Garden of Lies

  —

  SHORTLY BEFORE DAWN she thought she heard the faint sound of someone trying the doorknob. She waited to see if Slater would knock when he discovered that the door was locked. But there was only silence out in the hall.

  She lay awake for a time, telling herself that she had done the right thing by locking the door. If she was to continue in the affair with Slater, it was important for him to realize that she was not merely a convenience or an aid to creative thinking.

  Unfortunately, the small victory was somewhat obscured by the weight of regret.

  FORTY-TWO

  I told you I believe that Cobb is intent on creating a monopoly to control the drug,” Slater said. “Furthermore, I’m sure he plans to operate his business from New York, not London. And he doesn’t want any competition on this side of the Atlantic.”

  They were gathered at the breakfast table. Lilly reigned at one end, nibbling delicately on a piece of kippered salmon. Slater sat at the other end, plowing through an enormous mound of eggs and toast while he explained his conclusions. Ursula, seated in the middle, thought he looked remarkably vigorous for a man who could not have gotten more than a few hours of sleep. There was nothing wrong with his appetite, either.

  He had said nothing about the locked door of her bedroom. If he had been disappointed, he certainly concealed the fact well. She found his enthusiasm and energy extremely irritating.

  “You say you think Lady Fulbrook intends to take some specimens of the ambrosia plant when she runs off to New York with Cobb?” Lilly asked.

  “Right.” Slater ate some more eggs. “Specimens or seeds, at least. Regardless, she will no doubt arrange to destroy the rest of the plants in the conservatory. Cobb will want to make certain that no one else can continue in the ambrosia business after he and Lady Fulbrook are gone.”

  Ursula put down her fork quite suddenly. “Seeds.”

  Lilly and Slater looked at her.

  “What is it?” Slater asked.

  “When I found Anne Clifton’s stenography notebook and jewelry I also found some packets of seeds,” Ursula said. “I think the odds are good that they were from the ambrosia plant.”

  Lilly’s artfully drawn brows crinkled a little. “Perhaps she intended to cultivate the plant in her own garden.”

  “Or sell the seeds to the highest bidder,” Slater said. “Someone like Mrs. Wyatt would have paid well for them.”

  A cold chill feathered Ursula’s spine. “I think that Anne planned to use them to buy her way into Damian Cobb’s side of the business.”

  Slater contemplated that possibility. “Huh.”

  “It would have been a very bold thing for her to do,” Lilly said quietly. “Cobb is a dangerous man.”

  “Anne was a very bold woman,” Ursula said. “And remember, she had been acting as a go-between for Lady Fulbrook and Cobb for months. She may have felt she knew Cobb in a sense—that she understood him. She was not particularly fond of men but she was confident of her ability to manipulate them. She was, after all, a very attractive woman. Lady Fulbrook may have been writing love letters to Cobb but I think Anne was trying to seduce him.”

  Slater frowned. “What makes you say that?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to read through all of the letters from Cobb. They are written under the pen name he used when corresponding with Lady Fulbrook, Mr. Paladin. But I can tell that there was some sort of delicate negotiation going on between the two of them. On the surface Paladin is showing an interest in her short stories but I’m quite sure that is not what they were actually discussing.”

  “Anne spent a great deal of time in Lady Fulbrook’s company in the conservatory,” Slater said. “She might have learned how to cultivate the ambrosia plant.”

  “That would certainly explain some of the oddities in the poems that she wrote down in her notebook,” Ursula said. “There are several references to quantities and times. I remember one line in particular, the flower is delicate and potent. Three parts in ten bring on visions that thrill. Seven will kill.”

  “Your friend was playing a very dangerous game, indeed,” Slater said softly.

  “I know,” Ursula said. “I can tell you one thing. If Cobb intends to destroy all those herbs in Lady Fulbrook’s special greenhouse before going back to New York, he’s going to have to do something drastic. That room in the conservatory is crammed with those bloody damned ambrosia plants.”

  There was a short silence. Ursula continued to munch toast for a few seconds until she realized that both Lilly and Slater were watching her.

  “What?” she said around a bite of toast. “Did I say something?”

  Lilly chuckled and went back to her salmon.

  Slater cleared his throat. “I believe it was the phrase bloody damned ambrosia plants that stopped us for a moment. You sounded somewhat annoyed.”

  “I am annoyed.” Ursula swallowed the last of the toast and reached for her coffee cup. “With the slow pace of our investigation.”

  Lilly raised her brows. “I thought you and Slater were making excellent progress.”

  “Depends on one’s point of view,” Ursula said. She looked at Slater. “As I recall, you were describing what you discovered in Mrs. Wyatt’s financial records. But how does that lead us to the proof we will need to have someone arrested for Anne’s murder?”

  Mrs. Webster appeared in the doorway before Slater could respond. She carried a silver salver. A single envelope sat on the tray.

  “This telegram was just delivered, sir,” she announced in her carrying voice.

  Slater winced a little and took the envelope.

  Mrs. Webster departed, stage left, to return to the kitchen.

  Ursula and Lilly watched Slater open the envelope. He read it quickly and looked up.

