It was Bridget Quick, his landlady's daughter. She was clad in a muslin-sprigged gown; her hair was nicely curled beneath a straw bonnet trimmed with roses and forget-me-nots; her cheeks were pink as carnations and her eyes shone. She looked more enticing than ever-as sweet and wholesome as a ripe plum.

"Why, Bridget, how well you look!" Joshua stammered.

"Joshua Pope! Is it you? What a fright you gave me!" she exclaimed. He knew he looked more hideous than the most revolting ruffian she had ever seen in the gutter of a London street.

"Yes, Bridget, it is I."

"Then you must be expecting me. I sent a letter to you soon after Mr. Bentnick's visit. Since you weren't there to meet me, I did what I said and decided to make my way to the house. Perhaps I should not have come without waiting to hear from you. What a state you are in. What on earth have you done to yourself ?"

He was relieved that Bridget expressed concern rather than revulsion. "Forgive me, Bridget. I have met with a misadventure. I have been knocked unconscious and tied up, and I only narrowly escaped with my life." Why not embellish a little? he thought. "And with all this drama I quite forgot that I had intended to be at the Star and Garter to meet you."

"I see," she said. "Then perhaps I can a.s.sist in some way? Otherwise I should turn back to London immediately."

A flood of disappointment enveloped Joshua. He had intended the catalogue of woes to elicit sympathy, not make her run away. After all he had endured, how pleasant it would be to have an hour or two in Bridget's company without fear of apprehension from her gorgon of a mother. Suddenly none of the pressing matters of Sabine's necklace, h.o.a.re's death, and his own reputation seemed so urgent.

"No, Bridget, forgive me for greeting you like this. But the wounds are superficial, and you cannot leave when you have only just arrived. Let us proceed to Astley. I will attend to myself and then we will take a stroll on the hill."

The temptation of seeing Astley seemed to tip the balance. "I have heard Astley's gardens are most remarkable. Certainly it would interest me to see them." Thus she agreed.

With the appearance of Bridget, Joshua speedily determined to alter the plan. He would make an excuse and send Cobb to a lodging house to wait for him. But when he turned to do so, he found Cobb had melted away and was limping at a surprising speed two hundred yards down the road, in the direction of the Star and Garter and the London stage.

"Who was that man you were with?" demanded Bridget, spotting Cobb's retreating figure.

"That," said Joshua with a sinking heart, "was John Cobb." There would be time enough later to work out how to break the news gently to her that he had just invited a man who might or might not be a dangerous malefactor to stay in her mother's house.

SINCE Joshua was incapable of riding in his present condition, they tethered his nag to the back of the cart and he took a seat behind. Herbert was reading a book in the garden when their bedraggled procession arrived at Astley. He looked astonished at the sight of Joshua, disheveled and b.l.o.o.d.y, and Bridget, winsome and pink, driven in an oxcart by a ragged urchin.

Throwing down his volume, he bustled toward them. He recognized Bridget from his recent visit to search Joshua's rooms, and seemed pleased to see her, but words failed him when he regarded Joshua. He turned chalk white, as he considered every cut and bruise and blemish. And yet when Joshua briefly told him what had happened, he offered no word of sympathy.

Racked with pain and craving a bath and clean clothes, it was all Joshua could do to ask Herbert to show Bridget the gardens and stagger indoors. Herbert took the request in his stride. The last thing Joshua heard as he unsteadily scaled the steps to the door was, "Now, you will recall I told you of my damask and musk roses. If you would care to come this way, Miss Quick, I will show you some that are particularly splendid ..."

ONCE in his room, Joshua called for Peters, the first footman, to send for a servant to fill the bathtub and bring bandages and ointment. An old manservant by the name of Henderson, with a wizened face and a humped back, arrived with pails of steaming water. After filling the copper tub, Henderson helped Joshua to discard his filthy clothes and step in. Joshua steeped himself in the hot water-though his wrists were so painful he couldn't submerge them and had to lay them on the rim of the tub. He demanded a cloth and gingerly washed the blood from his face. Only then did he dare ask Henderson for a looking gla.s.s.

