"Mr. Manning," Joshua said, "I beg you, did you see me meet Cobb? Did you ever know a man named Cobb?"

But in place of the answer he so urgently wanted came a loud and protracted snore.

Chapter Twenty-four.

NEXT MORNING Joshua waited at the breakfast table over an hour for Lizzie Manning to appear. When she still hadn't descended by nine and all the other members of the household apart from Herbert had arrived, he ventured to ask where she was. Caroline was on her way out of the room, her progress hastened by the arrival of Sabine, Joshua presumed. She turned back from the doorway to answer.

"Miss Manning left yesterday afternoon. She is not expected back before the ball in a week's time. Good morning to you, Mr. Pope."

Joshua maintained a look of disinterest; he didn't wish to arouse suspicions, but the news frustrated and perplexed him. Had she found the opportunity to speak to Violet or her maid? What had she discovered? Why had she concealed her knowledge of horticulture? Above all, why had she left when she could easily have stayed on the pretext of continuing their drawing lessons?

Joshua put down his coffee cup. He would tackle Violet Mercier himself. Perhaps, if she was amenable, he could arrange an opportunity to talk to her in private and find out directly what he needed to know. He began cautiously. "I wonder, Miss Mercier, whether Miss Manning showed you any of her drawings yesterday. She made sterling progress."

Violet raised a perfectly arched brow. Her lips gathered in a pout. "Drawings, Mr. Pope? I don't recall seeing any. Was there some reason I should take an interest in them?"

Joshua persisted. "But, Miss Mercier, you did see Miss Manning yesterday before she left?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I am puzzled by her sudden departure. I thought we had agreed to continue our tuition today."

"Evidently you were mistaken, Mr. Pope. And since you ask, we did have a brief conversation, but she said nothing whatsoever of you or your drawing lesson." With this, she set down her porcelain tea bowl carefully in its saucer, bowed her head, then left the table.

Joshua was ready to follow her but Sabine thwarted his departure. "More drawing lessons, Mr. Pope? What did you hope to garner from them today, may I ask?"

"As I told you before, madam, Miss Manning can provide insignts that are most beneficial. In any case it seems I shall have to manage without them, for she isn't here."

"Mr. Pope, may I remind you of our appointment for a sitting this afternoon?"

"I had not forgotten, madam."

"I am glad to hear it, Mr. Pope, for I must take you to task over your bad manners in neglecting another appointment. You asked my permission to question my maid yesterday afternoon. On my instruction Marie waited for you, yet you never went to speak to her. Tell me, Mr. Pope, are you in the habit of making arrangements and then ignoring them whenever it suits you? Or is this merely occasional treatment you have accorded me and my staff, along with frequent tardiness and losing my necklace?"

Joshua had forgotten the appointment because he had become caught up with Arthur Manning, thus succeeding in doing the very thing he wanted to avoid: further annoying Sabine and heaping more disapproval upon his own shoulders. He had to appease her but there was no reason to reveal his meeting with Manning. He shook his head as if ashamed of his error. "My profound apologies, madam, to you and your maid. I was waylaid yesterday evening by my painting. By the time I put down my brush, I thought it too late to trouble her."

"Then I shall expect to see great progress in the work when I come for my sitting today," said Sabine.

"As I am sure you shall, my dear," said Herbert, as he entered the room.

"You may rest a.s.sured on it," answered Joshua smoothly.

Herbert sat down with a heavy sigh to two coddled eggs and a slice of toast. "Well, Pope, any progress to report? Have you discovered the thief yet, or had any more nocturnal encounters, or caught the hapless killer of Mr. h.o.a.re?"

Joshua didn't know whether to resent his whimsical tone or be glad of it. "No, sir," he replied solemnly, "though as I told Mrs. Mercier, I believe both matters are wrapped up with the dispute over the jewel. May I ask, sir, did you ever meet either Mr. h.o.a.re or Mr. Cobb?"

Herbert raised his eyes from his egg-laden toast. "No, I never did."

