he began to wonder what the reason for their downcast spirits might be. So curiosity swelled like a pimple that if scratched develops to a contagion. Having begun to question Caroline and Francis’s behavior, he found himself dwelling on the subject.
Meanwhile, Herbert made valiant attempts to sustain a conversation. He discussed the progress of the portrait with Joshua, trying all the while to entice Caroline’s interest in the exchange. “It seems to be going along splendidly, does it not, Pope? You must come and admire it, Caroline, and show Mr. Pope your own album while you’re about it.”
Caroline’s face looked blacker than a chimney sweep’s coat; she said nothing.
“Does Miss Bentnick draw?” Joshua enquired, watching her intently.
Caroline regarded her plate in silence.
Herbert, with no trace of awkwardness, addressed Joshua. “I daresay, Pope, you believe, as most men do, that no woman can draw like a man, for they have inferior powers of concentration. I believed as much myself till I saw my daughter’s work. I warrant when you see it you will change your view too and declare it as accomplished as any you have seen.”
Joshua waved his napkin with an extravagant flourish to show he disagreed entirely with Herbert’s presumption. “Indeed,” he drawled, “I pride myself on my lack of prejudice. A woman may concentrate as avidly as a man if the subject is agreeable to her. I should be honored to view your work, Miss Bentnick.”
This entreaty was to no avail. Caroline’s eyes flashed at her father. She ignored Joshua’s comment.
“You have only to regard the profiles by the chimneypiece, for they are works by my daughter,” said Herbert hastily, pointing to three watercolors. “Two I’m sure you recognize—they are of my son and myself. The person in the center is a neighbor of ours, Lizzie Manning. She is Caroline’s great friend and the daughter of the local justice.”
Joshua murmured some halfhearted compliment about the quality of the drawing, and then an uncomfortable silence descended. He gamely turned the conversation to the dead man in the pinery. Had anything been discovered as to the man’s identity? Herbert’s expression suggested he found the subject an unsavory one to bring up over dinner. He chewed his meat slowly before answering: he had learned that the corpse was that of a man who had recently arrived from Barbados.
“How do you know?” asked Joshua with interest. He had yet to comply with Sabine’s request and question Granger; perhaps Herbert would save him the trouble.
“There were two letters in his pocket. Granger found them and passed them to me. One mentioned the fact of his recent arrival from Bridgetown.”
Joshua recalled the letters he had seen Herbert read in the drawing room. “Did the letters not reveal more? His name perhaps? Have you reached any conclusion about how the unfortunate fellow died?”
Herbert laughed and scratched his wig. He seemed far less interested in the incident than Joshua, and almost embarrassed to be talking about it. He didn’t recall the man’s name, “though I suppose it must have been written on the documents, which I have put somewhere or other. As to the cause of death—choking, I presume. The reason for his coming to Astley remains a mystery. None of the gardeners or servants appear to know anything about him.”
“If he came from Barbados, perhaps he was an acquaintance of Mrs. Mercier’s,” Joshua suggested.
“I fancy not, for she would have mentioned as much when she found him. You heard her as well as I declare she didn’t know him.” Herbert’s tone had sharpened. He wanted the subject dropped, but Joshua was afire with interest.
“Then perhaps word of Mrs. Mercier’s project circulated the island of Barbados, and hearing of Astley’s pinery, he came in search of employ,” Joshua said, quietly. He added, “What do the physician and justice make of the death?”
“Physician?” said
Meanwhile, Herbert made valiant attempts to sustain a conversation. He discussed the progress of the portrait with Joshua, trying all the while to entice Caroline’s interest in the exchange. “It seems to be going along splendidly, does it not, Pope? You must come and admire it, Caroline, and show Mr. Pope your own album while you’re about it.”
Caroline’s face looked blacker than a chimney sweep’s coat; she said nothing.
“Does Miss Bentnick draw?” Joshua enquired, watching her intently.
Caroline regarded her plate in silence.
Herbert, with no trace of awkwardness, addressed Joshua. “I daresay, Pope, you believe, as most men do, that no woman can draw like a man, for they have inferior powers of concentration. I believed as much myself till I saw my daughter’s work. I warrant when you see it you will change your view too and declare it as accomplished as any you have seen.”
Joshua waved his napkin with an extravagant flourish to show he disagreed entirely with Herbert’s presumption. “Indeed,” he drawled, “I pride myself on my lack of prejudice. A woman may concentrate as avidly as a man if the subject is agreeable to her. I should be honored to view your work, Miss Bentnick.”
This entreaty was to no avail. Caroline’s eyes flashed at her father. She ignored Joshua’s comment.
“You have only to regard the profiles by the chimneypiece, for they are works by my daughter,” said Herbert hastily, pointing to three watercolors. “Two I’m sure you recognize—they are of my son and myself. The person in the center is a neighbor of ours, Lizzie Manning. She is Caroline’s great friend and the daughter of the local justice.”
Joshua murmured some halfhearted compliment about the quality of the drawing, and then an uncomfortable silence descended. He gamely turned the conversation to the dead man in the pinery. Had anything been discovered as to the man’s identity? Herbert’s expression suggested he found the subject an unsavory one to bring up over dinner. He chewed his meat slowly before answering: he had learned that the corpse was that of a man who had recently arrived from Barbados.
“How do you know?” asked Joshua with interest. He had yet to comply with Sabine’s request and question Granger; perhaps Herbert would save him the trouble.
“There were two letters in his pocket. Granger found them and passed them to me. One mentioned the fact of his recent arrival from Bridgetown.”
Joshua recalled the letters he had seen Herbert read in the drawing room. “Did the letters not reveal more? His name perhaps? Have you reached any conclusion about how the unfortunate fellow died?”
Herbert laughed and scratched his wig. He seemed far less interested in the incident than Joshua, and almost embarrassed to be talking about it. He didn’t recall the man’s name, “though I suppose it must have been written on the documents, which I have put somewhere or other. As to the cause of death—choking, I presume. The reason for his coming to Astley remains a mystery. None of the gardeners or servants appear to know anything about him.”
“If he came from Barbados, perhaps he was an acquaintance of Mrs. Mercier’s,” Joshua suggested.
“I fancy not, for she would have mentioned as much when she found him. You heard her as well as I declare she didn’t know him.” Herbert’s tone had sharpened. He wanted the subject dropped, but Joshua was afire with interest.
“Then perhaps word of Mrs. Mercier’s project circulated the island of Barbados, and hearing of Astley’s pinery, he came in search of employ,” Joshua said, quietly. He added, “What do the physician and justice make of the death?”
“Physician?” said
Similar Books
