The Endicott Evil Read online

  “Get me off this bloody damn ladder,” he demanded as he reached out and seized one of my wrists in one hand and the waist of my pants with his other, effectively pinning me against the inside windowsill.

  To my relief, Mr. Evans appeared beside me before I had even heard him start to move, and between the two of us we were able to lever Colin in through the window until he finally landed in a rather unsightly heap on the floor. He bounded up before Mr. Evans or I could offer him any further aid and leaned back out the window and called down, “There you are then, Mr. McPherson. I won’t be needing your ladder anymore. You have done a fine service for me and I thank you most kindly.”

  A muffled reply drifted up from below, but I could not make out any of what he said.

  “Are the front stairs too monotonous for you, Mr. Pendragon?” Mr. Evans ribbed.

  “You aren’t a bit funny.” Colin sniffed, forgoing any sort of laugh, assuring me he was mortified. “How have the two of you fared up here? Find anything of interest?” He pressed forward as he hastily brushed at his jacket and slacks. “Or am I the only one here who is actually doing some work?”

  Colin stared at the two of us from his position at the window as though expecting an answer, the sun blazing in from behind him, when I suddenly caught sight of something cobalt blue and emerald green flickering ever so subtly from one shoulder of his coat. At first I thought it must be a trick of the sunlight, an optical illusion caused by its angle as it began to tease its way into the tops of the nearby trees, but when it happened again, those same peacock hues glittering in an instant like a speck of pixie dust, I could not hold my tongue.

  “What have you got on yourself?” My question earned me blank stares from both of them. “Give me your coat,” I prodded as I grabbed Colin from behind and yanked it off his shoulders. “If you don’t see what I’m seeing you can send me back to Needham Hills,” I quipped, though the joke still managed to catch in my throat. “Now look.” I gestured to the left shoulder with my chin as I held the jacket up to the sunlight. “Do you see those colors . . . ? The blues and greens . . . ? It’s a gray suit. Where are these ludicrous colors coming from?”

  Colin nearly shoved me out the window as he rushed forward and raised his left leg as high as he could in an obvious effort to catch the sun’s rays. “Bolt the door,” he commanded over his shoulder to Mr. Evans, but before the man could even cross the room Colin was kicking his shoes off.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, afraid that I knew what his answer would be. He did not respond but instead unfastened his pants, just as I had suspected he was about to do, and carefully slid them to the floor.

  I heard the door click and in the next instant Mr. Evans spoke up. “Should I be here . . . ?” he asked, his tone, curiously, having dropped an octave.

  “Don’t be a prig,” Colin scolded as he stood there in his underdrawers, his pants held well up into the sunlight, an anxious scowl upon his face. “There . . . !” he barked quite suddenly, minutely turning the left knee of his pants, the knee that had initially struck the floor of Miss Adelaide’s room, all the while gazing at it as though it were an ancient wonder. “You are my clever one, Ethan,” he said, but if I was clever I had no idea why.

  “What is it?” Mr. Evans asked as he moved toward us, decency be damned.

  “The remnants of a powder,” Colin said.

  “Powder?” Mr. Evans repeated, stealing the very word from my own lips.

  “Undoubtedly phosphorous powder,” Colin shot back as he thrust his pants at me before pulling a white handkerchief from the pocket and dropping to his hands and knees, slowly dragging the small cloth along the floor and baseboard beneath the window. “Just look at the way it glows when the sunlight catches it. Any bright light can serve as an accelerant. Or it can be lit with a match where it will flare up and burn with the most distinctive tones. Very much like what you noticed on my jacket.” He sat back on his haunches and twisted the handkerchief first one way and then another and, sure enough, scattered traces of those blazing colors flared to life. “It’s a parlor trick. Done mostly by seers to mystify their audiences and the poor dupes who seek them out. Though I would suspect they much prefer oil of phosphorous, as it gives a more ghostly appearance when ignited and sprayed through the air.” He stood up and delicately entrusted me with the handkerchief for the minute it took him to slide his pants back on. “I would bet that Lady Stuart always has a supply on hand,” he added, and I did not miss the pointed look he tossed my way.

  “You cannot mean to suggest . . .” I started to say before stopping myself. Of course he meant to suggest it.

  “Who the devil is Lady Stuart?” Mr. Evans asked, his curiosity now clearly piqued.

  “An old friend of sorts,” Colin supplied with the usual rudimentary flash of teeth. “She was a confidant of Trevor Bellingham.”

  “Oh . . .” He grimaced. “What an appalling set of circumstances that was. She wasn’t privy to what happened, was she?”

  Colin reached into my coat pocket and pulled my handkerchief free. “She is not a foolish woman,” he answered as he shook out my handkerchief with one hand before carefully wiping the inside and outside of the windowsill with it. “She knew enough to be vital, but not enough to solve the case.” He turned back and flashed another condescending bit of a smile. “I did that,” he reminded Mr. Evans with the arch of an eyebrow. “Now if you will excuse us, Ethan and I have other matters to attend to.”

