The Endicott Evil Read online

  “We are not, but your point is well made,” Colin allowed. “But if I may speak frankly, I must admit that I found Mr. Hutton to be rather churlish in his manner. Perhaps you knew him differently?”

  “He did come to fatherhood somewhat later in life. He was a dozen or more years older than his wife, you see. Having young children can be tiresome at any age, but it is ever more so when one gets older.” She chuckled. “But I cannot say anything untoward against Mr. Hutton. He treated Anna like any doting father would, and it cannot have been easy to have sired a son who would never be able to care for himself.”

  “Yes, of course.” Colin nodded, and I understood that we had finally led her to the crux of what had brought us here. “That must have made things difficult between him and his wife at times . . . his disappointment with her for having borne him such a son.”

  Miss Godwin’s face flickered with something taut and unsettled, and for a moment I thought she might choose not to comment, though it was evident that something simmered just beneath the surface of her inscrutability. After another minute, however, her eyes clamped onto Colin’s as she answered, “Mr. Hutton was no different from any man with the responsibility of a family and an estate to run. But I’m afraid it was Mrs. Hutton who could make me cringe at times. There were occasions when she treated him with such cruelty. . . .” Miss Godwin shut her eyes and drew a slow breath. “He would leave without a word, and I thought it all so terrible.”

  “She provoked him?” Colin prompted.

  “She bore her own burdens.”

  “And did you ever know him to lay a hand upon her?”

  “Oh no. Never,” she said at once, her repugnance at the mere suggestion clear on her face. “I would not believe it. He was a gentleman.”

  “Then you never saw marks upon Mrs. Hutton’s person that her husband may have caused, even by accident?”

  “Marks?” she repeated as though trying to fathom the very idea of it. “You make the Huttons sound as though they were street brawlers. Really, sir, I cannot profess to imagine where you have come to such a thought.”

  “Gossip,” I put in before Colin could supply his own answer. “We hear many things from many quarters and are required to verify all of it lest we should ever proceed to an inaccurate conclusion.”

  “Ah . . . well . . .” She gave an acknowledged sigh that contained a fair amount of perception in it. “Was there ever a marriage that did not contain some modicum of hardship and conciliation? I have been witness to a great many of them and have yet to see one such example that did not comprise nearly as much discord as it did adoration. But I have never . . . never . . . been witness to the sorts of behaviors you suggest. I would not work for such people. I could not.”

  “It was not my intention to suggest that you would,” Colin answered with such an excess of sincerity I thought surely she would recognize it for the pretense it was, “. . . which is why I will ask you to consider very carefully the next several questions I am compelled to impose upon you.”

  Miss Godwin’s face went slack and her pale blue eyes darkened under the intensity of whatever she supposed Colin might be about to put to her. “Of course, Mr. Pendragon. I will answer whatever questions I can. It is the least I can do for Willy.”

  “Did you ever know Mr. Hutton to raise a hand against his children or household staff? Were you ever witness to any display of temperament that could have caused you to wonder what he might be capable of?”

  She shook her head. “He was like any other man. Mostly, he had little to do with his children, though he sometimes would read aloud with Anna, but William . . .” She glanced down and rustled her hands uncomfortably. “. . . I think William made him endlessly sad. He never said so, but I could see it when he looked at the boy. I suppose it was inevitable.”

  “And the household staff?”

  “I’m sure you must remember that they had very little staff. When I first started with them there was a girl who came to clean three times a week and two women who worked in the kitchen, but by the time of Mr. Hutton’s death there was only me and one woman left in the kitchen. I tried to help out whenever I could if William was napping or indisposed.” She released a sigh. “It was such a difficult time.”

  “And Mr. Hutton . . . ?” Colin prodded.

  “I really don’t believe I ever saw Mr. Hutton utter two words to the other women in the household. He had no reason to. They were Mrs. Hutton’s concern, of course.”

