Garden of Lies(91)

She picked up the blue pouch and opened it. The elegant silver notebook-and-pencil chatelaine fell into her hand. She turned it over and examined the maker’s mark. The name of the store was engraved on the back. The firm was located in New York.

Anne had not received the chatelaine from a grateful client. Damian Cobb had sent it to her as part of a long-distance seduction.





FIFTY-SIX




The sudden hammering on the door of the chamber brought him out of his reverie.

“Regret to disturb you, sir.” Webster’s voice was muffled by the heavy wooden panel but the fact that it was audible at all indicated he was shouting. “Mr. Otford has just arrived with what he says is news of critical importance.”

Slater crossed the room to open the door. Webster stood in the hall, one fist poised in midair. Otford, flushed and breathless, hovered behind him.

“What is it?” Slater asked.

“It’s Cobb,” Otford gasped.

“What about him?”

“He was found dead in his cell a short time ago. The rumor is that it was poison. Seems Cobb had a visitor earlier today, a woman dressed as a widow. Unbeknownst to the guards, she managed to slip him a small flask of what appeared to be brandy. He died shortly after she left. You don’t think that Mrs. Kern decided to take the law into her own hands, do you?”

“No,” Slater said. “I think Cobb’s death is the work of a woman scorned. I’ve got to get to Ursula.”

He went through the doorway, past Webster and Otford, and took the ancient stone steps two at time.





FIFTY-SEVEN




Ursula stood suddenly and gathered up the letters from Paladin. She put them back in the safe and then went toward the door of the study. So much for her determination not to call on Slater until he came to his senses. She had to see him immediately to tell him that she had discovered the identity of Anne’s killer. Not that there would be any proof, she thought. Valerie would very likely get away with murder.

She heard the kitchen door open just as she emerged from the study. She stopped and looked back down the hall.

“Mrs. Dunstan?” she said. “You’re home early. I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow morning.”

Valerie, dressed in mourning with a black veil that dripped from a stylish hat, walked out of the kitchen. There was a small gun clutched in one elegantly gloved hand.

“I, on the other hand, have been waiting for you,” she said.

“You were the one who murdered Anne,” Ursula said. She retreated slowly back toward the doorway of the study. “That was not Cobb’s doing, nor was it the work of his assassin. You killed her because you discovered that she was attempting to seduce the man you wanted—the hero who was supposed to rescue you and sweep you away into a fairy-tale life.”

“For months I assumed that Anne was involved in an affair with my husband. Fulbrook was using her as a courier so it was logical to think she might be sleeping with him,” Valerie said. “I did not care. She was welcome to him. I did try to warn her that she was just one more whore as far as he was concerned but she paid no attention.”

“You and your husband were operating quite an extensive business enterprise.”

“I didn’t give a damn about the business, although I don’t mind telling you that it was my idea from the beginning. I was the one who understood the implications of controlling such a powerful drug.”

“Was it your idea to blackmail those members of the Olympus Club?” Ursula asked.

“Yes, it was. Fulbrook already had money. But I thought that if I showed him a way to exercise real power at the highest levels of Society and inside the government, he would be forced to treat me with respect. Instead, I became more of a prisoner than ever.”

“He feared losing you because you were the source of his newfound power,” Ursula said. “I know this will sound like a strange question under the circumstances, but why didn’t you simply poison him? You obviously have the botanical knowledge to do that. You poisoned Anne.”

“I thought about killing Fulbrook often back at the start of my marriage. But I feared being arrested for murder. Furthermore, I knew the entire household staff would testify against me. Just as I began to despair, my bastard husband informed me that we were going to New York to meet with a certain businessman.”

“You met Damian Cobb and you convinced yourself that he would save you.”

“Damian loved me.” The gun trembled in Valerie’s hand. “I know he did. We had an affair in New York right beneath my husband’s nose. He never guessed. It was such an exhilarating sensation. Fulbrook despised having to treat Damian as an equal. It never even occurred to him that I might find Damian attractive. It was all quite delicious.”

“When you returned to London you hired a professional secretary and dictated your love letters to her. Anne sent the poems to Cobb, who posed as Paladin.”

Valerie smiled a wistful smile. “When Damian wrote back to me, he was very careful to pretend that he was an editor who was enthusiastic about my poems.”

“When did Anne realize that you were carrying on a secret correspondence with a lover?”

“Very early on, actually. Our Anne was quite bright and vivacious and I was so lonely. I made the mistake of trusting her. She was my only friend and she was so eager to bring me the latest letter from New York—so excited to be part of the secret. I’m the one who suggested to Fulbrook that she would make a useful courier, by the way. I thought she would be loyal to me. But I was wrong. She betrayed me, just as Damian betrayed me.”