The Connicle Curse Page 10

  “Blood,” he murmured. “Almost certainly Albert’s. He was attacked out here and dragged up that hillside, and then left for dead at the bottom of that tree to make it look as though he’d had an accident.” Colin took off along the horse’s trail, taking less care now, plunging through trees and undergrowth that led us, finally, back to the place where Albert’s body had been found. “I’d wager Albert was tethered on the horse faceup so that when he was shoved off he would land facedown and the story of his death would seemingly tell itself.”

  “Then he must have seen something . . . someone . . . the morning Edmond Connicle was killed.”

  “Whatever it was, it cost him his life.” Colin started kicking at the ground where Albert’s body had lain, and just as he had done before, he suddenly dropped to his knees and began clawing at the earth like a feral dog.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “I don’t know,” he said with evident frustration. “I just thought . . .” but he let his voice trail off as he sat back on the bare earth, his hands and shirtsleeves thickly smudged with dirt. Even so, I knew he had been checking for fetishes. Yet this death was meant to seem an accident. There would be none here, and as Colin ran a hand through his flaxen hair, leaving a dirt streak down the middle like the reverse of a skunk, I knew he had accepted the same conclusion.

  I turned my head to keep from snickering at the sight of him and as I did my eye caught the glint of something shiny just beyond where he sat. I stooped to pick it up, having to finger the earth slightly to loosen the object before finally extracting a small, gold man’s pinky ring with the initial H on its face in tiny diamonds. “Maybe this is something?” I said as I passed it over to him.

  “H? How many men have we met with the initial H?”

  “Arthur Hutton and Hubert Aston,” I answered at once.

  “A seeming embarrassment of riches.” He gave a smile as he stood up, looking almost as disheveled and grubby as I.

  “I wonder who the lucky owner is?”

  His smile turned rogue. “It should be easy enough to find out.”

  CHAPTER 12

  By the time we let ourselves back into our flat I couldn’t honestly say which of us looked the worse for wear. While my clothes were torn, abraded, and smudged in a fair many places, Colin looked as though he had been up to his knees and elbows in muck. Yet having all but confirmed Colin’s supposition around Albert’s death kept either of us from caring a whit about our appearance, even in light of the frown the cabdriver had leveled upon us.

  “Wot in the name a me cursed mother’s ruddy arse did you two get into?!” I hadn’t even noticed the kitchen door swinging open before Mrs. Behmoth was standing in the hallway, hands on hips, glaring at us foully. “Ya look like a couple a poxy urchins. Ya ain’t goin’ upstairs like that.”

  Colin glanced at me, his eyes rolling. “Why don’t you go draw us a bath.”

  I curled my nose up. “I’m not getting in a bath with you. You’ll turn the water black.”

  “Do I really need ta ’ear this? Ain’t there no end ta wot I put up with?” She scowled and shook her head. “Get upstairs and don’t make a bloody mess.”

  Colin took two strides forward and bussed her cheek before she could recoil. “We’ll be tidy.”

  “ ’E may be,” she said, nodding toward me, “but I ain’t never seen the day you was.” She shook her head and tsked before bustling back into her kitchen.

  I had not truly realized how done in I was until I was reclining in the tub, Colin slumped behind me with his chin resting atop my head. There was no doubt that I had wrenched several muscles during my foray into that wretched tree, but at least the outcome had been decisive. While we didn’t have much to show for this case yet, we knew someone was working hard to cover their tracks.

  “What do you make of Hubert Aston’s assertion about Edmond Connicle having an affair?” I mumbled in spite of the lulling effect the hot water was having on my body and brain.

  “Hmmm . . . ?” came Colin’s lazy reply. “Oh . . . I’m sure it’s true. Entitled men consider a mistress a right. I’ve little doubt that Mr. Aston is similarly engaged himself.”

  “And him with his fine, proper wife,” I scoffed. “Does he owe her nothing after she bore him seven perfect progeny?”

