Garden of Lies(18)
“How did your first appointment with Lady Fulbrook go?” Slater asked.
She shuddered. “The house is quite grand but it is incredibly dark and gloomy inside. I cannot decide if the atmosphere is so bleak because the lady of the house is depressed or if it is the atmosphere of the place that is responsible for Lady Fulbrook’s sad mood. Her only solace, evidently, is her conservatory.”
“You said she employed Miss Clifton to take down her poetry in shorthand and type up the results?”
“Yes. Lady Fulbrook has attracted the attention of the publisher of a small literary quarterly in New York. The title of the poem that she is working on now will give you a fair indication of her mood. ‘On a Small Death in the Garden.’”
“It does not sound like the sort of thing that would lift the spirits,” Slater said. “But poets are supposed to be a moody, depressed lot. It’s a tradition, I think. Is Lady Fulbrook any good at writing poetry?”
“You know how it is with literature and other works of art—the beauty of the finished piece is always in the eye of the beholder. Speaking personally, I am not attracted to depressing poetry just as I am not attracted to books or plays with unhappy endings.”
At that, he actually smiled. It was, she concluded, an annoyingly superior smile.
“You prefer fantastical endings rather than those which illustrate reality,” Slater said.
“In my view there are cheerful endings and sad endings but they are all fantastical by definition—otherwise they would not be classified as fiction.”
That surprised a short, rusty laugh from him. He seemed as surprised as she was by his reaction.
“Very well,” he said. “You established that Lady Fulbrook writes melodramatic poems. Was that all you accomplished today?”
“It was only my first day in the post. I did not expect to discover all the answers in one afternoon. And by what right do you presume to criticize? You are only just now joining the investigation.”
“You are correct, of course. I did not mean to be critical. I was merely trying to gather the facts so that we may form some sort of plan.”
“I have a plan,” she said crisply. “And I think we had best establish one very important fact right now before my investigation proceeds any further. I am in charge of this project, Mr. Roxton. I would appreciate your insights and observations because I respect your intellectual abilities and your extensive experience in finding lost cities and temples and such. However, I will make the decisions. Are we quite clear about that?”
He looked at her for a long moment, as though she had spoken in another language. She had no clue to his thoughts but she suspected that he was about to tell her he could not possibly assist her on her terms. Well, what had she expected him to say? He was a man who was clearly accustomed to giving orders, not taking them.
She sat, tense and unaccountably anxious, and waited for him to declare that a truly equal partnership between the two of them would be quite impossible.
“You respect my intellectual abilities and my extensive experience in finding lost cities and the like?” he said.
She frowned. “Yes, of course.”
“Then you will admit that I have something useful to contribute to the project.”
“Certainly. That is why I mentioned my plan to you in the first place. What are you getting at, sir?”
“I’m not sure. I think I am trying to accustom myself to the notion of being admired for my intelligence.” He paused. “And my extensive experience in finding lost things.”
Her patience evaporated. “Well, what the devil did you expect me to admire about your person, sir?”
He nodded somberly. “Excellent question. What did I expect? I don’t think I can answer that at the moment so let us move on to the terms of our arrangement, Mrs. Kern.”
For some reason, the word arrangement stopped her cold. For the second time in the span of only a few minutes she suspected that he was employing a euphemism to imply an intimate liaison between the two of them—a liaison that most certainly did not exist.
“I’m afraid I’m not following you, sir,” she said.
She was acutely aware that her voice sounded uncharacteristically breathless. This was ridiculous, she thought. She must not allow him to rattle her in this fashion.
“I cannot guarantee that I will dutifully carry out every order you choose to issue,” he said, “but I can promise that ours will be an association of equals. As for situations in which there is some disagreement involved, we will discuss the issue thoroughly when possible before either of us makes a decision. Will that satisfy you?”
She pulled herself together with an effort of will. “The phrase when possible leaves a great deal of vagueness in the arrangement, don’t you think?”
“There may be situations where I shall be forced to make a decision before I have an opportunity to consult with you. I feel it is only fair that I have some room to maneuver—some freedom to exercise my own intuition and judgment.”
“Hmm.” She gave him a cool smile. “And I must have a similar degree of latitude, of course, as I am the one who will be spending a few hours each week in the Fulbrook household. Obviously I will not be able to simply excuse myself for a few moments to consult with you before I take advantage of the odd opportunity that might present itself.”