  “It’s from the director of the New York museum. I was right, Damian Cobb is known in philanthropic circles. The director says there has been some speculation regarding the source of Cobb’s fortune but no one asks too many questions. That is not the most interesting thing in the telegram, however.”

  “For pity’s sake,” Ursula snapped, “don’t keep us in suspense. This is not a melodrama. What is the point of the damned telegram?”

  Slater raised a brow at her sharp tones but he did not comment.

  “According to the museum director, the staff at Cobb’s New York mansion claim that he left on a business trip ten days ago.”

  “The Atlantic crossing takes about a week,” Ursula said. “Sometimes less. You were right, Slater. Cobb has been in London for at least a few days.”

  Mrs. Webster reappeared in the doorway.

  “Mr. Otford is here to see you, sir,” she said. “Shall I tell him to wait until you’ve finished breakfast?”

  “No,” Slater said. “If he’s here at this hour, he must have something interesting for us. Send him in, please.”

  “Yes, sir.” Mrs. Webster started to move back out into the hall.

  “You’d better set another place for breakfast, Mrs. Webster,” Slater added. “I have a feeling he will be hungry.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mrs. Webster disappeared. Less than a moment later Gilbert Otford scurried into the room. He stopped short and gazed at the heavily laden sideboard with a worshipful expression.

  “Good morning, ladies,” he said. He did not take his attention off the array of serving platters. “Mr. Roxton.”

  “Good morning, Otford,” Slater said. “Please join us.”

  “Delighted, sir. Thank you.”

  There was a flutter of activity before Otford sat down across from Ursula. His plate was heaped high with sausages, toast and eggs. He fell to the meal with enthusiasm.

  Slater seemed content to wait until Otford had made some inroads on his breakfast before questioning him but Ursula was not in a patient moo
d.

  “Well, Mr. Otford?” She fixed him with a look. “What have you to tell us?”

  “Cost me a small fortune to get one of the housemaids and a footman to chat,” Otford said around a mouthful of sausage. “Those who work at the club have been told to keep quiet about what goes on there. Anyone caught gossiping will be turned off without a reference. No one wants to lose a post at the club because the pay and the gratuities are excellent.”

  “That’s all you got for Mr. Roxton’s money?” Ursula asked. “The information that the servants are well paid?”

  Otford looked at Slater, perplexed. “Is she upset about something?”

  Slater was suddenly occupied drinking his coffee.

  “Mr. Otford,” Ursula said. “I asked you a question.”

  “No, Mrs. Grant—uh—Mrs. Kern,” Otford said hastily. “That was not all I learned. I was just coming to the interesting bits.”

  “About time,” Ursula said.

  Slater drank a little more coffee and then looked at Otford.

  “You were saying?” Slater prompted in a manner that was almost gentle.

  “Right.” Otford flipped a page in his notebook. “Here’s the information that made my ears prick up. Evidently there are two levels of membership—the general level and the inside elite known as the Vision Chamber members. Those who belong to the Chamber are provided with more intense forms of the drug and some very exclusive services.”

  “Exclusive services?” Ursula said. “What are those?”

  Otford squirmed in his chair. This time he looked to Lilly for help. She gave him a benign smile and turned to Ursula.

  “I believe Mr. Otford is referring to the sorts of exclusive services that only a very expensive brothel such as the Pavilion of Pleasure might be able to provide,” she said.

  “Oh.” Ursula sat back in her chair, flushing. She was careful not to let her gaze snag with Slater’s. She was quite certain he was amused by her naïveté. “Go on, Mr. Otford.”

  He cleared his throat and concentrated on his notes. “Services available only to the members of the Vision Chamber include a choice of partners of either sex and various ages, the use of certain implements and, ah, equipment, designed to enhance physical pleasure—”

  “I told you to continue with your report, Mr. Otford, not provide a detailed list of the brothel services offered to the members of the Chamber,” Ursula hissed.

  Otford swallowed hard. “Sorry. I beg your pardon. Got confused.”

  “You aren’t the only one,” Slater said in low tones.

  Ursula glared at him. Slater pretended not to notice.

  “Carry on, Otford,” he said. “Were you able to find out how the drug is delivered to the Olympus?”

  “An excellent question,” Ursula said.

  “Thank you,” Slater said in very humble tones.

  Otford plunged ahead, speaking rapidly. “One of the footmen said that the ambrosia was delivered by a man with a horse and cart. On the days the drug was scheduled to arrive Fulbrook was always on hand to supervise the unloading of the bags. The drug is stored under lock and key in the basement, along with the spirits and cigars, but it’s kept apart in a special room.”

  Slater thought about that. “I assume that Fulbrook is the only one with the key to that room?”

  “Yes, according to the footman.” Otford winked. “Doesn’t mean that a little bit of the drug doesn’t go missing from time to time, mind you. In my experience, gentlemen like Fulbrook stop noticing servants after a while. I got the impression from the footman that he and his friends have helped themselves to a little of the drug as well as the brandy and cigars from time to time.”

  “You’ve done some excellent work, Otford,” Slater said.

  Otford beamed. “Thank you, sir. It’s all quite fascinating, I must say. This story could be huge—absolutely huge.”

