The Endicott Evil Read online

  Colin swung back inside and quickly turned onto his belly, leaning back out in such a precarious way that I felt compelled to go over and grab his waistband for safety. “This is hardly the time to become spirited,” he smirked over his shoulder.

  “You’re not funny. I only thought it best not to lose two people out this window.”

  He pushed himself back inside. “If I tumbled out that window, the only thing I think you would have saved was my trousers.” He stood up and brushed himself off, nodding toward the gaping window. “Have a feel of the jamb along the outside. See if you notice anything.”

  I thought perhaps he was jesting at first, intending to get me dangling three floors above the ground just to rattle me, but there was earnestness in his expression and I realized that he was being perfectly serious. So, like the dutiful pupil, I did as he requested, finding myself leaning outside and struggling to keep my eyes from focusing on the cobbles three floors below. With my heart in my throat I reached down and ran my fingers along the bottom of the jamb. It took a moment, but I began to realize that there was a fairly regular pattern of pitting all along the jamb and up the vertical mullion that divided the window. I did not feel it nearly as distinctly on the window’s head or sill, but it was quite distinct in the other areas. “What are those little nicks?” I asked as I gratefully ducked back inside. “It feels like a woodpecker has been searching for a meal up here.”

  “That’s a rather fitting way of describing it,” he muttered as he took my place leaning out the window before reaching around to shove the other side shut and quickly running his fingers along its outside jamb and rail. “It is something of a curiosity, wouldn’t you say?” He hopped off the sill and reversed his position, pushing open the closed window and tugging the other one shut. Once again he slid his fingers along the jamb and rails of the closed window before popping up and stepping away. “A woodpecker . . .” he chuckled under his breath and I suddenly felt unaccountably foolish.

  “What is it? What are you thinking?” I pressed.

  He tossed me a rogue’s grin and headed for the door. “We shall have a look around downstairs and then we will know for sure. Come now, we mustn’t keep Miss Eugenia waiting. In case you hadn’t noticed, she hasn’t the temperament for it.” He wagged a finger and snickered before disappearing out into the hallway.

  Had he not made such a hasty retreat he would have seen the rolling of my eyes. I was certain he did not need to poke about downstairs to discern the reason for the pitting around the window, which left me vastly more annoyed that I too was not able to ascertain the reason for it. Twelve years trundling along in his wake and I could still feel ever the laggard.

  I headed back down to the foyer and was met at the bottom of the main staircase by a tall, elegant footman with sandy hair and a short, bushy mustache, who tipped a subtle nod to me without deigning to make eye contact. “Right this way, please,” he said in a brusquely formal tone, and I realized he had been set there for no other purpose than to escort me to Miss Eugenia’s drawing room. I wondered if someone had been posted for Colin as well and discovered that to be the case as another footman crossed our path heading the opposite direction just as I was bidden into a large, sunny room near the back of the home.

  “Thank you . . .” I started to say, but the man had already moved off.

  I entered the room to find Miss Eugenia on one settee with Colin seated across from her, a pretty, young woman in a pristine maid’s uniform dispensing items onto the table between the two of them from a delicate rolling tea cart. She set out several platters covered with finger sandwiches and a three-tiered pastry tray brimming with a decadent assortment of cakes, tartlets, and biscuits. I had not seen such an enticing display since our work for Lady Nesbitt-Normand.

  The young maid moved with exceptional grace as she swiftly poured the tea and handed it out with exceeding crispness before preparing a small plate with a mixture of triangular sandwiches for each of us. “Will there be anything else, mum?” she asked.

  “No,” Miss Eugenia answered indifferently, and then seemed to think better of it by the time the young woman reached the doorway. “Emily,” she called to her. “Send Mr. Galloway in, will you? And do tell him we have visitors.”

  “Yes, mum,” the young woman replied and was gone.

  “Mr. Galloway is my house steward,” she explained. “He knows everything that goes on here and is likely to save you a good deal of time and effort. All the better,” she enunciated sharply, “to get this business behind us and Mr. Nettle a proper rope cravat.”

