The Dalwich Desecration Page 17

  “Gentlemen . . .” he managed through the midst of his haze. “I am pleased that you’ve not forgotten me.” He gave a lethargic sort of chuckle as we sat down next to his bed, and Graham Whitsett, once again in attendance to assuage his unnecessary guilt, folded his towering form into a chair near the bedroom’s door. It was apparent that Mr. Whitsett meant to tend to the constable until he achieved a full recovery. And given the constable’s current state of total incapacitation I knew he had to be grateful. “Tell me . . .” His voice was reedy and ever so slightly slurred. “Have you solved all of my cases yet?”

  “You flatter us,” Colin responded glibly, though there was not a trace of lightheartedness in his tone. Even now our trunk and two valises stood in the entryway of the constable’s apartment, though Mr. Whitsett had not bothered to ask why we had brought them. Our options were few and the decision we’d been forced to make had left us both utterly glum. “I am afraid there is much work yet to be done,” he added, but said nothing more.

  “I insist you tell how you know Miss O’Dowd’s murderer to be different from the man who killed the abbot at Whitmore Abbey. You played coy with me yesterday.”

  “How could you be sure of such a thing?” Mr. Whitsett piped up from the door.

  Colin half-turned and offered him the ghost of a smile and I knew he had forgotten the lanky man was even there. “The mutilation of Miss O’Dowd’s tongue was sloppy and careless. Clearly done for no greater purpose than to convince us that the murders were linked. If you will recall, the removal of the abbot’s tongue was quite purposeful and diligently accomplished, which would seem to speak to the very heart of his murder.”

  “Oh . . .” Mr. Whitsett said with notable awkwardness, as though he should have discerned the obviousness of what Colin had seen even though none of the rest of us had.

  “So where does that leave us?” Constable Brendle asked.

  Colin sighed and brushed a hand through his hair, and I could see the frustration on his face even as he struggled to find a suitable answer. While little had actually changed between Colin’s boasting to Doyle O’Dowd last evening that he would have his sister’s murder solved by week’s end, in truth, everything had changed. For myself, I could not stop wondering what had gone wrong with Colin and me in the creation of our minds and hearts. Why were we cursed to be intolerable?

  My eyes drifted from the constable’s bed to the table beside it that held a small brown bottle with a tincture of opiate. How I yearned for it. If I were closer to it, if I could have swept it off the tabletop without anyone noticing, I fear I might have done so. How peaceful would its thick obliteration have felt. Its release. From everything.

  The intensity of my desire for that brittle escape shook me to my core. So many years had passed since I’d been wooed by such thoughts, yet here I was feeling like I could fall backward in the breadth of a heartbeat. I stabbed a hand into my trouser pocket and pulled out a half crown and slipped it to Colin. “Here,” I said. “We’re not at the monastery now.”

  He gazed down at the large silver planchet with Victoria’s staid profile upon it and an appreciative smile slowly bloomed across his face. “Ah . . .” he murmured. He held the coin a moment, feeling its heft and warmth, before tossing it up slightly and catching it between his thumb and forefinger and quickly tumbling it over the fingers of his right hand. The familiarity of it comforted me at once just as I had known it would. “I was scolded by the monks for my impropriety,” Colin explained to the constable with a silly grin. “It seems they are disapproving of money as a whole, let alone flashing it about. Which is something of a conundrum given the inability of most people to survive well without it.”

  “Not to mention that you would be hard-pressed to find an organization with more of it than their own parent church,” the constable smirked.

  “Nevertheless,” Colin said, “the brothers at Whitmore seem quite content to make do with as little as possible. A noble effort if somewhat vexing when it comes to my own careless habits.” He chuckled as he continued to sweep the half crown through its circuitous rotations. “But you asked where we stand on these cases,” he remarked thoughtfully, his countenance stiffening even as his right hand continued its easy movements, “and I will indeed share, though I must first ask your kind associate here”—he gestured back toward Mr. Whitsett and I knew he had forgotten his name—“if he will permit us a few moments of privacy with you.”

