The Endicott Evil Page 20

  “Which is why you hide in this squalid place,” Colin scolded, “rather than confide in the two people who have been trying to help you from the start. Really, Mr. Nettle, your choices since that night have been most wretched.”

  “But how could I tell such a fantastical tale to anyone without being vilified? I would have been thought of as daft. Scotland Yard would have seized me for guilty at once.”

  “The Yard . . .” Colin dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “I’m talking about Mr. Pruitt and myself. We could have assuaged your mind at once and gotten a good deal farther along with this investigation by now if you had only told us the truth.”

  “Assuaged my mind?”

  “Now instead we have wasted valuable time pissing about to learn the very things you could have told us at the start. I must say I am very disappointed.”

  “And for that I do apologize,” he said quickly. “But how could you have assuaged my mind?”

  “Phosphorous powder, Mr. Nettle,” Colin snapped back with nary a hint of patience. “It is used in theatrics and by those for whom such trickery can prove persuasive. I think it fair to call them charlatans. And here is a small mark of it on your shoe. What that tells me, Mr. Nettle, is that either you were close enough to Miss Adelaide at the point of her death to have gotten your shoe scorched by the burning powder, or you have some other use for it, which I have as yet to figure out. Now which is it?”

  Freddie Nettle’s despair was so dense I would have sworn I could feel it bristling against my skin. “I was next to Miss Adelaide when she fell,” he admitted in a voice almost without sound, “but I did not push her. It was an accident. I was only trying to help her.”

  “From the beginning, Mr. Nettle,” Colin prodded peevishly. “And I will caution you not to leave anything out lest you drive Mr. Pruitt and me from your room without a backward glance. I can assure you I am quite finished having you deceive me.”

  “Mr. Pendragon . . .” He shook his head pitifully, taking pains not to meet Colin’s gaze. “I meant no such disrespect. I was terrified. Can you not understand that?” His eyes drifted up, and I could see fear and shame there, although Colin chose not to answer him. “I heard a scream and raced into Miss Adelaide’s room, as I have said. She was already over by the window, staring out into the darkness. If she could see something, I do not know what it was. I started toward her, but before I could reach her there was a sudden flash of intense light, blues and greens that simply exploded into the room and hung there like an unworldly spirit had somehow found its way inside. And then I heard the little girl.

  “She was crying for help and calling Miss Adelaide’s name. It was as though she was standing right next to me, only . . . there was no one there.” He rubbed his forehead again, finally clenching his fists to his eyes. “I thought I must be losing my mind. I don’t believe in such things. I have never believed in such things. And yet . . .” His voice trailed off and still he did not look at us.

  “And then what happened, Mr. Nettle?” Colin pressed after what felt like a full minute had passed.

  He dropped his hands and stared at the floor, a hollow of a man. “I was terrified. I will not lie. I was terrified and I feared for my life. And I feared for Miss Adelaide. I did. There was a smell in the air, a pungent, burnt smell, and that child’s doleful voice calling to Miss Adelaide through a flood of sobs, and the eerie light that seemed to be hanging everywhere around me, swamping me. . . .” He tugged in a ragged breath. “It felt like the gates of Hell had burst open and we were standing at the very heart of it.”

  “And then . . . ?” Colin said for the last time.

  “I tried to reach out and grab Miss Adelaide. All I could think to do was get her out of that room—get us both out of there. But she pulled away from me. I don’t know if she meant to, or if she even realized that it was me reaching for her, but she pulled away so savagely . . . so suddenly . . . that she stumbled backward and . . .” He held his hands out in front of himself, palms up as though wondering how they had failed to catch his mistress, and I could see that his eyes were wearied and ringed with red. “And then she fell. It was like she disappeared right into that cursed luminescent fog. Only she hadn’t. She had fallen from that window even as I stood there like a bloody helpless fool.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Neither one of us spoke on the ride back to our flat. There seemed nothing to say in the wake of everything Freddie Nettle had confided. I did not know what Colin had expected Mr. Nettle to confess, but I suspected nothing of what we had heard. That his story had always felt incomplete was undeniable, that he would have such a tale of spectral lights, disembodied cries, and watching poor Adelaide Endicott stumble out the window, without lifting a hand, was both damning and disturbing. For if he was spinning an account with the intent of proving his innocence, he was failing unquestionably.