Joshua hardly recognized himself. His left eye was livid and swollen, and there was a deep cut beneath it. The wound to his forehead, white skin gaping open to reveal a cavern of red, was some four inches long.

He dried and dressed laboriously with the a.s.sistance of the hunched servant, flinching whenever the towel touched a bruise or a graze, which was often. But when he asked Henderson to tend to his wounds, the old man frowned and shook his head. "You must excuse me, sir. I will send immediately for someone better fitted to such a task." Then he bowed and left.

While Joshua waited for one of the housemaids, he examined his burns. The skin was heavily blistered; there were pouches of skin full of watery liquid; in places the skin had burst, and the raw red flesh was so excruciatingly tender that the thought of anything touching his wrists, let alone wearing his shirtsleeves b.u.t.toned, was unbearable.

Strangely, for one who had always been much preoccupied by imaginary maladies, Joshua felt surprisingly calm when faced with real injury. The burns were severe. If they didn't heal, the repercussions on his career might be grave, yet he didn't fret. What would be would be; there was nothing much he could do about it.

Not long after the old servant left he heard a gentle knock and his door opened.

"I gather you have been hurt and require a.s.sistance, Mr. Pope?"

His eyebrows shot up and his cheeks reddened. To his astonishment, there stood Caroline Bentnick carrying a tray of ointments and bottles.

"Miss Bentnick. Forgive me for troubling you. I would not have done so, only Henderson said he couldn't dress my wounds but would send someone better suited."

"And will I not do, Mr. Pope?" she said, pursing her lips as she came closer to peer at the gash on his head. She gently inspected first one wrist, then the other. "He was right to do so. I have a little medical knowledge, taught to me by my mother. I will do what I can, but if there is no improvement soon, you should see a physician."

With that, Caroline Bentnick unstoppered a small brown bottle and poured a draft into a gla.s.s. "Take this, Mr. Pope."

"What is it?"

"Something to alleviate your discomfort."

"Laudanum?"

"No. If you must know, a mixture of ingredients closer to hand. Honey and water and wine and powdered rush. Drink it and you will feel better."

Joshua drank the bittersweet liquid. Almost immediately, his pain diminished. Then Caroline applied a preparation made from trefoil and sweet oil and treacle with a feather, and then wrapped his wrists in wadding.

"I won't be able to paint if you wrap the bandages so tight," he protested.

"Then you must find some alternative occupation for a day or two. Perhaps you could continue your instruction with Lizzie Manning?"

"Miss Manning's application was wanting. Besides, she is too busy to see me. When I called on her today she had gone out."

Caroline Bentnick smiled and met his eyes. "Lizzie Manning is the most charming girl. From hearing her speak to you, I sense in what high opinion she holds you. She would not mean to slight you. If she missed your visit, there must have been a pressing reason." Joshua nodded. "That is all very well, Miss Bentnick. But what was the reason?"

Chapter Twenty-nine.

AFTER Caroline Bentnick left him, Joshua meant to go in search of Bridget, but the potion he had taken was stronger than he knew. Loath though he was to yield to sleep, his head began to swim, his eyes grew heavier than a handful of sovereigns, and minutes later he lost consciousness.

He awoke, bathed in perspiration and filled with a longing for Rachel he hadn't experienced for many months. For a time he tried to console himself with thoughts of Meg and their last encounter, but that only increased his sense of loneliness. It was morning. His father's timepiece read just after seven o'clock. Outside, a chorus of birdsong echoed; inside, the house was silent. At some stage during the hours of his unconsciousness someone had undressed him. He was clad in his nightshirt and nightcap; his clothes were neatly folded on the chair. He had no recollection at all of being undressed but prayed it was the footman Peters or one of the other manservants and not Caroline Bentnick.

The cup with the dregs of the draft she had given him still stood on the night table. Propped against the cup was a bulky letter.

