Joshua watched in astonishment as Cobb shook the tube and a clutch of large white banknotes fell into his lap.

COBB HAD won a fortune from Arthur Manning. He had no reason to kill h.o.a.re or steal the necklace. In view of Cobb's story of the message and the subsequent attempts on his life, it seemed probable that h.o.a.re had been killed by mistake. Cobb was the intended victim. What did that signify? Obviously the murderer couldn't distinguish between Cobb and h.o.a.re. That eliminated Violet and Arthur Manning, who both knew what Cobb looked like. He could also discount Herbert, who had called on Cobb at the Star and Garter, and Francis, who had met Cobb in the gardens at Astley. Only Sabine, who had not met Cobb, remained suspect.

Then another name sprang to his mind, one that he had never considered until now. Arthur Manning had been deprived of his fortune. His sister, Lizzie, had demonstrated her apparent devotion to him in innumerable ways. She had meddled in matters that were none of her concern. She had come to Joshua's rooms in the dead of night and searched his room while he slept. She was frantic to trace her brother. Until now he had a.s.sumed this was simple sisterly devotion. Now it seemed there was more than this: her determination to find Cobb's bag showed she was bent on retrieving the fortune her brother had lost. And if she was prepared to risk her reputation for her family fortune, what other actions might she be prepared to take for it? Murder perhaps?

Joshua poured himself a brandy from a Bristol gla.s.s decanter and thought back to the night she had entered his room so unexpectedly. He had known before that she was fickle; he had guessed her purpose, but he hadn't properly understood. He should have questioned her more rigorously, demanded to know why she wanted the bag. It had nothing to do with the necklace. Having learned that Cobb was living as a vagabond and was eager to recover his bag, she must have guessed her family fortune lay inside it.

Joshua pondered the question of the necklace and the murder of Caroline Bentnick. Was Lizzie responsible for these two evil deeds as well as h.o.a.re's murder? In the case of poor Caroline, there was an obvious motive: Lizzie might have overheard Caroline declare she had seen something that would lead him to the murderer. In other words, Lizzie may have killed her dear friend Caroline Bentnick in order to save her own skin.

But what about the necklace? Could Lizzie have taken that too? Here Joshua grappled to find a clear reason for her doing so. If she had stolen the necklace because she was intent on saving her family fortune, why return the jewel after Caroline's death? It seemed implausible that Lizzie was responsible for the theft. The disappearance of the necklace was separate from the murders. Either Arthur had taken it-unlikely, for if he had he wouldn't have needed to come looking for Cobb's bag-or, most likely, as Joshua had first supposed, it was stolen as a consequence of Charles Mercier's disputed will. Mrs. Bowles was not Mercier's daughter. More than ever he needed to find who was.

HAVING RECOVERED his fortune, Cobb seemed suddenly overwhelmed by his exertions. He lay back on the daybed and closed his eyes. Joshua covered him with a blanket. The fever was rising again; perspiration had gathered on his brow and he looked flushed. Joshua thought about calling for Kitty again or going downstairs to ask Bridget for her advice, but in the end he managed alone. He gave Cobb a hefty dose of an elixir he took regularly to soothe his nervous maladies and an opium pill. For good measure, he took a spoonful himself to help calm his own feverish thoughts. He pa.s.sed the next two hours sitting by Cobb, sponging his head whenever the sweats appeared.

Chapter Forty.

CROSSING THE HALLWAY from the parlor to his bedchamber, Joshua saw to his surprise that a packet had been pushed beneath his door. In retrieving it he discovered that it was a message from Bridget, enclosing another letter. He carried both communications to his bedchamber, and having shed his clothes, donned his nightshirt and nightcap, and swaddled himself comfortably in bedclothes, he settled down to read.

