Garden of Lies(12)

“Well, she is his mother, after all. What would you expect her to say?” Matty paused for emphasis. “And while we’re on the subject of revenge—”

“We are not discussing the subject of vengeance.” Ursula slapped the blotter with the palm of her hand. “Don’t you have something that needs to be typed?”

Matty ignored that. “Don’t forget the little matter of the Jeweled Bird. Everyone knows that while Mr. Roxton was languishing on Fever Island, his business partner, Lord Torrence, sailed home with the fabulous treasure that was discovered in the temple caves.”

Ursula grimaced. “Lord Torrence along with everyone else believed Mr. Roxton was dead.”

“Well,” Matty said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “there is speculation that Lord Torrence tried to murder Mr. Roxton on Fever Island. They say he triggered the trap that entombed Roxton so that he could keep the Jeweled Bird for himself.”

For the first time since the conversation with Matty had started, a chill slithered down Ursula’s spine. The press was notoriously unreliable but there was some truth in the old adage Where there is smoke, there is fire. The spectacular Jeweled Bird had caught the public’s attention when Lord Torrence had allowed it to be exhibited for a time in a museum. People, herself included, had stood in line for hours to view it. The fact that one of the discoverers had died in the tombs on Fever Island had only added to the sense of fascination. When the fabulous statue was reported stolen shortly after it was returned to Torrence’s private collection, there had been another sensation in the press. The Bird had faded into the mists of legend.

Ursula did not think that Slater was particularly concerned about money or the title, either, for that matter. But a man who had been entombed and returned from the grave only to learn that the fantastic artifact he had helped discover had disappeared into the illegal antiquities trade—such a man might harbor thoughts of vengeance. It might also convince him that the terrible accident on Fever Island had not been an accident, after all. One thing was certain, Ursula thought—if Slater set out to exact vengeance, his victim was unlikely to escape.

A great many tales and legends swirled around the mysterious Mr. Roxton. She would not be surprised to learn that a few of them were true.

She leaned forward to flip the pages in her appointment calendar. “I believe we have an interview with a new secretary this afternoon. Oh, yes, there it is. Miss Taylor will arrive at three.”

“I can deal with it,” Matty said.

“Are you sure?”

Matty smiled, a gentle, understanding smile. “I know Anne’s death has been hard on you. There’s no need for you to interview the secretary who will replace her. For heaven’s sake, the funeral was only yesterday. You need a little time to get past the shock of it all.”

“I’m going to miss her,” Ursula said. “And not just because she was a great asset to this business.”

“I—we, all of the secretaries here at the Kern agency—know that you and Anne were good friends.”

“She possessed so many of the qualities I feel I lack. She was fun to be around. Clever. Vivacious. Full of enthusiasm for life. I admired her daring and her boldness. She was a woman ahead of her time in so many things.”

“Mmm.” Matty picked up the stack of pages she had finished typing and squared the bottom edge against the blotter with a few brisk taps.

“What?” Ursula asked.

“Nothing. It’s not important. The poor woman is dead.”

“Matty, are you aware of something about Anne that I should know?”

“Oh, no, truly,” Matty said quickly. “It’s just that, well—”

“Well, what? Matty, I am not in the mood for this.”

Matty gave a small sigh. “It’s just that some might say that Anne was inclined to be a little too daring and a bit too bold for her own good. She could be reckless, Ursula. You know that as well as I do.”

“Her spirited temperament was one of her charms, wasn’t it? She was the woman we all yearned to be—the Modern Woman.”

“Perhaps.” Matty smiled reminiscently and then abruptly wrinkled her nose. “Except for the cigarettes. I never could understand her taste for those things.”

“Neither could I,” Ursula admitted.

“Do you know, yesterday, when we stood there at the graveside, I thought that Anne must have died from a heart attack or a stroke,” Matty said.

“What makes you so certain?”

“We all knew her well enough to be quite certain that she would never kill herself because of a man.”





SIX




He came awake on a tide of oppressive dread so strong he had difficulty catching his breath. For a few heartbeats he was back in the burial caves, trying to follow the trail of the third legend. The lantern was dying. He knew it would not last much longer. With every step he was increasingly certain that he had chosen the wrong path. He was doomed to wander the caverns of night until he dropped dead or went mad.

He sat up quickly on the edge of the bed, rubbed his face with both hands and then got to his feet. He turned up a gas lamp and checked the time. It was nearly four o’clock in the morning. He tried to focus. He knew that the dream was his mind’s way of telling him that he needed to rethink some of his logic.