"She is fine, is she not?"

The harsh voice at my side startled me, for it was certainly not Jacob's. I turned to see a gentleman I recognized as Mr Mortimer Kettle at my side. His round, portly figure and bright ginger un-bewigged hair were unmistakable.

"She is my Aphrodite," he continued, full of angry pa.s.sion. "Do you realize, Parson, how rare it is to find a statue of the G.o.ddess of love? I would know mine anywhere, and this is it, stolen from me by our n.o.ble host."

Unfortunately the loyal Nathaniel, who was standing by a sundial nearby, had overheard, and at once defended his master. "Aphrodite is rightfully here, sir. As is the Medici sarcophagus-"

"He has that too?" Kettle struggled for composure. There were tears on his face but whether of anger or loss was not clear. "Horatio bade me to come to this place at four o'clock. Is he to apologize for his perfidiousness? I shall not leave here today without my Aphrodite."

Nathaniel skilfully placed himself between the statue and her would-be abductor. "There are others joining us, sir. We must all go together." He looked nervous now, and no wonder. Montague Kettle was not the only person to have strong emotions where Horatio was concerned. Whatever our host had planned for this ceremony if that is what it was he would need to take care. Caveat canem, I thought; there might be dogs a-plenty snapping at his heels.

Squire Carstairs, hardly to my surprise, as he is lord of the manor of this parish of Farnley, now joined us, together with dear Eleanor, and John Simple, who both looked as though they would fain be elsewhere. When Horatio commanded, however, they had little choice, and I was glad of the Squire's presence, as he is our local justice. Nothing, I told myself, could therefore be amiss. Even Horatio would plan no mischief if the Squire was to be present.

Our small group followed Nathaniel as he led the way up a stone path cunningly concealed by the side of the grotto. At a last twist this led to a high rocky outcrop looking down over the gardens and on to the pool beneath. On its far side a hillside seemed to lead down to wild woodland, and the outcrop itself was framed by bushes forming a delightful arc around it and providing for a small arbour with a seat for two. The outcrop was an impressive sight, dominated by the large open stone sarcophagus with splendid carvings that suggested it had indeed been created for a powerful and rich occupant.

Horatio was not yet present, but in the bushes I was sure I could see old Tom Hawkins, Percival's knowledgeable gardener of many decades, who shared my own deep love of his master's gardens, and had none for Percival's heir. What, I wondered, was he doing here? I saw Montague Kettle edge forward to inspect the side of the sarcophagus, I saw Eleanor and John hold back, I saw Nathaniel walk over to the tomb.

His cry of horror pierced us all, and I rushed to his side.

Death had indeed come to Arcadia. Horatio's bloodied body lay in the bottom of the sarcophagus. Across his chest lay an arrow, as if, having done its foul work, it had been disdainfully flung in after him.

In times of shock, the eye can be a keen observer, because such a moment as we had experienced remains frozen in time and memory, every detail as crystal clear as the trickling water cascading down the rocks below us. I remember the look on John's face, as he realized that the brother who had barred his way all these years was dead, but I could not then interpret it. I remember the blankness of Eleanor's expression and Mr Kettle's mingled shock and triumph as he looked on his rival's body. I remember Nathaniel's pale face, as he collapsed on to the arbour seat. I remember the hatred in old Tom's face, as he came forward from the bushes, belatedly doffing his cap in respect. I shuddered for us all, but mostly for Horatio, who had met such a dreadful end as a result, surely, of his own actions.

"Squire?" I asked tentatively.

The Squire looked a gentleman more inclined to the bottle after luncheon than such a task as he must now face. I suspected he had no more liking for Horatio than I, but he had a duty to perform. He was the local magistrate and this was surely a task beyond the parish constable's handling. It was the Squire who must call for the coroner.

It was clearly an unwelcome task, but he took charge immediately. "Stay, if you please," he snapped at John, who was about to escort Eleanor down the steps, his arm tenderly about her waist.

John looked as if he were about to protest, but wisely did not. Nor did Mr Kettle who had already begun to run down to the gardens below us. He meekly returned to join us. The Squire next turned to Jacob and myself. "A doctor should be summoned and the innkeeper."