His first thought was that it must be a message from Bridget, whom he had abandoned to Herbert Bentnick. Fearing the letter would contain a reprimand for having left her after urging her to stay, he now began to fret. He was already in an awkward predicament, having sent Cobb to his lodgings, the wisdom of which now seemed undeniably flawed. He relied upon Bridget's goodwill toward him to pacify her mother. He reached for the letter, full of dread at what it might contain.

Then he saw from the hand that the letter wasn't from Bridget-it was from Lizzie Manning.

30th May 1766Barlow Court, Richmond Mr. Pope,I gather from my housekeeper that you came to Barlow this morning and were somewhat put out to find me absent and unable to greet you. Forgive me for missing you. I went to question a nurseryman on the subject of pineapples. Forgive me also for quitting Astley without first apprising you of my conversation with Violet. The minute I finished with her I received a message from my father that made it imperative for me to leave.That apart, let me recount my most interesting conversation. I took Violet for a stroll on her return from another trip to London for fitting her dress-has any garment in Christendom required such an excess of attention?In any event, to the matter in hand. I told Violet we believed Mr. Cobb might still be alive and that he he might be responsible for the disappearance of the necklace. You may rest a.s.sured I made no mention of the letters we discovered-how would I do so without incriminating you? might be responsible for the disappearance of the necklace. You may rest a.s.sured I made no mention of the letters we discovered-how would I do so without incriminating you?On hearing it wasn't Cobb who had died but, we surmised, h.o.a.re, her face seemed to brighten. Seeing this, I asked whether she was still fond of him, to which she replied rather sharply that there was nothing between them and, on the contrary, I should know there was someone else who now held sway over her feelings. I presume this "someone else" was Francis and that she did not say so for fear of incurring my wrath.When I questioned her about the necklace's disappearance, she declared I must have been recruited by Cobb to pursue her, for he had pestered her interminably for a.s.sistance in persuading her mother to hand over the jewel, but that despite all her efforts her mother was determined to keep it. I a.s.sured her I was entirely openminded on the subject of Cobb and the necklace, and that it was in her mother's interest that we recover the jewel. With these rea.s.surances she became calmer and told me a little of the history behind the necklace. The story was an intriguing one.Charles Mercier, Violet's stepfather, was a shipping clerk, a kindly, prudent soul, with a great antipathy to risk taking and gambling of any sort. His strange aversion resulted from an incident that took place when he was a young man, and he often spoke of the episode as a way of keeping Violet from the perils of gaming.When he was aged no more than three and twenty he attended an a.s.sembly at the governor's residence, where he was introduced to a newly widowed countess, a woman of substantial means who was lately arrived in Bridgetown to inspect her estates on the island. During the evening Charles Mercier engaged the countess in conversation, upon which she cajoled him to join her in a round of ombre. By some extraordinary quirk of fate, Charles, who as far as anyone knew could scarcely tell a jack from an ace, won every hand. His winnings included a promissory note from the countess for a valuable emerald necklace that had belonged to her family for centuries. Next morning she sent her maid round with the necklace-hoping perhaps that in due course she would have the opportunity to win it back.The maid, whose name was Emma Baynes, was by all accounts a t.i.tian-haired beauty, and Charles Mercier, still heady with his successes of the previous night, was much struck by her. He asked her to try on the necklace so he could see it well displayed. When Emma opened the case and took out a necklace fashioned as a serpent, he was more than a little shocked. But then he laughed and proclaimed it most fitting, since the serpent of temptation had surely led the countess astray the previous night.The meeting led to a romantic liaison in which Charles Mercier fell deeply in love with Emma Baynes. Meanwhile, much to the chagrin of the countess, he refused all invitations to play her at ombre-or any other game, for that matter. Three months later, by which time the disgruntled countess had virtually ruined herself with losses, she decided to return to London.At about this time Emma Baynes discovered she was expecting a child. Charles Mercier immediately offered to marry her, but Emma-a foolish, headstrong girl-had other ideas. She detested the climate in Barbados and missed her homeland. Moreover, she had a sweetheart in London whom she believed to be so besotted with her beauty he would marry her despite her condition. Thus, she turned down Mercier's proposal.While he was greatly saddened by her refusal, Charles stood by his responsibilities. He promised to make arrangements to support the child and her mother, who would not be able to continue in service once the child was born. Emma never divulged anything of her hopes of marriage in London and agreed eagerly to accept his financial a.s.sistance.All this took place fifteen years before Sabine married Charles Mercier. He was always scrupulously honest about the daughter he had never met. He told Sabine frankly of her existence and warned her that he intended to do as much for