The Endicott Evil Read online

  I started to protest before quickly deciding to hold my tongue and quietly follow him out, all the while thinking how grateful I was to have him back.

  CHAPTER 10

  Colin and I talked without pause from the moment we took our leave of Scotland Yard. He poured out his frustrations with the Zurich trip while I filled him in on the details of Charlotte Hutton, our firing by Eugenia Endicott, and the happenstance of discovering that Lady Dahlia Stuart was the medium Miss Adelaide had been consulting.

  We had gone back to Shauney’s and I had an Earl Grey tea and currant scone while Colin ate dinner, and we did not run out of conversation until nearly nine. It was fortunate timing since Colin had sent word from Scotland Yard to Freddie Nettle that he should meet us back at our flat at nine sharp. We needed to tell him that he was to be our employer on the Endicott case again; never mind that it also meant we were once more working gratis.

  As Colin and I walked home I was not in the least surprised that he was leading us along the exact same route I had used when Charlotte Hutton had stopped me. And when he pushed the short gate open that led into the narrow park stretching the length of our street, I knew he meant for me to narrate precisely what had occurred yet again.

  “Where did you sit?” he asked as he followed me onto the flat stones that led through the slender bit of woodland.

  “Just there,” I said, pointing to the iron bench as though it were the site of something profound. “She sat on the nearer end and I sat opposite.” To my surprise he quickly ran a hand along the seat of the bench before stooping down and peering beneath it. “Whatever are you doing?” I asked with some distaste as he slid both hands underneath it before dropping one palm down the front leg on that side while the other skirted across the ground.

  “I’m checking to see if she dropped anything. . . .” he answered, and I knew I should have known that.

  “And did she?” I asked, even though I could see his hands were empty as he stood up.

  “Where did she catch the cab?” he pressed on, ignoring the obviousness of my question.

  “Around the corner. Tell me you’re not about to go rooting through the dung. . . .”

  He glared at me with a wholly unamused expression. “Are you quite finished?”

  It was my turn to ignore the question as I took him through the opposite side of the park and pointed to the area where I had seen Mrs. Hutton climb aboard the carriage. “It was raining,” I reminded him. “And it did so for most of the night. I doubt there is anything left behind.”

  He scanned the area and knelt down only once to poke at something near the gutter before giving a quick shrug and standing up again. “Clearly, you are right. Still . . .” he added, and I was sure he meant to remind me that I had not done everything I could have.

  I followed him up the few steps to our tiny porch and made it inside just in time to find Mrs. Behmoth thudding down from upstairs with an empty tea tray in one hand. “Well, thank bloody ’ell,” she grumbled. “Ya got a visitor and I ain’t paid enough ta amuse ’em.”

  “Is it Mr. Nettle?” Colin asked as he started up.

  “It is. . . .” She glared at him as she watched him bound up the stairs before finally turning her gaze to me. “Did ya get the burr outta ’is bum?”

  “It was the Yard,” I answered by way of explanation. “You know how he gets about them.”

  “Them and everybody else ’e ain’t got the patience ta tolerate.” She started off toward the kitchen. “I don’t know ’ow ’e got like that,” she muttered. “’Is father ain’t that way and ’is mum sure weren’t neither.”

  I stared after her for a moment, thinking she might turn back and give me a chuckle or wink to show that she understood her own jest, but she only pushed her way into the kitchen, and I realized she’d meant what she had said. Had we been alone I might have chased after her, but under the circumstances I had no choice but to shake my head and hurry upstairs.

  Mr. Nettle was seated on the settee across from Colin, who was pouring the tea with a magnanimity that assured me he was quite pleased with how his day had improved. “Mr. Nettle, thank you for coming out so late.”

  “Mr. Pruitt,” he said, bouncing to his feet to shake my hand. “I am always at your service. I cannot tell you how pleased I was to receive your message. How is the case progressing? Have you made any strides in clearing my name?”

  “We make strides every day,” Colin replied archly as he handed a cup of tea to Mr. Nettle. “In fact, we have already managed to ruffle enough feathers that Miss Eugenia has had a change of heart and decided to relieve us of her support in investigating the case.”