  “Of course,” Colin allowed with frustration. “And what about you? Certainly, you claim to have reported to Mr. Hutton about his son from time to time?”

  She nodded. “I did. He was very much interested in how I thought his son was doing.” Once again she looked down at her lap and fiddled with her fingers, and all I could see was the helplessness of a woman who had been unable to make much of a difference. “He was always very kind to me. I cannot say a harsh word about him. And my reports, I’m afraid, were never what he could take any solace in. Little William was never going to be right, and I know that burden weighed heavily on Mr. Hutton. One could hardly blame him if he had shown a bit of temperament at times. . . .” She let her voice trail off, and I felt both chilled and unaccountably sympathetic to her point.

  “And Mrs. Hutton?”

  “I’ve already told you—”

  “You misunderstand,” Colin cut her off. “You mentioned that Mrs. Hutton caused you some consternation?”

  Miss Godwin shifted uncomfortably as she leaned forward and took one of the biscuits. “It is such an impossible thing to surmise what strains a woman must bear when she has brought a broken child into the world. It is almost as though he was a living testament to her failure, there for all to see . . . to judge.”

  “Then you seek to make concessions for Mrs. Hutton? Do you feel she needs them made?”

  For the first time Miss Godwin looked truly ill at ease, bunching her napkin in her lap, though it did not seem she noticed she was doing so. “She was stern with all of us, but then it was her duty to be. She had a household to run and the circumstances were far more difficult than those which most of us will ever have to confront.”

  “You are speaking of something beyond her son’s poor health, aren’t you? Are you referring to her husband’s financial missteps? You were aware of their dwindling prosperity?”

  “It was a large home and yet there was so few staff to maintain it,” she answered simply. “I have already told you that during the two years I worked with William I watched what staff they had contract to almost nothing.” She reached forward and topped off our tea before pouring some more for herself. “But I would be dishonest if I did not admit to overhearing them argue about money on several occasions.”

  The ghost of a smile fleeted across Colin’s lips. “Such conversations could be expected in almost any home,” he said, and I knew he was baiting her. “What would make theirs any different?”

  “Once in a while . . .” She took a sip of tea and glanced off toward the far side of the room, looking like she was either remembering something or measuring her words of that memory. “As I said before, Mrs. Hutton could be very harsh with her husband. I would hear things I did not mean to, did not want to, but I heard them. He had apparently made investments of some kind, I really don’t know, which had lost them a great deal of their money. I began to fear they would ask me to work for less pay, which I really could not afford to do, but they never did.” She winced slightly. “Perhaps I should have suggested it myself.”

  “Did you ever know Mrs. Hutton to raise a hand against her husband?”

  Miss Godwin paled. “She never did any such thing to anyone. She is a lady.”

  “And what if I told you that she now claims to have been the victim of abuse by her husband? Would that change your mind about him? Make you search your memory again?”

  “Oh . . .” she said with a sort of sigh that made me wonder whether Colin’s question had forced her to ruminate over something she
did not want to consider. But after another moment she surprised me with her answer. “I am afraid I would have to question Mrs. Hutton’s memory of such an event. Her husband was quiet and somber, I will not deny that, but I witnessed him with his children. He was kind and ever so patient with Willy. It seems unlikely to me that he would treat his wife any the less, though, as you yourself suggested, Mr. Pendragon, she could provoke him at times. But on those occasions, at least when I was there, he would simply leave.”

  “Yes, yes . . .” Colin muttered, and I knew his mind had to be whirling in a thousand discordant directions. What I could not imagine was whether any of it was going to help us find Charlotte Hutton. “And you say it was money that most embroiled them?”

  “That was all I ever heard. She blamed him for their difficulties. Said some awful things. I never heard him yell back, but it was obvious that he was angry. It would upset Willy so. He didn’t understand, of course. And what could I say? It was none of my business.”

  “Of course,” Colin said as he stood up, his face grim. “I must thank you again for inviting us into your home unannounced and allowing us to prod you with such questions. Rest assured that you have been most helpful.”

