"I don't understand," he cried. "I have just entered this chamber from that pa.s.sage. It led here directly from the outer cavern. There was no water then. How can the water possibly be entering here from that way?"

"I am afraid I understand all too well," replied Brown quietly. "I made surveys of every nook of this terrain prior to designing the grotto. The hill above the lake is a natural labyrinth of caves and tunnels. One particular fissure, a mere few feet wide, leads all the way from the tunnel you have just entered to the lower chamber of the octagon house bordering the lake. It enters in the ceiling through an aperture not more than two feet across. You would not have noticed it unless you had raised your hand at that exact spot or the water had begun to enter as you pa.s.sed it."

"But I understood there was a door installed to prevent such occurrences," Joshua said, remembering Lizzie's a.s.surances.

"There was," replied Brown evenly. "Which is why, if torrents are entering here now, it is because someone has opened it."

"Someone who knows we are here and wishes us dead," said Joshua. "But surely it cannot be Lizzie Manning. I have just had her escorted to the house and placed in the custody of Herbert."

"Perhaps, though I doubt it," said Brown, shaking his head. "It required considerable strength to get me here. A man's strength, I hazard. And to think I would not have come at all had I known the necklace was recovered. I sent word to you because I recalled something relating to that, not the murder. But your murderer must have feared I knew something to endanger him."

Joshua was confused. "You must explain properly. What did you want to tell me concerning the necklace? Who did this to you?"

Brown was poised to answer, but at that moment came a strident cry. "Help! Help me, please! Joshua ... where are you?" It was Bridget, sounding half hysterical with terror.

"What are you doing!" Joshua said, looking round.

"Forgive me!" came the wavering reply, "I intended to keep myself hidden, but the water is grown too deep; I can't go back to the entrance, because the water is even deeper in that direction and I will drown if I do."

With this, the saturated figure of Bridget Quick rounded the corner of the tunnel. The water in that part of the cave was now a good three feet deep and swirled around her skirt and cloak with such force that despite her st.u.r.dy build, she waved about like a water lily in a stiff breeze. Fearing she was in danger of being swept away, Joshua launched himself off the ledge and waded manfully toward her.

"Bridget," he said, holding out his hand, "come here this instant. Take hold of me."

She grasped his fist. Joshua planted his feet wide apart to give himself better traction and managed to steer her to the ledge, where Brown was now squatting like a worried toad.

"Get up on there," Joshua commanded as Brown took hold of her and hauled her to safety. "What on earth were you doing following me?"

"I thought it would be safe. Herbert a.s.sured me there was a door that prevented the tunnels flooding. I kept some distance behind you all the way and stopped replying to your calls so you didn't suspect I was following you. But when the water came in I had no way of retreating." She regarded him with half-terrified, half-rebellious eyes, as if daring him to scold her. He was surprised to find he felt no sense of his earlier outrage toward her. Rather, he was sorry that she should have got herself into this terrible place.

"Fear not," he said, hoping to inspire confidence in both Bridget and Brown, and prevent panic setting in. "I sent Granger to escort the others to the house. I have no doubt that as soon as he has done so, he will return here. He is obsessed by the dangers of this place and detested the thought of leaving Miss Quick and me alone here. It will take him no more than twenty minutes there and back. By my estimation, that time must nearly have pa.s.sed."

"But even if Granger returns and sees the water gushing out of the grotto, how will he be able to save us?" cried Bridget, her voice rising in pitch with every word she spoke. "It is impossible to return the way we have come and impossible for him to reach us."

"Look up," Joshua said calmly. "There is an opening above us. Granger will surely know of its existence. If not, we will draw his attention to it by calling out when we hear him come."

Bridget and Brown looked doubtfully upward. Brown, however, seemed a little heartened. "Compose yourself, Miss Quick. Pope has reason. Granger hasn't been here long, but there is very little he doesn't know about the terrain in this garden. I recall that when he learned of the accident that happened last year, he took it most gravely."

Joshua pointed to another ledge, a little above their own. "If we all move up there, we will be safe for some time from the rising water."