Joshua,I didn't like to trouble you this evening, for Kitty told me you recovered Cobb and that he was unwell and you were occupied with looking after him. Nevertheless, I was much relieved to learn of your safe return. I have been fearful for your safety ever since I left Richmond. I thank G.o.d you weren't attacked again and have left that ill-fated place once and for all.I must tell you that I called on Crackman, but found his office closed, but for a solitary clerk who was bundling up letters and papers. Crackman has fallen victim to some virulent distemper and is dead, and since h.o.a.re is also deceased, there is no one to continue the business of the firm. I couldn't ascertain from the clerk who will take over the affairs of the clients belonging to the company. He said that he had no knowledge of Crackman's business concerning a dispute over a necklace, but that if I left my particulars he would write as soon as there was any news to impart.I enclose herewith a letter that arrived for you yesterday.I am, sir, your obedient servant,Bridget Quick

At the news of Crackman's demise, Joshua shook his head so vigorously that the ta.s.sel on his nightcap swayed back and forth like a pendulum. Crackman had known who the claimant was, and now he was dead. Once again malicious fate seemed to conspire against him. But then, before he had time to work himself into an overly morose frenzy, he reminded himself that there must be records of the wretched woman's ident.i.ty. Thus calmed, he glanced at the second letter. Seeing that it was from Lancelot Brown, he immediately opened the seal.

Sir,You had no sooner left me than something occurred to me concerning a member of the household at Astley. In view of recent strange events I think I should apprise you of it. I would impart the information in this letter, only since it is long and rather complicated I think it easier to tell you in person. I propose we meet at the Roebuck Inn on the terrace of Richmond Hill on Wednesday afternoon at three o'clock.I am, sir, yours in expectation,Lancelot Brown

Next morning, Cobb's face still looked pallid and two crown-sized red stains had appeared on his cheeks. Joshua called Kitty for some barley gruel and rice milk, which Cobb ate with reasonable appet.i.te. Joshua dosed him again with his elixir and an opium pill and judged him a little better. Before Cobb fell asleep Joshua took his leave, saying he would be out for much of the day and possibly the next night too. In the meantime Cobb should stay where he was. The servants would bring him whatever he desired in the way of nourishment, and Bridget Quick, his landlady's daughter, would look in on him.

Joshua b.u.t.toned his best blue coat and went down to Bridget's door. She opened it immediately and gave him a blushing smile. He noticed she was dressed in a sprigged muslin gown that was cut low over her ample shoulders. Her ma.s.s of toffee-colored hair was bound up beneath a linen cap, but wisps of curls had escaped and wound about her ears. Compared with the pallid Cobb, she looked as plump and full of life as a rosebud on the point of unfurling. If he hadn't had such urgent business to attend to, he would have asked her there and then to accompany him on a promenade.

"Forgive me for calling so early, Miss Quick, but I have a great deal to do and intend to return immediately to Richmond. I come with some d.a.m.nably sad news that I thought you would want to know."

"Oh," said Bridget, suddenly crestfallen. "In that case you had better come in. I thought you were finished with that dreadful place."

She invited him into the parlor and indicated a settle at the side of the hearth. Bending distractingly low in front of him, she sat down on a low stool opposite. Joshua was temporarily mesmerized by the sight of her. He noted the edge of lace, from which her b.r.e.a.s.t.s seemed to swell like smooth rocks from a frothy sea; he imagined the comforting swell of her hips beneath her hooped skirts, and thought that her eyes seemed immeasurably larger and more l.u.s.trous than he remembered them. He had been drawn to her from the minute he had seen her in the cart at Richmond, but had fought his feelings ever since. How cowardly he had been to allow himself to be deterred by her mother! And Meg was nothing but a distraction. He would do whatever it took to pacify the daunting Mrs. Quick. Perhaps if he offered to paint Bridget she might warm to him.

Having acknowledged these feelings to himself, he longed to announce them to the object of his affections. But he deemed it inappropriate to speak of such matters when there was sad news to impart. He leaned forward, taking her plump white hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"There has been another tragedy. Caroline Bentnick was found dead in the pinery yesterday morning."