  “Then I am pleased that you came by,” she said rather wistfully as she walked us to the door. “If there is anything else I can do for you gentlemen, you have only to let me know.” She paused at the open door and looked at Colin keenly. “I was always very fond of Anna. She is such a dear girl and had the most tremendous heart. She was extraordinary with her brother, flawlessly patient and kind. Have you heard anything of her?”

  “We have not.” Colin bit the words in a display of his own personal frustrations.

  “You must find her,” Miss Godwin murmured in a voice edged with despair. “You must make sure she is well and happy. It is the least that young girl deserves.”

  Colin gave a single nod of his head and I could see the weight of her request stirring within his eyes. “We will not consider this case settled until Anna Hutton is exactly as you wish to see her.” Which was an assurance I could only pray we would be able to keep.

  CHAPTER 19

  When the crafty lad at Freddie Nettle’s boardinghouse led us past the chaotic front room to the stairway beyond, I must confess that I was relieved to find the elderly landlady asleep. She was slumped over and snoring lightly in the very same chair she had been occupying earlier in the day, and I was fairly certain this was precisely where she would be found throughout the night. It would not have surprised me to spy a chamber pot tucked away somewhere beside or beneath her seat. The very thought sent me scurrying after Colin and the scruffy lad, keeping my eyes focused on the way the boy was flicking the half crown I had just handed to him. Such exuberance, I knew from my own youth, was likely to cost him his treasure if he was not careful.

  “Yer bloke weren’t ’ard ta find,” he was telling us. “Ya got any more a these silver ladies ya wanna get rid of, ya jest let me know.” He gave a wink and a snicker as we crested the landing of Mr. Nettle’s floor, and I was reminded, just as I had been earlier in the day, that this lad was regrettably beyond his years.

  “If you’re asking for a job,” Colin answered before I could do so, “we would be happy to assist you in finding one. There are many legitimate things a resourceful young rascal like you could do for a bob or two.”

  The boy gave a snort as though Colin had meant to be funny. “Yer a right pip,” he tossed over his shoulder before taking his fist and slamming it against Mr. Nettle’s door. And if I wasn’t already certain how meager this lad was, the pitiful sound his meatless fist made on the door would have confirmed it. “Ya got yer blokes ’ere ta see you,” he called out.

  The door opened at once, but then how could it not, given that the entirety of his room was no more than a handful of strides in any direction? “Mr. Pendragon . . . Mr. Pruitt . . .” Mr. Nettle stepped back and bade us enter, and for the first time I thought he looked gray and tense. He mumbled something I did not catch to the boy before swinging the door partway shut. “I’m sorry you have had to come all this way,” he continued. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about what has brought you here.”

  “Worried . . . ?” Colin repeated as though it were the most curious thing for Mr. Nettle to be feeling. “Why ever would you be worried?”

  Mr. Nettle appeared to be at a momentary loss for words, but was saved when the room’s door suddenly sprang open. “’Ere’s yer chair,” the boy announced as he dragged in a dilapidated straight-backed chair with sagging rattan on its seat.

  “You’ve done me a great service,” Freddie Nettle answered as he took the chair and quickly swept it inside.

  “And . . .” The urchin held out his hand.

  “Here,” I said as I quickly flipped two farthings at him. “Your kindness was for us. I really must insist.”

  “Oh . . .” Mr. Nettle answered, and I could see he was both embarrassed and relieved.

  “You’d best keep this little scamp in your good graces,” Colin said, “as I suspect he will own this boardinghouse one day.”

  “Nah—I’ll get me somethin’ better ’n this place,” the boy sniped before disappearing back out the door with a high-pitched guffaw.

  Mr. Nettle tossed the pile of clothing from the chair near the window and pulled it next to the one the lad had brought in, offering the two of them to us. As we pretended to make ourselves comfortable, Freddie Nettle settled himself onto the edge of the bed, making it squeal like a trapped mouse as he did so. “You must forgive my meager surroundings,” he said with a slight flush. “My earnings with the Endicotts were slim since they provided me with room and board. I was able to stash a little bit away, but . . .” He splayed out his empty hands with an embarrassed wince.