  Colin sucked in a tight breath. “I really am curious as to why you are so certain that Mr. Nettle would have harmed your sister. Was there an issue between them? Does he perhaps stand to inherit something of value?”

  Miss Eugenia looked quite horrified at the suggestion. “Certainly not. How terribly improper.”

  “Nevertheless, it does happen,” he needled, and I feared he was simply trying to agitate her again.

  “I am quite certain all manner of indecencies happen on a regular basis,” she shot back, “but that hardly makes them acceptable. Really, Mr. Pendragon, you seem quite determined to vex me.”

  Colin’s eyebrows rose in unison and all I could see was mock innocence. “Oh my,” he managed to say with earnestness. “Then I owe you an apology, for I do not mean to do any such thing. My only intent is to implore you to consider two critical questions as we seek the truth of what happened to your sister. If Mr. Nettle is truly the villain you believe him to be, then what did he have to gain by murdering your sister? And why would he then come to hire me to prove his innocence? Surely he could not imagine himself clever enough to deceive me?!” He gave a slight chuckle. “After all, I am not known for being easily misled.”

  “Any man who believes himself beyond the capacity to be fooled has already revealed himself to be a fool,” she snapped back. “And do you not suppose that a man who means to deceive might not purposefully seek you out for the express purpose of making his innocence seem that much more apparent?” She sniffed resolutely as she took a sip of tea. “That, Mr. Pendragon, is something I would implore you to consider.”

  I was so stunned by her response that I momentarily found myself speechless. Only after I realized that Colin’s reply was not apt to be pleasant was I finally able to tear my eyes from Miss Eugenia’s face to check on the state of his imminent reaction. To my amazement, I found a slow smile creeping onto his face as he too sipped his tea. “You are a clever woman, Miss Endicott,” he said at length, “and I pity the man who tries to get the better of you.”

  “Such a man would deserve no pity from you or any other. Now . . .” She set her cup down with great purpose and settled back, eyeing us closely, clearly well pleased at having made her point. “How exactly are you going to carry out your investigation? And how long is it likely to take? I shall see justice done and will not take the chance that Mr. Nettle might vanish while you fiddle about trying to gauge his guilt or innocence.”

  “I can assure you that our investigation has already begun,” Colin answered, his tone having taken on an abruptly sober note. “And should we determine someone guilty of foul play, you may be certain that person will be made to pay for the crime. Mr. Pruitt and I are not in the habit of allowing criminals to simply evaporate,” he added emphatically, and I knew he was referring to his own continuing outrage at Charlotte Hutton having accomplished precisely that at the end of the Connicle case. She had disappeared just as Colin made the first arrest for that string of murders, at the very moment when her complicity was on the verge of being revealed. He blamed the Yard for the blunder—and they were supposed to have been watching her—but he took the stain against his own reputation nonetheless. She remained the only person he had failed to bring to justice in the whole of his career.

  “Very well,” Miss Eugenia finally allowed with an irritable sniff. “See that you succeed or I shall bring the whole of Victoria’s empire down upon your
brow, your good father be damned.”

  I watched Colin’s eyes narrow with fury and knew the boundaries of his goodwill had finally been breached.

  “Madam . . . ?”

  A male voice thankfully interrupted the conversation as I swung my gaze to the doorway and found a tall, dark-haired, middle-aged man with a raven’s nose and doughy features standing at attention as though he were a member of the Queen’s Guard. This, I knew at once, had to be the aforementioned Mr. Galloway, as he was dressed in formal attire topped by a dove-gray morning coat. I could not have been happier to see him even if he had come to confess tossing Miss Adelaide to her death. For there was no doubt in my mind that his sudden presence was the only thing that was keeping Colin and Eugenia Endicott from tipping into a most disagreeable abyss.

  “Do come in, Mr. Galloway,” Miss Eugenia commanded as she freshened our tea. “Mr. Pendragon . . . Mr. Pruitt . . . this is Mr. Galloway, to whom I must give credit for keeping my house and my life in impeccable order at all times. If he does not know about something, then you may be certain it did not happen.” She handed him the tiered pastry tray and he dutifully passed it between Colin and me without paying the slightest heed to the delicacies upon it. “These two men,” she addressed Mr. Galloway, “are now working for me to determine whether it might be possible that my dear Adelaide could have suffered some sort of tragic accident rather than been a victim of that vile murderer Mr. Nettle.”

