A heavy silence hung between them. Joshua was taken aback. The matter of the earlier deaths was something he had considered briefly but dismissed, since there was little chance of learning more about them. "Do you have any grounds for your suspicions?"

"I know that a few moments ago you were testing me on my knowledge of plants. I presume you believe that h.o.a.re was poisoned?"

Joshua nodded.

"Sabine has a wide knowledge of the medicinal properties of plants. Her father was a physician and taught her much; she has studied the subject and learned a great deal more. She makes no secret of the matter-indeed, I would say she revels in her expertise. The little I know of my mother's death is also compatible with poisoning. To slip something in my mother's food that made her fall ill was well within her capabilities. My father would have been easily duped. He would have thought Sabine was doing all she could to help."

This statement was uttered in such a calm, unapologetic tone that Joshua was quite disturbed. There was no vestige of doubt in her voice. She might have been reading an account from a newspaper.

"That is a grave accusation. Do you really believe her capable of such a thing?"

"Without a shadow of doubt. Even the pineapples in which she takes such pride may be poisonous."

Joshua smiled. "Come, come. A pineapple is an edible fruit, much lauded for its perfume and sweetness."

"The ripe fruit is just as you say. But perhaps you are not aware of the harmful effects of the unripe fruit. Violet mentioned the subject once when we went on a tour of the pinery. And how would she know such a fact if not from her mother? Unripe fruits are a powerful purgative. I know this not only from Violet but from family acquaintances who lived on an estate where pineapples were grown. I heard that a sailor who returned to the village from a voyage to the Indies and found his wife expecting another man's child stole an unripe fruit and forced her to eat it to cause a miscarriage."

"But are unripe fruits fatal?"

"Not usually, but by all accounts h.o.a.re vomited prior to death. That is a symptom of eating unripe pineapple."

Joshua held his neutral expression, though he thought to himself that there were countless other concoctions that might have had the same effect. "Let us put the earlier deaths of your mother and Charles Mercier to one side, for how could we properly prove such a thing? Do you honestly believe Mrs. Mercier had a hand in killing h.o.a.re?"

Caroline flushed uneasily, lowering her gaze. "Of course. If it was not Sabine, who else could it have been? As for why she did it, I didn't comprehend the motive before, but now, having heard a little of the dispute surrounding it, I see it must be the necklace that she was so eager to preserve for herself. I will wager, moreover, he was poisoned by pineapple-have you thought of that, Mr. Pope?"

Joshua remembered that an unripe fruit had gone missing. He remembered too that Lizzie Manning had visited a nurseryman who, by her own admission, was an expert in pineapples.

"Did you mention this theory to your friend Miss Manning?"

"Yes."

"One final question, Miss Bentnick. On the night Miss Manning came for dinner and met the Merciers for the first time-the day after the body had been found, if you recall ... We were seated in the drawing room. I was playing cards with your brother and father. I saw Mrs. Mercier engage you in conversation. And all at once you seemed most powerfully affected: a complete change came over you. If I had to describe it I would say you looked frightened, nay, terrified. What did she say to cause such a reaction?"

It was as if he had pressed an invisible trigger and caused a wall to descend between them. Joshua's perceptive eye took in the shift in Caroline's entire demeanor. Her voice became wary; she blinked rapidly and twined her fingers together.

"Were my feelings so transparent?"

"I doubt anyone else noticed anything at all, Miss Bentnick. It is my business to look at faces."

She raised her eyes to meet his. Her expression was half trusting, half wary, as if she was judging whether he was a savior or a snake. "Very well, I will tell you. In any case, you must have heard part of what she said. She asked me if I would care to wear her necklace at the ball."

"Why did that distress you?"

"It did not to begin with. It merely struck me as strange that she should offer me something that I knew to be so precious to her." She halted, and clenched her hands, which trembled as they had on the night they were discussing.

"I cannot help you, Miss Bentnick, if you do not tell me what it is that frightens you."

"Well, then I remembered what Violet had said earlier concerning the superst.i.tions a.s.sociated with the necklace. And that made me wonder why she was offering me her necklace, when she knew I disliked her and regarded my mother's death as being ..."

