Serpent in the Garden (48 page)

J
OSHUA HAD MANAGED to remove no more than Brown’s gag when he felt the first wave of icy water lap at the sole of his boots.

“Thank God you are here, Pope! What took you so long? Hurry, man!” Brown urged Joshua, who was now fumbling with the bindings on his hands and feet.

“I came as fast as I was able, given the circumstances. I am doing all I can, sir. If you would just lie still, it would be easier for me.”

A few minutes more of frantic pulling and pushing and the bonds were loose. Already the water had formed a pool some six feet in diameter in the center of the cavern, where the ground dipped down. The ledge on which Brown was perched jutted up a good three feet higher than the cavern floor; even so, oily black waves were soon rippling over Joshua’s feet. The sight of the water made him tremble. He noted with alarm that Brown’s ruddy complexion had grown pale in the dim light and he appeared to have an unhealthy grayish tinge. There was a large bruise on his temple.

“We must make haste. The way out is over there,” Joshua stuttered, pointing over his shoulder to the entrance on the opposite side of the lake. “We will have to wade through the water to reach it.”

“No, Pope. That way is useless. Look—don’t you see?”

Joshua turned uncomprehendingly toward the tunnel he had walked through no more than five minutes earlier. It was a conduit of gray swirling water that spewed into the pool in the center of the cavern. The level rose even as he watched.

“I don’t understand,” he cried. “I have just entered this chamber from that passage. It led here directly from the outer cavern. There was no water then. How can the water possibly be entering here from that way?”

“I am afraid I understand all too well,” replied Brown quietly. “I made surveys of every nook of this terrain prior to designing the grotto. The hill above the lake is a natural labyrinth of caves and tunnels. One particular fissure, a mere few feet wide, leads all the way from the tunnel you have just entered to the lower chamber of the octagon house bordering the lake. It enters in the ceiling through an aperture not more than two feet across. You would not have noticed it unless you had raised your hand at that exact spot or the water had begun to enter as you passed it.”

“But I understood there was a door installed to prevent such occurrences,” Joshua said, remembering Lizzie’s assurances.

“There was,” replied Brown evenly. “Which is why, if torrents are entering here now, it is because someone has opened it.”

“Someone who knows we are here and wishes us dead,” said Joshua. “But surely it cannot be Lizzie Manning. I have just had her escorted to the house and placed in the custody of Herbert.”

“Perhaps, though I doubt it,” said Brown, shaking his head. “It required considerable strength to get me here. A man’s strength, I hazard. And to think I would not have come at all had I known the necklace was recovered. I sent word to you because I recalled something relating to that, not the murder. But your murderer must have feared I knew something to endanger him.”

Joshua was confused. “You must explain properly. What did you want to tell me concerning the necklace? Who did this to you?”

Brown was poised to answer, but at that moment came a strident cry. “Help! Help me, please! Joshua … where are you?” It was Bridget, sounding half hysterical with terror.

“What are you doing!” Joshua said, looking round.

“Forgive me!” came the wavering reply, “I intended to keep myself hidden, but the water is grown too deep; I can’t go back to the entrance, because the water is even deeper in that direction and I will drown if I do.”

With this, the saturated figure of Bridget Quick rounded the corner of the tunnel. The water in that part of the cave was now a good three feet deep and swirled around her skirt and cloak with such force that despite her sturdy build, she waved about like a water lily in a stiff breeze. Fearing she was in danger of being swept away, Joshua launched himself off the ledge and waded manfully toward her.

“Bridget,” he said, holding out his hand, “come here this instant. Take hold of me.”

She grasped his fist. Joshua planted his feet wide apart to give himself better traction and managed to steer her to the ledge, where Brown was now squatting like a worried toad.

“Get up on there,” Joshua commanded as Brown took hold of her and hauled her to safety. “What on earth were you doing following me?”

“I thought it would be safe. Herbert assured me there was a door that prevented the tunnels flooding. I kept some distance behind you all the way and stopped replying to your calls so you didn’t suspect I was following you. But when the water came in I had no way of retreating.” She regarded him with half-terrified, half-rebellious eyes, as if daring him to scold her. He was surprised to find he felt no sense of his earlier outrage toward her. Rather, he was sorry that she should have got herself into this terrible place.

“Fear not,” he said, hoping to inspire confidence in both Bridget and Brown, and prevent panic setting in. “I sent Granger to escort the others to the house. I have no doubt that as soon as he has done so, he will return here. He is obsessed by the dangers of this place and detested the thought of leaving Miss Quick and me alone here. It will take him no more than twenty minutes there and back. By my estimation, that time must nearly have passed.”

“But even if Granger returns and sees the water gushing out of the grotto, how will he be able to save us?” cried Bridget, her voice rising in pitch with every word she spoke. “It is impossible to return the way we have come and impossible for him to reach us.”