  If Mr. Galloway was surprised by her statement he did not show it in the least, merely nodding once and answering, “Very good, madam.”

  “Feel free to ask him anything at all, Mr. Pendragon,” Miss Eugenia said, leveling her gaze on Colin in what felt more like a challenge than an invitation.

  Colin flashed the barest hint of a smile as he locked eyes with her. “While there is a great deal I wish to know, I would much prefer to speak with Mr. Galloway, as well as the rest of your staff, individually and on their own whenever that can be arranged.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “They need to be able to speak with the utmost frankness,” I quickly answered before Colin could fling a more acerbic retort her direction. “There is always the concern that they could feel pressured or compelled to give a response that might not otherwise reflect their absolute truest opinion.”

  Miss Eugenia pinched her lips as she turned to me. “My staff has no reason to feel that way.”

  “Nevertheless . . .” I returned a warm smile and left the word to sit there on its own.

  She heaved a sigh that sounded far more annoyed than tired before abruptly flicking a dismissive hand at her houseman. “Very well, then,” was all she said.

  “There is one question I should like to ask without delay.” Colin spoke up before Mr. Galloway could evaporate. “Was the window open or closed when Miss Adelaide fell?”

  “It was open, sir.”

  “Then she did not fall through the glass.”

  “No, sir.”

  “And yet I noticed that the pane of glass on the left side has been replaced recently.” He turned and looked toward Miss Eugenia. “The putty around it is new and freshly painted.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mr. Galloway answered in his flat, stoic way. “A bird struck that window about a fortnight ago. Sent a web of cracks through it. I had it replaced the following morning.”

  “Ah . . .” Colin said, giving the first genuine smile I had seen from him almost since our arrival. “Thank you. Till we speak again, Mr. Fitzroy. . . .”

  Before I could correct Colin’s error, Mr. Galloway had already given a quick nod and disappeared.

  “How clever of you to have noticed that glass was recently replaced,” Miss Eugenia said with a grudging trace of respect in her voice.

  “It is part of what you have hired me to do,” Colin replied as he stood up and slid his empty teacup back onto the tray. “And now I believe Mr. Pruitt and I have imposed upon you enough today. We shall begin our investigation in earnest tomorrow and will be sure to conclude it with all due haste.”

  “That would be most welcome, Mr. Pendragon. I cannot abide the fact that Mr. Nettle is allowed to roam freely.”

  “You are assuming that he will be proven guilty,” Colin reminded her as he headed for the door with me close on his heels. “You must remain tolerant of all possibilities until we have concluded our examination of the events.”

  “Well, of course I will,” she snapped back. “But I should hardly expect this inquiry of yours to take longer than a day or two. Honestly, Mr. Pendragon, I shall not sit for such a thing. My brother will not sit for such a thing.”

  Colin grimaced at her mention of Lord Endicott yet again, recognizing it for the veiled threat that it was. However, what made it worse, and what I knew lay at the crux of his reaction, was that in mentioning her brother she was also alluding to his lifelong relationship with Colin’s father, Sir Atherton. And there was nothing that infuriated Colin quicker than such a coarse attempt at intimidation.

  “We shall see you tomorrow then,” I replied as smoothly as I could, pressing a hand into the small of Colin’s back to keep him moving through the doorway. The same sandy-headed footman who’d delivered me here was still waiting out in the hall, and without a word escorted us back to the foyer.

  “Would you like me to ring a cab?” he asked.

  “Ring a cab?” I parroted without understanding what he was referring to.

  “Madam has recently had a telephone installed,” the man replied in the most perfunctory way. “I can call the livery and request to have someone drive round and pick you up. It does not always work. . . .” he added, and I was certain I caught a modicum of embarrassment in his tone.

  “You needn’t trouble yourself,” Colin answered as he headed outside and across the colonnaded porch that stretched the length of the massive house.