"Suspicious," Joshua hazarded.

"Quite so." Caroline swallowed hard. "I realized that there was evidently more to the offer of the necklace than first appeared. You must remember, I was sitting on that settee, under her gaze. I could feel her looking at me and it seemed also that the emerald serpent around her neck was fixing me with its ruby eye. For some reason the wretched necklace seemed to draw me, as though it were magnetically charged. I could not tear my eyes from it. Nor could I stop thinking of the malevolent power it was supposed to have. I promise you it was a most frightening sensation.

"And all this while I was aware that she kept on at me. 'What have you to say, Caroline? I take it you accept?' Of course I did not want to accept. It seemed to me that the serpent embodied her murderous tendencies. I opened my mouth to say no, but just at that moment she interrupted. Her voice was no more than a whisper-no one else could have heard it, yet at the same time it was peculiarly penetrating."

"What did she say?"

"She said that my silence was a great affront to her in view of the efforts she had made. I was naught but an ungrateful girl. And-this was what struck me most vividly-that the necklace had a potency of its own. I should remember that serpents have long been forceful symbols, and if I had any sense, I would treat her offer with greater respect." Caroline searched his face for some sign he comprehended her meaning. The anguish in her eyes was plain. "So now you see why I said we are all better off without it."

Chapter Thirty-one.

CAROLINE BENTNICK'S revelations and the presence of Bridget Quick brought Joshua an unantic.i.p.ated advantage. Caroline was so relieved to have voiced her suspicions to someone outside the family, and so taken with Bridget Quick, she insisted they borrow a chaise and two lively chestnuts from the stables for their tour. The moth-eaten piebald that Joshua had been obliged to ride the previous day was thus put out to graze. A vehicle that Joshua was proud to drive was delivered to his charge and Bridget's traveling bag stowed in it. Though he knew he should find some excuse to rid himself of Bridget at the earliest opportunity, the prospect of an hour in her company was not entirely unwelcome. A quick tour of Richmond Park would do him good; the air might help clarify his thoughts.

Some few minutes after they had set out on their drive, they were on high ground and the road looked down over the expanse of the river. "Tell me, Mr. Pope," Bridget said abruptly, "why is it that whenever the road closely skirts the river, you look in the opposite direction? Yet the river makes such a charming picture. Being an artist, I would have thought you might appreciate it ..."

Joshua was dumbfounded. This phobia of his had never been remarked on by any other acquaintance. "If I do," he stuttered, trying to muster a plausible answer, "it is involuntary."

"Are you afraid of water?"

"I cannot swim."

She raised an eyebrow and made a purse of her lips. "Few people swim, yet they do not cringe at the sight of a river."

Joshua pondered in silence for something to say that would make her quit this painful subject. After a long pause, adopting an air of lofty composure, he declared, "This is a matter of the greatest delicacy, Miss Quick. Something I never discuss with anyone."

He underestimated her persistence. The pause allowed her to glimpse the weakness in his carapace and the point of her sword was in.

"What exactly do you never discuss? Your fear of water, or the cause of it?"

He shook his head and gave her a rueful smile. "The water makes me desolate and lowers my spirits whenever I look at it. There, does that satisfy you?"

"No," said Bridget, "for you still have not told me why."

Suddenly he felt too tired to parry with her. He could deflect her with a half truth but she would no doubt return to the subject before long. Once he said what he had to say, the matter would be over. There would be no more discussion. And-this thought above all propelled him-she might leave him in peace.

"You know my wife died recently. She drowned on the river. Our child was with her. He perished too. They were swept away in a boat. It happened one year ago, almost exactly. That is why I took the commission and came away. I detest the sight of the river, or any stretch of water for that matter, because of the memories it awakens."

The vehemence in his voice must have been obvious, and he expected her to look awkward or ashamed at having forced such a painful admission. Yet, to his amazement, she was forthright in her solicitude, revealing no hint of shame. Nor did she waste time with plat.i.tudes.

"I am sorry for your dreadful loss, but it is a mistake to spend so much time worrying about death that you never live. Water was the source of your tragedy, but it is also the source of life," she said, and patted his arm.

