Serpent in the Garden (52 page)

Joshua nodded. “What happened next?”

“Hoare doubled over with cramps, cried out that he wasn’t the man she believed him to be, he was Bartholomew Hoare. She ignored him until he cried out he knew something that might help her: the name of the claimant. She listened then, and after Hoare had told her, he begged for the second draught, but she laughed, saying none was necessary. He would be ill but he wouldn’t die. He lost consciousness soon after. After she had gone I went to the hut where Joe, the night boy, sits. I told him he looked tired and suggested he sleep for a while. I would keep watch and wake him when I left. Then I went back to the pinery to check on Hoare.”

Joshua shook his head in an agony of realization. Of course, now he comprehended. Hoare’s death from overheating wasn’t accidental: Granger had engineered it.

“At that moment Cobb came in, but he must have heard me and taken fright, for he took one look at Hoare and ran off. I followed him a short distance, but in the end I decided I had no need to chase him. He was too afraid to cause further trouble.”

Granger furrowed his brow and looked up, as if picturing the scene as he spoke. “What a vile spectacle Hoare made, lying on the ground, surrounded by a pool of his own vomit. He was quite comatose, but breathing steadily. Standing there, I felt overwhelmed by fury at the sight of the man whose actions might keep me in my subservient position forever. I threw a few pots about, and though that didn’t make me feel any better, it helped me determine how to proceed. I would leave him to cook. I closed all the windows. Within an hour or two the temperature in the pinery was quite sufficient. Next morning, when I arrived, I opened the windows and roused Joe, telling him he must have dreamed me saying he could sleep. I fined him two days’ wages and made it clear he was lucky to keep his position. When Mrs. Mercier came, I didn’t accompany her as usual; I let her go in first and find him. It entertained me to see her try to rouse him. She was dumbfounded to find him dead and her precious plants all in disarray.”

Joshua shuddered at his coldhearted tone. “And having brought about Hoare’s death so callously, do you still feel nothing for him—no remorse whatsoever?”

Granger blinked slowly and began to walk toward Joshua, opening and shutting the shears as he did so. “No more than he or anyone felt for me, Mr. Pope. On the death of my mother, I was treated no better than some urchin destined for the workhouse. Not a soul showed any concern for me. I was treated as a servant, forced to work as an undergardener, to shovel dung and scythe grass till my hands bled and I could scarcely stand. Can you blame me?”

Joshua backed away, acutely aware of the danger he was in. “I do not wish to apportion blame, Mr. Granger, only to discover what happened. Was it you who attacked me at the barn?”

“It was. I had to take measures to put you off. You interfered in matters that didn’t concern you.”

“What about the necklace? When did you steal it?”

“I didn’t. I intended to take it. I knew where it was, but I was going to bide my time. Once Hoare was dead there was no hurry. I was sure it would remain in Mrs. Mercier’s possession. And then, to my horror, I learned it was gone. It was many days before I discovered what had happened. That was why she had to die.”

“Caroline Bentnick?” Joshua had convinced himself he had provoked Caroline’s death. He could barely bring himself to raise the subject and hear Granger affirm his conviction.

“She said something that gave me no choice but to kill her.”

This was what he had feared. “What did she say?” Joshua asked morosely.

“The morning of her death, just after you had returned the keys to me, Caroline met her brother in the sunken garden. I was passing on the other side of the hedge and heard her talking to him quite clearly.”

This wasn’t what Joshua had expected. The conversation that he thought accountable had taken place the day before, on the terrace.

“What did she say?” he managed to mumble.

“Francis Bentnick asked her what she was doing. She told him she had taken the necklace from Mrs. Mercier’s room, to avoid having to wear it at the ball, and that it was hidden in one of the pots containing an orange tree in the atrium of the pinery. Caroline said she had taken the necklace with the intention of returning it afterward, but she considered the matter further and decided that she detested the necklace so much it would be more prudent to dispose of it. She was about to go and dig it up, after which, she said, she would throw it in the lake.”

“What did Francis say to that?”

“He said, ‘What about Pope? Our father was threatening him with arrest.’ But she said that was no more than a threat. He knew perfectly well that you had not taken it and would drop the whole matter in due course.”

“And what did you do after the conversation?”

“I had no alternative. I followed her, I watched her retrieve it, then I killed her. I had to do so or my property would certainly have been lost.”

A stillness hung in the air. Joshua’s relief at not having been the cause of Caroline’s death was tempered by the knowledge that she had deliberately placed him in his dreadful predicament and by the chilling tone of Granger’s confession.

“At any rate, her death brought results in my favor. I didn’t expect Mr. Bentnick to banish you, but you will well imagine I wasn’t sorry when he did.”

“And when I returned you decided to commit triple murder?”

