Page 66 of Ghost in the Garden
Solomon reached thelane behind the Lamberts’ house even earlier than usual. As before, he hid in a disused shed that smelled of things he didn’t want to think about, while the usual patrols of Lambert’s men passed him by, not even glancing in the cracked window.
They were not much use as watchmen. Which made him wonder again what their purpose was. Was it just Lambert’s warning to the criminal rivals of his past? Or did he really fear some kind of threat? If so, his men had grown lax. The ghost was not the only one who could get into Lambert’s garden. Or Lambert’s house.
After last night, and the way Constance had fled, Solomon would not have been surprised if she had waited until the last moment to let him into the garden. But oddly enough, shortly after the patrol of the footmen, he heard the sound of the gate opening once more and risked a glance out of the window.
A Constance-shaped figure emerged from the darkness. He eased out of the shed door. Its hingesdidcreak, and she swung to face him.
“Solomon,” she said lightly. She even took his arm immediately, and, warmed, he began to hope that he not made an irremediable misstep after all. “What news?”
“We have a new case, a gentleman whose jewels have been stolen. And the prospect of two other clients whom I have invited to call on us next week.”
“Well, that is good!” She was so clearly pleased that he knew she would not end their partnership. Not for the first time, he was overthinking personal matters. What had happened last night was not the huge anxiety he had made it into. Just a moment that got a little out of hand. Human nature. She understood that.
“And in the house?”
“In the house… I’m wondering if, perhaps, he is not quite as awful as we think. He might be more ignorant and struggling than totally evil. But that doesn’t really affect the matter in hand. Angela doesn’t think our ghost will show itself, but she accepts that we have to look. The trouble is, she doesn’t have cellar keys, and I’m not sure I can pick that lock so that we can lie in wait there for her.”
“Then we hide in the garden,” Solomon said, “and rush her as soon as she unlocks the door.”
“That’s what I was thinking. If we fail, and she leaves the key in the inside of the cellar door again, I can probably turn it again from the outside. But we should be able to hide easily enough in the shadows at that side of the house. There’s the boundary wall and bushes too. We’ll just have to be quick—and quiet, so we don’t attract the attention of the servants.”
“Or her ally or lover or whoever it is she meets there. Perhaps she’s just stealing Lambert’s wine, a couple of bottles at a time.”
“It takes her an awfully long time to select them, then. Shall we go?”
“Yes. Constance?” Perhaps he should leave it alone, since she so clearly had chosen to do so. But she was just a little too airy in her manner, and if he had learned anything in life, it was that one could never go back, only forward.
“Yes?” She increased her pace, already reaching for the garden door.
He caught her hand. “We will talk. When the case is done.”
“Of course we will. Hush.”
That was why she was in such a hurry. In the garden they could not talk in more than faint breaths for fear of being overheard. She did not want to talk.
Maddening woman. Was it not she who had first spoken to him of friendship and happiness?
They slipped into the garden, keeping to the shadows of trees and walls until they found the corner of the house. From there, in the darkness, it was almost impossible to tell where the cellar door was, still perfectly covered by its disguising tangle of ivy and creepers.
They stood side by side, close to the boundary wall, Constance almost squashed into the narrow space between it and the house. The light from the kitchen windows did not penetrate here, although as Solomon’s eyes grew used to this particular gloom, he began to make out the more worn and ravaged area of ivy covering the door. He suspected it had been knotted together several times, and thickened with bits of new growth from elsewhere. Someone had taken a lot of care to keep it hidden. And yet the ghost knew exactly how to find it.
One footman alone came out with his lantern and did another patrol around the garden. Solomon closed his fingers around Constance’s hand, and she did not pull away. But again, it was a cursory inspection, concentrated mainly on the fact that the garden door was still locked. The biggest danger was the light from the guard’s swinging lantern catching them by accident. In fact, it did sweep over them once, in a blinding flash, but the man did not notice. He was intent on returning to the warmth of the kitchen.
And two minutes after the kitchen door closed behind him, just as Constance had suspected, the garden door opened silently once more. Solomon almost missed it. The ghost did indeed wait for a patrol to pass before she entered. She used a key, and she locked the door behind her again before flitting across the garden. Veiled, slender, and graceful, she followed almost exactly the route he and Constance had taken.
Without the fog, there was little ghostly about her. Although she made no sound, she was quick and confident in her movements. Anyone glimpsing her would assume she had every right to be there.
Apart from the veil.
Only when out of sight of the kitchen window did the “ghost” veer away from the wall—and those hiding against it—and walk straight to the hidden cellar door.
She took another key from her coat. Constance tensed, releasing his hand.
The ghost was alarmingly quick. She had the door uncovered, unlocked, and open almost before they had begun to move. Solomon lengthened his stride, reaching her just as the door began to close.
He wrenched it from her hold, flinging it wide and catching it in his other hand. Constance ducked beneath his arm and strode inside before him.
Following, he could barely make out the ghost’s shape, falling back before Constance with a gasp of shock.