  “Privacy?!” Mr. Whitsett’s brow furrowed, surprise and embarrassment fighting for equal attention upon his face. “Have I done something to earn your distrust or disfavor? Surely you know the misfortune against Constable Brendle was an error. I remain mortified . . .”

  “Now, Graham . . .” the constable started to say.

  “Please . . .” Colin nodded toward the slender giant of a man, and I could tell by the apprehension in his gaze that he intended to confide what had transpired this morning to the constable. And so, for the second time in as many minutes, for a single instant I tried to conceive if there wasn’t some way I might be able to get my hands on that blessed little bottle of opiate beside the constable’s bed. “You have earned no such disapproval on my account,” Colin reassured the man. “There are other items beyond these cases that I must apprise your constable of and I would ask your indulgence in appreciating their sensitivity.”

  Poor Mr. Whitsett continued to look startled as his jaw began to twitch before his voice caught up. “I . . . yes . . . yes, of course.” He gave a stiff nod and quickly stepped from the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

  “I’m afraid my accident has left him quite on edge,” Constable Brendle said by way of explanation, though none was needed.

  “It is understandable,” Colin muttered idly, his mind clearly elsewhere as he seized the coin he’d been rolling between his fingers and dropped it into his vest pocket. “But I’m afraid we have something of a far more personal nature to discuss with you just now.”

  “Personal?”

  “Something happened this morning that may be brought to your attention in your official capacity, and I need to know your feelings on the matter before Mr. Pruitt and I can continue to assist you.”

  Constable Brendle’s brow folded down and his eyes looked more lucid than they had since our arrival. “Whatever are you referring to?”

  Colin cleared his throat and scowled back, his nerves well contained within the frown he adopted. “While Mr. Pruitt and I took two rooms at Mr. Chesterton’s dubious inn, when his potty little chambermaid burst into one of them this morning it was to find the two of us quite asleep in its bed. You remember that Mr. Pruitt hurt his head yesterday. I stayed with him last night merely to ensure the soundness of his recuperation. All innocence and propriety, mind you . . .” He sniffed defiantly, though I noticed that his gaze had drifted from the constable’s face. “Nevertheless, she set up a row and fainted in the doorway as though she had walked in on the doings of the ruddy Marquis de Sade himself. Scurrilous assumptions were made and Mr. Chesterton demanded we quit his establishment at once. Which we have most assuredly done. Even now our things are at your door waiting for transport out to the monastery where we shall be forced to stay for the rest of our time here,” he added with poorly concealed distaste.

  “I’m not sure I understand. . . .” The constable flipped his gaze from Colin to me, and when his eyes fell on mine I found I could not help but look away. If the medicines he was floating upon were diminishing his ability to sort out the implications, I had no intention of enlightening him further nor, I knew, would Colin.

  “You understand perfectly,” Colin insisted. “If Mr. Chesterton or his chambermaid seeks to file a complaint against us, I need to know what you’re going to do.”

  “Do?!” Constable Brendle managed to summon up something of a chuckle. “I’m afraid I am quite incapacitated at the moment, and what with Mr. Whitsett on temporary leave and Mr. Masri nursing his own injury from the same blasted bullet, unless ano
ther murder is committed, the constabulary of this town is unable to do much of anything.” His eyes clouded for a moment. “Besides, all innocence and propriety, you said. Whyever would something need to be done?” He let out a huff and then hastily focused on Colin again. “And should there actually be another murder, Mr. Pendragon, I would be very much in your debt for any additional assistance the two of you could offer. Otherwise I would have to send to Arundel for help, and that lot are quite full of themselves. I find it enough that we must share their coroner.”

  “We remain at your service then,” Colin answered at once, the whole of his demeanor loosening for the first time since we had been awoken this morning.

  I took a last glance back at the little brown bottle beside the constable’s bed and hoped there was enough left to keep him thusly inebriated for some time to come lest he should have a sudden change of heart when allowed to drift free of its spell.