Recalling the evidence of the landlord Dunstable that he had seen Herbert embroiled in a quarrel with Cobb, Joshua recognized this for a barefaced lie, but nonetheless he kept quiet. If Herbert had something to hide, he would pursue another tack to discover it.

"I told Mr. Pope yesterday that I am not convinced the dispute has anything to do with the necklace's disappearance and that he should not waste more time than necessary on h.o.a.re's death," interrupted Sabine.

"Quite so," said Herbert soothingly, "but if Mr. Pope believes the matters are connected, we must allow him a certain freedom to investigate. After all, I am sure he has not forgotten, his reputation depends upon it."

Joshua was not so troubled by this implicit threat that he failed to notice the silent communication that pa.s.sed between the couple. Sabine met Herbert's gaze. He sensed from the set of her chin and the quizzical raising of her brow that she wanted to respond to Herbert, but Joshua's presence impeded her.

AFTER BREAKFAST Joshua lost no time in seeking out Sabine's maid. Marie was a small, dark-skinned, dark-eyed woman, aged about thirty, with purple circles about her eyes and a disgruntled, downturned mouth. Having listened to him explain his business, Marie gave a hefty sigh. "How many times more must I go over it all?" she exclaimed petulantly.

"Who else has been to ask you?"

"Mrs. Mercier, Mr. Bentnick, then yesterday Miss Manning came. Is that not enough?"

"Come, come," said Joshua, puffing himself out. "A valuable jewel has been lost. You can't expect it to be treated like losing a b.u.t.ton."

"So long as I don't get the blame," she said, "when you were the last to have it."

Joshua surveyed the flowers woven into the Aubusson carpet. Why was it everyone in this house seemed so reluctant to speak openly to him? Was there no one without some secret grievance? A man of less composure might have taken Marie by the shoulders and shaken her for her impudence. But Joshua mastered the impulse. "No one is accusing you of anything," he said gently. "Just show me first where the necklace box was kept when Mrs. Mercier was away."

Marie moved toward the dressing table, where Sabine had fingered the necklace so lovingly. She opened the top drawer on the right-hand side. Marie took out the s.h.a.green box, opened the lid, and held it out to him.

"This is where the necklace was kept. And this is what madam found when she opened the box. No necklace."

Joshua closed the box and held it in his hand. "Tell me what happened when Miss Violet brought the box to you on the day I left for London."

She answered readily, as well she might, for the story was one she had related several times before. "I took the box from Miss Violet, put it inside the drawer, where it is always kept, and locked the drawer."

"What happened to the key?"

"I put it where madam always keeps it." She pointed to a small silver box on the dressing table.

"Was anyone else present when you did all this?"

"Why, yes, sir. Miss Violet was here and so was Miss Caroline."

"Tell me," Joshua said, "and please think carefully before you reply, do you believe that the box you put away on that day was empty?"

She answered with scarcely a moment's pause. There was an expressionless tone in her voice that suggested she was repeating her response, rather than thinking carefully about it. "I can't be certain. But I have held the necklace in the box so often I am sure I would have noticed if it was as light as this." Here she waved her hand at the object in Joshua's hand.

"Between the time of Mrs. Mercier's departure and her return two days later, did anyone enter this room, apart from yourself ?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "The room wasn't locked. Anyone might have come in. I can't be expected to stay here every minute of the day."

"What was the purpose of Mrs. Mercier's trip?"

Marie looked puzzled. At last, thought Joshua, a question she hasn't answered before. "I don't know."

"Whom did she visit?"

Marie shrugged.

"Come," said Joshua, smiling winningly, "you must have some idea. I can see how bright and observant you are. Did she let nothing slip?"

Marie blushed coquettishly. "There was a note ..." Her voice trailed away.

"A note," said Joshua, trying to conceal his excitement. "Do you have it?"

"I'm not certain if the mistress ..."

"She needn't know," said Joshua, smiling persuasively again, "and if it helps retrieve her jewel, I will ensure you benefit handsomely."