Until this moment Joshua had always pointedly avoided the subject of Rachel and Benjamin's deaths, expecting it to resurrect his feelings of loss. Moreover, he detested the idea that anyone might feel sorry for him. Successful, well established, highly esteemed, he had no need of anyone's pity. Thus it surprised him to discover that after this conversation he felt curiously lightened, as if a breeze had blown a gap in a heavy cloud that had shadowed him for the past year. He was surprised too that Bridget showed no sign of pity. Nor did she wish to dwell on the matter. Her attention moved rapidly to other, more immediate subjects.

She had heard from Caroline how Mrs. Mercier had found the corpse of a man recently arrived from Bridgetown, Barbados, believed to be called John Cobb. Caroline had explained that the corpse was not Cobb's but that of a man called h.o.a.re, an attorney whose practice was in London, and that both men were acting for an anonymous claimant in a dispute over a necklace. She had witnessed Herbert's threats about the necklace. But how did all this fit with what had happened to Joshua yesterday?

Under different circ.u.mstances Joshua might have been reticent to discuss matters that were none of her concern. But after the admission she had just elicited from him, he felt more mellow and more open than usual. He explained that he had gone in search of Cobb, and had been brutally a.s.saulted, tied up, and left for dead. After managing to escape, he had discovered Cobb standing by his horse, just before Bridget came upon him.

"And what did this Mr. Cobb say when you apprehended him?" asked Bridget.

"He denied he was responsible for attacking me and declared he did not know who my attacker was. He said that he dared not return to the Star and Garter, for fear of being attacked himself. And that since I had taken his bag and possessions, he had been forced to use the barn as a shelter. He suggested that my attacker had mistaken me for him. No doubt seeing the state I was in made him even more fearful for his safety, and that was why he ran off at the earliest opportunity when you arrived."

Joshua remembered with a twinge of anxiety that he had sent Cobb to his lodgings-her mother's home. He knew he would have to choose an opportune moment to break this news, but he wasn't ready just yet. He moved to a subject that he knew would interest her: Lizzie Manning. Explaining that she was the daughter of the local justice and a close friend of Caroline and Francis Bentnick, he said, "There is more to her than I first realized. She is unofficially engaged to Francis Bentnick, for whom Violet has also formed an attachment. Lizzie concealed her interest in gardens and the existence of her brother. She went to visit a nursery yesterday when I had told her I would call on her, and I am determined to discover why. She is undeniably flighty and capricious; and I cannot decide whether the inconsistencies in her behavior are part of the usual female psyche or something to do with her distrust of Violet, or whether they have deeper significance."

"You have a great deal to say on the subject of Miss Manning. She sounds a most fascinating character," observed Bridget dryly.

"I a.s.sure you she is nothing of the kind. Far from fascination, I feel annoyance when I think of her. She disappears whenever I want to see her."

"Have you heard anything from her since your escapade with Cobb?"

"She sent me a letter with details of what she had learned from Violet."

"And that did not satisfy you?"

Joshua reflected for a moment. "Most of what she told me I had learned from Cobb already. There was much she could have said that she did not. She was decidedly vague on the reason for her departure and said nothing at all of why she wanted to visit a nursery."

"What do you think her reasons were?"

"Lizzie Manning has a scoundrel for a brother. I met him the other night. If it wasn't Cobb who attacked me yesterday, it was most likely Arthur Manning. He has ruined his family as a result of gambling losses and has apparently taken it upon himself to leave the family house for shame. As I said before, Lizzie has never mentioned him to me, which shows, I suppose, she is ashamed of him. It would not surprise me to learn a misadventure of some sort had befallen him and that was why she left."

"And the visit to the nursery?"

"The reason for that is easier to divine. Her friend Caroline Bentnick has a theory that h.o.a.re was murdered by being poisoned by unripe pineapple. I think Lizzie went to consult an expert in the subject to see if such a thing might be possible."

At this point they arrived at Richmond Gate and entered the park. The road pa.s.sed through plantations of ancient oak and beech and ranked saplings of various size and form. Herds of deer grazed on long tussocks of sun-bleached gra.s.s. Bridget had never imagined there were so many tints of green, and enthralled by all she saw, she fell temporarily silent.