this child as for any legitimate offspring he might father with her. In the event, Sabine and Charles's union was childless; and while Charles grew fond of Violet, and often called her his daughter, his pledge to remember his natural child was never forgotten.Soon after their marriage, Charles showed Sabine the emerald serpent and told her the history behind it. Sabine, much taken with the unique beauty of the jewel, asked if she might wear it from time to time-a request to which Charles Mercier agreed. For the next ten years Sabine proudly wore the emerald necklace whenever the opportunity arose. As far as anyone knew, Charles never actually told Sabine the jewel was hers, but neither did he give her any inkling of his intentions to bequeath it elsewhere.It was only a year ago, after Charles's death, when the will was read, that Sabine discovered his decision to leave this most precious object to his illegitimate daughter. The reason he gave was simple. The necklace had been brought to him in the hands of Emma Baynes. Were it not for that jewel, his daughter would never have been born. In his eyes it was only fitting that she should have it.It is not hard to imagine Sabine's feelings of outrage and resentment. She had no qualms about flouting the will, arguing that it had been written many years ago, in the early days of her marriage, and that Charles had in the meantime changed his mind. Why else would he have allowed her to wear the necklace so frequently? Moreover, Violet had been more of a daughter to him than a child he had never seen. And she, Sabine, had been more of a wife than Emma Baynes. What claimant could possibly oppose her?Soon after Sabine expressed her determination to hold on to the necklace, a Bridgetown attorney by the name of John Cobb contacted Violet and asked her to meet him, "over a matter in which you might be able to give someone less fortunate than yourself some a.s.sistance." Violet, who knew only the bare rudiments of the dispute, agreed, perhaps a little naively, to Cobb's request, never suspecting that he was acting on behalf of her mother's adversary.Cobb told Violet that Charles Mercier's daughter in London was of similar age to herself; that Emma Baynes had recently died, and unless her daughter received her rightful inheritance, she would be forced to scratch out a living in the streets as best she could-an outcome that Charles Mercier had expressly intended to prevent. Did she not feel a sense of duty to do right by this poor girl whom she knew her stepfather had wanted to protect?Violet listened carefully. Cobb was a tall, handsome fellow-being the focus of his persuasive charms was agreeable. Remembering how good her stepfather had been toward her, she felt a twinge of conscience. She went so far as to mention the matter to her mother, but Sabine was unbending. Her only compromise was to promise to make alternative financial arrangements if Emma Baynes's daughter agreed to give up her claim to the necklace.So Violet seesawed between the two camps, continually pursued by Cobb, whose every argument was refuted by her mother. How was she to know which of them was telling the truth? Before long, Cobb professed his romantic interest in her, promising that if she reciprocated his affection, he would do his utmost to work in her best interests with regard to the necklace. Perhaps the claimant would accept a financial settlement rather than the jewel itself.At this point, Violet became visibly distressed. Tears coursed her cheeks as she declared that although she found him pleasant and handsome, she had no romantic inclinations in that quarter. She did everything possible to discourage Cobb's attentions, writing to him and telling him to his face that she wanted nothing to do with him and nothing to do with the necklace if he was part of the bargain.She had thought herself rid of the wretched man when she and Sabine left Bridgetown and moved to Astley. Thus you will understand how on the day she went for a stroll with Francis Bentnick and met Cobb wandering the gardens, she could hardly believe her eyes. In a turmoil of disbelief she told her mother of her encounter and begged her to give him the necklace so that she could live her life in peace-after all, why did she need the wretched necklace when Herbert could buy her a dozen more?Sabine was unmoved and seemed hardly surprised at the news of Cobb's appearance. She told Violet not to concern herself about the necklace. Herbert knew the details of the matter; he intended to call on Cobb and would advise her how to proceed.I think it was at this juncture that Violet seemed to realize the ambiguity of her words. "Miss Manning," she said, "the reason I said nothing of all this to you before was because I feared if I admitted to knowing Cobb, I might in some way incriminate my mother of some involvement in his death. The necklace has inordinate significance in her eyes; who knows to what lengths she would go to keep it? However, now you have told me Cobb is alive, and someone else is dead, there is no reason whatsoever not to tell you the truth, is there?"I didn't point out the obvious-that h.o.a.re may have been killed because he was mistaken for Cobb; and that if this was the case, her mother might well be guilty. I did ask, however, if her mother had ever met Cobb. "No," said Violet without hesitation. "Cobb knew my mother's animosity toward him and kept out of her sight. To my knowledge she never did meet him."Surely, my friend, this is further corroboration of our most promising theory. If Sabine didn't know what Cobb looked like, she could easily have killed h.o.a.re by mistake. What do you think?