Brown and Joshua helped Bridget up onto the ledge-no easy feat, owing to the weight of her saturated skirts-then did likewise. Bridget had begun to tremble uncontrollably with cold and shock. Joshua took off his wet coat and wrapped it about her shoulders.

They listened intently for the sound of voices or footsteps. Minutes dragged by. The water began to lap over the higher ledge on which they stood. Bridget's breathing was fast and audible. Brown, meanwhile, had crouched at the farthest corner of the ledge. Now, with the advancing waters, he too showed signs of perturbation. He stood up and pressed himself against the back wall of the cave, raising his coattails in one hand while he kicked futilely at the waters advancing on his boots.

It struck Joshua that waiting was pointless. There was no indication that their disappearance had been marked or that anyone was aware of the peril they were in.

The floor of the cave had become a subterranean lake. Looking up, Joshua saw that beyond the lattice of bracken and gra.s.s, the sky had begun to darken. If they didn't do something soon, not only would the waters rise and wash them away, but dusk would fall and they would die in total darkness. For some reason the thought of death in blackness seemed infinitely more terrifying. The only glimmer of hope lay above their heads.

Joshua guessed that the opening was some twelve feet above them. "Our only hope is to try to get out through that hole in the roof. I believe that if I held you, Brown, on my shoulders, and Miss Quick sat on yours, we might just be able to reach it."

"We are not a circus act, sir!"

Joshua looked at him sharply. "Can you think of a better alternative?"

Brown considered for a moment; then he rubbed his temple and scratched his cheek and a sheepish expression came over his face. "Forgive me, Pope. I am not myself since the knock on the head. Of course you are right. There is nothing for it: we must make an attempt."

Joshua turned then to Bridget, who stood with her hands clasped in front of her, fingers locked as if in prayer, looking up at the hole in the roof. "What about you, Miss Quick? Are you willing to try?"

For some time she did not answer. Her eyes were fixed on that small circle of light, as if she were weighing their likelihood of success. Joshua noticed that there were tear stains on her cheeks but that she had stopped trembling. She gave a bleak smile. "I am willing to try, Mr. Pope."

"Very well," Joshua said, with greater certainty than he felt. "Then this is what I propose. First, I will descend from this ledge and make my way on my own to the point directly beneath the hole to test the level of the water. There is no point in all three of us drowning if it's too deep. All being well, I will return, you will take up your positions, and the three of us as one will make our attempt. Agreed?"

The pair murmured their muted a.s.sent. Neither of them dared ask what might happen if the water proved too deep and Joshua were washed away. Neither of them offered to hold his hand as he jumped, and while Joshua put this down to the fact they were both confused by fear, it bothered him. Nonetheless he was obliged to follow the course he had set. Banishing all thoughts of being swept away and his morbid terror of drowning, he turned to face the murky flood.

For a second or two he stood on the very brink of the ledge, poised to jump. He fancied in that instant he felt no different from those poor unfortunates who, in desperation, threw themselves off the piers of London Bridge. Only he was jumping to save himself. And so, terror thrust to one side, he plunged from the ledge.

He gasped as he felt the water penetrate his clothes. Almost instantly he felt himself pulled by the churning currents. His head went under. His feet slipped on the rocky floor; his legs shot upwards, he gulped icy black water, and in his panic he lost his bearings; he thought he would die.

Then, from what seemed a long way off, Brown's voice roared out to him. "Put down your feet, Pope! Did you hear me? Put down your feet!" Joshua registered the voice; after a second or two he comprehended its meaning; he followed the instruction. By some miracle, his feet discovered firm ground beneath them. He was not out of his depth as he supposed. He recovered his senses sufficiently to cough and splutter his way to a standing position-the water reached halfway between his chest and waist. Shallow enough to walk, but deep enough to drown, should the current carry him off and prevent him regaining a foothold.

Joshua began to wade toward the point directly beneath the hole, a distance of some five yards. The journey there was easy enough, though he was aware as he edged closer to the hole that the water was growing deeper. By the time he stood beneath the disc of light, it had reached his armpits. "It's all right, just," he shouted back to Brown and Bridget. "It will not be too deep, but we must hurry: the level is still rising." He began to make his way back towards them, but Bridget called out. "No, wait, Mr. Pope! Do not risk yourself further by returning. We will come to you and climb up once we're there."