  “Other matters?” Mr. Evans protested even as Colin started for the door. “What other matters? And just what are you planning to do with those handkerchiefs? You cannot merely usher me in and boot me out whenever it suits you.”

  “Perish the thought,” Colin replied with the first honest grin he had given since his graceless entrance. “I promise you are always top of mind, Mr. Evans,” he reassured thinly as he disappeared into the hallway with the two handkerchiefs held out before him, one in each hand, as though they contained the Holy Grail itself.

  “He is maddening sometimes,” Maurice Evans sputtered at me.

  “I am . . .” I said as casually as I could, “. . . aware of that fact.”

  CHAPTER 13

  We were met at the door with a glare and a frown, but nevertheless, the man allowed us entry just the same. I suppose he knew Colin would not have it any other way. He had proven that nearly a half year before. Never mind that we had arrived well past teatime, since Colin had insisted we stop by our flat to drop off the handkerchiefs.

  Evers deposited us in the same parlor as always, informing us with some degree of pleasure that his mistress would be with us when she was ready. It was an arch statement that we both ignored, and in nothing greater than a single minute or two her voice rang out as welcoming and warm as ever.

  “Gentlemen!” she said, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Colin.

  “Lady Stuart.” He stood up and gave her a gentleman’s bow, which made her absolutely beam. “It is a delight to see you again.”

  “Likewise, Mr. Pendragon.” She swept into the room, her smile as radiant as her father’s greeting had been frosty. “I did not expect to see either of you so soon after the regrettable end to your visit here the other day, Mr. Pruitt.”

  “Things do change quickly on some cases,” I answered.

  “Then I hope you bring good news. Do sit down and let me ring for some tea.”

  “You mustn’t put your father to any trouble,” Colin said. “We have come far too close to dinner to be amenable and don’t wish to unsettle your schedule any more than we already have.”

  “Nonsense,” she answered at once as we all sat down, the tiniest smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she leaned forward and picked up a small bell, giving it a sound ring. “My father could use some unsettling. I’m afraid he forgets himself at times.”

  He appeared almost at once, and I supposed he had been lurking in the hallway. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Tea, if you please,” she said
with grace. “And a few of those ginger biscuits, I think.”

  “It is quite late . . .” he started to say.

  “I do not require a lesson in timekeeping. That will be all.” Her voice was firm and yet undeniably kind. She did not condescend, but neither did she permit him any leeway, leaving their charade recognizably strained since we knew the truth of it. Still, appearances mattered, and I was sure none of her clientele had the least awareness.

  “As you wish,” he grumbled before moving off.

  Colin and Lady Stuart caught up for a few minutes, sharing pleasantries before it was Lady Stuart herself who finally drove the conversation directly to the heart of our visit. “Have you learned anything further about Adelaide Endicott’s death then?” she asked.

  “We are learning new things every day.” Colin leaned back and plucked a crown from his pocket and set it to spinning through his fingers. “Just this very afternoon we have found traces of what I believe to be phosphorous powder along the sill and floor by the window she is said to have leapt from. I believe the coincidence too much to ignore.”

  Lady Stuart looked surprised even as a spark of amusement lit her eyes. “And you thought of me. . . .”

  Colin’s eyebrows ticked up as the coin halted in his hand and he stared back at her. “I did,” he answered simply before starting the coin on another rotation. “I do not mean to imply the powder was delivered by you, but I would be willing to wager that you have a supply of it here in your home.”

  Lady Stuart nodded. “You would win that bet, Mr. Pendragon. I have phosphorous powder and oil, and a few other tricks I am certain would not surprise you. Some of my clients do need to feel the touch of a loved one from time to time, so I do what I must.” Her eyes flicked quickly between the two of us. “I do hope you don’t think me the worse for it. As I have always said, I mean to do no harm.”

  “You needn’t explain yourself to us,” I hastened to answer lest Colin not bother. “In the case of Trevor Bellingham I believe you did him a kindness indeed.”

  “That may be.” Colin nodded as Evers came back into the room carrying the requisite tea and biscuits Lady Stuart had ordered. “But Eugenia Endicott seems quite convinced that you had no such positive impact on her sister.”

  Evers dropped the tray onto the table with a disapproving clatter, earning him a scowl from Lady Stuart. “That will do,” she warned, sounding as if she were speaking to a petulant child. He returned the shadow of a grimace but left us without a word. “I make no excuses for him,” she said lightly as she poured our tea. “No matter the role, he will always be my father.”

  Colin nodded and gave a soft chuckle. “I have the same with my Mrs. Behmoth. She brought me up and is as maternal as if I had sprung from her, yet remains just so to this day. It is a curse and a blessing, I suppose.” He shifted his eyes to mine and I returned the smile, though I had never enjoyed any such relationship in my life.

  “If you are wondering whether it is possible that I might be involved in any way with Miss Adelaide’s death”—Lady Stuart tipped Colin a knowing look as she handed out our tea—“You may rest assured that I have never, not once, set foot in Layton Manor. For that matter, I have never even been on the grounds of the estate. As you might imagine, Miss Eugenia would not permit it. It was one thing for her sister to come here, but she was certainly not about to accede to having me there.”