Yours,Lizzie Manning

Joshua was as intrigued by the motives of Lizzie Manning as the content of her letter. She had written cordially, but there were questions left unanswered, instructions ignored, which spoke volumes about her true character. What had her father said to cause her to leave Astley so precipitously? What was so pressing about pineapples to make her go to a nursery the morning he arrived, and yet neglect to mention it? Why had she deliberately ignored his warning not to tell Violet that Cobb might be alive? The lengthy history of the jewel was all very intriguing, but much of it he had already learned from Cobb, and she had entirely ignored his request to question Violet closely about the day Joshua had left Astley. He wanted to know the details of how she had given the necklace to the maid, to see whether this agreed with the maid's account. He wanted to know how reliable Violet thought the maid, how long she had been in their service, and would she be capable of theft? What had made her ignore these crucial instructions, forget there was a noose hanging over his head?

He shook his head. In a sense he had only himself to blame for not realizing much sooner that she acted carelessly, not from malice. Lizzie's central concern was Francis. Her family predicament could only add to her anxiety that no one threaten her marriage to Francis. Compared with her own future, what would his downfall matter?

But it was surely most significant that Lizzie had never mentioned her brother to Joshua; neither had she mentioned the family's straitened circ.u.mstances, nor her interest in horticulture. Why had she pressed so insistently to involve herself in his enquiries? Was there more than innocent fondness for Francis?

Joshua sprang up from his bed, only to be wrenched by aches and throbs. A bulky dressing was wrapped around his forehead. Bandages were bound around his wrists and palms, leaving only the tips of his fingers free. It was a good half hour before he accomplished the feat of pulling on buff breeches, b.u.t.toning a brown coat with ocher frogging, and tying a yellow cravat. Then, having tied his dark hair back-a wig was out of the question with the bandage-and maneuvered himself into his boots, he glanced at himself in the mirror. All things considered, he looked not too bad. With this consoling thought he hobbled downstairs.

HE FOUND Bridget seated in the breakfast room with Herbert and Caroline. The trio looked perfectly at ease. "Mr. Pope," said Caroline, "are you quite well and recovered? I had expected you to sleep until late and said as much to Miss Quick. You look better, though still a little peaky, if truth be told."

"I am very well," Joshua replied, rubbing his head, which was pounding uncomfortably. "And as you see, I am perfectly recovered."

Joshua turned to Bridget. "Miss Quick, you are still here. My apologies for abandoning you. I feared you would have lost patience and returned to London."

"Not at all, Mr. Pope," replied Bridget, replacing her cup lightly in its saucer. "Miss Bentnick was kind enough to apprise me of your condition and to offer me a bed for the night. And I have enjoyed a promenade in the gardens with Mr. Bentnick as a guide. All in all, I have been most hospitably treated."