Instantly Bridget pulled her hand away and held it to her mouth. "What? Caroline? Miss Bentnick? I should have known that house would bear witness to more tragedy."

Joshua nodded mutely.

"What happened?"

"She was found strangled and with the necklace upon her. Immediately afterward, Mr. Bentnick took against me, for meddling in h.o.a.re's death, which he believed was the reason Caroline was killed. He ordered me out of the house. I shall finish the portrait in my rooms here."

Bridget's cheeks were marble pale. She swallowed uncomfortably and looked at her hands. "The necklace is returned. That means your reputation is safe, which is something to be thankful for, I suppose. But in that case why did you tell me just now you intend to return to Astley? Would it not be foolhardy to annoy your patron further and again risk unnecessary peril?"

"I go not to Astley but Richmond, because Mr. Brown has asked me to meet him there this afternoon. He has something important to tell me. Moreover, I have found out something from Cobb of crucial importance. But until I hear what Mr. Brown has to tell me, I would prefer to keep an open mind who the murderer is. Once I know, it seems only right I should inform Herbert of my discoveries. What he does about them will be his own affair."

Bridget raised her eyes briefly to meet his. "So you do intend to go back there?"

"Not necessarily. I can send word to him from the town."

"What was it you learned from Cobb?"

"That Lizzie Manning's brother, Arthur, lost the family fortune to him at cards. Cobb became acquainted with Arthur Manning in some gambling hole in Richmond and, after a few epic evenings at the tables, took everything he had."

"How is that significant?"

"Miss Manning is devoted to her brother. She has been prepared to go to extraordinary lengths to discover the whereabouts of Cobb's bag, which contained the money he won from her brother. Suppose she had been so bent on retrieving the lost wealth that she was prepared to kill Cobb for it? Cobb says he received a letter, apparently sent by Violet, calling him to a rendezvous in the pin-ery, but that h.o.a.re went in his stead. It is possible that Lizzie sent that letter, that she killed h.o.a.re, believing he was Cobb, and then killed Caroline Bentnick, believing she knew something that might lead to her murder being discovered."

All this while Bridget had met his regard without blinking. "Could Lizzie Manning be capable of such an act? Miss Bentnick considered her a dear companion. To commit such treachery against an innocent, affectionate friend-why, it's beyond me even to contemplate it ..."

"I would prefer to believe it wasn't so, but I tell you this frankly: Miss Manning has amply demonstrated to me her capacity for duplicity. She is a woman who uses the truth when it suits her purpose, and when it doesn't, she will invent whatever she fancies. Whether she is also a murderer remains to be seen."

Chapter Forty-one.

OUTSIDE, the storm that had threatened yesterday and never arrived felt imminent. Lumpy pewter clouds were piled precariously behind the rooftops. A piercing wind had begun to blow.

Joshua took a chair to the Eight Bells in the Strand, to catch the midday stage to Richmond. A cacophony of sound and smell a.s.sailed his senses. Iron wheels creaked on cobblestones, the stench of rotting pies and pickled herrings mingled with the ordure of the open gutter-the carca.s.s of a dog, offal discarded by a butcher, the contents of chamber pots. Within the arcades, the cries of orange sellers and vendors of vegetables and damask roses vied stridently with the bellowing calls of pa.s.sing chair carriers and hackney coachmen.

On the way, since he had a few minutes to spare, he impulsively directed the bearers up Gray's Inn Lane, to the premises of Crackman & h.o.a.re. Joshua had been much frustrated by the news of Crackman's sudden demise. But he reasoned that even though Bridget had been unable to extract much information from the solitary clerk, his own confident manner and powers of persuasion might unearth something more. The records relating to the case would certainly reveal the name of the claimant for the necklace.

