The Connicle Curse Read online

  “Now, now,” Miss Porter muttered as she fussed the blanket back over Mrs. Connicle. “Sometimes we wish a thing so deeply that we can convince ourselves—” But she got no further, as Mrs. Connicle suddenly lunged at her, lashing out at her head and face with balled fists in a rain of fury.

  “You horrible woman,” Annabelle Connicle shrieked. “You horrible, hateful woman!”

  And then I was in motion, racing forward and pulling Miss Porter out of range. The poor young woman was shaking as I held her a moment, her eyes filled with shock and horror. “You mustn’t think anything,” I whispered to her. “These are extraordinary days.” I glanced up to find Mrs. Hollings staring at us and gestured her over. “Take Miss Porter and get her some tea,” I said to the older woman. “I shall stay here and tend to Mrs. Connicle.” She nodded and dutifully led Miss Porter out of the room.

  As the kitchen door swung closed behind the two women I quietly settled into a chair across from the couch Mrs. Connicle was huddled upon. She had curled back up beneath the blanket, her tiny form taking up no more than a small slice of a single cushion. She was still sobbing and I could tell by the movements of the blanket that she was shivering with either cold, grief, or both.

  “I believe you, Mrs. Connicle,” I said after a moment, holding my voice low and calm. “You know your husband better than anyone. How far away from him were you?” I knew it would be foolish to try to convince her of other than what she believed. All I could do was try to guide her to consider the improbability. How many times I had watched my father do the very same thing with my mother.

  “I know what you mean to do, Mr. Pruitt,” she answered at once. “I appreciate it. I do. But I know what I saw and it was neither an apparition nor an illusion. Believe what you will. I shall not be dissuaded otherwise.”

  “I wish to dissuade you of nothing,” I said. “You are our client, Mrs. Connicle, and if you wish us to search the whole of Britain for your husband, then we shall do so.”

  She looked over at me, her eyes as hollow as her voice. “You told me once that you knew madness in your own family. So tell me . . . do you think me mad?”

  CHAPTER 14

  Randolph steered the Connicle carriage toward Holland Park with the assurance of a man who has been doing so for the whole of his life. He seemed relieved when I had asked him to ferry me back to the city, obviously as uncomfortable in the house as I felt. He also had no idea that I really just wanted an opportunity to ask him about Mr. Connicle’s connubial wanderings, even after I shunned the interior of the carriage and climbed up beside him as though we were great old chums. The city’s crystal-blue sky and warm, indifferent breeze did give me a compelling argument for my actions, but I was still glad to have him off his ease. I hoped it might give me an advantage in our discussion.

  As the scenery slowly began to alter, large landed estates gradually giving way to abbreviated properties that in turn let on to homes of barely more than the land beneath them, I considered my words carefully. It was only as the Guitnu home drew closer that I decided to lead with the banal. “Do I remember correctly that you’ve been working with the Connicles since they married ?”

  My sterling conversation starter earned me a silent nod.

  “It speaks well of them to have such loyalty from a man like you.”

  He tossed me a curious glance and I suspected he was wondering how I could possibly have any idea what kind of man he was. “I s’pose.” He shrugged.

  “It’s such a shame how poor Mrs. Connicle suffers so. That must have been difficult for Mr. Connicle.”

  Randolph slid his eyes back to me for the whole of an instant but otherwise offered nothing else. I was clearly having no impact on him and all the while Holland Park was drawing inevitably closer.

  “My mother suffered bouts of hysteria when I was a boy. Voices . . . Hallucinations . . . They caused my father an infinite sorrow.”

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

  “It was a long time ago,” I said too glibly, and was rewarded with a fleeting stab of shame that I quickly tamped down. “My father would sometimes seek solace in the company of a diffident widow who lived near us. I believe she helped afford him the fortitude to remain by my mother’s side during the worst times.” The lie caught in my throat and I was forced to look away from Randolph to ensure my composure. “No one could fault Mr. Connicle”—I plunged ahead after sucking in a quick breath—“for having done the same.”