  “Oh . . .” Mr. Nettle’s color drained with astonishing speed. “When you sent me that message informing me that she had decided to hire you herself, I hoped it meant she had second thoughts about my guilt. I see now that my optimism was misplaced.” His body sagged noticeably. “Does she persist in calling for my arrest?” He slid his teacup onto the table and folded his arms across his chest as though attempting to defend himself from an attack that he alone could sense. It seemed odd for a man of his robust sturdiness, and it made me feel ever more sorry for him. If he actually did prove to be guilty of any malfeasance I was going to be astonished by it.

  “You mustn’t worry yourself about Miss Eugenia and what she rails on about,” Colin reassured. “You need only be concerned with what I think.” He flashed a quick smile, and I could tell that Mr. Nettle didn’t know whether Colin was kidding or not. “Right now all you have to do is answer some questions for me, and then I shall need you to do me a service.”

  “Of course, Mr. Pendragon,” the young man answered without hesitation. “I shall do anything you ask.” He hesitated and I could see a kernel of something uneasy pass behind his eyes as he flicked them down and then back up again. “But I must remind you that, as before, I won’t be able to pay you very much. I shall assume whatever expenses you require, but I will have to beg your understanding . . .”

  “Please . . .” Colin waved him off before handing over the plate of biscuits Mrs. Behmoth had included on the tray. “I do not solve crimes simply to be paid,” he explained offhandedly as he slid a biscuit into his own mouth. “Isn’t that right?” he added with a sideways glance at me.

  “Without question,” I answered at once, eager to reassure Mr. Nettle. “Unless of course we are talking about the guilty or the very rich,” I added with a chuckle and was glad to see Mr. Nettle do the same.

  “Absolving an innocent man is payment enough,” Colin said as he took a sip of his tea, though I noticed he kept his gaze on Mr. Nettle and I wondered whether he had been reconsidering the potential of this man’s involvement in Miss Adelaide’s death. “May I assume you were well acquainted with the nurses who worked for Miss Adelaide?”

  “Yes, of course. Miss Bromley assisted during the day and Miss Whit arrived about seven o’clock each evening. Neither of them worked on Sundays, so we had to make do with the women of the household staff that day. It seemed to be working out.” He grimaced and shook his head slightly. “I cannot help feeling that I failed Miss Adelaide and shall never forgive myself for it.” His despondence was thick in his voice.

  “How old are you, Mr. Nettle?” I asked.

  “Thirty-one.”

  “Which makes you too young a man to hold such reproach against yourself. We are none of us clairvoyant. We cannot know what the future will hold, which leaves us at a decided disadvantage. You must remember that.”

  “You are very kind, Mr. Pruitt. . . .”

  “Yes, yes . . .” Colin interrupted. “But Mr. Pruitt does bring up an interesting point. Lady Dahlia Stuart is said to be clairvoyant, is she not? And I understand your mistress made twice-monthly visits to her?”

  “That’s right, sir. I went with her every time. Her Ladyship does have a lady’s maid, but she is quite a bit older and could not have managed to assist Miss Adelaide in getting into and out of the house.”


  “And though it would have been far easier to have Lady Stuart come to Layton Manor to counsel Miss Adelaide, I understand her sister would not permit it?”

  Mr. Nettle flinched slightly, making it evident that this was a topic he did not like discussing. “Miss Eugenia forbade it. She could not stop her sister from visiting Lady Stuart, but she could keep Her Ladyship from coming to their home. It was forever a point of contention between them.”

  “Of course”—Colin shot a glance in my direction—“so I have been told. And what did you do while Miss Adelaide was consulting with Lady Stuart?”

  “I sat with her valet, Evers is his name, in the kitchen. It left us far enough away that their conversations were private but close enough that I could quickly be summoned if the need arose.”

  “And did Miss Adelaide ever confide in you the reason for her visits to Lady Stuart?”

  Mr. Nettle shifted the slightest bit before snatching up his teacup and fussing over it with undo attention. “Not particularly. . .” he said after a moment, but I knew he wasn’t being entirely honest and shot Colin a look to be sure he saw it too, though I needn’t have concerned myself.

