Serpent in the Garden by Janet Gleeson Page A

But I believe it will be appropriate—after all, I will soon become your stepmother.”
    Sensing disapproval beneath Herbert’s fidgeting and coughing, Joshua turned his attention to his cards. Only after winning several hands did he glance back at the women.
    Caroline was sitting motionless and silent, some distance away from Sabine, gazing on the emerald necklace about Sabine’s neck. The expression on her face seemed to suggest she believed it the foulest object she ever set eyes on (a sentiment with which Joshua heartily concurred). Joshua saw her turn wildly to her brother for assistance, but Francis was immersed in his hand of cards. She pressed her palms to her neck as if she burned with embarrassment and could not think what to do.
    Some minutes passed, during which not a word was uttered, and Sabine stared at Caroline with an odd, fierce expression. Eventually Sabine broke the silence. “Then you accept my offer,” Joshua heard her say clearly just as Violet began to sing a tuneful accompaniment to Lizzie’s playing.
    Later, when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies by the fire, Francis Bentnick went immediately to Lizzie’s side. She began to recount a yarn that involved her taking on the voice and character of at least half a dozen personalities. Herbert, whom Joshua had vanquished modestly enough for him to remain in genial humor, drew up a chair beside Sabine and Violet. Joshua stood by the fire, his hand in his pocket, chinking the two sovereigns he had won. His attention was all on Caroline. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. Her long, narrow jaw twitched with tension and her cheeks were unnaturally flushed. Her face seemed … what, exactly? For an instant he was unsure—not anger, not embarrassment—then it flashed upon him: she looked terrified.

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Chapter Ten

     
    T HE STAR AND GARTER was set high upon the crest of Richmond Hill. It was a tall brick building resembling a nobleman’s mansion, with a garden behind that was famed throughout the vicinity. Honeysuckle and jasmine and roses trailed over paths, and sweeps of lawn lay between trees and avenues of lime. Joshua had paced the main street of Richmond, asking himself where he might go were he a stranger recently arrived from Barbados in need of a bed for the night, and had already been refreshed in the Red Lyon, the Talbot, the Feathers in Water Lane, the Compasses, and the Rose and Crown.
    “And what can I be doing for you, sir?” said James Dunstable, the landlord, spying Joshua hovering by the counter in his front room. He took in Joshua’s satin-lined cape, his embroidered waistcoat, his lace cravat. Joshua could almost hear him wonder what manner of gentleman dressed with such extravagance to promenade the high street of Richmond at eleven o’clock of the morning. The thought pleased him no end.
    Joshua placed his tricorn on the counter. “I’ll have an ale if you please, sir. I have come in search of a Mr. John Cobb. He has arrived recently from overseas. I believe he might be staying here.”
    Dunstable took down a pewter tankard from a high shelf and examined it for signs of dirt.
    “Mr. Cobb from Barbados? And what’s he to you?” he said as he gave the mug a hefty shake.
    “He’s an acquaintance of mine. I have a proposition for him.”
    Dunstable edged the tankard beneath the nozzle of the pump and pulled slowly on its handle. “Whatever the nature of your proposition, I regret to say you have come too late,” he said, handing over the foaming vessel.
    Joshua sipped his ale, regarding Dunstable from behind the tankard’s rim. “Would you not take a drink for yourself, sir? Why am I too late?”
    “He paid for his lodgings two days ago. Said he’d be back shortly for his portmanteau. I’ve seen and heard nothing of him since.”
    “How long did he stay here?” said Joshua with scarcely a pause.
    “Three or four weeks. You may tell him when you find him that his portmanteau is still gathering dust and I’d