Joshua could not pretend any great knowledge of or interest in horticulture. Nature was all very fine when viewed through the frame of a window, or on a promenade through a park, but he had never comprehended the urge to meddle with it. Nevertheless, the view was prettier than he thought it would be, and the ancient oaks particularly impressed him. But he was soon musing on Caroline's theory.

How likely was it that pineapples had anything to do with h.o.a.re's death? From Caroline's account, pineapples brought about miscarriage and were used as a purgative, but they weren't fatal. And yet scores of plants that grew readily in the garden certainly were fatal; Joshua was no expert, yet even he knew certain narcissus, nightshade, yew, reeds, and aconites were all capable of killing h.o.a.re very effectively. Why, then, would anyone bent on murder bother to use a plant that might or might not kill his or her victim? Why not use something that was definitely lethal? Or was the answer perfectly obvious? Pineapple had been used precisely because it was not lethal.

a.s.suming the fruit had been used to poison h.o.a.re, who might have done such a thing? Granger had said he believed Cobb had cut an unripe pineapple, although he did not see him do so. Having just sent Cobb to his lodgings, and feeling far from happy about the decision, Joshua was anxious to convince himself of Cobb's innocence. Both Sabine and Violet knew pineapples were poisonous, though it was Sabine who was constantly coming and going in the pinery.

Just as he came to this conclusion the carriage turned a sharp bend. Joshua found himself jolted against Bridget, and he caught the scent of rose water behind her ears. Bridget was no longer an enc.u.mbrance; even her questions did not irk him as Lizzie Manning's did. On the contrary, she aroused feelings of warmth. Perhaps he would put her on the second stage to London, not the first.

It was then that he remembered the piece of news he had still to tell her concerning Cobb. But before he had time to broach the subject, a further bout of questions from Bridget tumbled forth.

"What attempts have you made to discover the claimant to the necklace?"

His guilty feelings regarding Cobb being at the forefront of his mind, Joshua answered with as much candor as he could muster. "h.o.a.re must have known, but since he is dead I cannot ask him. Cobb could not tell me. Mr. h.o.a.re's senior partner, Enoch Crackman, knows but so far refuses to say until he has permission of the person concerned. When I return to London I will call on him again."

"Doesn't Herbert know?"

"He claims not. But I believe that despite her claim to the contrary, Sabine knows, and that she recently visited her in London to reach some sort of compromise."

Bridget leaned toward him and put her hand on his arm. The gesture felt curiously natural. "Can you be sure Cobb was telling the truth?"

"He had every appearance of doing so."

"But Cobb has been engaged in this case for some time-months, if not years. The client must have paid him during that time. He must know who she is."

"Not necessarily. I wager it was Crackman who engaged Cobb, and who paid him too. Such arrangements are far from uncommon," said Joshua, in a voice of authority. "Cobb probably never knew who was behind the claim. He told me Charles Mercier's mistress, Emma Baynes, married on her return to this country. Her child probably took the stepfather's name. Their ident.i.ty has doubtless been closely guarded to avoid embarra.s.sment to the daughter, who after all must now be of marriageable age."

Bridget looked pensive. "Cobb said he came to pursue the case, but h.o.a.re had been employed here to take care of the London side of things. Cobb did not have much of a reason to come to England, did he?"

Joshua swallowed uneasily. He had to admit that on the surface things looked black against Cobb. "He implied it was his affection for Violet that brought him. That aside, Cobb's true motive may have been pecuniary gain. As well as being beautiful, Violet is an eligible young woman. Once her mother marries Herbert Bentnick, she will be well provided for, with or without the necklace."

