no intention of leaving for some considerable time, Mrs. Quick. My business at Richmond is over. It remains only for me to resolve things with Mr. Cobb. I trust you have taken good care of him.”

“Trust all you like, sir,” she replied sourly. “Next time, though, I would thank you to send such disreputable personages elsewhere. It may surprise you to learn you do not reside in Newgate prison or a sewer. Though some of your acquaintances would certainly be well suited there.”

Joshua gushed contrition. “Forgive me, Mrs. Quick. I suffered a misadventure and had no chance to write. I had thought that Bridget would have explained matters to you.”

“How could she? She wasn’t here at the time!”

“Is your daughter about?”

“As you see, she is not.”

“You expect her soon?”

“In half an hour, perhaps a little more.”

Just then Kitty came out on her way to fill the coal scuttle. Taking advantage of the interruption, Joshua cannily altered tack.

“May I ask you, madam, what became of Cobb? I take it from your earlier remark he isn’t here?”

“Why, what would you expect me to do with him? What was I supposed to think of a wild-eyed stranger who looked as if he hadn’t washed for several weeks, and entered my abode without warning in the dead of night and ransacked my larder?”

“He ransacked your larder?” Joshua echoed, incredulous at Cobb’s stupidity.

“He woke poor Kitty and scared her half out of her wits; she very sensibly screamed, whereupon Thomas came to assist her. When they woke me I told them to summon the watch and call the constable and apprehend your Mr. Cobb for breaking and entering.”

Joshua swallowed and concealed his dismay. He knew enough of Mrs. Quick’s unpredictable character to be sure that if she caught the slightest whiff of anxiety, she would clam up like an oyster or launch into a virulent tirade. “You had him arrested?”

She nodded. “I did, sir, and I don’t need you to criticize,” she said stoutly.

“I shouldn’t dream of criticizing, Mrs. Quick. The fault was entirely mine for not forewarning you of the circumstances of Mr. Cobb’s distress. I know, had you been apprised of the situation, your charitable sentiments, for which you are well known, would have been stirred.”

“There’s charity, Mr. Pope, and there’s preservation. And let me tell you, when a vagabond comes into your home and ransacks your larder, charity flies off with the speed of a bat. You do as Kitty did—open your mouth and shriek for assistance.”

“Quite so, ma’am. May I ask, do you know where Cobb is now?”

“Still in the Roundhouse, for aught I know or care.”

“I see,” said Joshua, looking away from her. He was uncertain how to proceed now that she had delivered this astonishing blow. Bearing in mind Cobb’s unsavory demeanor and his idiotic behavior, he had to admit she had reason to be alarmed. Indeed, remembering his own doubts about Cobb, perhaps the Roundhouse was the safest place for him.

“Of course, I comprehend your awkward dilemma. Indeed, I cannot think how I overlooked it before. My profound apologies for the inconvenience, madam.”

“Won’t you wait for my daughter?”

“No,” Joshua said. The last thing he wanted was to see Bridget again under the scrutiny of her mother, who would monitor every word and give them no peace. “There is no time just now to wait. There are matters I must attend to immediately. Be so kind, madam, to tell her I will call on her tomorrow morning at nine.”

Mrs. Quick gave him a knowing grin. “It’s no use you going to visit your other lady friend, Mr. Pope.”

“What?” said Joshua, blanching at this astonishing remark. “What lady friend?”

“That widow you’ve been calling on. Mrs. Dunn, isn’t it? No good going there. She’s going to be married to some cousin of her husband’s. Came round two or three days ago to break the news to you. Bridget spoke to her.”

“I see,” he said, nodding curtly, as he took his leave.

Joshua mounted the stairs to his rooms with a heavy heart. Was there anything more that could possibly go wrong? Although he had half expected something of this kind, he was surprised how dejected he felt to have his suspicions confirmed.

He wished it had been Bridget rather than Mrs. Quick who had greeted him. Her practical sense and good heart might have helped him decide what he should do about Cobb, who languished in a cell not a hundred yards from his door.

Whatever Cobb’s role in this intrigue, he could not have killed Caroline Bentnick, and thus it seemed doubtful he was the murderer of Hoare. Assuming Cobb was innocent, his misfortunes were even worse than Joshua’s. In sending him to his lodgings—believing he would be safe there—Joshua had directed him straight into the jaws of peril in the unlikely form of Mrs. Quick. How could he feel otherwise than honor bound to save him?