  “I’m afraid you have misunderstood,” Colin said, flashing a tight smile even as he sipped his tea. “I think I know you well enough not to suspect your hand in murder. Besides, given where we found the phosphorous powder, I believe it to have been thrown into Miss Adelaide’s room from atop a ladder outside. So while I do not doubt your vigor, I also do not imagine that you would ascend to such a height for any reason.”

  Lady Stuart laughed. “A lady would not ascend a ladder to any height with these great skirts bunched around our ankles. Such an endeavor would be ill-advised for many reasons.”

  “I most certainly found it to be so when I did it,” Colin agreed. “What I was actually wondering was whether you may have noticed any of your supplies missing or being pilfered through?”

  “Supplies . . . ?” She gave a hearty laugh. “Tricks of my trade, I believe you mean,” she answered smartly as she snapped up the little bell again and rang it. “Such things are kept in the pantry where they have little chance of drawing attention. My father should know better than I do.”

  Just as before, the elderly man was in the doorway with remarkable speed. It made me wonder if he spent the whole of his day eavesdropping on his daughter. “Yes . . . ?” he mumbled as his eyes quickly raked over the tea and biscuits remaining on the plate, a telltale sign that even given his present disgruntlement he did still understand his place.

  “Have you noticed any of our potions or powders having been rifled through of late? Anything missing or unaccountably pinched?”

  “Potions or powders . . . ?” he repeated with noticeable irritation.

  “Don’t be cheeky,” she scolded.

  I am quite certain I saw the man grit his teeth before he answered. “No, ma’am. No one touches anything but me.”

  “And has anyone been in your kitchen besides yourself?” Colin piped up. “Would they have cause to know you keep such things in your pantry?”

  “No one . . .” he replied with finality before noticing that his daughter had raised her hand toward him. “Eh . . .” He seemed to begrudgingly remember something at the signal. “That young man sat in there with me when his mistress was here.”

  “Young man?” Colin pressed. “Do you mean Freddie Nettle? He waited in the kitchen with you in case he was needed?”

  “S’right.”

  “And did you ever leave him alone in there? Perhaps while you answered the door or fetched something for your mistress, or even if the duty to nature tapped your shoulder?”

  “What . . . ?”

  “The WC,” Colin clarified.

  “No,” the man snapped before heaving a perturbed sigh. “Maybe . . .” he allowed with all the enthusiasm of one about to face a tooth extraction.

  “And is it at all possible that some of the material could be missing and you not notice it?”

  “I don’t use those things much,” Lady Stuart responded before her father could. “I don’t find much need with my clientele. So I really cannot say with any assurance that either one of us could truly tell if some small amount had been taken.” She was studying Colin and I could see that she was troubled. “But neither do I mean to suggest that Mr. Nettle would have done such a thing. He seemed to be a very kind young man, and he quite doted on Miss Adelaide. Even so, the answer to your question is yes—it is possible.”

  “Of course . . . of course . . .” Colin quickly fired back. “These are only questions. The assemblage of facts. No one is being accused of anything at this time.” He stood up, but not before snatching one of the ginger biscuits. “As always you have been most generous with your time,” he said, “and I have little doubt that we will be back to see you before this case has reached its inevitable conclusion.”

  “Whatever I can do to assist,” she said with a delicate smile, the surety of her offer evident in the concern that colored her eyes.

  “Good day, then.” Colin gave a swift bob of his head as he slid the crown he had been fiddling with back into his pocket and took an eager bite of the biscuit. “We shall see ourselves out. There is no need to trouble your father.”

  The sound of Lady Stuart’s laugh followed us to the door, and in a matter of minutes we were aboard a hansom cab being ferried back to our Kensington flat. I tried pestering Colin with a few questions about Freddie Nettle, but he seemed disinclined to engage my curiosity, so I finally settled back and left the matter alone. There was no use in hounding a subject he did not wish to pursue as I knew it would only earn me the usual assertion that everyone was a suspect and it was too early to speculate on theory. Yet, if opportunity was the tinder that s
parked the embers of motive, then I could not help thinking that Freddie Nettle was distinctly in its sights.

  “I wonder when Charlotte Hutton is going to show herself again?” Colin asked out of nowhere as we turned onto our street.

  “Whatever made you think of her? Don’t you have enough on your mind without thinking about that woman?”

  Colin turned and stared at me as if I had lost all sense. “That woman . . .” he repeated with a glower, “. . . is the worst sort of devil. It isn’t simply that she consented to the murders of her husband and young son, a horror bad enough in its own right, but that she has now come back with these lies, these inventions, all for the single purpose of extorting the money she severed these lives for in the first place.” He swept his gaze back out the carriage window and I saw his jaw clench. “And you can be sure my father will not be able to hold the Swiss off for long. We are only fortunate that she does not know that. But they will release the funds to her whenever they tire of our diplomacy and she will be lost to us again and I’ll not have it!” he barked, striking the side of the cab with his fist.