"No! The current is too strong. And your skirts will weigh you down. You might easily be washed away."

"Very well, then," said Bridget, "if that is your only objection, I shall remove them." To Joshua's utter astonishment, she threw off his coat, undid the clasps of her skirt and let it drop, then untied her petticoat hoop and removed it as well. She stood in her shoes, stockings, and a flimsy underpetticoat that barely reached her knees. Joshua would have averted his eyes, but Bridget showed not one glimmer of shame or modesty.

"Do not, I beg of you, discuss the seemliness of this conduct," she said, before turning abruptly to Brown, who was as astonished as Joshua. "Come, sir, did you not hear Mr. Pope? There is no time to waste," she said sharply. Then, without warning, she took Brown's hand and pulled him into the water.

Before Joshua knew it, the pair were washed over by the current just as he had been. And they came to their feet in the same state of spluttering confusion.

"Come slowly," he directed them. "Mr. Brown, I think it would be prudent if you held on to Miss Quick until I can reach her."

"Don't trouble yourself on my account," protested Bridget, who, having overcome her earlier fears, now appeared more robust than either of them.

When they were all a.s.sembled at the requisite spot, Brown lowered himself to allow Bridget to climb onto his back, and Joshua did likewise for him. Brown held on to Joshua's shoulders with a talonlike grip. His knees clenched at Joshua's jaw and neck as if Joshua were an unreliable mount and Brown feared being thrown at any minute. Joshua held on to Brown's calves in the hope it might steady him and encourage him to release his grip a little, but no such effect was forthcoming.

With the current eddying about, and the combined weight of Brown and Bridget on his back, Joshua's balance seemed almost insupportable. His legs buckled and several times he thought he was on the brink of collapsing, but he found the strength to lock his knees and brace himself as best he could.

"Can you reach?" Joshua shouted up to Bridget.

"Yes," she shouted back, "but you will have to hold still, and I will have to stand up on Mr. Brown's shoulders or I won't get out."

For several minutes after that Joshua heard the groanings of Bridget's exertions, but he dared neither look up nor shout for fear of interrupting some delicate maneuver and causing her to fall. Then, suddenly, miraculously, the burden on his shoulders lessened.

"Brown," Joshua gasped, "is she up? Has she succeeded?"

"Yes," he answered, "I believe she has."

With this they tipped back their heads. Framed in the bracken window, the round, fair, bedraggled face of Bridget Quick smiled triumphantly down on them.

"Thank G.o.d it's your turn now, Brown. At least then you will desist from clawing my shoulder and crushing my skull. You have ruined a perfectly good shirt, not to mention the damage to my senses!" said Joshua wryly.

"Pardon me, I hadn't realized!" Brown replied with the same faux lightheartedness. "I promise to buy you a new shirt, but as for the damage to your brain, I fear it was far from perfect in the first place."

"Go, Brown," Joshua urged, serious once more. "No time to lose."

"Tell me first, how will you manage after I've gone?"

"You will have to lower something for me. I am confident that the price of a new shirt won't deter you from effecting my rescue."

"You may rest a.s.sured on it," Brown said, patting Joshua on the head, rather as one pats a horse that has run a good race. "I suppose now I shall have to stand on your shoulders."

"Then if you hadn't already ruined my shirt you will do so now. You realize it cost twenty shillings?"

"I never paid more than ten for any of mine," Brown declared, kneeling and then crouching. He clutched at Joshua's hair as he raised himself up to stand. Joshua winced at the searing pain in his skull, but just then Brown grabbed at the rim of the opening. Then Bridget grasped his arms, and with her vigorous a.s.sistance Brown hauled himself out.

FROM OVERHEAD Joshua heard distant shouts, two echoing voices congratulating themselves on escaping death. He looked up, trying to quell a surge of envy and mounting panic. Two faces now looked down from above. How far away they seemed-a distance of twelve feet might have been a hundred times more. All this while, the floodwater had been rising. It was now up to Joshua's neck.