As he stepped down from the chair, he chanced to glance up at the grimy windows of that establishment. A figure was visible at the window. Joshua could have sworn it was Enoch Crackman, but told himself that he must have been mistaken. He charged along the dingy corridor and up the stairs and threw open the door to Crackman's office. The place was exactly as he remembered it. There was no sign that the office was being closed down. Rather the reverse, it seemed busier than ever. Several clerks were employed at their desks; an old man clad in a dusty black coat was crouched with his back toward him. "Mr. Crackman," he said to the humped figure, "is it you?"

The old man turned and looked at Joshua with his one beady eye. His expression was stern. "Why, it's Mr. Pope returned, is it?"

"Forgive me for bursting in on you so rudely. A friend of mine came to call on you a day or two ago. A Miss Bridget Quick. She was told by a member of staff that you were ... no longer in practice."

Crackman shook his head with annoyance. "You are confused, Mr. Pope. I recall Miss Quick's visit quite clearly. I told her that I was disappointed not to have heard from you sooner. My partner, h.o.a.re, has never returned and I must presume some terrible misadventure has befallen him. He had no family to speak of apart from me-I am his uncle. Did you receive my letter? I asked for any news you could give me. You never acknowledged it."

Joshua was filled with shame that temporarily eclipsed any astonishment he felt over Bridget's deception. How could he have not let Crackman know of his partner's death? Thank G.o.d there was no wife or children starving on account of his thoughtlessness. "The letter arrived. My apologies for not replying, but that is why I was anxious to call on you. You are correct in your surmise that something dreadful happened to h.o.a.re. It was he who was found dead in the pinery, not Mr. Cobb at all. Forgive me for my negligence in not informing you sooner."

"h.o.a.re is dead?" Crackman shook his head forlornly. "Poor fellow. I suppose I knew something of the kind must have happened." He put down his pen and looked out the window, and repeated, "Poor fellow, poor fellow."

Joshua looked at his boots. He deserved a scolding for his insensitivity. This was the first time anyone had expressed any vestige of emotion for poor dead h.o.a.re, and Joshua was glad to see it. Nevertheless his head was in a state of confusion. Bridget had told him Crackman was dead. But why? What had possessed her to say such a thing? Before he could ponder this properly, he had to extract the name of the claimant from Crackman.

"I know this is a difficult moment, sir. But I remain convinced your nephew's death is bound up with the dispute over the necklace. Therefore I have to ask: who is the claimant for the necklace?"

Crackman subjected Joshua to a baleful glare. "I will tell you what I told Miss Quick. The claimant was anxious to preserve her anonymity. That was why I did not write it in the letter I sent you. But in view of recent events there is no longer any reason to conceal her name." He paused as if weighing his decision. "Her name is Nell Lambton."

"Nell Lambton." Joshua repeated the unfamiliar name, for which he had searched so long, as if he were fearful of forgetting it. "And where may I find Nell Lambton?"

Crackman scrutinized Joshua, weighing his words. "For several months she was a resident of a hovel near Smithfield. The street's name is Cap Alley."

"And now?"

"Now she is no longer there."

"Then I ask again, where may I find her?"

Crackman gazed unblinkingly at Joshua, which gave him the feeling he should have known the answer. "She lies in the paupers' graveyard at the church of Saint Swithin's nearby. Shall I spell it out, Mr. Pope? She died ten days ago. And since she had no family to take up her cause, the case is closed. And incidentally, I will never be paid."

"Died?" reiterated Joshua. "How?"

"How?" Crackman gave a mirthless laugh. "Let me tell you what I learned from the constable. Ten days or so ago, her landlord made his way to the vile hole she rented from him and found what he thought was a bundle of rags. When he looked again, he found beneath the rags a body so emaciated from want it was naught but skin and bone. She had died, sir, though whether from hunger, thirst, or disease, only G.o.d knows."

"Dead!" said Joshua, scarcely comprehending.

"Aye, dead, sir."

He thought immediately of Sabine's rendezvous. Was this why she had been so surprised to find her necklace gone?

"Was there anything suspicious in it?"

