Mrs. Watson already knew, from the dossier, that the residents did not partake of luncheon together. As luncheon had always been the afterthought among meals, it made sense to inquire about dinner. But how truthful was Miss Ellery’s answer? Was the tradition of dining separately long established or solely for the benefit of intruders sent by Moriarty?
She glanced at Miss Charlotte, but the young woman’s thoughts had gone in a different direction.
“Would it not aid in the members’ peaceful contemplation,” she asked, “to have views of the headland and the sea from their windows? I hear that a sweeping panorama of natural beauty is of the utmost benefit to those living a meditative life.”
“You mean, demolish the walls?” Miss Ellery’s eyes widened. She hadn’t returned to her own seat, but stood beside Miss Fairchild’s. “But all anyone needs to do for panoramic views is to climb to the top of the walls, or to walk out of the Garden.”
Miss Fairchild raised her hand toward Miss Ellery, as if beckoning her to say more.
Miss Ellery bit her lower lip. “Not to mention, the walls sometimes do what walls are supposed to do and keep us safe from intruders.”
Mrs. Watson felt her fingers tighten around her sherry glass. “Oh?”
“It was this past December. Miss Stoppard, while taking a stroll inside the Garden one evening, heard a thud upon the wall. As she was near one of the access ladders, she climbed up for a look, only to see a grapple hook, of all things, and below it, a gentleman climbing up with all his might.”
As she spoke, Miss Ellery gazed at Miss Charlotte and Mrs. Watson by turn. As did Miss Fairchild, her eyes piercing. Mrs. Watson’s pulse raced. She could only hope her expression gave away nothing besides polite concern.
“A local youth?” asked Miss Charlotte, thoroughly unbothered by those searching looks.
She wore a lilac dinner gown with a matching lilac turban and would have looked like a porcelain doll come to life, almost unspeakably darling, but for that imperturbableness, a non-reaction that, under the circumstances, felt as aggressive as a bared blade.
“Oddly enough, we do not think so.” Miss Ellery’s voice took on an edge. “One of our residents followed the intruder and saw the latter jump onto an express train that had slowed down, but not stopped, near a railway station. The train was headed to Plymouth. Doesn’t seem like something a local youth would do, does it? There are plenty of places to hide around here. We cannot peer into every nook and cranny. A local youth merely needs to secrete himself in a small cave or behind a crag until we weary of our search.”
“Hmm,” said Miss Charlotte. “If not a curious thief, who do you think that might have been then?”
Miss Ellery glanced at Miss Fairchild. When the latter nodded, she said, “The consensus in the Garden is that our would-be intruder was an emissary of Miss Baxter’s father.”
Mrs. Watson’s heart thudded. Moriarty had entered the conversation.
“Miss Baxter?” said Miss Charlotte, as if she’d never heard the name before.
“Yes, our member Miss Baxter. We value her greatly. Alas, her father is the overbearing, interfering sort. She is a grown woman who joined our community after she came of age. We are a collection of seekers who have no quarrels with the world or with one another. But judging by Mr. Baxter’s conduct, you would think we’d abducted Miss Baxter into a den of iniquity.”
Miss Ellery stepped away from Miss Fairchild’s chair, as if her agitation had become too great for her to remain in the same place. “The first time she joined our community, he forcefully extricated her, threatening all sorts of dire nonsense if we didn’t let her leave—as if we would ever keep anyone here against their will. When she returned, it was under ridiculous conditions, the most onerous being that we must admit his solicitor into the Garden, so that this man could speak to Miss Baxter and ascertain for himself that she was in tolerable shape. Not to mention, Miss Baxter’s annual contribution to the Garden was capped, never to increase, as if we’d ever increased the amount wantonly for anyone else.”
Her grievances sounded very real. And very trivial, in light of what could be happening behind the scenes. But to Miss Ellery they seemed to be of world-shaking importance. Her face had grown red, her eyes overbright, a tiny strand of hair had even escaped her neat coiffure, to add to the general picture of righteous indignation.
“To have imposed all those conditions upon us, which no one else has ever had the gall to do,” Miss Ellery was still ranting, her index finger jabbing in the air, “and then to turn around and try to spy on us? What is the matter with that man?”
A bravura performance. Were she venting to anyone else, Mrs. Watson would not have doubted her sentiments. But she railed against the very man who had sent Mrs. Watson and Miss Charlotte and therefore Mrs. Watson must consider it a performance. Animated by real sentiments, possibly, but a show put on for their benefit nevertheless.
We cannot stop you two from coming into the Garden. But by God we will not take this lying down, and we will denounce your paymaster to your face most vigorously and at every turn.
Miss Charlotte smoothed her skirts. “Miss Ellery, did you personally witness Miss Baxter’s father forcibly extricating her from the Garden?”
Miss Ellery blinked. “Ah, at the time I had not joined the Garden yet. But what I related just now was told to me by none other than Miss Baxter herself.”
“I see. And what do you suppose was Mr. Baxter’s reason for sending an intruder all of a sudden?”
Miss Ellery gave her a wary look, as if suspecting a trap. “We asked ourselves the very same question. Someone came to see Miss Baxter on his behalf only the month before. Granted, it was a different gentleman who came that time. But he had the correct letter of introduction and he followed all the usual procedures. It made no sense that Mr. Baxter should have been satisfied in November but sent someone to commit espionage in December.
“Mrs. Crosby said Miss Baxter was as baffled as anyone else. And we were all most disconcerted when yet another gentleman showed up some weeks later, claiming that he, and not the person who came in November, truly represented Mr. Baxter.”
“Did Miss Baxter not know either of them?” asked Miss Charlotte. Her expression betrayed no disbelief, yet every syllable radiated skepticism.
Miss Ellery, in response, went to fetch a cushion to place behind Miss Fairchild’s back—she seemed to perform these services not because Miss Fairchild needed them, but as an outlet for her own nerves. “Miss Baxter did not know either man. She did not, in fact, meet with this second caller. But when he was received by Mrs. Crosby, Miss Baxter was in the next room. And when he was gone she was highly upset. Later Mrs. Crosby told us that Miss Baxter feared something was terribly wrong.”
Miss Charlotte raised a brow. “Because two different men she didn’t know had been sent to see her?”
“That, and they both carried letters of introduction written by her father, yet the second ‘solicitor’ claimed that the first one must be counterfeit.”
Mrs. Watson was confused. She raised her glass to her lips. “In such situations, shouldn’t she have met the second ‘solicitor’, too?”
Miss Ellery, now once again standing beside Miss Fairchild’s chair, lifted her chin a fraction of an inch, looking triumphant. “According to Mrs. Crosby, who heard all this from Miss Baxter, the last time a different person was ‘sent’ by her father, Miss Baxter was kidnapped.”