Serpent in the Garden (44 page)

C
ROSSING THE HALLWAY from the parlor to his bedchamber, Joshua saw to his surprise that a packet had been pushed beneath his door. In retrieving it he discovered that it was a message from Bridget, enclosing another letter. He carried both communications to his bedchamber, and having shed his clothes, donned his nightshirt and nightcap, and swaddled himself comfortably in bedclothes, he settled down to read.

Joshua,

I didn’t like to trouble you this evening, for Kitty told me you recovered Cobb and that he was unwell and you were occupied with looking after him. Nevertheless, I was much relieved to learn of your safe return. I have been fearful for your safety ever since I left Richmond. I thank God you weren’t attacked again and have left that ill-fated place once and for all.

I must tell you that I called on Crackman, but found his office closed, but for a solitary clerk who was bundling up letters and papers. Crackman has fallen victim to some virulent distemper and is dead, and since Hoare is also deceased, there is no one to continue the business of the firm. I couldn’t ascertain from the clerk who will take over the affairs of the clients belonging to the company. He said that he had no knowledge of Crackman’s business concerning a dispute over a necklace, but that if I left my particulars he would write as soon as there was any news to impart.

I enclose herewith a letter that arrived for you yesterday.

I am, sir, your obedient servant,

Bridget Quick

At the news of Crackman’s demise, Joshua shook his head so vigorously that the tassel on his nightcap swayed back and forth like a pendulum. Crackman had known who the claimant was, and now he was dead. Once again malicious fate seemed to conspire against him. But then, before he had time to work himself into an overly morose frenzy, he reminded himself that there must be records of the wretched woman’s identity. Thus calmed, he glanced at the second letter. Seeing that it was from Lancelot Brown, he immediately opened the seal.

Sir,

You had no sooner left me than something occurred to me concerning a member of the household at Astley. In view of recent strange events I think I should apprise you of it. I would impart the information in this letter, only since it is long and rather complicated I think it easier to tell you in person. I propose we meet at the Roebuck Inn on the terrace of Richmond Hill on Wednesday afternoon at three o’clock.

I am, sir, yours in expectation,

Lancelot Brown

Next morning, Cobb’s face still looked pallid and two crown-sized red stains had appeared on his cheeks. Joshua called Kitty for some barley gruel and rice milk, which Cobb ate with reasonable appetite. Joshua dosed him again with his elixir and an opium pill and judged him a little better. Before Cobb fell asleep Joshua took his leave, saying he would be out for much of the day and possibly the next night too. In the meantime Cobb should stay where he was. The servants would bring him whatever he desired in the way of nourishment, and Bridget Quick, his landlady’s daughter, would look in on him.

Joshua buttoned his best blue coat and went down to Bridget’s door. She opened it immediately and gave him a blushing smile. He noticed she was dressed in a sprigged muslin gown that was cut low over her ample shoulders. Her mass of toffee-colored hair was bound up beneath a linen cap, but wisps of curls had escaped and wound about her ears. Compared with the pallid Cobb, she looked as plump and full of life as a rosebud on the point of unfurling. If he hadn’t had such urgent business to attend to, he would have asked her there and then to accompany him on a promenade.

“Forgive me for calling so early, Miss Quick, but I have a great deal to do and intend to return immediately to Richmond. I come with some damnably sad news that I thought you would want to know.”

“Oh,” said Bridget, suddenly crestfallen. “In that case you had better come in. I thought you were finished with that dreadful place.”

She invited him into the parlor and indicated a settle at the side of the hearth. Bending distractingly low in front of him, she sat down on a low stool opposite. Joshua was temporarily mesmerized by the sight of her. He noted the edge of lace, from which her breasts seemed to swell like smooth rocks from a frothy sea; he imagined the comforting swell of her hips beneath her hooped skirts, and thought that her eyes seemed immeasurably larger and more lustrous than he remembered them. He had been drawn to her from the minute he had seen her in the cart at Richmond, but had fought his feelings ever since. How cowardly he had been to allow himself to be deterred by her mother! And Meg was nothing but a distraction. He would do whatever it took to pacify the daunting Mrs. Quick. Perhaps if he offered to paint Bridget she might warm to him.

Having acknowledged these feelings to himself, he longed to announce them to the object of his affections. But he deemed it inappropriate to speak of such matters when there was sad news to impart. He leaned forward, taking her plump white hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“There has been another tragedy. Caroline Bentnick was found dead in the pinery yesterday morning.”

Instantly Bridget pulled her hand away and held it to her mouth. “What? Caroline? Miss Bentnick? I should have known that house would bear witness to more tragedy.”

Joshua nodded mutely.

“What happened?”

