Garden of Lies (16 page)

M
atty looked up from her typing when Ursula opened the door of the office.

“Good morning,” Matty said. “You're late. I was starting to wonder if you were not feeling well.”

Ursula unpinned her hat and tossed it onto a table. “Once and for all, I am not ill.” She flung her gloves after the hat.

Matty blinked a few times and then she smiled. “No, you are not. In fact, you are positively glowing with good health this morning.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Matty said. “Just that I have the impression that you will not need to make an appointment with Dr. Ludlow for the treatment of congestion and hysteria.”

Ursula sighed and sank down into her chair. “Is it that obvious?”

“That you and Mr. Roxton have become very, very good friends?” Matty chuckled. “Yes it is and I congratulate you.”

“I'm not sure congratulations are in order.”

“Nonsense. We are both well past the age when we need concern ourselves with our reputations. So long as we are discreet, there is no reason why we should not enjoy the few benefits available to widows and spinsters.”

Ursula had been about to open a desk drawer. She paused.

“We?” she repeated.

Matty smiled serenely and looked at the flowers on her desk.

“Mr. Griffith stopped in to see me first thing this morning,” she said.

“Griffith brought you flowers?”

“Pretty, aren't they?”

It was Ursula's turn to smile. “Yes, they are.”

“Mr. Griffith is a very impressive man,” Matty said. “He spent years touring the country and America with a theatrical group.”

“I had heard that.” Ursula paused. “He is a very large man.”

“Yes, he is.” Matty looked pleased. “I believe it is all muscle.”

“No doubt.” Ursula clasped her hands on her desk. “Do you remember Anne's satchel?”

“Yes, of course. Why?”

“I woke up during the night and remembered that it was not among her things. If you will recall, we packed all of her possessions and clothes into two trunks. I went through both this morning. Her satchel was not in either trunk.”

Matty raised her brows. “It was a very nice satchel. Remember how she showed it off to us the day she bought it? I wonder if her landlady pinched it.”

“I found Anne's jewelry behind the water closet but there wasn't room to conceal a large leather satchel there.” Ursula surveyed the office. “Where would you hide a satchel?”

Matty reflected briefly. “I don't know. I've never considered the problem.”

“If I wanted to hide something as big as a satchel and if I didn't have a safe or some other secure place, I might keep it in a location where a burglar was unlikely to look.”

“Where would that be in a house?”

“Not in a house, Matty.” Ursula jumped to her feet. “In an office.”

She started opening drawers. Matty joined her.

In the end, Ursula discovered the satchel at the back of a filing cabinet drawer.

“She must have been very anxious about the possibility that someone would steal her lovely new bag,” Matty said. “Wonder what's inside?”

Ursula set the satchel on a desk and unlatched it.

There was a small bundle of letters inside. Ursula selected one at random.

“It's from Mr. Paladin,” she said. “Editor and publisher of the
Paladin Quarterly
in New York.”

“Who is Mr. Paladin?” Matty asked.

“Lady Fulbrook's publisher.” Ursula removed the letter from the envelope and read it quickly.

Dear Miss Clifton:

I have received your short story, “A Proposal from a Lady.” It is clever and intriguing, just the sort of thing that would be of interest to our subscribers. If you have any other stories of a similar style and content I would be happy to consider them for publication in our literary quarterly.

Sincerely,

D. Paladin

“Well, no wonder Anne was careful to hide those letters,” Matty said. “I'll wager Lady Fulbrook would be furious if she knew that her secretary was secretly selling short stories to the
Paladin Quarterly
.”

“Do you think so?” Ursula asked.

“Certainly. Very likely she would have viewed Anne as competition.”

Y
our suggestion that we go into my conservatory to work is excellent, Mrs. Kern.” Valerie rose slowly from her chair, as though burdened by a weariness of the spirit so heavy she could scarcely bring herself to move. She rang a bell and drifted slowly toward the door of the library. “I can always count on inspiration from my plants and flowers.”

Ursula collected her stenography notebook and her satchel and got to her feet.

“It was just a thought,” she said lightly. “I'm glad you believe that it might have a beneficial effect on your poetry.”

“Very little lightens my spirits, Mrs. Kern. But I do find some peace in my conservatory.”

The plan, such as it was, could only be described as simplistic, Ursula thought. She was no botanist but she had done a careful sketch of the dried leaves and small flowers of the herb that she had salvaged from Rosemont's laboratory. She thought she would recognize the plant in its growing state if she saw it in the conservatory.

Valerie led the way down a long hallway and out into the lush garden. A maid followed at a discreet distance. They crossed a small brick courtyard and went along an ornamental path.

The big mastiff staked to a heavy chain lumbered to his paws and watched them with a wolf's unblinking stare. Ursula kept a wary eye on him. On the previous trip to the conservatory Valerie had explained that the dog was turned loose at night to guard the grounds. The animal looked as if it would cheerfully rip out one's throat.