"You know as well as I that no one gives a jot for those without means. How many like Nell die in abject misery with none to remark their deaths, I shudder to think. But what I will say, as G.o.d is my witness, is that Mrs. Mercier has much to answer for. Indirectly it was she who killed Nell. If she hadn't refused to adhere to her husband's clearly stated will, Miss Lambton would have lived in respectable lodgings, with enough to eat, as he intended, and I believe she would still be alive today."

Joshua shook his head. He could hardly take in the fact that after all his endeavors to trace Nell Lambton, she had died before he found her. She could have had nothing to do with the murders or the theft of the necklace or its return.

The answer lay elsewhere.

Chapter Forty-two.

OUTSIDE THE WINDOW the city clocks began to chime. It was half past eleven; unless he hurried he would miss the midday stage. With a brisk word of thanks to Crackman, Joshua fled downstairs to his waiting chair, which he directed to take him to the Eight Bells in the Strand as speedily as possible.

He made the coach with just minutes to spare. It was only when he was ensconced in his seat that he allowed himself to contemplate Bridget's part in all of this. He was rocked by her trickery. How cra.s.s he had been, how blinded by his own stupid a.s.sumptions. He had taken for granted that there was nothing underhanded in Bridget's eagerness to please him. Even this morning, when he sensed that there was something she was holding back, he had put it down to her feelings for him. And yet now it transpired that her fondness was feigned, her motives not at all what he had a.s.sumed. But what had possessed her to lie about Crackman and pretend he was dead?

He had yet to come to any coherent conclusion when they entered the village of Hammersmith and the impending storm that had threatened for two days began to break. Large heavy gouts started to fall with gentle regularity but were soon pelting down with torrential force. Within half an hour the road was reduced to a quagmire of mud and rubble, and every unfortunate pedestrian they pa.s.sed was drenched. Then there was a violent clap of thunder: the startled horses reared, then slipped, and the carriage lurched alarmingly. The stress of the sideways wrench proved too much for the front axle, which gave an audible crack that sounded like a gunshot, and snapped; the next thing Joshua saw was a wheel careering off like a spinning coin into the overflowing ditch.

The postilion clambered down from his mount and went off to recover the wheel and summon a carter to make temporary repairs. As soon as he returned, all the pa.s.sengers, Joshua included, were forced to leave the carriage and wait forlornly on the verge, while the rain drenched them all and the heavens entertained them with crashes of thunder and lightning such as Joshua had rarely witnessed.

When at length they resumed their journey, the conditions had deteriorated still further. The road was now a brown sheet of whirlpools and swirling mud that in parts had merged with the river Thames, so that it was almost impossible to see where one began and the other ended. The poor driver could make only the slowest of progress to avoid being washed away. Joshua's morbid fear of water was uppermost in his mind. His predicament was worsened by many of the occupants of the carriage, who began sobbing and wailing and praying to Lord G.o.d Almighty to save them. He clutched the edge of his seat, gazing at the rivulets of water coursing the window, wondering if he was about to be drowned, and if not, how long Lancelot Brown would wait.

Two hours late he strode into the parlor at the Roebuck. Taking off his sopping hat and coat, he shook a small river of water to the floor. He glanced about but saw no sign of Brown. He approached a man serving ale behind a counter, introduced himself, and asked whether there was a message for him from Mr. Brown.

"Aye, sir," returned the barman with a nod. "He guessed you were held up by the bad weather, and since he wished to call in at Astley, he bade me tell you to follow him there."

Joshua found himself now in a dreadful dilemma. Brown had proceeded ahead, knowing nothing of Joshua's banishment or his recent speculation concerning Lizzie Manning. Even if Lizzie was innocent, there was Sabine to consider in the light of her visit to London and the death of Nell Lambton. Not only that, Brown's ignorance might very well lead him into real danger. Joshua firmly believed his unfortunate conversation with Caroline on the terrace had prompted her murder, and he dreaded being the unwitting cause of another death.