  I had thought Colin and I might discuss what we had heard, but he fell silent the moment we climbed into our waiting cab, turning his gaze to some far horizon, his lips pulling taut, and I knew it was best to leave him be. And so we remained until we arrived back at our flat to find another cab pulled to the curb by our porch. “Are we expecting someone?” I asked as our driver brought us to a smooth stop.

  “We most certainly are,” Colin answered quickly, his eyes instantly taking in the waiting carriage and flashing with a sudden, keen interest. Without another word he hopped out before we had drawn to a complete stop and bounded for the steps with profound determination. What, I could not help but wonder, was I forgetting?

  I made quick work of paying our driver and hurried in to the sound of several men’s voices drifting down from above. Mrs. Behmoth was nowhere to be seen, though I could smell roasting chicken and potatoes. My stomach growled as I slung my coat onto the hall tree, reminding me that it had been too long since I had eaten last.

  “Ethan!” I looked up to find Colin leaning over the landing staring down at me. “It’s the gentleman from the taxi depot that you manhandled. He has found the man who picked up Charlotte Hutton after your altercation this morning. Do hurry up.”

  I bolted up the stairs at once, cursing myself for forgetting such a thing. As I reached the landing and went through to the parlor it was to find two men standing just inside, one I recognized—the left side of his jaw looking swollen and mottled in deep reds and purples, a frayed top hat clutched in his fingers—the other man I did not. The second man stood nearly as tall as me, though he had the skinny body of a boy and the face to match. He too held a well-used top hat in his hands, and I thought I noticed him flinch when my eyes fell upon him.

  “Please,” Colin said, clearly not for the first time. “Do come and sit down. There is no need for such formality, gentlemen.”

  “We’d just as soon stand, thank you,” the man I had regrettably slugged answered, his voice coming out thick and slightly garbled, and I feared that his tongue must be swollen as well.

  “Please,” it was my turn to say, taking pains to keep the sounds of guilt from my voice. “Let me get you both a brandy to warm yourselves.”

  The two men glanced at each other before the poor battered man gave a stiff nod of his head, probably all he could manage without causing a shock of pain. “We just come like ya asked,” he said rather morosely. “This is the bloke what picked up yer lady near Limehouse this mornin’ after she ran off.”

  “That is outstanding news.” Colin grinned as he moved over to the fireplace and threw on a few pieces of wood, quickly poking it back to roaring life. “You remembered her, did you?” he asked, and I knew he was testing the man even though he appeared to be fully engaged with the fire.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Colin stood up and turned toward the three of us as I handed them their brandy, and carefully slid the poker back into its stand. “And what did you remember about her?”

  The taller man blinked once . . . twice . . . staring back at Colin as though he must be either daft or ribbing him. “She were a rig
ht beauty. There are plenty a lovelies, but she were one a them ya don’t forget.”

  “Describe her to me.”

  “She had long black hair. . . .”

  “Black?!”

  “She has dyed her hair black,” I interrupted, realizing I had never shared this crucial detail with Colin. “Clearly, she has done so to be less conspicuous.”

  “She had the bluest eyes I ever seen,” the taller driver spoke up again. “’At’s one a the things I couldn’t forget. Hair as dark as night but eyes blue as the ocean. Ya don’t see that. People with black hair got dark eyes, but not her. She were small and pale and delicate like one a them tiny birds, and she had them blue eyes. Ya don’t forget a woman like that.”

  “Lucky for us.” Colin flashed a razor-thin smile as he stalked over to where the three of us had remained standing just inside the room, his sudden enthusiasm bristling with every step. “And where did you take this most memorable woman? Where did you drop her off?”

  “A boardinghouse just outside Regent’s Park. I can take ya there if ya want. I remember it.”

  Colin’s smile broadened. “Then we are indeed most fortunate for you and your memory. I presume now is a good time?”

  “Now?” It was evident as the man flicked his eyes to his injured friend that he had not considered making the run tonight.

  “We will pay you for the journey, of course,” Colin added smoothly, which appeared to assuage the man’s hesitation in an instant.

  “Very well, then.” He popped his frayed top hat onto his head. “If yer ready?”