At one point Valerie glanced briefly over her shoulder at the maid.

“I hate them all, you know,” she confided in low tones.

“The servants?” Ursula asked, keeping her voice equally low.

“They watch me day and night. I cannot leave the house unless my husband is with me. He and that witch of a housekeeper hire each and every member of the staff. They serve as his spies and prison guards. I cannot trust any of them.”

When they reached the large, gracefully arched, glass-walled hothouse, Valerie took a key out of the pocket of her day gown and handed it to the cold-faced maid, who used it to open the door.

A soft rush of warm, humid air freighted with the scents of rich soil and growing things wafted through the opening. Valerie breathed deeply of the lush fragrance. Some of her tension and anxiety visibly lessened, just as it had the last time Ursula had accompanied her into the glasshouse.

“That will be all for now, Beth,” she said. She took the key from the maid and made it disappear into her pocket. “Mrs. Kern and I are not to be disturbed.”

“Yes, ma'am.” The maid gave Ursula a disapproving look that bordered on suspicious, bobbed a curtsy and hurried back toward the house.

“Bitch,” Valerie whispered.

Ursula studied her surroundings. The first time she had accompanied Valerie to the conservatory she'd taken only a cursory look around. The glasshouse was huge, the largest facility of its kind that she had ever seen. Ferns, palms, orchids and a myriad assortment of towering, leafy plants filled the glass chamber. The foliage was so abundant that in many places it formed a canopy that was thick enough to block the daylight.

Ursula looked at Valerie. “I hope you don't mind if I tell you how much I admire your conservatory. It's nothing short of magnificent.”

“Thank you. I have always been interested in horticulture and botanical science. But after my marriage this conservatory became my passion.” Valerie walked slowly down an aisle formed by rows of broad-leafed plants that arched over her head in a natural green tunnel. “It is the one place where I know I can find privacy and peace. No one comes in here without my permission, not even my husband.”

“Lord Fulbrook does not share your passion for gardening?” Ursula asked, trying to make the question sound as innocent as possible.

Valerie paused at the far end of the leafy tunnel and smiled. For the first time since they had met, Ursula got the impression that she was amused.

“My husband avoids this place as if it were filled with poisonous substances—which it is, at least for him.”

Ursula was halfway through the green tunnel. She stopped, eyeing some tropical flowers with a bit of trepidation.

“You grow poisonous plants?” she asked.

“Calm yourself, Mrs. Kern. I doubt that there is anything in here that could harm you. If you were as unpleasantly affected by the atmosphere as Fulbrook is, I'm sure you would be aware of it by now. After all, you were here on a prior occasion.”

“I see.” Ursula relaxed and resumed making her way through the tunnel. “Your husband is one of those who suffers from the symptoms of a head cold when he is near certain plants and trees?”

Valerie chuckled. “His nose becomes so congested that he is forced to breathe through his mouth. His eyes turn red. He sneezes and coughs and is generally quite miserable.”

“No wonder he does not like to enter your conservatory,” Ursula said. She hesitated, knowing she had to tread carefully. “You are fortunate.”

The amusement faded from Valerie's eyes. “In what conceivable way, Mrs. Kern?”

“Some husbands would have insisted that a conservatory that induced symptoms of a head cold be removed.”

Valerie surveyed her green realm. “My husband sees some small value in my conservatory. Like my poetry, it keeps me entertained and therefore makes me less of a nuisance to him.”

“I see.”

“Do you take an interest in gardening and horticultural matters, Mrs. Kern?”

“Oh my, yes,” Ursula said. She did not have to pretend enthusiasm for the subject. “Indeed, I would be thrilled if I could ever afford such a place as this.”

“That is not likely, is it?” Valerie's smile was cold and crushing. “Considering your circumstances.”

I suppose that puts me firmly in my place,
Ursula thought.

“No, Lady Fulbrook,” she said, “it's not likely.”

“You appear to be prosperous in a middle-class sort of way, but a fine conservatory such as this one will always be beyond the reach of a woman in your position.”

The cool edge of the words iced Ursula's nerves.

“You are quite correct, Lady Fulbrook. Only a woman possessed of great wealth could afford this place or your lovely mansion.”

“Very true. The only possible solution for you would be marriage to a man far above your station.”

“I suppose so.”

“But such dreams are merely illusions for a woman like you, Mrs. Kern.”

Ursula tightened her grip on her satchel. “Are you trying to tell me something, madam?”

“I am trying to warn you, Mrs. Kern. I have been informed that you have been seen in the company of Mr. Slater Roxton. Yes, I'm aware that it is his carriage that delivered you here today and that the same carriage will be waiting for you when you leave, just as it was on the previous occasion. There was also some chatter in the newspapers about you and Roxton putting in an appearance at a certain museum exhibition. I will be blunt. It is obvious that you are Roxton's mistress.”