  “Very well, then,” the man muttered as Colin disappeared around the far corner toward the side of the home where Miss Adelaide’s room was.

  “He’s looking for something,” I explained, and knew I sounded foolish for offering any sort of explanation.

  The man nodded and stepped back inside without comment, swinging the ornately carved doors shut.

  I barreled after Colin and found him kneeling near the back of the building in a narrow row of box hedges. The cobbled parkway where Miss Adelaide’s life had come to a sudden end was just behind him, and yet he seemed entirely disinterested as he rustled about in the shrubs. “Whatever are you doing?” I asked.

  “Proving a theory.”

  “And just what theory would that be?”

  “That either Miss Adelaide was up to something peculiar with somebody or else there was someone who was trying to undo her in the worst sort of way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “And given that she was eighty-three years old, it hardly seems likely that she was carrying on with anyone.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Might I ask wot yer doin’?” A gravelly voice spun me around and I found myself looking down upon a dark-haired plug of a man who looked about as wide across the shoulders as he was tall.

  “We’ve been hired by Miss Endicott to look into the death of her sister,” I hastily sputtered as though we had been up to some mischief.

  The man tilted his broad face and nodded. “That’s just terrible, that is,” he said. “I’m Mr. McPherson.” He stabbed out a meaty hand. “I take care a the grounds fer Miss Eugenia.”

  “Ethan Pruitt,” I replied, not in the least surprised by the power in his grip. “And this is Colin Pendragon.”

  “A course.” He grinned. “Miss Eugenia always gets ’erself the best.”

  Before I could acknowledge his compliment, Colin stood up and thrust a handful of pebbles and small stones toward him. “I notice you’ve got this hedge turned in a layer of moss and wood shavings. Can you tell me where these stones might have come from?”

  The man squinted into Colin’s palm
and gave a dismissive sort of shrug. “There’s a border a them pebbles along the garden out back. Supposed ta keep the snails out, but I don’t see that it does a fig a good.”

  “How do you suppose they’ve come to be all the way over here, then?” Colin pressed, and I wondered what he was driving at.

  “Prob’ly them ruddy snails brought ’em round.” Mr. McPherson snickered and, to my amazement, so did Colin.

  “They can be pesky,” Colin agreed, which struck me as amusing given that the only thing Colin knew about snails was how they tasted in butter and garlic. “I understand a bird flew into one of Miss Adelaide’s windows recently,” he hurtled right on to the next topic.

  “Aye.” Mr. McPherson gave an easy nod. “’Ad ta get the glazier out ta replace it.”

  “Did you find the bird?”

  “Wot?”

  “The bird that struck the window,” Colin clarified. “Did you find its carcass?”

  Mr. McPherson shook his head. “Nah. But ya can bet it knocked some sense inta the balmy thing.” He laughed, as did Colin, who casually slipped his little trove of stones into a pocket as he stepped out of the hedge.

  “We’ll want to speak with you again tomorrow, Mr. Mc . . .”

  “Pherson,” I quickly supplied.

  “Yes,” Colin said as he brushed himself off.

  “’At’s fine.” The man nodded. He walked back with us as far as the front edge of the house before bidding us good day and heading for the stable situated on the far side of the driveway.

  “What was that all about?” I asked. “Dead birds and snails?”

  “It is murder, Ethan,” he proclaimed with steadfast conviction. “Miss Adelaide was, without a shred of doubt, murdered.” He looked at me with a grim and determined expression. “And I am most certain that it was not by the hand of Mr. Nettle, either.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Acting Inspector Maurice Evans was working out of a series of boxes from what had, until recently, been the tiny office of Inspector Emmett Varcoe. The Yard had still not decided whether to anoint Mr. Evans with the full title of inspector in spite of his clearly deserving it. The work he had done during the Connicle case, especially after the murder of his superior, Inspector Varcoe, made his promotion feel a forgone conclusion, yet such was not the case at the Yard. So though Colin and I had been summoned to discuss that very case, it was Superintendent Elflin Tottenshire who addressed us, leaving poor Mr. Evans to look quite ill at ease from behind his unfamiliar desk.