  Ursula narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps it would be more entertaining if there were fewer murders.”

  Otford flushed and grabbed his napkin to stifle a cough.

  Slater sat back in his chair. “The next step is to find the deliveryman.”

  Otford grunted. “There must be thousands of horses and carts in London.”

  Ursula straightened abruptly. “The livery stable near Rosemont’s Perfumes.”

  Slater gave her an approving smile. “It makes sense that Rosemont would have rented a horse and cart and very likely a driver as well from the nearest establishment that offered such services.”

  “Good heavens, why would anyone situate a perfumery near a livery stable?” Lilly asked of no one in particular.

  “Because Rosemont was not blending delicate perfumes,” Slater said. “He was brewing a dangerous drug and producing large quantities of it—enough to satisfy not just the requirements of the Olympus Club and Mrs. Wyatt’s little side business, but the American market, as well. He needed a way to transport his product across town and to the docks for shipment to New York.”

  “Well,” Ursula said very softly.

  They all looked at her, waiting for her to say something brilliant.

  “Well, what?” Slater asked.

  “It just occurs to me that I may have a bit of a flare for this investigation business,” she said, trying for an air of modesty.

  “I don’t recommend it,” Slater said. “Stick with the stenography profession.”

  “Why?” Ursula said, annoyed again.

  “In case it has escaped your notice, the income from the private investigation business appears to be somewhat limited. In addition, the price of doing business can be high. I’ve already lost track of how much money I’ve had to dispense in the form of bribes, fees and other expenses on this case.”

  “Hmm.” Some of Ursula’s enthusiasm evaporated. “I hadn’t considered the financial angle.”

  FORTY-THREE

  Aye, sir, Rosemont was in the habit of hiring a horse and cart from my establishment,” Jake Townsend said. “Employed my son, Ned, to load the bags of incense and deliver the goods.”

  Slater stood with Ursula at the wide entrance of the livery stable. J. Townsend Livery Services advertised private carriages, wagons and carts for hire. Judging by the size of the stable, however, it appeared to be a small business—he could see only three stalls inside the building and a single, aged, badly sprung carriage. Nevertheless, a stable was a stable and the scent of horses and all things related to them was heavy in the atmosphere.

  Townsend was middle-aged, with a weather-beaten face and the tough, wiry build of a man who had spent a lifetime around stables. But he was eager to chat once Slater had made it clear to him that he would be paid for his time and cooperation.

  Townsend was easy enough to deal with, Slater concluded, but Ursula was a complete mystery to him this morning. She was once again concealed behind her stylish widow’s veil. It was impossible to read her expression—not that he had been able to read it earlier at breakfast.

  She had been in an odd mood when she descended the stairs that morning and her temper hadn’t improved with Mrs. Webster’s excellent coffee, at least not as far as he could discern. Initially he had assured himself that the problem was that she had not slept well but now he was starting to wonder—not without some dread—if she regretted last night’s passionate encounter in the labyrinth chamber. Perhaps she regretted the first one in her study, as well.

  He was convinced now that the fact that she had locked her door last night was a very bad omen.

  He forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

  “So, Rosemont was a regular customer?” he asked.

  “That he was,” Townsend said. He shook his head in a mournful way. “Going to miss his business. He sold a great quantity of incense and the French stuff he called potpourri. But I have to say, I’m bloody damned grateful that my establishment w
as in the next street when his shop went up in flames. The explosion not only destroyed his building, it did a fair amount of damage to the ones on either side, as well. Luckily, they were empty. Gave us quite a scare, I can tell you. Horses went mad for a bit.”

  “I can imagine,” Ursula said.

  Slater heard the icy impatience that edged her words but she had the sense not to rush Townsend.

  “According to the press, the authorities believe the fire was caused by a gas explosion,” Slater said.

  “Aye, maybe.” Townsend’s face creased in disapproval. “But if you ask me, it was all those bags of dried leaves he kept stored in his workshop that fed the flames. And between you and me, there’s no telling what chemicals he was using to make that incense and the potpourri. The smell hung over the neighborhood for hours.”

  “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Townsend.” Slater took some money out of his pocket. “Just one more question and then we’ll leave you to your work.”

  “What is it ye want to know, sir?”

  “You said that Rosemont hired your son and a cart to make deliveries on a regular basis. I’d very much like to know the locations of those routine deliveries.”

  “There were only two addresses. One was a mansion that housed some sort of private club. The other was a warehouse near the docks. Rosemont shipped a lot of his goods to New York, ye see.”

  FORTY-FOUR

  I understand now why you insisted on going back to your house to fetch a pry bar,” Ursula said. “You knew the warehouse would probably be locked. Excellent thinking, sir.”

  Slater was in the process of wedging the iron bar into the narrow crack between the edge of the door and the frame. He paused long enough to shoot her an unreadable glance.

  “I find it makes a pleasant change of pace.” He leaned heavily on the pry bar. “Thinking, that is.”

  She blinked, not certain how to take the remark. “Change of pace?”

  “Wouldn’t want to overindulge, of course. Might get in the habit.”