Serpent in the Garden Read Free Page A

appetite for work. The visitor had disturbed his concentration. He snuffed the candles in the painting room and made his way to his bedchamber. But even there, with the rhythmic breath of his sleeping wife to soothe him, he found no peace. His mind was awhirl with reminiscence, and he passed a fitful night.

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Chapter Two

     
    I T WAS LATE in May in the year 1766, over a breakfast of ham in jelly, sponge cakes, and tea, that Sabine Mercier told Joshua Pope she intended to go for a promenade in the gardens of Astley.
    Sabine was a handsome woman in her middle years, lively of movement yet serene of countenance. She had been married and widowed twice before her engagement to Herbert Bentnick, yet dual bereavement had not withered her. A bewitching woman, she was tawny of complexion, with rich brown eyes, black arched brows, a small, flowerlike mouth, and hair so dark and glossy it might have been made from polished ebony.
    Joshua had been commissioned to paint the Bentnicks’ marriage portrait, and so, in the interests of his art, he observed her as she picked at a sponge cake while describing her excursion—the same one she took every day. He remarked how the very anticipation of the visit made her eyes gleam like a Bristol decanter. It intrigued Joshua that a face could be so altered by the thought of plants. Could any leaf or fruit merit such attention? A person might have the capacity to inspire or move a fellow being; even a painting of a person on occasion could arouse a certain sentiment. But a plant? Was there any such thing as what Sabine termed “a plant of great significance”? But then, Joshua smiled condescendingly to himself, it was no surprise Sabine Mercier’s tastes were a little particular. She had lived all her life until recently in the West Indies. In such a place she could have learned little of society, and less of art. Plants were a substitute for civilization.
    Sabine’s abiding passion was for growing pineapples. The so-called pinery at Astley was largely her creation, although the structure itself had been built fifty years earlier by Herbert’s grandfather Horace Bentnick, who had been inspired by the nearby orangery at Ham, which he considered the acme of such edifices. The Astley orangery, originally intended as a conservatory for growing pomegranates and myrtles as well as oranges, was cruciform in shape, measuring a hundred feet long, with columns and large marble urns planted with vast specimen orange trees. In the center, set beneath a cupola, was a circular atrium, featuring an ornamental fountain, where on fine spring days one could sit and take refreshment. It was, in short, a veritable cathedral in which exotic plants and scented blooms took the place of stained glass and statuary.
    Herbert had always had a fondness for this legacy from his grandfather, and it was a measure of his infatuation with Sabine that he had allowed her to take over one half of the building, replace many of the plants he and his grandfather had nurtured with pineapples, and rename the building “the pinery.”

    AT THEIR first encounter, Joshua had innocently asked Sabine what had drawn her to such an unusual pastime as horticulture. Her eyes widened so that the white was visible all round the sable iris, yet there was something distant in her gaze. “What is so unusual about it, Mr. Pope? To me it seems extraordinary that you need even to ask. Do you question that gardening is a prerequisite of civilized society? Or that plants are essential to man’s well-being? Can you deny that the introduction of foreign species has contributed immensely to the richness of our landscape? And quite apart from their visual attractions … man could not exist without plants: he needs them to furnish his home, feed him, heal him. Imagine a table without fruit or vegetables! Why, even the table itself would not exist. The cultivation of plants is far more than a mere hobby; it is an occupation of the greatest moment.