Page 110 of Garden of Lies

The lie came with astonishing ease. Perhaps that was because she had gotten rather good at the business in the wake of the Picton divorce scandal, she thought. Or perhaps the words came quickly because she was desperate to distract Valerie.

Whatever the case, it worked. Valerie was visibly stunned.

“What are you talking about?” she whispered.

“Anne held back his last letters to you. She never delivered them because she was still trying to convince Cobb to take her on as his partner. She wanted to destroy your relationship. She knew that if he had you, he wouldn’t need her.”

Valerie stared, transfixed with shock.

“No,” she whispered.

“I stored his last letters in my safe. Would you care to see them? They are all addressed to you.”

“I don’t believe you. Show them to me.”

“Certainly.”

Ursula crouched in front of the safe, unlocked it with trembling fingers and reached into the dark interior for the gun. With her other hand she picked up the envelope that held the copy of the penny dreadful.

She rose slowly to her feet, holding the gun out of sight in the folds of her skirts.

“Perhaps it would be better for all concerned if we burned these letters,” she said. “It could be embarrassing if the press were to get hold of them.”

“No!”Valerie shrieked.

Ursula tossed the letters into the flames.

Valerie screamed and rushed across the room to the fireplace. In her desperation to save the letters she dropped the gun on the carpet so that she could grab a poker.

Ursula moved out from behind the desk. Very quietly she picked up the gun. Valerie seemed unaware of what was happening. She sobbed hysterically and stabbed at the flames with the poker.

A shadow moved in the doorway. Startled, Ursula turned quickly and saw Slater. He, too, had a gun in his hand.

He took in the situation in a glance and made his weapon vanish inside his greatcoat. He looked at Ursula.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

His voice was ice cold. His eyes burned.

“Yes,” she said. She tried to sound just as cool and just as controlled as he did but she could hear the shaky edge in her own voice. “She’s the one who murdered Anne.”

“I know.”

Valerie collapsed onto the carpet, distraught and hysterical.

Slater put one arm around Ursula and pulled her close. Together they watched Valerie cry herself into exhaustion.

FIFTY-EIGHT

Two days later Ursula was inspired to send an invitation to tea to the small group of investigators. Mrs. Dunstan bustled about excitedly all morning preparing the rarely used drawing room. Dust covers were swept away. Drapes were pulled back to allow the watery sunlight into the space. After the cleaning had been completed to her satisfaction, she retreated to the kitchen, where she prepared a veritable feast of small sandwiches, lemon tarts and little cakes.

The guests arrived unfashionably early. Lilly took up a position on the sofa, a formidable figure in a red gown trimmed with white lace. Otford, a hot-off-the-press copy ofThe Illustrated Newsof Crime and Scandaltucked under one arm, headed straight for the silver tray.

Slater was in his customary head-to-toe black. He lounged gracefully against one wall and munched a sandwich.

“Lady Fulbrook won’t hang, you can be sure of that,” Otford announced. He popped a cake into his mouth. “Her sort never do. Mark my words, she will quietly disappear into a private asylum and spend the rest of her days there.”

“I would not wager a great deal of money on that outcome if I were you,” Lilly said. “In my opinion, the woman is a consummate actress. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to learn a few months from now that Lady Fulbrook has been miraculously cured by a practitioner of the modern theory of psychology.”

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