As I was not from this parish, the latter surprised me, until I realized that the innkeeper might be the coroner here. Having some experience in cases of sudden death, I reluctantly decided that I should remain here, but Jacob very willingly departed on his errand.

"A prayer for the soul of Horatio Simple," I said quietly.

The Squire reddened at his previous emphasis on the secular demands of the situation, as I recalled our small group to the fact that there was a dead man here, no matter what their liking or otherwise might have been for him.

I drew the Squire to one side after my simple plea to our Lord was concluded, so that we might speak privately. "My services are at your disposal, Squire."

He looked surprised. "Why, I need none," he told me gruffly. "The affair is shocking but simply solved. The gardener was present when we arrived and there is but one entrance to this place. He is our man."

I was aware that Tom had retreated to the far side of the outcrop, too scared to venture forth, and I knew then that not only were my services going to be necessary but diplomacy also. Tom would not have been an invited guest to this place, so why was he here?

"That may be so," I agreed. "Tell me, Squire, what do you make of the arrow?"

"Make of it?" He looked bewildered.

I explained. "The arrow has been pulled out of the wound by the murderer, leading to the amount of blood we can see on the body. However, if Mr Simple were killed on the ground here, and his body thrown into the sarcophagus after, then his blood would be scattered on the ground around us, but I see none. Why should the gardener trouble to conceal his crime in such a way?"

The Squire paled, and hastened to check my words. Then he straightened up. "Are you telling me the poor fellow was forced to climb into his own tomb and was then shot from above?"

"So it would appear." And yet my answer did not satisfy me.

"Then a woman is indicated." The Squire did not name Eleanor or turn to look at her, but his meaning was clear, even if he was reluctant to put it into words. I could see that her face was still a mask under the large hat which partially shielded it. What her real emotions might be were known only to her. "To put a body in this tomb would take more strength than a woman possesses," the Squire continued, "but a woman would have to persuade a man to lie there of his own accord." He was about to stride over to interrogate her further, when I stopped him.

"Nathaniel guarded the only apparent pa.s.sage up here," I pointed out.

"Quite. So Tom's our man," the Squire agreed in the belief that we were at one.

"Ask Nathaniel what he knows," I said gently. "He was alone while he guarded the steps."

"Bless me if you're not right, Parson."

Squire Carstairs walked over to the apprehensive Nat, without suggesting that I join him, but I hastened to follow as he planted himself in front of the poor fellow. "What do you know about this affair, Nathaniel?" he roared.

To Nat the Squire must have looked a fearsome sight, but he answered bravely enough. "Mr Horatio said no one was to come up to the tomb until the sundial showed four o'clock, and then only yourself, Parson Pennywick and his companion, and those others he had asked to attend."

"Those others who perhaps had reason to hate him most," I murmured. "Strange." The Squire brushed my comment aside, however, and continued to fire questions at Nat.

"When did you begin these guardian duties of yours?"

"Two o'clock, sir."

"Was Mr Simple already here?"

"No, sir, he came about three o'clock."

"You must have come up here when you arrived. Was anyone else here?"

"No, sir."

"And who came after that?"

"Save for Mr Simple himself, no one, sir, until we all came up an hour later."

Nathaniel seemed to have answered honestly, but it served him ill. "That looks bad for you." The Squire frowned.

I knew Nat was generally well liked and, eager though the Squire was to find the perpetrator of this terrible deed, he would not wish it to be Nat.

Nat went white with fear. "Why should I wish to kill Mr Simple, sir? He was my employer. I owe everything to him."

"If no one else could come up here without your noticing, it must have been you who killed him." The Squire looked glum, but seemed satisfied with his reasoning.

I was not. "But Tom must surely have arrived later than Nat?"

The Squire looked at me sharply, and turned to the a.s.sembled company. "Is there another entrance to this place?"

"I know of none," Eleanor faltered.

"Nor I," John immediately confirmed.

"I am a stranger here." Mr Kettle looked highly relieved that this was so.

"Then if there is no other entrance, you or Tom must be guilty, Nat," the Squire said sadly. "Or both."

