Page 59 of Garden of Lies

“She must have been very anxious about the possibility that someone would steal her lovely new bag,” Matty said. “Wonder what’s inside?”

Ursula set the satchel on a desk and unlatched it.

There was a small bundle of letters inside. Ursula selected one at random.

“It’s from Mr. Paladin,” she said. “Editor and publisher of thePaladin Quarterlyin New York.”

“Who is Mr. Paladin?” Matty asked.

“Lady Fulbrook’s publisher.” Ursula removed the letter from the envelope and read it quickly.

Dear Miss Clifton:

I have received your short story, “A Proposal from a Lady.” It is clever and intriguing, just the sort of thing that would be of interest to our subscribers. If you have any other stories of a similar style and content I would be happy to consider them for publication in our literary quarterly.

Sincerely,

D. Paladin

“Well, no wonder Anne was careful to hide those letters,” Matty said. “I’ll wager Lady Fulbrook would be furious if she knew that her secretary was secretly selling short stories to thePaladin Quarterly.”

“Do you think so?” Ursula asked.

“Certainly. Very likely she would have viewed Anne as competition.”

TWENTY-SIX

Your suggestion that we go into my conservatory to work is excellent, Mrs. Kern.” Valerie rose slowly from her chair, as though burdened by a weariness of the spirit so heavy she could scarcely bring herself to move. She rang a bell and drifted slowly toward the door of the library. “I can always count on inspiration from my plants and flowers.”

Ursula collected her stenography notebook and her satchel and got to her feet.

“It was just a thought,” she said lightly. “I’m glad you believe that it might have a beneficial effect on your poetry.”

“Very little lightens my spirits, Mrs. Kern. But I do find some peace in my conservatory.”

The plan, such as it was, could only be described as simplistic, Ursula thought. She was no botanist but she had done a careful sketch of the dried leaves and small flowers of the herb that she had salvaged from Rosemont’s laboratory. She thought she would recognize the plant in its growing state if she saw it in the conservatory.

Valerie led the way down a long hallway and out into the lush garden. A maid followed at a discreet distance. They crossed a small brick courtyard and went along an ornamental path.

The big mastiff staked to a heavy chain lumbered to his paws and watched them with a wolf’s unblinking stare. Ursula kept a wary eye on him. On the previous trip to the conservatory Valerie had explained that the dog was turned loose at night to guard the grounds. The animal looked as if it would cheerfully rip out one’s throat.

At one point Valerie glanced briefly over her shoulder at the maid.

“I hate them all, you know,” she confided in low tones.

“The servants?” Ursula asked, keeping her voice equally low.

“They watch me day and night. I cannot leave the house unless my husband is with me. He and that witch of a housekeeper hire each and every member of the staff. They serve as his spies and prison guards. I cannot trust any of them.”

When they reached the large, gracefully arched, glass-walled hothouse, Valerie took a key out of the pocket of her day gown and handed it to the cold-faced maid, who used it to open the door.

A soft rush of warm, humid air freighted with the scents of rich soil and growing things wafted through the opening. Valerie breathed deeply of the lush fragrance. Some of her tension and anxiety visibly lessened, just as it had the last time Ursula had accompanied her into the glasshouse.

“That will be all for now, Beth,” she said. She took the key from the maid and made it disappear into her pocket. “Mrs. Kern and I are not to be disturbed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The maid gave Ursula a disapproving look that bordered on suspicious, bobbed a curtsy and hurried back toward the house.

“Bitch,” Valerie whispered.

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