  Colin laughed. “Don’t be balmy. She’s living in grand style and wants for nothing. By now she’d probably rather watch snails race than shag him anyway.” He slid his hands beneath the water with a snicker. “Unlike me.”

  “Fancy him, do you?” I teased.

  He responded by pelting me with a faceful of water. “You’re vile!” he growled.

  I burst out laughing just as a sudden pounding rattled the door. “When you two are done ’avin’ yer jollies in the w.c.,” Mrs. Behmoth barked, “that scruffy lad is ’ere! Says ya owe ’im a crown for spyin’ on people ’alf the day.”

  “It’s Paul!” Colin bolted upright. “He’ll have news about the Guitnu girls. We’ll be right out,” Colin called. “Settle him in the study.”

  “If ya insist, but I ain’t entertainin’ the little shite.”

  “We’ll be right out!” Colin blasted back as I tugged the drain plug out and he grabbed for the towels. “Bring him up and fetch some tea.”

  I heard her mutter something as she ambled off, but neither of us paid her any mind as we dried off and quickly dressed in clean clothes. In a matter of minutes we were back in the study before a roaring fire, tea and biscuits served, settled into our usual chairs across from the settee where Mrs. Behmoth had directed Paul.

  “I see you’re a man who takes his responsibilities seriously,” Colin remarked with the hint of a grin. “I knew I was right about you.”

  “Yes, sir.” Paul beamed with pride. “ ’At’s why ya won’t catch me pickin’ pockets on the street.”

  “I’m sure a conscientious young man like you is far too clever to get caught,” I agreed, letting him know he didn’t fool me.

  “’At’s right.” He puffed out his chest before the true meaning of my words sank in. “No!” he snapped far too harshly.

  “Never mind.” Colin waved him off and tossed me a scowl. “What I’d like to know is what you observed this afternoon at the Guitnu residence.”

  “I seen plenty,” he said, his voice immediately charged with excitement again. “I got one a me blokes ta help and it were a good thing I did too ’cause we had ta split up fer part a the day.” His face was aglow with fervor, much like a carriage salesman hawking the latest model as though there truly were nothing else like it. “I promised ’im two crowns like ya said I could.”

  “Excellent.” Colin smiled as he dug three crowns out of his pocket and poured them enticingly from hand to hand. “So what did you boys see?”

  “We seen one a them girls go out with ’er father. Me chum followed ’em and said they went ta a jewelry shop and set about workin’ there.” He shrugged. “Didn’t seem there were nothin’ else ta see, so ’e came back. I followed an ol’ woman who must a been the cook, ’cause she went to the market and bought all sorts a food. She were real stingy too, yellin’ ’bout the prices and puttin’ as much back as she bought.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. And was there anything else?” Colin asked, a note of disappointment creeping into his voice.

  “I followed another a them girls off ta school,” he said as he snatched up several biscuits. “She walked part a the way and then a cab stopped without ’er even askin’ and took ’er the rest a the way.”

  “She didn’t hail it? You’re certain?”

  “I know what I saw! She were just walkin’ down the street and it pulled right up beside ’er and she climbed in like she owned it.”

  “Was anyone else in it?”

  He shook his head and popped a biscuit into his mouth. “Not that I saw.”

  “How about when it got to the school? Did anyone get out with her?”

  He shook his head. “Just ’er.”
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  “Which daughter was that?”

  He shrugged, a peppering of crumbs drifting down to his lap.

  “Did she look older or younger than the one who went to the shop?”

  He seemed to think about it a minute before finally saying, “I dunno.”

  “Fine.” Colin exhaled, giving a broad smile to the lad anyway. “And was there anything else?”

  “Some man brought a delivery of bread and another milk and eggs.”

  “Was either let into the house?”

  “Nah.”

  “Did anyone from the house give either man anything? Anything at all?”

  The boy screwed up his face as though with great thought, casting his eyes to the windows a moment. But all that came of it was another “Nah.”