  “Do you suppose we might trouble you to borrow your nursemaid Mr. Whitsett long enough to have him take us and our belongings out to the monastery?” Colin asked with a fleeting smile.

  “I wish you would.” The constable returned a soft laugh. “I think I should like to sleep without him looming over me all the time as though I were about to expire.”

  “Then we shall leave you be for today.”

  “Good and well,” Constable Brendle managed as he tried to stifle a yawn, “but I would ask that you come back whenever there is an update.”

  “And so we shall.” Colin gave a succinct nod as he stood. “This remains your investigation to which we are only assisting.”

  “You are too generous, Mr. Pendragon.”

  “No more so than is fitting.”

  I followed Colin to the door as he flung it open and called out for Mr. Whitsett, who had gone no farther than the far side of the short hallway, his lumbering form leaning against the wall as though he was just waiting to be summoned at any moment.

  “Mr. Pendragon . . . ?” Constable Brendle’s thin voice beckoned from behind us.

  “Constable?”

  “I do apologize at your being relegated to the monastery. If there were anything I could do . . .”

  “Please.” Colin smiled. “You have already done far more than you can imagine.” And with that said we corralled Mr. Whitsett and our belongings and headed back to Whitmore Abbey—this time to stay.

  CHAPTER 18

  In spite of the havoc he had caused, not to mention the grievous injuries to Constable Brendle and Mr. Masri, Graham Whitsett was proving to be a man of integrity and substance. Whether or not he would be allowed to continue to assist the constabulary in the future would be for a magistrate to decide, but his conscience was clearly a driving force in his life. Not only had he agreed to deliver Colin and me to Whitmore Abbey, but he had not so much as grimaced when Colin requested a detour to the telegraph office. The first missive Colin sent off was to Father Demetris to notify him that we were taking him up on his offer of staying at the monastery, though Colin certainly did not elucidate on the reason for our change of heart. The second communication went out to Maurice Evans of Scotland Yard advising him of our change of venue, though it seemed more an excuse for Colin to harangue the poor acting inspector for what he called the “glacial pace” at which the Yard was moving with regard to the whereabouts of Mrs. Hutton. And in spite of the fact that he still had not heard anything back from his father about the Swiss authorities, I noticed that Colin sent no further needling to him.

  “Your constable will be out and about again in no time.” Colin was reassuring Mr. Whitsett as we jostled along the rutted, dirt path that led to the monastery. In spite of his towering height, the man behaved with a gentleness that belied his stature. It was his marked slimness and the manner in which he persisted in slouching that kept him from being perceived as daunting at first glance, although that impression would be undone the moment he began to speak anyway.

  “I appreciate your kind words,” he answered in that shy, hesitant way of his. “It is truly a miracle that worse did not happen. I should never have lived with myself . . .” he said before falling silent.

  “You mustn’t imagine any such thing,” I encouraged despite the fact that it had to be nearly impossible not to. “It was all an accident done with the greatest of intentions.”

  “Yes, of course,” he muttered, though he did not seem particularly assuaged by my assertion as he artfully brought the carriage around at the front of the monastery. “Do you need me to wait for you?” he asked, but I could tell he was anxious to get back to the constable.

  This time it was Colin’s turn to look pained, which I would have found amusing if he had not begun to tug our trunk off the back of the carriage. It was a sobering sight as the reality of what it meant nestled into my stomach. “That won’t be necessary as we shall be staying here now,” Colin answered. “But perhaps you will be kind enough to offer us another ride back the next time we’re in Dalwich? Might we say tomorrow?”

  “You can count on me. You know where I shall be.” Mr. Whitsett managed a discomfited sort of smile.

  I grabbed the valises from the seat next to me and hopped out of the carriage, intending to make an offer of remuneration for the man’s time, when I was interrupted by the sound of Brother Morrison’s deep, sonorous voice coming from behind me. “What’s this . . . ?” he called out from the main doorway as Colin dragged our trunk toward him. “What have you got there?”