  “There is no reason for you to feel the least bit shy about your home,” Colin answered smoothly. “You are a hardworking man who is doing his best in turbulent times. In my mind, that is the very definition of success.”

  “You are very kind, Mr. Pendragon.”

  “Well, that is hardly my intention,” he said right back, and I found myself having to suppress a chuckle. “As to our reason for being here, I should very much like to see your best shoes.”

  “My . . .” Freddie Nettle stared at Colin, certain that he had not heard him properly.

  “Best shoes,” he said again. “The ones you wore when you were working at the Endicotts. I would assume they are here somewhere. . . .” Colin added, looking about the tiny space with a preposterous innocence, since I’d already told him they were under the bed.

  “Why . . . yes . . .” he said with every bit of the confusion one would expect. “I keep them under here.” He leaned forward and stuck a hand beneath the coverlet that hung to the floor, and for an instant it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, he could be as likely to fish out a revolver as a pair of shoes. “Here you are, then,” he said tentatively, holding them out and leaving me to wonder why I had suddenly doubted him.

  “Ah, very good,” Colin said with the flicker of a smile as he reached forward and plucked them from Mr. Nettle’s hands. They were the shiny pair I had inspected earlier, well kempt with the one exception Colin’s eyes fell to immediately. He brought the right shoe to his nose and took a quick sniff of the smudge I had mentioned to him on the outer sole. “Sulfur . . .” he murmured before returning his gaze to Mr. Nettle. “It would seem you have not been honest with us.”

  A startled look dashed over his face as a battle between mortification and guilt appeared to be vying for the prominent position. “I . . .” he began to say before abruptly clamping his mouth shut. It was evident that he was weighing some level of truthfulness, and I knew the next words out of his mouth would be critical in determining just how deeply mired he really was in Adelaide Endicott’s murder. In the next moment he released a burdened sigh and collapsed in upon himself like a deflating balloon.

  “Come now, Mr. Nettle,” Colin said casua
lly, though there was not a trace of ease in his voice. “Is it all that bad, then?”

  “I am afraid you will think me unsound,” he answered in the gravest of tones. “And perhaps I am.” He swiped a hand across his forehead as he diverted his gaze to the floor in front of his feet. “I have told no one the full extent of what I saw the night of Miss Adelaide’s death, and yet the other facts of what I have detailed are all true.”

  “Then perhaps you had best start from when you awoke that night.”

  “It was as I said.” He spoke breathlessly, the words beginning to tumble from him with impending speed. “I awoke to the sound of Miss Adelaide crying out. There was a bang, like something heavy falling over, and then she cried out again. I did not even have time to think what might be happening before I leapt up and swung open the door between our rooms.” His eyes rose, clamped on something in the distance that we could not see, as he continued. “She was standing near the window, just as I have stated to anyone who will listen, but hanging in the air in front of her was a spectral glow of deep, translucent colors, like I would imagine the northern lights must appear. And even as I struggled to understand what I was seeing, I heard a child’s voice.”

  “A child’s voice?” Colin repeated.

  “You must think me mad.”

  “You will know if I think you mad. What did the child say?”

  “I couldn’t tell. She was crying and sounded so pitiful, and I thought I must be losing my mind because she sounded like she was right next to me, but there was no one there. It was only me and Miss Adelaide. And as that luminescent light began to fade, I saw that Miss Adelaide was crying. She was tormented. And even though she was looking right at me, I don’t believe she even really saw me because in the next instant she grabbed for the window with such an agonized cry and was . . . gone. . . .” His face had gone pallid, his lips as white as the collar of his shirt, and there was no hiding the shame and misery brimming from within his eyes. “You may say whatever you will, as I fear for my own sanity now.”