Garden of Lies(61)

“You were alone and lonely. You took a risk. Things didn’t work out. It’s not the end of the world.”

She gave him a misty smile. “No, it’s not, is it?”

“The real question here is, who did Anne Clifton tell?” Slater began to prowl the room. “Lady Fulbrook, who, in turn, might have confided in her husband?”

Ursula tried to make herself concentrate. “Remember I mentioned that I thought Anne might have been involved in a romantic liaison?”

Slater stopped at the far end of the room and looked at her. “Yes.”

“Perhaps she became Lord Fulbrook’s mistress. Lady Fulbrook said she tried to warn Anne not to get involved with a man who was far above her on the social ladder. If Anne was having an affair with Fulbrook it might explain why she got involved in his drug business.” Ursula paused. “And perhaps it would also explain why she told him the truth about me. She might have felt it safe to confide in a lover.”

“We don’t have all the answers yet,” Slater said. “We are still on the path.”

“What path?”

“Just an expression,” he said rather absently. He crossed the room to where she stood, caught her hand in his and kissed her palm. He met her eyes. “Never fear, we will find our way out of this labyrinth.”

A hush fell on the room.

“About the Picton divorce trial,” Ursula said after a moment.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does matter.” She freed her hand and went to the window. “You deserve to know the truth.”

“I can tell you now that none of it will make any difference.”

“There is not much to the tale,” she said, determined to get through the business. “The difficulty was that no one believed my version of events.” She took a breath and composed herself to get through the sordid tale as quickly as possible. “After my husband’s death I was left penniless. I took a post as a paid companion to Lady Picton. It was obvious from the start that Lord Picton lived a very debauched life. The housekeeper advised me to lock my door at night and I made certain to do so.”

Slater said nothing. He waited as if he had all the time in the world.

“One night Picton came home quite drunk,” Ursula continued. “He tried the door of my bedroom. It was not the first time he had done so but in the past he had always gone away when he discovered that the door was locked. That night, however, he had the key. I realized later that Lady Picton had given it to him.”

“She sent him to your room that night because she wanted grounds for divorce,” Slater said. “Proof of adultery.”

“She reasoned that adultery, together with charges of cruelty, would be sufficient grounds. Picton intended to rape me that night. That never happened. I fought him and started screaming. The next thing I know Lady Picton and half the household staff are standing in the doorway. Lady Picton had a pistol. Picton turned on her in a drunken fury. She shot him in the leg. I think she intended to kill him and pretend to have mistaken him for a burglar who had attacked her companion. But she was a poor shot. It was all very messy. The trial was worse.”

“You were the star witness, I take it?” Slater said.

“Yes. Picton fought the divorce because he had married Lady Picton for her money. He did not want to lose access to her family’s fortune. In the end, Lady Picton got her freedom but my reputation was in ruins.”

“You created a new life for yourself,” Slater said. “That is a remarkable accomplishment, Ursula. Few people would have been able to summon the courage and the will to do that. I am in awe of you, madam.”

Her eyes were watery again. She hurried to her satchel and took out the sodden handkerchief. Feeling quite awkward, she blotted her eyes for the third time.

“My apologies,” she said. “It has been some time since I lost my composure like that. All I can say is that is has been a rather trying day.”

He smiled. “I would never have guessed that was the case.”

She dropped the damp linen square back into her satchel. She was about to fasten the bag when she noticed her stenography notebook. The sight of it reminded her of the possibility that had occurred to her earlier, before she had read Otford’s blackmail demand and set out for the cemetery.

She closed the satchel and turned to look at Slater.

“This afternoon, after Lady Fulbrook dismissed me, I intended to go home to reread some of the entries in Anne’s notebook—lines that did not make much sense as poetry.”

“What has occurred to you?”

“I wondered if perhaps Lady Fulbrook was dictating love letters to Anne, not love poems.”

Comprehension heated Slater’s eyes. “Love letters to a Mr. Cobb in New York, perhaps?”

“Who concealed his identity by posing as Mr. Paladin, the editor of a small literary magazine. Would that be so far-fetched? Lady Fulbrook is very unhappy in her marriage. If she and Cobb had an affair several months ago during that visit to New York she might have continued the relationship through love letters. But she could not risk having her husband discover what was going on beneath his nose so she used Anne as a go-between.”

“That would shed a very interesting light on the investigation.”

“If Lady Fulbrook believes herself to be in love with Cobb, it would explain her giddy delight this morning when she discovered that he was due to arrive much earlier than expected. But there is something else. I believe that Anne may have established her own private correspondence with Paladin. I haven’t had a chance to read all the letters that she received from him but in the first few he acknowledges having received a short story from her. He indicates he’s interested in publishing it.”