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TWENTY-SIX

Y our suggestion that we go into my conservatory to work is excellent, Mrs. Kern.

” Valerie rose slowly from her chair, as though burdened by a weariness of the spirit so heavy she could scarcely bring herself to move.

She rang a bell and drifted slowly toward the door of the library.

“I can always count on inspiration from my plants and flowers.”

Ursula collected her stenography notebook and her satchel and got to her feet.

“It was just a thought,” she said lightly. “I’m glad you believe that it might have a beneficial effect on your poetry.”

“Very little lightens my spirits, Mrs. Kern. But I do find some peace in my conservatory.”

The plan, such as it was, could only be described as simplistic, Ursula thought.

She was no botanist but she had done a careful sketch of the dried leaves and small flowers of the herb that she had salvaged from Rosemont’s laboratory.

She thought she would recognize the plant in its growing state if she saw it in the conservatory.

Valerie led the way down a long hallway and out into the lush garden. A maid followed at a discreet distance. They crossed a small brick courtyard and went along an ornamental path.

The big mastiff staked to a heavy chain lumbered to his paws and watched them with a wolf’s unblinking stare.

Ursula kept a wary eye on him. On the previous trip to the conservatory Valerie had explained that the dog was turned loose at night to guard the grounds.

The animal looked as if it would cheerfully rip out one’s throat.

At one point Valerie glanced briefly over her shoulder at the maid.

“I hate them all, you know,” she confided in low tones.

“The servants?” Ursula asked, keeping her voice equally low.

“They watch me day and night. I cannot leave the house unless my husband is with me. He and that witch of a housekeeper hire each and every member of the staff. They serve as his spies and prison guards. I cannot trust any of them.”

When they reached the large, gracefully arched, glass-walled hothouse, Valerie took a key out of the pocket of her day gown and handed it to the cold-faced maid, who used it to open the door.

A soft rush of warm, humid air freighted with the scents of rich soil and growing things wafted through the opening. Valerie breathed deeply of the lush fragrance. Some of her tension and anxiety visibly lessened, just as it had the last time Ursula had accompanied her into the glasshouse.

“That will be all for now, Beth,” she said. She took the key from the maid and made it disappear into her pocket. “Mrs. Kern and I are not to be disturbed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The maid gave Ursula a disapproving look that bordered on suspicious, bobbed a curtsy and hurried back toward the house.

“Bitch,” Valerie whispered.

Ursula studied her surroundings. The first time she had accompanied Valerie to the conservatory she’d taken only a cursory look around.

The glasshouse was huge, the largest facility of its kind that she had ever seen.

Ferns, palms, orchids and a myriad assortment of towering, leafy plants filled the glass chamber.

The foliage was so abundant that in many places it formed a canopy that was thick enough to block the daylight.

Ursula looked at Valerie. “I hope you don’t mind if I tell you how much I admire your conservatory. It’s nothing short of magnificent.”

“Thank you. I have always been interested in horticulture and botanical science. But after my marriage this conservatory became my passion.” Valerie walked slowly down an aisle formed by rows of broad-leafed plants that arched over her head in a natural green tunnel.

“It is the one place where I know I can find privacy and peace. No one comes in here without my permission, not even my husband.”

“Lord Fulbrook does not share your passion for gardening?” Ursula asked, trying to make the question sound as innocent as possible.

Valerie paused at the far end of the leafy tunnel and smiled. For the first time since they had met, Ursula got the impression that she was amused.

“My husband avoids this place as if it were filled with poisonous substances—which it is, at least for him.”

Ursula was halfway through the green tunnel. She stopped, eyeing some tropical flowers with a bit of trepidation.

“You grow poisonous plants?” she asked.

“Calm yourself, Mrs. Kern. I doubt that there is anything in here that could harm you. If you were as unpleasantly affected by the atmosphere as Fulbrook is, I’m sure you would be aware of it by now. After all, you were here on a prior occasion.”

“I see.” Ursula relaxed and resumed making her way through the tunnel. “Your husband is one of those who suffers from the symptoms of a head cold when he is near certain plants and trees?”

Valerie chuckled. “His nose becomes so congested that he is forced to breathe through his mouth. His eyes turn red. He sneezes and coughs and is generally quite miserable.”