Granger hesitated, as if he were weighing up whether to tell the truth or dissemble. “Again, I would not have chosen to do so, but you drove me to it. Miss Quick insisted on staying with you. I had no need to kill her. Brown had to be silenced because he knew something about my past. You made it so easy for me to accomplish. Instead of returning to the house with Lizzie Manning and Francis, I told them I had matters that needed my urgent attention. I returned to the octagon house, opened the trapdoor. I knew that within a few hours at the most the entire cavern would be full of water.”

“It must have come as a disappointment to find us drenched but alive on the slope,” Joshua said wryly.

“I didn’t find you. It was Joe Carlton, the boy you left looking after your horse. He grew worried when you didn’t return and happened upon Brown and Miss Quick. He ran to get a rope and then fetch me. Unfortunately I was within earshot of the house when he arrived, which is why Francis came too.”

“Otherwise you might have made another attempt?”

“Possibly.” Once again he began to walk toward Joshua. “But that’s neither here nor there now, is it? Indeed, as I see it, Mr. Pope, there’s only one question remaining.”

“What’s that?”

Granger’s face seemed devoid of emotion, bereft of soul. Joshua backed along the path away from him. He had reached the threshold of the pinery now. He reversed to the atrium and paused beneath the glittering cupola, uncertain whether to run like the devil or face Granger. He was still undecided when Granger reached forward and clutched his arm; Granger’s face came to within an inch of Joshua’s, so that the gardener’s hot, sour breath brushed his cheek.

“What do you intend to do about it?” said Granger between gritted teeth.

Joshua looked at him hard and long. Logic told him Granger’s mind was unbalanced and that he might attack most viciously at any minute. The realization made his heart race and his stomach feel as heavy as a stone. And yet, despite all this, Joshua still felt a small flicker of sympathy. Granger was an outsider, like his hapless victim Hoare and Joshua himself. Who was Joshua to say what might have happened had he found himself in such sorry circumstances? Joshua shook his head and gave him a brief, thoughtful smile. “That is not for me to decide. I have written my findings down for Mr. Bentnick to judge. Whatever happens to me, he will know what you did. And now, Mr. Granger, it remains only for me to bid you good day.”

No doubt it was the knowledge that if he killed Joshua he would be discovered that stayed his hand. No doubt it was fanciful of Joshua to believe that Granger saw the flash of sympathy in his face and reciprocated. In any event, Granger released his grip and Joshua walked to the gate. Granger made no attempt to prevent him.

December 1786
Saint Peter’s Court, Saint Martin’s Lane, London

E
XACTLY ONE MONTH after Joshua’s nocturnal visitor had called, he prepared himself for her return. Writing the account of his days at Astley had stirred strange recollections, reawakened sentiments he had thought long forgotten. But he had kept his word and bound the pages ready for her, and now he longed to be rid of the memories.

On the day he expected his visitor he did not set foot out of Saint Peter’s Court. He listened anxiously for a knock at the door or a footstep on the stair. But although he waited up past midnight, she never came.

A fortnight came and went. Winter chills relieved the gales of November, ice crystals lined the inside of his windows, and Joshua’s manuscript lay bound with a vermilion ribbon in a corner of his rooms. On occasion he looked at it fretfully as it gathered dust. Suppose she never returned? Would he ever discover her purpose or who she was? Sometimes his consternation ran deeper. Was this the purpose of her coming so long after the entire business was forgotten? Did she intend simply to ruffle his existence and leave him always to listen for a creak of the stair? If so, he resolved, she would not succeed. He would concentrate on the day-to-day and banish all thoughts of the terrible episode he had endured at Astley and of his peculiar visitor.

One gloomy afternoon in mid-December he was busy in his painting room. His two daughters were seated before him, grumbling at having to hold the pose he had set them. Just then his wife opened the door and announced he had a lady caller.

“Who is it?” demanded Joshua, instantly alerted.

“She won’t give me her name. She says you have something for her and asked me to give you this.”

Joshua looked at the object his wife held out toward him. It was the same shagreen box his nocturnal visitor had shown him. He was so astounded to see it in his wife’s hand that he felt the blood drain from his face. He had told her of the woman’s previous visit, but for reasons of his own he had failed to mention the box and its contents.

“What is it?” said his wife. “You are grown very pale.”

“It is she,” Joshua whispered. “And I told her I won’t take this wretched thing in payment. Nor will I give her what she has come for unless she tells me what I want to know: her name and her purpose.”

“In that case,” said Joshua’s wife unflinchingly, “I will descend and tell her so.”

She departed, leaving the door ajar. Joshua sent his daughters away, stoked up the fire, and drew back the curtain a little. The sky was overburdened with clouds as gray as his spirits, but there was light nonetheless. He paced the room, his thoughts racing. What would he say? How should he address her? From below he could hear the sound of faint echoing conversation. He distinguished his wife’s voice from that of the other woman, although he couldn’t make out what they were saying. The exchange lasted some minutes and then silence, the sound of the door slamming, followed by footsteps approaching on the stair.