Serpent in the Garden Read Free Page B

Civilization depends upon it.”
    Joshua mentally raised his eyes to heaven and outwardly nodded politely. Having never given the subject of gardening much thought, he found the vehemence of her arguments faintly amusing, but his artistic faculties were roused. There was a glow in her eye that he wanted to store in his memory and reproduce on canvas. He wanted to see more of her passion, to draw her out. So he feigned interest and pressed her further. “Why have you settled upon pineapples in particular?”
    Her tone turned from zealous to withering. “Anyone who knows anything of the subject understands that among culinary plants, this fruit surpasses all others. It is the most succulent and esteemed of foreign species. For any gardener to grow a ripened fruit for the table is the pinnacle of achievement.”
    She went on to describe how Herbert had asked her to supervise the growing of pineapples at Astley. She had relished the challenge, and even though it was more usual in this country to cultivate pineapples in purpose-built frames and pits, she had confidently overseen the alterations to the vast glass-and-wood conservatory. The entire structure was warmed by charcoal-fueled stoves, but since pineapples required hotter conditions than oranges and myrtles, she had augmented the heat in her portion of the building by installing channels under the floor to contain tanner’s bark—crushed oak used by the local leather tannery to soften animal hides. The decaying process of this matter could be relied on to produce considerable heat, and by carefully stirring the bark, the correct temperature to coax the plants to grow would be reached.
    Joshua stifled a yawn and declared it would be an honor if one day she would consent to show the pinery to him. Sabine had scarcely acknowledged his request at the time, but that morning at breakfast she suggested he accompany her. “Madam,” he had replied, silently thanking God for his appointment with Herbert, “you are very kind, and as you know I am all eagerness to admire the pinery. However, this morning circumstances forbid me. I have arranged a sitting …”
    “Some other time then, Mr. Pope,” she had said, smiling as she rose from the table.

    SABINE ENTERED the conservatory alone. She reached the central atrium, then turned left as she always did toward the beds where her pineapples were planted. At the beginning of the row, she sniffed, and then sniffed again, this time more cautiously. Something jarred; some new, strange odor permeated the familiar, well-loved warmth: a foreign scent that on the one hand was sickly sweet, yet on the other had an acrid taint that was unsettling, poisonous, intrusive.
    She cast about to find its source. At first, all seemed in perfect order. The air was warmed by rotting bark and dung. Her pineapple plants, many of which had been rooted in Barbados and transported to Astley under her supervision, had been repotted in larger containers only last week. They were ranged in tiered beds, so that no more than the upper rims of the pots were visible. From the center of these halos the sharp, silvery gray leaves emerged like the long, pointed shafts of spears.
    Sabine walked along the narrow path, examining each pot for signs of interference. In the heart of several crowns, small green fruits, no larger than an infant’s fist, had formed. In others, larger fruits were about to ripen. Perspiration rose on her lip and forehead as she entered further into the pinery and the unfamiliar smell became more potent.
    Halfway along the path the stench was overwhelming. Sabine began to breathe shallowly. She held a kerchief to her mouth. Yet she could taste as well as smell it. Her stomach heaved, yet at no point did she consider withdrawing to call for assistance. She was a newcomer to Astley but the pinery was already her domain. If something untoward had taken place here, it was imperative she should witness the extent of it.
    At the end of the path a