Marie looked at him and then turned to a small bonheur du jour bonheur du jour at the side of the room. She opened the flap and extracted a folded paper from one of the compartments. Clearly, thought Joshua, there was not much that escaped Marie's eye. at the side of the room. She opened the flap and extracted a folded paper from one of the compartments. Clearly, thought Joshua, there was not much that escaped Marie's eye.

Joshua took the paper and unfolded it. The hand was curlicued and curvaceous, unmistakably the same as that on the note with the illegible signature he had found in Herbert's desk. There were but two lines written on it.

Come at 6 o'clock.

Your offer is much overdue.

"Who sent this? Do you know?"

Marie shook her head.

"And when Mrs. Mercier returned from London, she gave no indication of where she had been?"

"None. She seemed at first greatly relieved when she came back. But of course that didn't last. She went to put on the necklace; but when she opened the box she saw that it was gone."

"And what was her reaction?"

"She was incredulous at first. Shook her head as if she didn't believe it. Then she became very distressed. She sent for Mr. Bentnick, but before he came she had fainted. We laid her on the bed and summoned a physician; but even after he arrived it was some hours before she regained consciousness."

Chapter Twenty-five.

JOSHUA adjusted the easel and turned his attentions to his mahogany carrying box of pigments. The powders had been ready ground and he began to mix them with linseed and spirit. He was preparing for Sabine's arrival, which he expected in an hour or two, and worked with the unhurried confidence of someone who knew precisely what he was about.

While he performed these routine tasks, his mind wandered over what he had learned thus far. The note the maid had showed him suggested that the purpose of Sabine's recent journey was to meet the claimant for whom Cobb and h.o.a.re had acted, and resolve the dispute. And yet both she and Herbert pretended not to know who the claimant was. Was this why the disappearance of the necklace had come as such a shock? She had believed the matter settled, only to return and find the necklace gone. Perhaps she spoke the truth when she said the dispute had nothing to do with the necklace's loss.

But since there was no evidence of disturbance, it appeared the theft of the necklace was not the work of a casual intruder. The thief had known where to look. This suggested someone inside the household, or at the very least someone familiar with the house.

Sabine had raised Lizzie Manning's name, citing her family's poverty as a possible motive. Joshua had disregarded this, but having discovered Arthur Manning, who was well acquainted with the house, he could not avoid the conclusion that he might easily stoop to theft. But was he a murderer? Before he could ponder further on this, the timepiece in the corridor chimed the hour, and Sabine, dressed in her finery, swept in for her sitting.

She immediately began to examine the canvas. As she sat down, plumped her skirts around her, and waited for Joshua to arrange the finer details of her pose, she complimented him on the fine manner in which the light reflected off her skirt and gave it such richness and volume. "It is still incomplete," said Joshua modestly. "When it is finished it will have still greater l.u.s.ter."

Joshua was burning to ask her more about the visit to London. And yet he had questioned her once on the matter and feared that if he did so again, she might suspect he had read the note. But once he picked up his palette and brushes and began to scrutinize his subject, he forgot his other preoccupations, his wariness of Sabine, the danger she represented. He was struck by her luminous complexion; her eyes had a depth he hadn't remarked before. He comprehended what it was that had so smitten Herbert. She was mesmerizing, sirenlike; a man might drown in her embrace, forget everything that he was or would be-or go to any lengths to keep her.

During the following hour Sabine spoke not a word. Joshua began with her face. He worked on the structure of the lips, painting them slightly parted, using glazes of vermilion and red lake to emphasize their voluptuousness, the way they came forward from the rest of the face and the corners tipped upward a trifle, as if she were half smiling. He concentrated then on the eyes, on their relation to her nose, on the way the eyelids hung heavy and sensual, on the deep iridescent hue of the iris and the light reflected in it.