Joshua was struck by her easy manner. She held her head high; her neck was longer and more slender than he remembered; her bosom swelled enticingly within her bodice; her hair was attractively arranged-was that a rose in it? Most important, she seemed not at all put out by his absence the evening before. After the antics of Lizzie Manning, this was welcome relief.

In a more optimistic frame of mind, he turned to Caroline Bentnick. When she had come to attend to his wounds the previous day he had perceived a certain softening in her manner; and now she met his gaze with a friendly directness. What had effected this transformation?

"Miss Quick is a most welcome guest," said Caroline, as if she had read his thoughts. "She has been most practical in her advice regarding preparations for dinner and is welcome to stay longer, if she chooses. Why, Mr. Pope, after all the help she has given, you should bring her to the ball on Friday."

Bridget glowed with delight at Caroline's offer. Joshua thought she would accept. But remembering her mother, he swiftly intervened.

"Your offer is most generous, but Bridget-Miss Quick, I mean-has to return to London or her mother will be anxious. And she is kept very busy in town. I doubt she has time to socialize ..."

You can hardly remain here another three days. Think of yourBridget frowned. "Not at all," she interposed. "I told my mother I might stay the night with my aunt at Twickenham. If I don't return, she will presume I am there."

"You can hardly remain here another three days. Think of your duties to your poor mother ... her rheumatism."

"Then if she must go, she shall return tomorrow. London is no more than a couple of hours from Richmond, after all," cut in Herbert, in a voice that countenanced no refusal. "Meanwhile, Mr. Pope, since you are unable to paint, you might turn your thoughts urgently to recovering Mrs. Mercier's necklace. I hear Sir William Manning, the justice, is due to return any day now. As soon as he does, if you have made no progress, I intend to put the matter in his hands. I don't say I think you are guilty, Pope. If I did I would hardly invite you to my table. Nonetheless you must see things might look different from other perspectives. As I told you before, Mrs. Mercier believes I have shown you excessive leniency."

With this chilling announcement, Herbert discarded a crust of toast on his plate, dropped his napkin on the table, and stalked from the room.

"It's settled, then," said Caroline, as if her father's outburst and Joshua's imminent doom were no more than a trifle. "You will spend the morning taking Miss Quick on a drive to see a little of the local region, Mr. Pope. That will give you something to do-and I wager you have yet to take a stroll on the hill, or in the gardens at Kew. Your bandages should stay on your hands for at least two days. I have told my father you will be unable to paint until Wednesday at the soonest. And since today is only Monday, you have plenty of time to fill. Miss Quick is extremely sensible and will make sure you don't overexert yourself after your recent ordeal."

"But the necklace ... You heard what your father said. I really should do something more," Joshua objected.

"Do not worry yourself about that odious object," said Caroline, wafting a hand as if whisking away a bluebottle. "I warrant my father's threats have no substance whatsoever. In my opinion we are all better off without the wretched thing."

Chapter Thirty.

THUS IT WAS AGREED that Bridget Quick was to be his constant companion for that day and, unless he could muster some plausible excuse, his partner at the forthcoming ball as well. Joshua accepted the situation with outward good grace-Bridget was undeniably appealing-but inwardly, frustration raged. A clutch of evils was gathering against him like waves on the horizon. If he didn't act, they would wash him away. He was threatened with the loss of all he had accomplished. In this turbulent sea Bridget Quick, however attractive, represented a further peril, one that, had he only made some glib excuse, he could have easily escaped. But he had been so flabbergasted by Herbert's menacing manner he had said nothing. The tracing of a murderer, the discovery of a lost heirloom, and the avoidance of his imminent disgrace were his priorities. Amusing a lady, however pretty, did not feature in his plans. How could he be expected to make any form of progress when he was thus hampered? Herbert might as well manacle his feet, tether him to a tree, and demand he run a hundred yards.

WHEN BRIDGET left the breakfast room to prepare for their outing, Joshua turned to Caroline Bentnick. Avoiding the subject of Bridget, he sought to salvage something from her amenable mood. "I am most grateful for your kindness in dressing my wounds yesterday. Indeed, I hardly know how to thank you. I was in the most intolerable discomfort and you soothed it miraculously."