To avoid futile argument and wasting precious time he had deliberately neglected to explain to the others that once they were safe they had to find a means to rescue him. If the good Lord intended him to live another day, something would present itself to Brown and Bridget. If not, at least two lives had been saved.

Now, turning away from the light, facing the sinister waters about him, his optimism seeped away. In a few minutes the water would rise to his chin; then it would reach his mouth, and his nostrils. At some point during its deadly progress he would no longer be able to remain standing, and since he had never learned to swim, his lungs would fill with horrid blackness, he would be unable to breathe, he would be washed away ...

Chapter Forty-five.

SO ENGROSSED was Joshua in his proximity to death, he was oblivious to the effort to a.s.sist him that was taking place above his head. Having prepared himself to drown, he found the prospect less terrifying than he supposed. After all, once he was dead there would be no more fear, no more uncertainty, only blessed oblivion.

He was rudely roused from these melancholic thoughts by the sound of Bridget's voice trumpeting down from overhead. "Mr. Pope," she bellowed. "Pay attention, I beg you. Look up; catch it." He looked up and saw that a rope of jute, with a noose at one end, was dangling toward him, like some great tar-scented serpent of deliverance. "Catch hold of it," Bridget said again. "Tie it round you and we will pull you out."

Joshua came slowly to his senses. He grabbed the rope; its p.r.i.c.kly roughness and bitumen smell helped penetrate his stupefaction. He secured it under his armpits and raised his hand to indicate he was ready. Then, almost before he knew it, he felt himself being hauled up from the black cavern, into the air, toward the light.

He grabbed at the turf around the opening. Aided by Bridget-Brown could not let go of the rope, which was turned once round the trunk of a tree-he heaved himself out of the opening like a cork pulled from a bottle. He felt the rain drum down on his face. He wanted to express his joy at surviving, his grat.i.tude for being able to feel as wet and cold and miserable as he did. But before he could open his mouth to utter a word, he collapsed on the ground unconscious.

SOMETIME LATER, he became dimly aware of a gla.s.s being thrust between his lips and the powerful taste of brandy in his mouth.

"Drink this, Mr. Pope. It will revive you," someone said. "Should we summon the physician?" another voice said. "No," answered the first. "Nothing ails him other than cold and nervous shock. Rest is the only remedy."

Soon after that he opened his eyes. He found himself laid out in bed, in the same room at Astley he had occupied when he was engaged to paint the Bentnick portrait. It was dark outside; a fire had been lit and his wet clothes removed. He was now clad in what he guessed, from its capacious size, was one of Herbert's nightshirts and a nightcap. Despite the fact that the bed was piled high with blankets and coverlets, he was trembling violently.

Seated in an armchair in the place where his easel had once stood was Lancelot Brown. He too was dressed in a large nightgown and nursed a large gla.s.s of brandy. There was also a blanket about his shoulders and a nightcap set upon his head.

"Brown," Joshua said urgently, half raising himself up as if he intended to hop out of bed and leave as quickly as possible, "where is Miss Quick? How long have I been unconscious? Has Herbert been? Does he know I am here?"

"Calm yourself, Mr. Pope," said Brown smoothly. "Miss Quick is quite well; she has been spirited off to be properly tended. I cannot tell you how long you were insensible, for I have no idea. I myself lapsed into unconsciousness for some time. And yes, Herbert does know you are here. I regret to tell you that despite everything, he was enraged to discover your reappearance. He says he holds you to blame for the death of his daughter. I believe it was only my presence and Miss Quick's that persuaded him to allow you to be carried here and cared for at all. He is adamant that no matter your condition, you must leave first thing in the morning. I thought it best that I should deliver this message in person. I am sorry, my friend, there was nothing I could say to move him."

Brown stood to leave as Joshua sank back into a pile of goose-down pillows. "I cannot say I am surprised. I myself feel culpable for Caroline's death. But that being so, we must speak tonight. I beg you to stay a minute or two longer, Brown. Tell me what happened to you before I found you. Did you mean it when you said someone deliberately tried to drown us?"

