Serpent in the Garden by Janet Gleeson Read Free Book Online

he delved into his pocket for his salts and wafted them near her face. After a minute or two, she seemed well enough to relate more coherently something of her unpleasant discovery. A man was dead in the pinery. She didn’t know who he was, but he had caused considerable damage to her plants.
    When Herbert attempted to press her further she seemed to sway slightly in her seat. She repeated that she didn’t know the man’s identity, but she was certain that he was dead. He seemed to be a man of some means—certainly not a laborer. More than that she could not say.
    Realizing that she was in a severe state of shock, Herbert and Joshua escorted her back to the house. They settled her on a daybed in the drawing room, and Herbert offered her brandy or wine or whatever she desired. She took nothing. She was, she declared, exhausted. All she needed was to sit and reflect for a moment in peace.
    Herbert appeared most disconcerted. He regarded Sabine for some time, quite still and silent, as if musing what more he might do. Then he walked to the far end of the room, sat down at his writing desk, and took out two letters from his pocket. Joshua supposed that these were the papers Granger had handed him. He watched as Herbert unfolded and read each of the letters in turn. His expression remained implacable, giving no sense of whether or not their contents surprised him. But having read the letters, Herbert tore one into shreds and threw it into the unlit grate, then he stored the other in his writing desk. After this, looking no less miserable than before, he poured himself a brandy and sat down on a wing chair some distance from Sabine.
    Sabine seemed oblivious to what Herbert had done. Or if she did remark it, she passed no comment. Joshua began to feel extremely uncomfortable. The atmosphere in the room struck him as most oppressive. There was a sense of strain between Sabine and Herbert that he didn’t comprehend. Not wishing to add to the awkwardness, he rose, intending to return to his work.
    Before he reached the threshold Sabine called after him. “Mr. Pope, one moment, if you please.” She beckoned him close and spoke in a voice so low it would have been difficult for Herbert to hear it. “I intend to retire to my sitting room upstairs shortly. Kindly attend me there in ten minutes. There is a small matter I wish to discuss with you.”
    Joshua raised one eyebrow. “Certainly, madam,” he said.

    SABINE Mercier’s room was large and comfortably furnished, and decorated in Oriental style, with wallpaper featuring a bamboo pattern and elaborate japanned furniture. There were watercolors of exotic birds and flowers on the walls and a thick-piled Chinese rug patterned with roses and ribbons on the floor. Although the day was warm and sunny and the room faced south, the windows were closed and the curtains drawn. The room was stifling hot and the air was scented with a cloying perfume that Joshua didn’t find entirely pleasant.
    Sabine sat at her dressing table—an elaborate piece of furniture draped in moiré silk with hinged mirrors and numerous drawers. She said nothing to Joshua after bidding him wait a moment. He hovered awkwardly by the door, watching her back. Over her shoulder he could see that the surface of the dressing table was strewn with various expensive-looking objects: combs and brushes of tortoiseshell, pots for powder and pomade with heavily wrought silver lids, enameled boxes for patches and dishes for pins, an ivory necessaire. The top drawer was half opened; before her was a shagreen box. The box was open; inside, nestled in a bed of oyster silk, lay an emerald necklace.
    Joshua had seen this piece of jewelry before. Sabine had worn it on both evenings since his arrival and when she sat for her portrait. As on all these occasions, he found himself both drawn and repelled by it. The necklace was composed of a dozen stones graduated in size, the largest the size of his thumbnail. Each stone was set in