THE ROUNDHOUSE was the headquarters of the local watch, where malefactors in this part of London were held prior to being brought before the magistrate. The building stood in the main thoroughfare of Saint Martin’s Lane, opposite Saint Martin’s Church, a mere three hundred yards from Mrs. Quick’s house. Joshua picked his way past a cluster of spectators at the stocks that stood outside it—currently occupied by two men who had been found guilty of cursing and swearing in the street—and a whipping post, currently vacant. The building was about the size of a summer pavilion, with the guards’ office and an entrance hall on the ground floor and a holding cell in the basement beneath. On questioning the guard, Joshua learned to his surprise that Cobb was still held a prisoner in its cell and had yet to be charged with any offence. Mrs. Quick, being uncertain whether or not he was a vagabond, had paid the constable a florin to hold him till Joshua’s return, whereupon, if Joshua was willing to vouchsafe his good character, she would drop all charges. This action, thought Joshua, might well have saved Cobb from heinous punishment. It was also the only sign he had ever seen of Mrs. Quick’s supposed compassion.

Thus encouraged, Joshua pleaded Cobb’s case. He was told it would be impossible to release him that night, since it was late and the constable was no longer on the premises. Joshua handed a shilling to the guard and reiterated his wish to see Cobb freed as soon as possible. The sweetened guard swiftly changed his tune. Joshua might view the cell. Provided he could identify Cobb, the guard saw no reason why Joshua shouldn’t take him away.

Two guardsmen escorted Joshua down a spiral staircase to a circular cell in the bowels of the building. In this crowded, unventilated space, the air was foul with the smells of human sweat, rank breath, and excrement. There was naught but damp straw on the floor and open buckets were the only method of sanitation. Through the gloom he glimpsed the dismal prisoners. Males and females of every age, size, and demeanor imaginable lay or sat in uneasy poses, some hunched and stooped or prostrate, while others stood immobile, as if frozen by their dreadful predicament.

As Joshua and the guards approached the door, several of the more energetic prisoners, alerted by their lantern, began crying out and rattling the bars, in the vain hope that Joshua might take pity on one of them and pay to have him released. Cobb wasn’t among these more strident prisoners. Joshua searched about and eventually he discerned him by his rasping cough. He was crouched against the wall, at the furthest point from the door. His head was slumped forward, resting on his knees. Despite the commotion he didn’t raise his head.

“Cobb,” Joshua called out to him, “it is I, Joshua Pope. I am here to have you freed.”

Cobb lifted his head slowly, as if its weight was almost more than his neck could bear. Joshua heard another racking cough. “Pope! Not only have you taken all I have, look where you have put me!” he spluttered, before sinking back to his former position.

Joshua nodded to the guards that this man was indeed Cobb, whereupon one unlocked the door and ordered the other in to retrieve him. Before entering, the guardsman picked up a club, and as he walked through the miserable melee, Joshua saw him swing it and kick viciously at anyone who attempted to approach him. He reached Cobb, pulled up the poor fellow by his collar, and half dragged him out of the cell.

Cobb was thin as a toasting fork; his flesh was grimy and unwashed; a rank odor, the origins of which Joshua couldn’t bear to contemplate, emanated from him. He was incapable of walking, incapable almost of standing, and the wound to his arm looked foul and infected. He had been ill when Joshua last saw him, yet how much worse his condition was now. Joshua recoiled from this miserable, stinking wreckage. Then he sharply reminded himself that he was partly to blame for Cobb’s state. Cringing inwardly, he draped Cobb’s arm about his shoulder, and, Joshua battling to prevent himself from retching, they staggered back to his lodgings.

As they entered the door, Joshua prayed fervently that Mrs. Quick would not apprehend them, for there was little doubt that if she caught a glimpse or a whiff of Cobb, she would banish him. However, Mrs. Quick did not emerge.

In the sanctuary of his parlor, Joshua lowered Cobb onto a daybed and rang for Kitty, whom he ordered to fetch hot water and a bathtub and towels. Cobb lay semicomatose, muttering insensibly to himself. Beneath the grime his skin was pallid and damp. Joshua put a palm on his brow; his flesh burned with fever. He poured a tankard of ale from a flagon he kept on a side table and held it to Cobb’s lips. Most of the liquid dribbled down the side of his mouth, but he managed to swallow a little and he lay a little more peacefully after that.

Presently, Joshua asked Kitty to assist him, telling her that there would be sixpence for her trouble if she mentioned none of this to Mrs. Quick. They stripped him of his stinking clothes and bundled them up for Thomas to burn. Then they lowered him into the bath. He gripped the rim with knobbly fingers, as if fearful he might slip and fall under the water. Kitty seemed to take the shocking sight of him naked entirely in her stride, scrubbing his arms and back and belly as if there were no more to it than scouring a copper pan.