  “Not a very compelling answer,” he pointed out. “Perhaps you might be more specific and allow us to judge the particulars.”

  Poor Mr. Nettle blanched, and once again I found myself feeling pity for him. That he could be conceived of as a murderer was lost on me, but then I had been fooled before. “It was a little girl,” he finally said with marked trepidation, his eyes falling to the cup he still held in his hands. “I believe the child died and she felt responsible for her death. I don’t know who she was, but Miss Adelaide confessed to a lifetime’s regret for what had befallen the child.”

  “She gave you no name?”

  “Nothing. I swear it, Mr. Pendragon.” And as he looked back up at Colin I would have sworn to the depths of the man’s sincerity myself.

  “Any hint as to her connection to the child? Why she was driven to feel such responsibility?”

  “She did not confide any such details to me and I dared not ask,” he explained and, of course, he was right. Such impudence would never have been tolerated.

  Colin sucked in an agitated breath and appeared to be measuring his patience, though what he had expected to hear I could not imagine. “So you believe she was troubled by the death of a child who had no obvious connection to Miss Adelaide. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?” he pushed ahead, and given the circuity of this conversation, I could not help admiring his persistence.

  Mr. Nettle blinked as though perceiving a question thick with trickery before quite suddenly blurting, “Well, it’s always particularly sad when a child dies.”

  “We all have to die at one time or another,” Colin said with a sniff, and I could not help cringing.

  “I really don’t know anything about the girl or her death,” Mr. Nettle blurted in a great flurry of words, “but I know that Miss Adelaide blamed herself. She told me she had not done enough for the child when she’d had the chance to do something at all.”

  “There now, you see . . .” Colin said as the ghost of a grin fleeted across his lips, “. . . that all sounds quite particular to me. This was obviously a child who not only was in her life but upon whom she appeared to have been able to make something of an impact at one time. You mentioned a lifetime’s regret; may I assume these events around this child happened some years ago?”

  “Indeed.” Mr. Nettle nodded, setting his teacup on the table and tugging nervously at his sleeves as though they had ridden up improperly. “She told me once it was a child she knew when she was just a young woman herself. I remember because I tried to convince her there is so little any of us can do when we are but young ourselves. But she was not to be consoled. By then she was already suffering the visions. She had become convinced the child’s spirit had come to Layton Manor to avenge the wrongs that had been done to her when Miss Adelaide was young.”

  “And what of Miss Eugenia? Did you know her to suffer these regrets or ethereal sightings?”

  Mr. Nettle shook his head and pursed his lips. “I should say not. Such talk made her angry. She would not tolerate it. Not even from her sister.”

  “Yes . . .” Colin agreed, one eyebrow arching up. “So Mr. Pruitt and I have come to realize. What did you make of your mistress’s relationship with Lady Stuart?”

  “It is not my place . . .” he began to demur.

  “It is with us. I will remind you that we are trying to warrant that no murder charges are brought against you, Mr. Nettle. I would assume you are well aware of the reach the Endicott family wields. It is only a matter of time before we hear from Lord Endicott himself. You would be a fool if you believed him willing to endure the perception that his eldest sister might have put an end to her own life.”

  “Yes . . . of course. . . .” Mr. Nettle sagged back into the settee and I caught sight of a thin film of perspiration on his upper lip. “You understand that I had no personal quarrel with Her Ladyship. She was always kind and patient with Miss Adelaide. But neither did I believe her ministrations to be of much use. Sometimes when we would leave I did find Miss Adelaide’s mood considerably brightened, but most often it seemed to have little bearing at all. I could not help but think that the visits did little more than reopen the wounds Miss Adelaide was unable to stanch. And it brought no end to her deliriums.”

  “You are referring to her visions of the young girl?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Colin leaned forward and set his teacup down, leveling a steady gaze on Mr. Nettle. “You must think about this next question very carefully,” he began, “as your answer needs to be the truth as you know it rather than the product of anything you think others wish us to believe.”