“She was found strangled and with the necklace upon her. Immediately afterward, Mr. Bentnick took against me, for meddling in Hoare’s death, which he believed was the reason Caroline was killed. He ordered me out of the house. I shall finish the portrait in my rooms here.”

Bridget’s cheeks were marble pale. She swallowed uncomfortably and looked at her hands. “The necklace is returned. That means your reputation is safe, which is something to be thankful for, I suppose. But in that case why did you tell me just now you intend to return to Astley? Would it not be foolhardy to annoy your patron further and again risk unnecessary peril?”

“I go not to Astley but Richmond, because Mr. Brown has asked me to meet him there this afternoon. He has something important to tell me. Moreover, I have found out something from Cobb of crucial importance. But until I hear what Mr. Brown has to tell me, I would prefer to keep an open mind who the murderer is. Once I know, it seems only right I should inform Herbert of my discoveries. What he does about them will be his own affair.”

Bridget raised her eyes briefly to meet his. “So you do intend to go back there?”

“Not necessarily. I can send word to him from the town.”

“What was it you learned from Cobb?”

“That Lizzie Manning’s brother, Arthur, lost the family fortune to him at cards. Cobb became acquainted with Arthur Manning in some gambling hole in Richmond and, after a few epic evenings at the tables, took everything he had.”

“How is that significant?”

“Miss Manning is devoted to her brother. She has been prepared to go to extraordinary lengths to discover the whereabouts of Cobb’s bag, which contained the money he won from her brother. Suppose she had been so bent on retrieving the lost wealth that she was prepared to kill Cobb for it? Cobb says he received a letter, apparently sent by Violet, calling him to a rendezvous in the pin-ery, but that Hoare went in his stead. It is possible that Lizzie sent that letter, that she killed Hoare, believing he was Cobb, and then killed Caroline Bentnick, believing she knew something that might lead to her murder being discovered.”

All this while Bridget had met his regard without blinking. “Could Lizzie Manning be capable of such an act? Miss Bentnick considered her a dear companion. To commit such treachery against an innocent, affectionate friend—why, it’s beyond me even to contemplate it …”

“I would prefer to believe it wasn’t so, but I tell you this frankly: Miss Manning has amply demonstrated to me her capacity for duplicity. She is a woman who uses the truth when it suits her purpose, and when it doesn’t, she will invent whatever she fancies. Whether she is also a murderer remains to be seen.”

O
UTSIDE, the storm that had threatened yesterday and never arrived felt imminent. Lumpy pewter clouds were piled precariously behind the rooftops. A piercing wind had begun to blow.

Joshua took a chair to the Eight Bells in the Strand, to catch the midday stage to Richmond. A cacophony of sound and smell assailed his senses. Iron wheels creaked on cobblestones, the stench of rotting pies and pickled herrings mingled with the ordure of the open gutter—the carcass of a dog, offal discarded by a butcher, the contents of chamber pots. Within the arcades, the cries of orange sellers and vendors of vegetables and damask roses vied stridently with the bellowing calls of passing chair carriers and hackney coachmen.

On the way, since he had a few minutes to spare, he impulsively directed the bearers up Gray’s Inn Lane, to the premises of Crackman & Hoare. Joshua had been much frustrated by the news of Crackman’s sudden demise. But he reasoned that even though Bridget had been unable to extract much information from the solitary clerk, his own confident manner and powers of persuasion might unearth something more. The records relating to the case would certainly reveal the name of the claimant for the necklace.

As he stepped down from the chair, he chanced to glance up at the grimy windows of that establishment. A figure was visible at the window. Joshua could have sworn it was Enoch Crackman, but told himself that he must have been mistaken. He charged along the dingy corridor and up the stairs and threw open the door to Crackman’s office. The place was exactly as he remembered it. There was no sign that the office was being closed down. Rather the reverse, it seemed busier than ever. Several clerks were employed at their desks; an old man clad in a dusty black coat was crouched with his back toward him. “Mr. Crackman,” he said to the humped figure, “is it you?”

The old man turned and looked at Joshua with his one beady eye. His expression was stern. “Why, it’s Mr. Pope returned, is it?”

“Forgive me for bursting in on you so rudely. A friend of mine came to call on you a day or two ago. A Miss Bridget Quick. She was told by a member of staff that you were … no longer in practice.”

Crackman shook his head with annoyance. “You are confused, Mr. Pope. I recall Miss Quick’s visit quite clearly. I told her that I was disappointed not to have heard from you sooner. My partner, Hoare, has never returned and I must presume some terrible misadventure has befallen him. He had no family to speak of apart from me—I am his uncle. Did you receive my letter? I asked for any news you could give me. You never acknowledged it.”