“No wonder he does not like to enter your conservatory,” Ursula said. She hesitated, knowing she had to tread carefully. “You are fortunate.”

The amusement faded from Valerie’s eyes. “In what conceivable way, Mrs. Kern?”

“Some husbands would have insisted that a conservatory that induced symptoms of a head cold be removed.”

Valerie surveyed her green realm. “My husband sees some small value in my conservatory. Like my poetry, it keeps me entertained and therefore makes me less of a nuisance to him.”

“I see.”

“Do you take an interest in gardening and horticultural matters, Mrs. Kern?”

“Oh my, yes,” Ursula said. She did not have to pretend enthusiasm for the subject. “Indeed, I would be thrilled if I could ever afford such a place as this.”

“That is not likely, is it?” Valerie’s smile was cold and crushing. “Considering your circumstances.”

I suppose that puts me firmly in my place, Ursula thought.

“No, Lady Fulbrook,” she said, “it’s not likely.”

“You appear to be prosperous in a middle-class sort of way, but a fine conservatory such as this one will always be beyond the reach of a woman in your position.”

The cool edge of the words iced Ursula’s nerves.

“You are quite correct, Lady Fulbrook. Only a woman possessed of great wealth could afford this place or your lovely mansion.”

“Very true. The only possible solution for you would be marriage to a man far above your station.”

“I suppose so.”

“But such dreams are merely illusions for a woman like you, Mrs. Kern.”

Ursula tightened her grip on her satchel. “Are you trying to tell me something, madam?”

“I am trying to warn you, Mrs. Kern. I have been informed that you have been seen in the company of Mr. Slater Roxton. Yes, I’m aware that it is his carriage that delivered you here today and that the same carriage will be waiting for you when you leave, just as it was on the previous occasion.

There was also some chatter in the newspapers about you and Roxton putting in an appearance at a certain museum exhibition.

I will be blunt. It is obvious that you are Roxton’s mistress. ”

Ursula smiled a steely smile. “For a while there, you had me concerned, Lady Fulbrook. I was afraid you were about to accuse me of trying to seduce your husband, which would have been quite silly.”

Lady Fulbrook flinched as if she had been struck. Astonishment flashed in her eyes. It was followed by rage. She was not accustomed to taking return fire from someone who occupied a much lower rung on the social ladder.

“How dare you talk to me of such things?” she snapped.

“I would remind you that you were the one who raised the subject by saying that it was obvious that I was Mr. Roxton’s mistress.”

“I was trying to give you some sound advice,” Lady Fulbrook said tightly.

“A man of Roxton’s wealth and connections will never consider marriage to a woman of your sort.

Even though he’s a bastard son and his mother was an actress, he can nevertheless afford to look much higher—and mark my words, he will—when he decides it’s time to marry.

But I doubt that you will take my warning seriously.

Just as Anne Clifton failed to abide by my advice. ”

Curiosity overcame Ursula’s temper. “You gave Miss Clifton similar advice?”

“The foolish woman thought she was so clever seducing a man who is far above her reach.” Valerie started drifting along the aisle formed between two workbenches. “That’s what killed her in the end, you know.”

Ursula followed at a cautious distance. “No, I didn’t know. Please enlighten me.”

“She must have concluded that her dreams could never become reality.” Valerie reached out and snapped the bloom off a flower stalk. “I’m sure that’s why she took her own life.”

“You seem to know a great deal about Anne’s state of mind at the time of her death.”

“Miss Clifton and I spent a great deal of time in each other’s company during the past several months. We often spoke of love and passion because my poetry deals with such matters. She got in the habit of confiding in me.”

That was hard to believe, Ursula thought.

Anne had been clever, resourceful and ambitious—a determined survivor who had learned the hard way not to trust anyone who held power over her.

She had once confided that at the age of seventeen, while working as a governess, she had been raped by the husband of her employer.

The wife had blamed Anne and turned her off immediately.

That outcome was only to be expected in such situations.

What had enraged Anne and made her forever wary of all future clients was that her employer had refused to pay the quarterly wages Anne was owed and also refused to provide a reference.

That had made it impossible to find another post for a time.

Anne had come very close to selling herself on the street in order to eat.

No, Ursula thought, it would have been very unlike Anne to confide in Valerie.