Free Serpent in the Garden by Janet Gleeson Page A

have known a jot about pineapples. He should have known you cannot eat a green fruit: it’s the bitterest thing you ever tasted.”
    “Did you not go after him and chastise him?”
    Granger shrugged his shoulders. “What would be the purpose? The damage was done.”
    “I take it you spoke of this to Mrs. Mercier?”
    Granger nodded.
    “And how did she respond?”
    Granger paused a moment. “Not as I expected. She seemed startled. She stared, asked me to repeat myself, shook her head. Then she said, ‘I do not know this man; nor have I written to anyone and asked him to come here. I am glad you sent him away. You did well to do so, Granger.’”
    The gardener paused again, while he pressed compost round a plant to secure it. Then he looked away into the far distance. “She never mentioned his name, yet I suspected she knew exactly who he was and that he wasn’t at all welcome. Why else would she have been so pleased I acted as I did?”
    Joshua ignored his question. “Did you discover his name?”
    “Only this morning. I searched his pockets; there were two letters in one of them, both addressed to a man called John Cobb.”
    “What became of the letters?”
    “I gave them to Mr. Bentnick when you and he arrived to assist this morning.”
    “And what were your impressions when you found Mrs. Mercier?”
    “All in all, her behavior this morning was singular.”
    Granger confided then that not only had he been first on the scene, he had nearly witnessed the discovery. He had been waiting for Sabine’s arrival; it was her custom to speak to him every morning on her way to the pinery. More often than not she required that he accompany her on her rounds of the building so that she could instruct him on new tasks for the day.
    “This morning, when I saw Mrs. Mercier enter the walled garden, I expected her to come toward me or, at the very least, acknowledge my presence. She did neither. She seemed preoccupied. I followed her into the pinery because I had several matters of business to discuss: more young pines to pot, cuttings to be rooted, a question of tan bark to discuss. Soon after I entered the pinery I came across her crouched on the path, cradling the dead man.”
    “How did she seem?”
    Granger screwed up his eyes as if searching for the right words. “She wasn’t sobbing or screaming. Her eyes were wide open, her brow knotted. I would say she looked surprised rather than fearful. It was only when I called out and offered to help her that the horror of the situation seemed to strike her. She let go her hold on the body, which flopped back, then placed a kerchief over his face, as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. When she stood up she shuddered visibly, as if frozen to the core. I was not four feet distant from her, yet I might have been ten miles away for all the heed she paid me. She pushed past and fled to the door. Once outside, she let out a piercing cry. I daresay that was what brought you and Mr. Bentnick running.”
    Joshua nodded. “What then?”
    “I offered her my assistance again. This time she registered the offer and ordered me to go at once and examine the body. I did as she instructed and retrieved the letters. I intended to give them to her, but by the time I returned, you and Mr. Bentnick had arrived and Mrs. Mercier’s condition seemed worse. I thought it more appropriate to hand them to Mr. Bentnick.”
    “Did you read them? Did you see who wrote them?” Joshua demanded.
    “No, there was no time. Besides, it wasn’t my place to do so. I saw only the name. John Cobb.”

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Chapter Nine

     
    T HE NEXT DAY, when Joshua met Miss Elizabeth Manning, his first impression was that she was quite as insipid in the flesh as the wan portrait Caroline Bentnick had drawn. She had arrived in the same carriage as Violet Mercier, who was just returned from London. He caught sight of her from an upstairs window—a slight figure clad in her traveling dress: a black bonnet, a coat of