“Look up,” Joshua said calmly. “There is an opening above us. Granger will surely know of its existence. If not, we will draw his attention to it by calling out when we hear him come.”

Bridget and Brown looked doubtfully upward. Brown, however, seemed a little heartened. “Compose yourself, Miss Quick. Pope has reason. Granger hasn’t been here long, but there is very little he doesn’t know about the terrain in this garden. I recall that when he learned of the accident that happened last year, he took it most gravely.”

Joshua pointed to another ledge, a little above their own. “If we all move up there, we will be safe for some time from the rising water.”

Brown and Joshua helped Bridget up onto the ledge—no easy feat, owing to the weight of her saturated skirts—then did likewise. Bridget had begun to tremble uncontrollably with cold and shock. Joshua took off his wet coat and wrapped it about her shoulders.

They listened intently for the sound of voices or footsteps. Minutes dragged by. The water began to lap over the higher ledge on which they stood. Bridget’s breathing was fast and audible. Brown, meanwhile, had crouched at the farthest corner of the ledge. Now, with the advancing waters, he too showed signs of perturbation. He stood up and pressed himself against the back wall of the cave, raising his coattails in one hand while he kicked futilely at the waters advancing on his boots.

It struck Joshua that waiting was pointless. There was no indication that their disappearance had been marked or that anyone was aware of the peril they were in.

The floor of the cave had become a subterranean lake. Looking up, Joshua saw that beyond the lattice of bracken and grass, the sky had begun to darken. If they didn’t do something soon, not only would the waters rise and wash them away, but dusk would fall and they would die in total darkness. For some reason the thought of death in blackness seemed infinitely more terrifying. The only glimmer of hope lay above their heads.

Joshua guessed that the opening was some twelve feet above them. “Our only hope is to try to get out through that hole in the roof. I believe that if I held you, Brown, on my shoulders, and Miss Quick sat on yours, we might just be able to reach it.”

“We are not a circus act, sir!”

Joshua looked at him sharply. “Can you think of a better alternative?”

Brown considered for a moment; then he rubbed his temple and scratched his cheek and a sheepish expression came over his face. “Forgive me, Pope. I am not myself since the knock on the head. Of course you are right. There is nothing for it: we must make an attempt.”

Joshua turned then to Bridget, who stood with her hands clasped in front of her, fingers locked as if in prayer, looking up at the hole in the roof. “What about you, Miss Quick? Are you willing to try?”

For some time she did not answer. Her eyes were fixed on that small circle of light, as if she were weighing their likelihood of success. Joshua noticed that there were tear stains on her cheeks but that she had stopped trembling. She gave a bleak smile. “I am willing to try, Mr. Pope.”

“Very well,” Joshua said, with greater certainty than he felt. “Then this is what I propose. First, I will descend from this ledge and make my way on my own to the point directly beneath the hole to test the level of the water. There is no point in all three of us drowning if it’s too deep. All being well, I will return, you will take up your positions, and the three of us as one will make our attempt. Agreed?”

The pair murmured their muted assent. Neither of them dared ask what might happen if the water proved too deep and Joshua were washed away. Neither of them offered to hold his hand as he jumped, and while Joshua put this down to the fact they were both confused by fear, it bothered him. Nonetheless he was obliged to follow the course he had set. Banishing all thoughts of being swept away and his morbid terror of drowning, he turned to face the murky flood.

For a second or two he stood on the very brink of the ledge, poised to jump. He fancied in that instant he felt no different from those poor unfortunates who, in desperation, threw themselves off the piers of London Bridge. Only he was jumping to save himself. And so, terror thrust to one side, he plunged from the ledge.

He gasped as he felt the water penetrate his clothes. Almost instantly he felt himself pulled by the churning currents. His head went under. His feet slipped on the rocky floor; his legs shot upwards, he gulped icy black water, and in his panic he lost his bearings; he thought he would die.

Then, from what seemed a long way off, Brown’s voice roared out to him. “Put down your feet, Pope! Did you hear me? Put down your feet!” Joshua registered the voice; after a second or two he comprehended its meaning; he followed the instruction. By some miracle, his feet discovered firm ground beneath them. He was not out of his depth as he supposed. He recovered his senses sufficiently to cough and splutter his way to a standing position—the water reached halfway between his chest and waist. Shallow enough to walk, but deep enough to drown, should the current carry him off and prevent him regaining a foothold.

Joshua began to wade toward the point directly beneath the hole, a distance of some five yards. The journey there was easy enough, though he was aware as he edged closer to the hole that the water was growing deeper. By the time he stood beneath the disc of light, it had reached his armpits. “It’s all right, just,” he shouted back to Brown and Bridget. “It will not be too deep, but we must hurry: the level is still rising.” He began to make his way back towards them, but Bridget called out. “No, wait, Mr. Pope! Do not risk yourself further by returning. We will come to you and climb up once we’re there.”