Caroline looked slightly taken aback and dabbed her lips with her napkin several times. "It was no more than I would have done for anyone. But your burns are severe and you must take care of them."

"Where did you acquire your medical knowledge?"

She smiled, a mite oddly, he thought. "I have no great knowledge, Mr. Pope. The little I know is from my mother, who was well versed in the medicinal properties of herbs, as are most housewives. I have her book of receipts, which I believe she inherited from her mother. I have some success in preventing the first occasion of sickness. I do not pretend to be capable of any more."

"Then tell me," Joshua said, to test her, "I am often bedeviled by agonizing aches of the head. I have one now that feels as if a monster fist has wrapped itself about my skull and would wring my brains from it. What do you recommend?"

"Have you a cold when the headaches come?"

"Not necessarily. They are brought on by extremes of humor. If I am anxious, or when I become agitated, I am in danger of starting one."

She nodded and thought for a minute. "According to my mother's Culpeper, lettuce cools and moistens, and the juice mixed or boiled with oil of roses and applied to the forehead and temples procures sleep and eases the head. I will make some for you to try if you wish."

"You are most kind," he said. "Perhaps, in return, I can offer you something."

"What have you in mind?"

"Some instruction in drawing. I know from your father you are an enthusiast-I fancy you will have more application and diligence than your friend Miss Manning."

Caroline smiled. "I would be honored to have such an eminent tutor. You implied last night that Lizzie had annoyed you. Let me remind you of what I firmly believe. Lizzie can be headstrong and she is frequently outspoken. Yet she has an extraordinary capacity for life. You cannot deny it."

Joshua gritted his teeth and managed a smile and a nod, even though her attempts at deceiving him were still a source of annoyance. "Without doubt she is a remarkable person. I understand there is some romantic attachment between Miss Manning and your brother?"

"More than an attachment: an unofficial engagement. It has been known to both the families for some time. The wedding date is not yet set, nor is it likely to be under the present circ.u.mstances."

"What do you mean?"

"My father's impending marriage," she said flatly. "Lizzie would not dream of stealing his glory. That's why her engagement to Francis has not been discussed, even though it was as good as settled before Sabine arrived."

Joshua winced as he reached forward for the b.u.t.ter and felt his muscles complain. "I gather the Mannings' fortunes have lately been unhappy."

"Arthur Manning has been the cause of a great deal of unhappiness. He has disappointed me and his family. I would prefer not to discuss him."

"Miss Bentnick, may I speak frankly to you?"

"What about?"

"You have made no secret of your dislike of Mrs. Mercier. A moment ago when you spoke of your father's marriage, your disapproval was plain. What is it about her you find so objectionable?"

She pursed her lips and twirled her spoon on her saucer. Her eyes had a mournful look; her long face looked more elongated and gaunt than usual. "Why should I discuss this with you? What business of yours are my feelings toward my future stepmother?"

Joshua held up his hand. "I do not pry willingly. You heard your father's demand that I find the missing necklace. I am unjustly accused. My reputation-indeed, my life itself-has been cast under a shadow. I may add I have no allegiances, to your father or anyone else. I am utterly objective. My only aim is to clear my name and discover the truth."

Caroline leaned back in her chair and tilted her head to one side. "Very well, Mr. Pope. I trust that if I speak, you will listen with a sympathetic ear. You won't think me fanciful, and what I say will go no further than this room?"

"You have my word on it."

"I cannot rid myself of the feeling there is something unwholesome about Sabine Mercier. I know she is beguiling in her looks and manners; I know my father is entirely taken in by her. Perhaps you think I am swamped by jealousy, a grown daughter who should have a lover of her own and feels excluded from their happiness. But I give you my word that has nothing to do with it. Sabine deserves my doubts. There is something that makes me distrust her. I hate to say these words, but why should I not, since I have thought them often enough? It would not surprise me in the least to learn that she had a hand in h.o.a.re's death, or in her previous husband's, or my mother's."