  Randolph kept his eyes focused straight ahead as he steered us down the Guitnus’ street. I knew he had no reason to answer me and even less to betray the confidence of his employer. Even so, as he pulled the carriage to a smooth stop he spoke up. “I wouldn’t know about that,” he said.

  I noticed my young accomplice down the path, half-hidden in a cluster of bushes, watching my arrival with a grand smile. “Thank you for bringing me.” I looked back at Randolph, fighting to keep the disappointment from my face.

  “Mr. Pruitt?” he said after I climbed down. “Ya ought not discount Mrs. Connicle too quick. I saw the man near Covington Market that got ’er all roused up. It did look like ’im. I’m just sayin’ . . .” He stared off down the street. “Ya ought not discount ’er too quick.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Entrepreneurial Paul was clearly not pleased that I was almost an hour late in meeting him at the Guitnu home, or that I had ceased listening to him prattle on while I endeavored to procure us a cab. To be fair, I was still very much caught up on Randolph’s parting words as I tried to determine precisely what it was he had wanted me to understand.

  “Mr. Pruitt!” The exasperation in the lad’s voice finally sliced through my preoccupation as I turned to find myself staring at a boyish scowl.

  “What?” I barked back with a woeful lack of patience.

  “Ya ’aven’t been listenin’ to a bloody word I been sayin’. Yer moonin’ all over the place.”

  “I am not mooning,” I corrected brusquely, further angering myself for treating this well-meaning boy thusly. “All right . . .” I took a breath and forced what I could of a smile to my face. “What were you saying?”

  “The girl you was wantin’ ta follow . . . ? She came out at eleven jest like yesterday, only you wasn’t ’ere. So I tailed ’er back to ’er school like before, but this time she weren’t picked up by no cab. I left me mate there and told ’im not ta lose ’er.” He shook his head gravely. “But that were near an ’our ago. Where the ’ell were you?”

  “I was working and got unavoidably delayed!” I groused sharply, and then made it worse by adding, “And may I remind you who is working for whom.”

  His eyebrows shot up and he dissolved into laughter. “I ain’t workin’ fer you. I’m workin’ fer Mr. Pendelwagon. You can bugger off.”

  “It’s Pendragon,” I said with a scowl. “And must you talk like a guttersnipe?”

  “Well, I weren’t born with a silver spoon up me arse.”

  I shook my head. “Fine,” I muttered, scolding myself for behaving so badly. “Do you suppose your chap has been able to keep an eye on the girl?”

  He shrugged noncommittally and I decided I deserved that.

  “You said she went back to her school?”

  “Yup.” He finally slid his gaze back to me and I could already see enthusiasm coloring his face again. “She went right to the library and that’s where I left ’er. Tol’ me chum not ta lose ’er. Maybe they’ll still be there.” He shrugged again. “We’ll ’ave ta see.”

  A cab carried us the short distance to the school, where, upon our arrival at the grand library, Paul nearly dragged me to an end stack at the rear of the huge main floor where he had already spotted his mate. It was astonishing that I hadn’t noticed the boy myself, given that he was as conspicuous as a fly in ointment. He was shorter than Paul, with black, wiry hair tucked haphazardly beneath a well-worn cap, and was wearing rumpled, ill-fitting clothing that looked old enough to have belonged to his grandfather. It seemed a
veritable miracle that the Guitnu girl hadn’t caught sight of this ragamuffin tailing her. I took it as an indication of her state of mind.

  “You lads have done a fine job,” I whispered as Paul and I sidled up to his friend. “But you’d best let me take it from here.”

  “You can take it anywhere ya want, but I’ll have me crown first,” Paul responded with an upturned palm.

  “I thought ya said it were a farthing. . . .” His pal scowled.

  “Hush up,” Paul warned as he shook his empty hand at me.

  I dug into my pocket and gave the boys a crown each, but not before asking Paul to wait for me outside. “There’ll be a half crown in it for you,” I added, and of course he agreed.