  Colin stood up and finally passed the three crowns to Paul. “You’ve done us a fine service today,” he said. “Here’s a crown for you and two for your mate, just as promised.” I fought the scowl trying to crease my forehead at the cost of this scant information, so was even more chagrined when Colin added, “And might we impose upon you for a bit more of your time tomorrow? Mr. Pruitt will need to know which daughter went where, so he’ll meet you at the house tomorrow morning. Shall we say for another couple of crowns . . . ?”

  “Blimey!”

  “What time did the girl leave for the shop with her father?”

  “ ’Bout ten, I guess.”

  “And the young lady to school?”

  “ ’Bout eleven.”

  “All right. Then if you’ll watch the house through the morning, Mr. Pruitt will meet you there shortly before eleven.”

  “I’ll be there.” He jingled the coins with a toothy grin before bounding down the stairs and out the door.

  Colin stalked over to the window and peered through the drapes. “I hope you don’t mind me volunteering you for duty tomorrow.”

  “You know I don’t. But what is it I’m supposed to do?”

  “First you must stop by the Connicles’ to speak with their driver, Rudolph.”

  “Randolph.”

  He waved me off. “Whichever. If anyone might know about Edmond Connicle’s infidelity, it would be he. I’m most interested to see if he suggests any such link between Mr. Connicle and their scullery maid, Alexa. Then go see which Guitnu daughter is getting into unbidden cabs on the street.”

  “And what will you be doing?”

  “Our Paul is turning out to be quite the entrepreneur.” Colin chuckled as he came away from the window and snatched up his dumbbells. “He only handed one crown over to his mate. A crafty boy like that could well end up in Parliament one day.” He hoisted the weights over his head and began pressing them up and down. “For my part, I shall find out whether Arthur Hutton or Hubert Aston has lost a pinky ring. Needless to say, I will be asking their wives or one of their children.” He chuckled as he kept the weights moving effortlessly. “And then I’ll head over to Columbia Financial Services, where Edmond Connicle was a founding partner. I shall see if I can ferret anything out about his indiscretions from one of his chums.”

  “So what are you thinking?”

  “Perhaps he picked the wrong husband to cuckold. Or maybe his dalliance was taking place in his own home.”

  “You mean Alexa?”

  He tossed me a pointed look as he kept the weights flying back and forth. “Alexa . . .” he muttered airily. “Or suppose his wife found out and her brittle mind snapped. . . .” He stopped himself and lowered the weights at once, staring at me. “I didn’t mean . . .”

  “No.” I waved him off, stung by the inevitability of something I had not even considered myself. “You’re right. We would be foolish not to consider it.”

  He set the weights down and came over, curling his arms around me. “We’ll know more tomorrow,” he said.

  And I hoped we would, though I knew it would take time for the memory behind his words to let go of me again.

  CHAPTER 13

  The Connicle household was in a state of near hysteria by the time I arrived there just after ten. It was all the more overwhelming in that I had slept little the night before, my brain unrelenting in its determination to painstakingly relive my mother’s own devastating snap from reality. I could not recall a time when she had ever been truly right with the world around her. Even when I was a child I could remember my confusion when she would swing from great heights of joy to near-total catatonia within the matter of a day. It was painful to see, even as a boy. How well I still remembered the morning she and I had gone to Green Park. I couldn’t have been more than five or six. We had romped in the too seldom seen sunshine, my mum chasing me about with peals of laughter, tickling me every time she caught up with me until my sides ached with pleasure.

  We had turned to hide-and-seek at some point and I was sure I was well hidden in a nearby bush, so when she did not find me I was entirely proud of myself. I fled my hiding place and went to look for her and found her on a nearby park bench, her gaze fixed far into the distance in front of her, her posture as rigid as though she had been staked there. I had crawled up next to her and laid my head on her lap. She did not touch me or respond, but I had not expected her to. And that was where my father found us that night, well after darkness had fallen.