Sometimes when he painted, Joshua thought he would never end. He worked day after day adding highlights, deepening shadows, touching up details such as locks of hair and the smallest nuance of brows and lashes. At worst, even when he forced himself to declare a picture complete, it was no more than a sum of its parts-a nose, two eyes, a mouth-soundly delineated, a good likeness, but lacking some intangible soul. But at best, a mysterious alchemy took place. Canvas and paint imbued a composition with its own life, its own spark. In the Bentnick painting, the transformation took place in that hour on that day.

When the clock chimed five and the sitting was over, Sabine swept from the room as grandiosely as she had entered. Joshua surveyed his handiwork. He knew it was his best work thus far-perhaps the best he would ever paint. The realization made him feel two things. On the one hand it seemed quite miraculous that he was the creator of such a work. On the other, he felt a curious detachment, as if by its brilliance it was too good to be his. Some other hand had made it; Joshua Pope was a spectator at the exhibition of a stranger.

Chapter Twenty-six.

BARLOW COURT lay off the Sheen Road, some three miles distant by road from Astley House, on a wide stretch of land fronting the river Thames. The house was all but invisible from the road, set low down a long drive behind a dense screen of willow trees and reeds that flourished in the swampy ground.

Joshua had sent Lizzie Manning a note the previous evening saying he would call on her first thing, and having donned a smart but simple blue coat, clean breeches, a black silk cravat, and a dove gray waistcoat, he left Astley alive with expectation. His eagerness was thwarted, however, when at the Astley stables he was told by the lugubrious head groom that one spare horse was lame, a pair of bays were needed to pull the chaise, Mr. Bentnick's mare was never ridden by anyone without his permission, and the same went for Francis's chestnut. The only mount available was a barrel-bellied old piebald that used to pull wagons round the park.

Nevertheless, when this lowly beast, with its handsome cargo, had plodded the short distance to Barlow Court, Joshua was told by a manservant, "I regret, sir, Miss Manning is not at home."

"Not at home? Where has she gone?" he cried, infuriated that once again she had eluded him.

"I'm not certain, sir," said the manservant. "I'll search out the housekeeper. Perhaps she will know."

Left alone in the drawing room to wait, he morosely surveyed his surroundings. The room he was standing in was of moderate proportions, with sage green painted wainscoting and a large wooden chimneypiece positioned opposite two long sash windows. There were no ornaments on the mantel shelf; the walls were without a single adornment, though from the faded marks on the paintwork Joshua judged that numerous pictures had lately been removed. The furniture was spa.r.s.e and simple: a single settee, two armchairs upholstered in brocade that must once have been sumptuous but was now threadbare and torn, a plain walnut cabinet, a small round tea table. Nothing more. The furniture needed polishing, cobwebs hung from the wall sconces, motes of dust clung to the bare oak boards. The whole place had a run-down air suggestive of owners in straitened circ.u.mstance.

Somewhat depressed by the gloomy interior, and still feeling ill-tempered on account of Lizzie's absence, Joshua turned to consider the gardens, of which Granger had spoken so highly. The windows looked south across a small raised terrace, with steps leading to lawns bordered by parterres. Columbines, marguerites, lavender, periwinkles, pinks of various kinds, as well as a mult.i.tude of roses of every possible hue, bloomed in lush profusion, though most were overgrown, poorly staked, and infested with weeds. Between the parterres was a winding pathway, which, like the flower beds, seemed poorly tended, for gra.s.s had encroached upon its borders and docks sprouted along it like candlesticks set out on a dining table. Beyond lay sweeping parkland, punctuated with copses of trees, that led down toward the river, where a small summerhouse nestled among a bed of reeds.

After some minutes had pa.s.sed, the housekeeper, a girl of no more than twenty, appeared. "Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Pope, sir?" she said.

"I thought Miss Manning expected me," said Joshua, crossly brushing a speck of dust from his perfectly pressed lapel.

"I believe you sent her a message. She told me to make apologies and to say she had an urgent call that wouldn't wait. She went out first thing this morning. She said to let you know she would be back later this afternoon if you care to call back."