"Not so," I said firmly. "Even Arcadia needs work upon it to keep it idyllic provided of course the workmen are not seen by those enjoying its perfection. Tom," I called to him, and he approached fearfully, "is it not true that weeds, leaves and pruned branches must be removed from this outcrop by some other path than the steps leading to the main gardens?"

I was about to go on to ask him the reason he had come here, but at that moment, Jacob returned to a.s.sure us a doctor was on his way and the coroner been sent for. He was so overcome by the rush and importance of his mission that he had to be calmed lest he collapse. Once this was accomplished, we turned back to Tom, but there was no sign of him.

"Where's the old man gone?" the Squire cried out in fury. "How did he get away?"

"By the same way he came." I speedily investigated the bushes and found a most interesting hedge which had been so trained as to completely hide another narrow set of steps leading down the hillside at the rear.

"Tom," I called out sternly, as the rustling of the branches made me sure he was still nearby. "Come hither to face your Lord."

Whether I referred to his secular or religious lord was immaterial. Tom was frightened enough to creep back to join us.

"Thomas," I addressed him formally, "you were here when we arrived. For what reason?"

I thought at first he would not reply, but finally he growled, "I wanted to speak to Mr Simple. I saw him come up here. He turned me away yesterday. All for saying I liked his father's garden better than his."

I sympathized, but could not show it. "Did you kill him, Tom?"

He glared at me. "No. He was lying there just like he is now. Dead. Then I heard you all coming. With that old c.o.c.k-brain out of the way, I thought I might stand a chance. He'd told me I'd to be out of my cottage, me and my family, by the end of the week."

John exclaimed in distress. "You shall not leave, Tom. You are safe now that I am the master here. My brother's death puts an end to his cruelty to Miss Eleanor and to you."

Mr Kettle then decided to join the attack. "He was a shark up to every dodge," he maintained. "I discovered Aphrodite in the ruins of Pompeii, and this sarcophagus was mine too. Nathaniel will tell you so, won't you?"

I thought at first Nat would not agree through loyalty to his dead master, but at last he spoke, albeit unwillingly. "Mr Kettle is correct. Mr Simple did steal them and Arcadia-"

Then there was uproar, as everyone, including the Squire, burst out with his own tales of Horatio's cheating ways.

"Stop!" I cried out in horror. "This is not seemly."

But my words had little effect. Even when Mr Kettle rushed away down the stairs, saying he would take his Aphrodite now, only Nathaniel made any attempt to stop him. In vain, however. Mr Kettle had gone.

We were all so engaged in our varying capacities with this bitter discussion that none of us paid any attention to what else might be going on around us, until a familiar voice remarked: "What a jolly hoax, eh?"

It was Horatio. We turned in disbelief to see him standing upright in the tomb, merrily laughing at us.

As we gaped at that dreadful sight, wondering whether this were a sudden recovery from death's cold grasp or the work of the devil, Horatio, seeing he had our full attention, kindly explained that he had merely, in the common parlance, been gaming us.

"I always thought I'd like to be present at my own death," he chortled. "That was more than you could offer me, Parson. You'd have me packed off to h.e.l.lfire like the rest of them here. Splendid to know what everyone thinks of me, all for the price of an arrow and some red paint. Pity about the ruined sheepskin but worth it to see your faces. Look at you all. No one glad to see me returned from the dead, eh?"

Still none of us spoke.

No matter, Horatio was eager to do that for us. "Eleanor, my faithless betrothed," he grinned. "John, my envious brother, Montague Kettle, my avaricious rival, wherever he is. And dear old Tom, our reluctant gardener, packing me off to the devil before my time, and of course Nat, my faithful Grecian echo." His gaze swept over the anguished Nat, then switched back sharply to Mr Kettle who had returned to join us. "Kettle," Horatio screamed out, "you can put that statue back where you found it. It's mine."

Kettle stood there, eyes popping, with Aphrodite clasped to his bosom, looking as though he had just seen Jupiter descending from the clouds aiming a thunderbolt right at him. Eleanor had swooned into John's arms and John looked as if he would stab Horatio with the very arrow he had mocked us with. And I? I stood there, torn between outrage that I had been deceived into playing a role in this tawdry jest and misery on behalf of those whom Horatio would now proceed to punish.