He had to act. He stood by the fire in the front parlor of the Roebuck Inn. As the steam from his sopping clothing rose all around him, a scheme emerged in his brain. He would approach the house on foot, make contact with Granger, who he knew would be somewhere in the gardens, and after impressing upon him the need for discretion, ask him to send word to Brown to meet him in the gardens. In due course Joshua could decide if he should send word via Brown to inform Herbert of his recent conclusions, or if he dared request a meeting face-to-face.

Joshua wasted no time in renting a horse. The whole of Richmond Hill was swathed in mist and cloud; the trees lining the route were bowed down with the weight of water, and the road was strewn with sticks and leaves and stones washed down by the deluge. Nevertheless the weather was easing. By the time he was a few hundred yards from the gate of Astley, the rain had dwindled to no more than a persistent drizzle.

Joshua dismounted and circ.u.mnavigated the boundary wall until he came to a garden gate. To one side stood a small cottage, the sort of dwelling a country yeoman might inhabit, nestling amid an orchard of fruit trees. A boy holding a sickle was sheltering beneath one of them. Ignoring him, Joshua walked past to the cottage door and banged upon it. There was no reply. He knocked several times more and, when there was still no answer, peered in through the windows.

The scene within was unremarkable: a small parlor, comfortably furnished with a couple of upholstered armchairs and a mahogany table, the walls hung with engravings of country houses set in parks, a couple of painted landscapes, half a dozen botanical plates; a portrait of a lady hung above the fireplace. The lady was round-faced, with a determined set to her chin and full mouth. Her hair and eyes were as dark as a Gypsy's. She was painted in the act of drinking tea from a porcelain cup. The cup was delicately painted with a coat of arms on its side. Joshua peered at the portrait critically and concluded it was of surprising quality; the pose was original although it lacked animation. He guessed from the style of brushwork it was the work of Thomas Hudson or possibly, depending on its age, of his master, Jonathan Richardson.

Next door was a kitchen hung with a few iron and copper pots. Pieces of printed crockery sat on a dresser rack by a large range, and a stone sink was set in an alcove at the back. There was no sign of life in either room.

Joshua strode purposefully back to the lad. "I would like to tether my horse," he said rather impatiently. "I take it neither you nor the occupants of this dwelling would have any objection?"

"No sir," said the lad, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his eyes to keep the rain from his face as he looked up at him. "There's no one here for the time being but me, and I'll keep an eye on him for you."

"Here's a penny for your trouble," Joshua said, handing him a coin. "Is this your father's cottage?"

"No sir," said the boy. "I'm Joe Carlton. The cottage belongs to Mr. Granger, the head gardener at Astley."

It occurred to Joshua that he could send the boy in search of Granger and wait here, where there was no danger of him meeting any member of the household. But he was too impatient to wait.

He tied his horse to the fence and entered the grounds of Astley through an arched wooden gate. He found himself in a gra.s.s walk bordered on either side by lilac, cherry, and walnut trees. The entrance to the kitchen garden was via a small gate set into another, slightly lower wall a short distance to his left. Joshua walked through the gate and headed toward the head gardener's office, where, owing to the inclement weather, he hoped to find Granger sheltering.

The wind had picked up and a swath of purple clouds had parted to reveal a thin melon slice of sun. The only sounds were the patter of water dripping from the leaves and the faint rustle of wet foliage. There was no evidence of activity, no sound of voices. Presumably the workers had gone home when the storm broke.

Joshua shivered. By his estimation it was only about six o'clock, but the murky weather made the day seem prematurely dark.

A few minutes later found him at the entrance to the small brick-built shed that Granger called his office. Granger was not inside, although there was evidence that he had not gone far and would return shortly. His clay pipe, which Joshua had rarely seen him without, was lying on the desk atop a neatly ordered pile of papers, alongside a half-eaten crust of bread and mutton. Joshua sat down on the only chair in the room to await his return.

Chapter Forty-three.