  “Our belongings,” Colin informed him in a tone that was arguably a touch less affable than it could have been. “We are accepting Father Demetris’s offer to stay here. It will allow Mr. Pruitt and me a better opportunity to get this case resolved with all due haste so we can leave you gentlemen to your peace, which, understandably, is what you wish.”

  “I’ll not deny it,” the elderly monk sniffed, stepping back from the door even as he held it open for us.

  I waved Mr. Whitsett off and followed Brother Morrison and Colin into the monastery’s entrance hall, toting our valises. As always, the monastery was eerily quiet the moment I stepped inside, and I lamented yet again the fact that our own recklessness had caused us to end up here. Had we learned nothing from Oscar Wilde’s recent sentence of two years hard labor? One flouted the laws of morality at one’s own risk. It was a disheartening fact to be thusly judged, but in spite of myself, I felt ashamed.

  “Leave your things there.” Brother Morrison gestured to a space by the main doors as he headed for Abbot Tufton’s former office, favoring his right leg as always. “I’ll have Brother Hollings move them to a couple of cells in the newer quarter. They may not be of the standard you are accustomed to, but they have cots with mattresses on them, which is far more than I can say for the majority of our rooms.”

  “You needn’t worry about us,” Colin answered simply. “I expect our work here to be completed before we so much as require a change of linens.”

  Brother Morrison lowered himself into the throne-like chair behind the elaborate desk and eyed Colin warily with a marked absence of warmth. “If you should require a change of linens, you shall have to do so yourself. This is not a public house.”

  “So we have seen.”

  “There are three toilets in a small outer building near the infirmary, and should you wish to wash yourselves you may do so in the balneary at the far end of the dormitory. I will see that you are given one towel each, but you’ll not get another.”

  “Of course.” Colin’s nose wrinkled slightly, though he managed to keep his evident distaste to a minimum.

  “We appreciate your hospitality,” I hastened to add. “I know all of the brothers here are anxious to see this terrible crime resolved and the killer brought to justice.”

  Brother Morrison turned his gaze on me and I found it unsettling, almost accusatory. “The only justice that matters to me and the men who live here is God’s justice. And that will be wrought for all eternity no matter what the two of you do.” He leaned back in th
e huge chair. “Never avenge yourselves,” he recited slowly, “but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, sayeth the Lord.’ ”

  “The book of Romans,” Colin said.

  Brother Morrison’s face shifted with something akin to disbelief. “Well done, sir. And just how is it you plan on spending your time here? The brothers and I keep a strict schedule and the church teaches it is imperative that we maintain it. We are here at the service of the Lord, not the whims of others. I know Abbot Tufton would agree with me were he with us now.”

  One of Colin’s eyebrows drifted skyward and for a moment I feared what he might be about to say since the monk’s words sounded disingenuous given that his abbot wasn’t here to agree. “Your concern is understood,” Colin replied with the flick of a tight smile. “As I assured Father Demetris when he first delivered us here, our intent is not to cause disruption, but to allay it. So, at the moment, what I would like most of all is to inspect your abbot’s cell once again and to speak with Brother Silsbury.”

  Brother Morrison furrowed his brow, making his imperious demeanor seem ever more so. “If I could excise that cell, I would do so. It is like a malignancy that infects everything around it. No one is likely to ever consent to stay there again, and at times I’m quite certain the brothers only pass by it from the far side of the hallway.”

  “Then you will be pleased to know that we can help with that,” Colin announced pointedly, shifting a quick look in my direction that unnerved me when I noticed a dark sort of determination behind his gaze. “Mr. Pruitt will stay in that very cell,” he said. “He will easily be able to dispel the anxiety around it within a night or two. And I suspect it should prove useful to our investigation as well. So I believe we will all gain.”

  “Is that so . . . ?” The elderly monk turned to me with a look as filled with skepticism as it was surprise.