Ursula smiled a steely smile. “For a while there, you had me concerned, Lady Fulbrook. I was afraid you were about to accuse me of trying to seduce your husband, which would have been quite silly.”

Lady Fulbrook flinched as if she had been struck. Astonishment flashed in her eyes. It was followed by rage. She was not accustomed to taking return fire from someone who occupied a much lower rung on the social ladder.

“How dare you talk to me of such things?” she snapped.

“I would remind you that you were the one who raised the subject by saying that it was obvious that I was Mr. Roxton's mistress.”

“I was trying to give you some sound advice,” Lady Fulbrook said tightly. “A man of Roxton's wealth and connections will never consider marriage to a woman of your sort. Even though he's a bastard son and his mother was an actress, he can nevertheless afford to look much higher—and mark my words, he will—when he decides it's time to marry. But I doubt that you will take my warning seriously. Just as Anne Clifton failed to abide by my advice.”

Curiosity overcame Ursula's temper. “You gave Miss Clifton similar advice?”

“The foolish woman thought she was so clever seducing a man who is far above her reach.” Valerie started drifting along the aisle formed between two workbenches. “That's what killed her in the end, you know.”

Ursula followed at a cautious distance. “No, I didn't know. Please enlighten me.”

“She must have concluded that her dreams could never become reality.” Valerie reached out and snapped the bloom off a flower stalk. “I'm sure that's why she took her own life.”

“You seem to know a great deal about Anne's state of mind at the time of her death.”

“Miss Clifton and I spent a great deal of time in each other's company during the past several months. We often spoke of love and passion because my poetry deals with such matters. She got in the habit of confiding in me.”

That was hard to believe, Ursula thought. Anne had been clever, resourceful and ambitious—a determined survivor who had learned the hard way not to trust anyone who held power over her. She had once confided that at the age of seventeen, while working as a governess, she had been raped by the husband of her employer.

The wife had blamed Anne and turned her off immediately. That outcome was only to be expected in such situations. What had enraged Anne and made her forever wary of all future clients was that her employer had refused to pay the quarterly wages Anne was owed and also refused to provide a reference. That had made it impossible to find another post for a time. Anne had come very close to selling herself on the street in order to eat.

No, Ursula thought, it would have been very unlike Anne to confide in Valerie.

“Are you certain that Anne was involved in a love affair?” Ursula asked.

“I didn't say it was a love affair.” Valerie snapped off another bloom and continued along the aisle. “It was a seduction or, rather, an attempted seduction. The object of her desire was barely aware of her existence. She was no more than a servant to him. I will not say that I sympathized with her but I understood her.”

“In what way?”

“I know exactly how she felt.” Valerie picked up a pair of shears and cut off the drooping frond of a palm tree. “I am no more than a servant in my husband's eyes.”

A bell chimed somewhere behind Ursula. She was so intent on the conversation that she started at the unexpected sound.

“I told Beth that we were not to be interrupted,” Valerie said, annoyed. She looked down the length of the green tunnel toward the door, frowning. “It's the housekeeper. Excuse me, I'll be back in a moment.”

She went back through the green tunnel, heading for the door of the greenhouse.

Ursula waited until she heard the door open and then she whisked up her skirts and went quickly along the aisle formed by the plant beds, potted trees and workbenches. In the distance she could hear Valerie speaking in sharp tones to the housekeeper but she could not tell what was being said.

She did not see any leaves or flowers that resembled the dried ones she had brought out of Rosemont's laboratory. When she reached the end of the aisle, she turned to the right and went along a narrow gravel path.

“Mrs. Kern?” Valerie called. “Where are you? I can't see you.”

“I was just enjoying some of the specimens,” Ursula sang out. “This is an extraordinary collection. I would be honored if you would give me a proper tour.”

“Come here at once. You must leave now. I won't be needing your services any longer.”

Damnation.
Valerie was going to let her go. She would never be able to get back into the conservatory.

“Coming,” Ursula said. “Rather difficult to find one's way around in here, isn't it? I can't even see the front door.”

“Stay right where you are, Mrs. Kern. I will find you and escort you out.”

Ursula kept moving, trying not to betray her location with the sound of her footsteps. She continued to scan the foliage but none of it resembled the dried herb material.

“Mrs. Kern, where are you?”

It struck Ursula that there was a new and surprising vigor in Valerie's voice. It wasn't just impatience. There was another kind of energy vibrating just beneath the surface. Excitement.

“Really, Mrs. Kern, I do not have time for this. You must leave at once.”

“I understand, madam. But I cannot see anything except greenery. It is all quite disorienting.”

“Stand still. I will find you. Do you understand?”

Ursula obeyed, not because of the command but because she had just come face-to-face with a wall of glass and a locked door. For the first time she realized that the greenhouse was divided into two distinct sections. The inner portion behind the door was smaller than the main chamber. A profusion of radiant green foliage studded with golden flowers filled the room. She was quite certain she was looking at a great mass of the herb that Rosemont used to concoct the ambrosia.