He fell silent as he drew the threads of his argument to its inevitable, unwelcome conclusion. Cobb had several motives to want h.o.a.re dead. h.o.a.re knew but refused to name the claimant of the necklace, and furthermore, he stood between Violet and Cobb. With another lawyer watching him, Cobb hadn't the earlier freedom he had enjoyed in Barbados to persuade Violet to respond to his attentions. Or perhaps he did not need to persuade Violet. Perhaps she was a willing conspirator. She might have told Cobb that unripe pineapple was harmful but that it wouldn't kill; they could use it as a means of making h.o.a.re ill so that he would be forced to retire back to London. h.o.a.re arrived at the inn and Cobb persuaded him to eat the fruit. When h.o.a.re was taken ill, Cobb transported him to the pinery to disguise his involvement. h.o.a.re was sick enough to lose consciousness. He might not have died but for a further misfortune. Joshua recalled Granger's confession. The boy in charge of regulating the temperature in the pinery had fallen asleep that night. The ground grew hotter than it should have, and the heat had been sufficient to kill h.o.a.re.

No sooner had he reached this unpalatable conclusion than Joshua dismissed it. His hypothesis was obviously flawed. Why would Cobb need to take h.o.a.re to the pinery if he didn't expect him to die? Some other person must have been involved whom h.o.a.re expected to meet at the pinery. Joshua recalled Cobb's a.s.sertion that h.o.a.re had gone to a rendezvous in his place. a.s.suming that much was true, who was the rendezvous with? Violet might have arranged a nocturnal rendezvous with Cobb, perhaps intending to kill him to prevent him pestering her. But she would not have confused Cobb with h.o.a.re.

Joshua shook his head.

"What is it?" Bridget asked.

He released the reins a little. He had to tell her sooner or later. "I have a confession to make that you may not take kindly. When I met Cobb by the side of the road yesterday, I was not myself. I believed at first that he had attacked me, but he persuaded me otherwise, saying he lived in fear for his life and that everything he possessed was in his bag, which I had taken. I was muddleheaded and gave him the benefit of the doubt. On reflection I am now less certain of his innocence. Although it still seems unlikely that he killed h.o.a.re, he nevertheless had plenty of reasons to wish him out of the way and I cannot be sure he didn't have a hand in it. But my confession is this: I gave Cobb a key to my rooms and insisted he make himself at home there until I returned with his bag. I have several more matters to ask of him. I wanted to have him where I could interrogate him whenever I needed to. Furthermore, his health is fast deteriorating. I confess I felt sorry for him."

Joshua naturally expected to see Bridget grow hysterical at this information. In letting Cobb, a possible murderer, have entry to his rooms, he had permitted him entry to her home too.

But Bridget did not cry or reprimand him. Any terrors she felt were carefully controlled. Her voice was quietly determined. "In that case," she said, "should you not return to London to question him?"

"I cannot, Bridget. If I run away back to London now, Sabine and Herbert will read it as a sure signal of my guilt."

"But a.s.suming you are correct in thinking Cobb is innocent, you may be in grave danger here. You have been attacked once. Next time you may not escape so lightly. Tell Herbert you believe the answers lie in London and he will let you go."

"I will come directly. But first I have matters to attend here."

She furrowed her brow. "Then, for my mother's sake, I must return straightaway."

As he turned the chaise to head for the Star and Garter, Bridget sat erect, looking off into the distance. She looked unusually pale and serious, and although Joshua guessed the nature of her preoccupation was her concern for her mother, she said not a word.

Chapter Thirty-two.

SINCE THERE WAS half an hour before the London stage was due to depart, they decided to leave the chaise and stroll across the gra.s.sy slopes of Richmond Hill to the stage post at the Star and Garter. The sky was ultramarine, with only a few strands of white cloud suspended low over the horizon. The town, with its red roofs and chimney pots and thoroughfares and dense clumps of trees, spread out like a map beneath them. The Thames, a great serpent of silver, cut its way between the habitations.

About fifty yards from the inn's gate Joshua caught sight of two figures-a man and a woman-walking ahead in the same direction. Unthinkingly, he found himself gathering pace, and as he drew closer to the two figures, his suspicions were confirmed. The woman was small and slender, dressed in a drab gray cloak and plain straw bonnet; russet curls whipped about its brim, and the gentleman whose arm she held was unusually tall and handsomely clad, in a blue coat and breeches and a black tricorn hat.

"What has got into you, Mr. Pope? Are you determined to lose me?" said Bridget indignantly when she caught up with him. "Why do you stare so at that couple? Are you acquainted with them?"