Brown lowered himself back into the chair. "It was that very matter I have just been considering," he replied, as ponderously as if they had been sipping brandy all day in a clubhouse. "I cannot see any other explanation. But if you are well enough to take in what I have to tell you, I will leave you to decide."

"Of course I am well enough," Joshua protested indignantly. "I have suffered an ordeal, but it hasn't entirely deprived me of my senses. Tell me what happened to you. How did you come to be in that chamber?"

"I didn't see who it was, but I hazard it was a man. I was struck from behind as I entered the grotto; when I came to, I had been transported to the ledge where you discovered me. No woman would have had the strength to drag me there, nor to open the gate to let the floodwaters in."

"Then it wasn't Lizzie Manning after all."

"I told you before, she would not have had the strength."

Joshua nodded. Lizzie would have known how to open the gate, but he had to admit it was unlikely a woman of her diminutive frame could have hauled Brown into the cavern. "And now, what was it you wanted to tell me-the subject you mentioned in your letter?"

Brown shook his head. "I didn't know when I wrote to you that the necklace had been recovered. What I had to say has little relevance now. It concerned the history of the jewel."

"Nevertheless, Brown, I would like to hear it and judge for myself."

"Very well. Let me test you a little. What do you know of the origins of the necklace?"

Joshua responded swiftly. "It was won by Charles Mercier, who left it to his illegitimate daughter in his will ..."

"Before that? Have you learned the earlier history?"

Joshua racked his memory. "Violet Mercier and John Cobb described a little of its past. As I recall, it was made in medieval times in Nuremberg for a princeling of the region. Charles Mercier won it from a countess, who gave it to her maid to-"

"Quite," said Brown, holding up a hand. "Mercier won the necklace from a countess. And ignoring maids and their offspring, what do you know about that countess?"

Joshua raised himself onto his pillows, his mind suddenly alert to a wealth of new possibilities. "Never mind what I know. Tell me then, Brown, what it is you know; I can see from your face you are bursting with it."

"The history of the necklace you related when you came to visit me reminded me of a story I was told about an estate I was engaged upon. I should add I never knew any of the names of the partic.i.p.ants involved. In any case, as I said, perhaps you are no longer interested, since the necklace has already been returned ...?"

"Stop toying, Brown. Of course I'm devilishly interested."

Brown grinned; there was a mischievous gleam in his nut brown eyes. "Very well, I shall tell you the tale. Some years ago, I designed a garden at Beechwood House, a mansion in the vicinity of Luton, belonging to the Seebright family. The history of the house and estate was most unusual, and for that reason I suppose it has remained in my mind."

"Did you say Beechwood?" uttered Joshua, his nostrils flaring and his lips tight with interest.

"Yes. The house was acquired by the present owner, Mr. Seebright, after the previous inc.u.mbent, a t.i.tled lady, was forced to sell following a most tragic sequence of events. And this is what struck me as oddly similar to your tale: she owned a necklace that was no ordinary jewel; it was fashioned in emeralds and shaped as a serpent."

He paused as if uncertain whether to proceed. Joshua was busily muttering, "Beechwood? Beechwood?" to himself as if it were a question. At length Joshua broke off, and with a wave urged Brown to continue.

"Family history recorded that the jewel had been presented to one of the lady's forebears by Charles the First, as a royal token of grat.i.tude. The lady concerned was doubtless a royal mistress. There was a peculiar superst.i.tion attached to the jewel: that it would bring ill luck if it ever changed hands for money."

Joshua nodded impatiently. History was all very well; he recalled Violet relating part of this tale, but that was not what interested him. "I can scarcely credit you take this so seriously, Brown. In these days, men of enlightenment and science give little credence to such fanciful histories."

Brown looked chagrined. "Of course, I concur with you. And no doubt it is mere coincidence that the lady's misfortunes began immediately after the loss of her necklace at cards. She had two children, the elder of whom, a boy, within six months of the necklace being lost, died from a bout of typhus, which also killed her husband. Stricken by grief, the lady continued to play without restraint. A year later, having been forced by mounting debt to sell Beechwood House and the estate to Mr. Seebright, she took her own life."

"What became of the other child? Was it a boy, or a girl?" said Joshua, suddenly sitting bolt upright.