  With the boys dispatched I turned my attentions to the person I had come here to see. I crept down the parallel aisle from where I knew the Guitnu girl to be, and as soon as I caught the sound of her sibilant whispering I stopped. Carefully tugging a book from the shelf, I peeked over the tops of several disparate volumes on the other side and spotted the Guitnus’ middle daughter, Sunny. She was deep in conversation with a tall, skinny, red-haired young man with a complexion like parchment and a cabbie’s coat and hat clutched in one hand. Her voice kept cracking and I could tell that she was choking back tears, but I could not decipher exactly what either of them was saying.

  I was about to try moving closer when I saw Sunny suddenly reach out and drop something glittering into one of the young man’s hands. He closed his fingers around it so quickly that I couldn’t see exactly what it was, but I had no doubt that it was certainly some piece of jewelry. Then, just as suddenly, Sunny turned and raced away from the young man, her muffled sobs echoing through the otherwise silent space. Extortion, I realized. This pasty young pissant was up to some manner of extortion against poor Sunny, though what she could have done to elicit such a thing bewildered me. Before I could give it the faintest consideration, however, he abruptly turned and charged up the aisle after her. Without a second thought I launched after him, managing to collide with him as he came barreling out of his aisle and sending him sprawling to the floor.

  “Pardon . . .” I sniffed as Sunny made good her getaway.

  CHAPTER 16

  “We are wasting away up here, Mrs. Behmoth. Any chance of getting some lunch before nightfall?” Colin’s evident frustration had boiled beyond the point of civility the moment I told him about Randolph’s illusory comment concerning Mrs. Connicle and what she may have seen near Covington Market.

  “Ya ask me that way again and I’ll bloody well toss this tray out the winda,” came the hurtled reply.

  “So you’ve got it on a tray then?” he snapped back, pounding away from the landing and dropping back to the floor to blast out several dozen more push-ups. He admitted to having been doing them since returning from the Hutton home, where Charlotte Hutton had readily acknowledged that her husband had indeed lost a pinky ring with a diamond H several weeks ago. Rather than being unnerved, however, Mr. Hutton had apparently dismissed the episode with a blistering glance at his wife. It had obviously annoyed Colin and I knew Mr. Hutton would likely come to regret that.

  “We know Mrs. Connicle is prone to hysterics!” Colin groused with unreserved agitation as he bolted up from the floor the moment Mrs. Behmoth came into the room. “But to have her driver say such a thing makes me wonder if he’s not trying to lead us astray. Or perhaps he has some motive in ensuring she believes such a thing could be true.” He swept the tray of finger sandwiches, cut fruit, and tea from Mrs. Behmoth and set it skittering onto the table near me.

  “Mind how ya treat the ruddy dishes,” she griped, her meaty fists on her hips.

  “I promise to get it all back to you in one piece,” I said.

  “See that ya do.” She scowled at Colin before thundering back downstairs.

  “I need to see Edmond Connicle’s autopsy report,” he grumbled, snatching up two of the sandwiches and downing them almost without chewing.

  “You’ve got the magistrate’s order,” I reminded. “You can see whatever you wish.”

  “Yes, yes,” he muttered absently as he handed me a napkin full of sandwiches. “We’ll just have to go and visit that twit, Denton Ross. I despise him and his morgue.” Colin turned and glared at me, and I knew what he was going to say next. “We’ll go and get the report. Together. Maybe take another look at the remains. If our client is going to start seeing her husband’s ghost then we’ve got to give her proof of his death.”

  “And what of Randolph?”

  “What indeed . . .” Colin gave me a scowl and grabbed another sandwich and his tea as he stalked over to the fireplace. “I’ll speak with him. I’ll find out what the hell he’s blathering on about. He’s probably just gotten caught up in his mistress’s hysteria. I hope so for his sake.”

  I nodded. The thought that Randolph might have some ulterior motive had not occurred to me. “And when do you intend for us to go to the morgue?”

  “At once.” He gulped down his tea and fairly slammed the cup onto the mantel.

  The watercress sandwich I’d been chewing curdled in my mouth. I loathe the stench and sight of his morgue but have even less enthusiasm for Denton Ross himself. “I haven’t even told you about Sunny Guitnu yet,” I said, set on stalling him as long as I could.

  “Let’s be off.” He tugged on his jacket. “You can tell me on the way.”