  Mr. Nettle nodded with the gravest of looks, the discomfort in his eyes matched by the grayness of his pallor and I knew what Colin was going to ask: a question we had already posed countless times before. But this time I wondered if the answer would be different.

  “During your tenure with Miss Adelaide, were you ever aware of, or hear any rumblings about, or even come to suspect, that she had ever tried to cause harm to herself?”

  The breath seemed to rush out of Mr. Nettle as he stared back at Colin, this broad, powerful man appearing almost stricken at the thought. “I . . .” He paused a second and cleared his throat. “I know I would do myself a great service were I to answer yes, but it would be a lie.” He shook his head. “There were times I would find her weeping, or she would be terrified by a thing she was certain she had seen, but never, not ever, did I hear her say she wished she no longer lived. It simply is not so, even if I am hung for the lack of it.” He stared back at us, his eyes filled with aching, and I wished for his sake that it had been otherwise, but even so, I knew Colin would not care. “Will you still work this case, Mr. Pendragon?” he asked in a voice so frail it was nothing more than a whisper.

  Colin sat back with a somber smile. “Of course. A thing too easily done can be borne by the Yard, so I relish the opportunity to ferret out the truth of your innocence. And so I shall.” He stood up and paced over to the fireplace where he poked at it despite the fact that it was already roaring. “Might you know where Mr. Pruitt and I can get into contact with Miss Adelaide’s former night nurse, Miss What . . . ?” He glanced over at me.

  “Whit,” I said.

  Both of his eyebrows rose. “Really . . . ? So close.” He glanced back at Freddie Nettle. “Mr. Galloway has been having little luck in reaching the young woman thus far.”

  “I have an address for her,” Mr. Nettle answered. “I kept the information for both Miss Whit and Miss Bromley lest we ever had to summon either of them early.”

  “We shall only need that of Miss Whit,” Colin said as he walked over to the landing. “Mr. Pruitt has already met with Miss Bromley. Thank you for your time, Mr. Nettle. We shan’t hold you up any longer.”

  Mr. Nettle looked from Colin to me, clearly surpris
ed by the abruptness of the conversation’s end. Nevertheless he readily pushed himself off the settee, looking ever more out of place for being so summarily dismissed. “You may count on me to be available whenever you require. I shall bring Miss Whit’s information by first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “The sooner the better,” Colin concurred, cuffing the man’s shoulder as he started down the stairs. “And do not lose hope, Mr. Nettle, for it is sunshine that follows every storm.”

  “Thank you, sir,” he called back, his tone having returned to something akin to normal once again.

  “Sunshine follows every storm . . . ?” I repeated after we heard the door slam shut downstairs. “Where did you come up with treacle like that?”

  “I overheard it on the ferry from Calais. You don’t like it?”

  I frowned. “What I don’t like is that we are getting nowhere on this case.”

  “Nowhere?! We’re making enormous advances. Your getting us fired is proof enough of that.”

  My scowl deepened as I pursed my lips. “I wish you would stop going on about how I got us fired.”

  “But it amuses me so,” he said with a snicker as he yanked off his vest and tie and started across the room. “I am going to take a bath. You’re welcome to join me, but you had best stop brooding if you do.” He paused at the door and peered at me with renewed fire behind his eyes. “This has been a remarkable day,” he said with great pleasure, tossing me an incorrigible smile before disappearing down the hallway. And all I could wonder was what the bloody hell he had to be so pleased about.

  CHAPTER 11

  Vivian Whit was a small, curvaceous woman with a wild raft of curly blond hair beneath the crisp white cap still atop her head. She was also not the least bit hesitant to speak her mind, which, I presumed, was a result of the fact that she depended on no one but herself for her livelihood or security. “It was a rogue’s night last night,” she was telling us. “I’m working for a grand dame now as batty as the belfry at Saint Paul’s. This one can’t keep straight if I’m her sister, her mum, some daft playmate she calls Trudy, or the headmistress of a school she probably hasn’t set foot in for over sixty years. She’s called me everything but what I am.” Miss Whit leaned forward and gave Colin and me a ready wink. “Of course sometimes that does make my job easier.”