  My mother had gone to Needham Hills for a while after that. Though it was the first time that place entered my life, it would not be the last. I thought she seemed better when she returned—more lively, more beautiful, more at peace. That’s how I remember it. And sometimes she was. Sometimes she would read to me at night until I fell asleep, or she would walk me to and from school peppering me with questions about my day. But those things eventually gave way to more incendiary moods. She would not speak for days, oftentimes never leaving her room, or accusing me of watching her, or stealing from her, or trying to cause her harm, when I had done nothing of the kind and given her no reason to believe so.

  All of which left me wondering how I had failed to conceive of the possibility that Mrs. Connicle might also lose the fragile bond that seemed to connect her to the world. Was she capable of murder? I had never conceived of the possibility in my own mother.

  I had arrived at the Connicle estate with my thoughts in such dogged turmoil that I missed the significance of their carriage idling by the front door with no one around. A beautiful golden-maned horse was tethered to the coach, its breath coming hard and fast and its coat slick with perspiration. I saw it, but it made no impact on me. Instead I remained mired between my own disquieting memories and wondering how I would ever coerce Randolph to confide in me, so I was quite startled when Randolph himself opened the door. For an instant I even thought perhaps he knew I was there to speak with him. But my better senses quickly rallied, alerting me to the fact that something was dreadfully wrong.

  By the time I stepped in, Miss Porter had come up behind Randolph and hastily bade me to follow her. When I didn’t seem to be moving quickly enough, she seized my arm and hurried me along the hallway to the library. The moment I crossed the threshold I spotted Mrs. Connicle balled up on the couch. She was whimpering like an injured animal and had a damp cloth spread across her forehead. Her face was so pale that her lips looked bluish and I could see at once that she was shaking ever so slightly. Mrs. Hollings was kneeling at Mrs. Connicle’s side, dabbing at her cheeks with yet another wet cloth, and Letty hovered just behind, looking nearly as pale as Mrs. Connicle herself.

  “Your mistress needs to be covered with a blanket at once,” I said to young Letty as I dashed across the room. “And give her some air, ladies.” They both moved back at once, allowing me to reach her side and get a proper look at her. I was pleased to note that while she was still weeping, her breathing was neither labored nor irregular, and as I knelt at her side and saw that her pupils were full and round I knew she had not succumbed to shock.

  “Get back over to Dr. Renholme’s, Letty,” Miss Porter spoke up. “Find out what’s keeping him.”

  “Rig
ht away,” the girl answered, dipping her head and running out, all the while looking very much relieved to be doing so.

  Miss Porter finally snatched a chenille throw off the back of a nearby chair and draped it gently over Mrs. Connicle. She stepped back and glanced at me, a well of pity evident in her gaze, before moving over to the fireplace, where she began to restoke the flames.

  “Whatever has happened?” I asked as I came up beside her.

  “She thinks she has seen a ghost,” she mumbled under her breath.

  “Do you betray me too?” Mrs. Connicle’s frail voice drifted accusingly between choked sobs as her eyes pleaded with Miss Porter. “How can you?”

  “Hush now, mum,” Mrs. Hollings said as she crept forward, adjusting the compress still pressed to her mistress’s forehead.

  “It was no ghost,” Mrs. Connicle managed in a voice faintly stronger. “I saw him, Mr. Pruitt. In Covington near the marketplace. It was he.” Her face began to collapse as she started to whimper again. “I know it was he.”

  “Ssshhh, mum. Ya mustn’t fret,” Mrs. Hollings persisted.

  “Who . . . ?” I asked foolishly.

  Mrs. Connicle stared over at me, her face so drawn and swollen she appeared to be succumbing to some disease. “Edmond!” she sobbed.

  “You mustn’t, Mrs. Connicle . . .” Miss Porter started to say as she began to move back to her mistress’s side.

  “No!” Mrs. Connicle howled, listing up and sending Mrs. Hollings tumbling backwards. “It was he. It was Edmond! Am I so broken that you find it easier to doubt me than believe me?” Neither of the women said a word nor so much as moved as Mrs. Connicle shifted her gaze back to me. “I tried to run after him, but there were too many people and he was so very far away. . . .” She sagged back against the couch, tears streaking down her cheeks as though driven by their own resolve. “And then he was gone. . . .”