  As much as I wanted to protest, to find some way to delay the inevitable, I knew there was no sense in it. So, quicker than my heart was ready, we were in the back of a carriage heading to the drab, stone-block medical building that housed the County of London morgue in its bowels. I relayed everything I had seen of Sunny Guitnu, and just as I had suspected, the first thing Colin said was, “We must find this detestable young cabdriver.”

  I could not suppress a smile. “I thought you might be interested in him, so I gave your little underling an extra half crown to follow the young man when he left. See where he goes. Where he lives.”

  “Brilliant,” he muttered as he gazed out at the soot-blackened buildings crowding past as we drew nearer to the morgue. I could see that he was deep in thought and wondered if he too was considering how unpleasant this was going to be. That Denton would most certainly do his utmost to try to find a way to thwart us.

  I kept quiet until we had pushed our way through the double doors and, as always, the pungent scent of death struck us like a physical blow. It cloyed inside the nostrils with such intensity that it seemed every pore had to be absorbing the stink of it. My eyes stung and my tongue felt like it was swelling with the effort to keep my throat from becoming coated with it. I fought the urge to gag as I glanced at Colin and noticed that he had taken on a grayish cast himself. “I hate this place!” I growled.

  “It serves a purpose,” he bothered to reply before pounding the bell on the front countertop. That singular note, high-pitched and jarring, was enough to momentarily shift my brain from the distastefulness at hand. It would do no good for Denton to find us with our lips curled and eyes glazed.

  A moment later a tall, painfully thin man with a heavily pocked, angular face shoved through the doors behind the counter and leveled a spare, disinterested look at us. He was wearing a leather apron atop a white smock that was splattered with all manner of unrecognizable effluvium. “What?” was all he said.

  Colin gave a warm, easy smile. “I’m Colin Pendragon and this is—” But he got no further before the sour man interrupted him.

  “I know who you are.”

  Colin’s smile widened unnaturally. “Very well. Then I presume we can dispense with the frivolities and get right to the business at hand.”

  “What’s going on, Mr. Armsted? Who is it?” Denton Ross’s pinched, nasal voice drifted out from the back, setting my stomach on a round of dissent. Before his assistant could respond Denton pushed his way through the doors with his usual display of irritation. He too was wearing a gore-smeared leather apron over a long wh
ite smock, but he also had on gloves that were coated in a rust-colored ooze from the tips of his fingers to the middle of his wrists. “Oh.” His lips curled. “You two.”

  “Well . . .” Colin glanced from the unmoving face of Mr. Armsted to the disapproving visage of Denton Ross. “Hardly the welcome we were hoping for.”

  “Whatever would make you think you’d be welcome?” Denton sneered.

  Colin plastered on his smile again. “I would agree there is much mileage between us, the enchanting Mr. Armsted notwithstanding, but I thought perhaps it time for us to put such things in the past.”

  “Such things . . . ?” Denton seethed. “Is that how you characterize your treatment of me? Playing me for a fool and ridiculing my character?”

  Colin seemed to ponder Denton’s words a moment, though I doubted he did so in earnest. After all, we did still have the magistrate’s order. “When I suggested you might be mistaken about the cause of death of the Connicles’ groundsman,” he said with much forced integrity, “I never meant to offer up any sort of ridicule—”

  “A pox on you, Pendragon!” Denton roared. “You and your blasted Pruitt!”

  “Now you see . . .” Colin maintained his dubious grin as he took a single step forward. “One moment you are lamenting your fine character and the next you’re attacking the one person for whom I would gladly disembowel you.”

  Denton’s bulbous eyes stretched the boundaries of their sockets even as Mr. Armsted feinted back slightly. “Get out!” Denton seethed. “Or I’ll have the Yard toss your ass in jail again!”

  “Really?” Colin scowled. “Can we not find some modicum of civility here?”

  “Piss off.”

  “You know we have a magistrate’s order.” He turned to me. “Show it to him.”

  My heart seized as I stared back at Colin blankly. “I thought you had it.”

  Colin’s lips pinched as he swung back on Denton. “You saw it at the Connicles’ house yesterday. Don’t be a ruddy ass.”