Free Serpent in the Garden by Janet Gleeson Page B

dull mouse brown, a plain gray skirt beneath.
    In the drawing room that evening Joshua began to temper his view. Miss Manning was no beauty, perhaps, but not entirely without charm all the same. Her face was small and rather birdlike, with a pointed chin, a well-defined nose, and lustrous gray eyes set wide apart in a complexion unblemished by pox. Her lips were compactly drawn and playful. She had small, perfectly white teeth that showed whenever she smiled, which was often. That evening she wore a black bodice garnished with oyster ribbons from bosom to waist. Her hair, a thick mass of chestnut tresses, had been dressed with a single white silk rose. About her neck, another white rose was attached to an oyster ribbon. However, none of this would have altered his impression of her ordinariness had he not made another discovery. Her real attraction lay within.
    Conversation was Lizzie Manning’s lifeblood. She was born with an insatiable desire to discuss her thoughts, to eke out confidences. Silence was anathema to her. Though it was often said that she had learned to talk before she walked, the truth was that when Lizzie was only five, her mother had died in childbirth, leaving her daughter and infant son to be raised by a nurse with a fortunate capacity for chatter. This was why to be left in solitude by her father (who was in the north on business) and her brother (whose whereabouts she didn’t mention) had been like purgatory. The discovery that her dear friend Francis Bentnick had arranged for Violet to collect her on her return from London had thus delighted her beyond words.
    New acquaintances were trophies to Lizzie Manning; she collected them as others collect seashells or coins or buttons. Until that day she had never met Violet. From the moment she stepped into the carriage she had bombarded her with words of welcome and questions and confidences. The interrogation continued unabated throughout the afternoon and early evening.
    “Tell me, dear Violet, what was Barbados like?”
    “Most verdant and most pleasant, Miss Manning.”
    “Not Miss Manning—I am Lizzie to everyone. How I long to see it. Tell me about your mother’s garden. I have heard it was like Eden.”
    “It is difficult to describe, Lizzie. It was lush, lavish, abundant …”
    “It can’t be easy for you and your mother in such a strange environment so far from home. Do you have acquaintances, friends?”
    “None, but we have each other.”
    “And tell me of the ball. What an event it will be! Have you decided what you will wear?”
    “I have a gown nearly finished; it is pale blue silk with flowers and seed pearl embroidery.”
    “What an unusual necklace your mother is wearing. I don’t believe I have ever set eyes on such stones. Nor such a design.”
    “It came from her second husband, Charles Mercier, my former stepfather.”
    “What is its history?”
    “It is a curious one. The necklace dates from medieval times. Apparently it was made in Nuremberg—a city famous for the excellence of its craftsmen—as a love token. It was commissioned by a German princeling for a lady he wished to marry.”
    Lizzie’s eyes were illuminated with interest. “But is not the serpent a most unusual love token for a besotted prince?”
    “Perhaps,” replied Violet with a smile, “though it is often used as a symbol of fertility.”
    “And did the prince win his lady?”
    “Yes, though the story was not entirely happy. Soon after the pair married, the jewel was stolen by a jealous sister, who was apprehended and later burned as a witch. This gave rise to the superstition that the necklace would bring happiness if given in love, but ill fortune if it changed ownership for any material reason.”
    “What an intriguing and poignant history,” said Lizzie, smiling. “It only adds to the allure of the jewel—if that is possible.”
    “You should say so to my mother,” declared Violet, rising to bring her mother to speak to Lizzie, “for