"You'll be out of that cottage tomorrow, Tom," Horatio continued gleefully. "You too, Nat. I need no more of you around. Nor you, loving brother John. I'll only keep one of you for myself." He paused. "My sweet Eleanor."

Jacob and I sat in that so-called Arcadian paradise for another two hours. The doctor and coroner had duly arrived, Jacob had broken the news to them that their services were not required and they had returned to their homes unimpressed with the jests of Horatio Simple. Jacob is not accustomed to having hoaxes played upon him, and required much soothing as we waited. Waited for what? I did not know, but something would surely draw this dreadful day to a close.

We had watched as the guests began to leave. First a few crept away singly, then, as more gained courage, they left in small groups, then in a flood, but at last the sound of hooves and carriages rattling over the gravel was dying away. The Squire had long since departed, I had seen nothing of Mr Kettle, nor of Eleanor, nor of John, nor of Nathaniel. Only old Tom refused to leave the garden and wandered about, reluctant to return to tell his family of what must happen on the morrow. I had seen nothing of Horatio either, and I was grateful for that.

My heart was heavy and even Jacob had lost his taste for cla.s.sical argument, now that the notorious h.e.l.lfire Club seemed to have re-established itself in Kent. I had heard of the devilish capers that went on in those caves, but I had not thought that such outrages could take place here. It seemed to mock G.o.d Himself, and G.o.d will not be mocked.

At last as the sun set over Arcadia, Jacob and I stretched our weary souls and legs, and strolled back to Fern House to make our way home. It was only then, as we pa.s.sed through the orangery, that we saw Horatio Simple again, lying amidst the exotic leaves and fruit in what had been another of his extravagant innovations.

He was dead. No arrow had been used this time, and there had been no hoax. He had been brutally and savagely strangled.

"What is amiss?" Eleanor cried, as I entered the drawing room. She must have seen from my face that something was very wrong. "What worse news can there be?"

John looked as if he were drained of the will to live. "There can be none, Parson. Eleanor is condemned to a life with a monster and I to a loveless future." He might have added, "a penniless one, too," since his only income depended on his brother. "We have been discussing what we might do, but there is nothing. Either we condemn Eleanor's parents to starvation, or Eleanor and I must part for ever. We have decided upon the latter and I shall sail for the Indies shortly."

"Do not," I said gently, "for all has changed. Your brother is dead, John."

He did not seem to take the words in, just looked hopelessly at me.

"Another jest, Parson?" Eleanor said wearily. "I would not have believed that of you."

"This time it is certain," I a.s.sured her.

"He has taken his own life?" John asked.

"Another took it."

I should have condemned the look of hope and joy that crossed their faces, but I prayed for forgiveness because I could not do so. Surely their reaction could not be feigned? Horatio's fate had been unknown to them.

"Come with me, John," I bade him. "There is much to be done."

The Squire was once more sent for, but he was from home. With John's permission, therefore, I bade the servants carry the body to a more seemly resting place until the Squire should join us.

Death's grinning skull was before my eyes as I looked my last on this would-be Arcadia. I was contemplating who had finally brought death to Horatio Simple. I thought back to Jacob's and my conversation earlier, and then I knew beyond a doubt who it had been. I sought the guilty one out, with a heavy heart. It was not difficult. He was sitting on the terrace looking out upon his handiwork, admiring it.

"Why did you do it, Nathaniel?" I asked.

Why had I not noticed the strangeness of his eyes before? They looked right through me as though they saw nothing but himself, like the mythical Narcissus who was oblivious to all others, even the lovely nymph Echo. Echo had been condemned only to repeat the last words of others, and Nathaniel too. Or so I had believed, but Nat saw only his own reflection in the pool.

"He took it away from me," he explained at last. "He took everything I discovered. I found Aphrodite, I found the sarcophagus, but it was Arcadia whose loss I minded, when he claimed it as his own. My heart is here, for I designed it, not he."

Nathaniel had not always been echoing Horatio's words, he had been telling us pathetically the truth that he was the designer.

"But because of what I said at the tomb," Nat continued, "when I believed him dead, Mr Simple was going to turn me from the house, from my own creation. He came to me and said that he would ensure I would never design or travel again."

"You put Arcadia before G.o.d's commandments to man."