  “Ya don’t need me. . . .” the first man said, less a question than a statement. “We’re good, right? I’ll be goin’ home, then.”

  “I do hope you will forgive me,” I felt compelled to say to him once more, the state of his jaw a reminder that my own right hand still ached. “I am mortified—”

  “You have made it right,” Colin interrupted, stepping in between me and the two drivers, herding them back to the staircase even as he reached out and snagged his suit coat off the hall rack. “But you really should watch yourself in the future,” he could not resist adding. “Be careful who you make arrangements to assist, as I presume you do not wish to be perceived as an enemy of Scotland Yard.”

  The man paled, at least the part of his face not blotched by bruising did. “Oh no, sir. I would never want such a thing. I’m a God-fearing, law-abiding man,” he explained even as the three of them trundled down the stairs with me in their wake. “I learned me lesson. Some things ain’t worth an extra shilling.”

  “You are correct,” I heard Colin reassure him. “You should never sell your soul for less than a crown.”

  The three of them laughed as they burst out into the night ahead of me, and I only hoped Colin’s great good will was well founded. It seemed impossible to believe that we would arrive at some boardinghouse not two miles from where we lived to catch Charlotte Hutton unawares. I was desperate to believe it could be the case, yet did not allow myself to think it might truly prove so simple. Which gave me a start as I climbed into the cab. “Did you bring a gun?” I asked Colin as we got under way.

  “A gun? Whatever for?”

  “We don’t know what we will find,” I answered, trying to sound indifferent. “But a cornered animal is the most ferocious.”

  Colin chuckled. “And that is why I will have you and your merciless right hook at my side.”

  “You are not amusing.” I scowled. “Don’t you think we should at least fetch Maurice Evans?”

  “If we get him then we will necessarily be involving the entire Yard. It would be callous to expect him to help us without alerting his force. I’m certain it has to be against some regulation or another. They’re like an ant colony: If you summon one you get the whole bloody swarm. Now settle yourself.” He reached over and patted my knee and once again I hoped his mood was justified.

  We turned another corner and I felt the cab begin to slow, reminding me just how absurdly close she was apparently staying to our flat. “Here it is, then,” the driver called down from the seat above us as we glided to a halt.

  “Splendid,” Colin answered at once, swinging out of the cab. “And which building did she enter?”

  I climbed out just in time to see the driver toss off a slight shrug. “I dunno. I don’t stay around ta watch people enter buildings. I ain’t paid ta do that.”

  “Then what address did she give you?” Colin asked, making no attempt to hide his annoyance.

  “’At one.” He gestured with his chin toward a Gothic-looking brick-and-white-stone building several doors down, complete with turrets poking up from the topmost floor at either end of the structure and a half dozen gargoyles looming over the street from above the roofline.

  “Fitting,” Colin mumbled as I paid the driver.

  “Well, good luck to ya,” the man said as I stepped back from his carriage. “She’s a right pretty woman ta have business with.” He snickered as he shook the reins, causing his horse to lurch forward. “Ya let me know if ya need any help.” He outright laughed as he clattered off.

  “Ass,” Colin grumbled as he started for the building, his stride as filled with determination as it was with eagerness.

  I followed him without saying anything, though I wondered how he intended to find out which flat was hers. From the look of the building I guessed there were greater than forty apartments within. That the name Charlotte Hutton would be plastered on one of the doors was ludicrous, likewise the name she had used to flee England, Mary Ellen Witten. She already knew we had traced that name to the accounts she’d opened in Zurich, that was yet another of my blunders on this case, which meant she would never be reckless enough to use it again.

  We pushed our way into the lobby, and I was almost surprised to find a doorman in attendance. Yet, upon careful consideration, why would I have expected anything less of Mrs. Hutton? Did I truly imagine she might come to London and take up residence in a hovel? Wasn’t it enough that she had taken a flat in a public building?

  “Good evening,” Colin was already calling out to the doorman, a tall, slender man of late middle years resplendent in a long dove-gray topcoat. There was a black top hat sitting on a counter behind which he was sorting through a stack of notices and papers.

  He glanced over, his face well lined and tired, and a look of surprise abruptly stole across his visage. “Aren’t you Colin Pendragon. . . ?” he asked almost reverentially, as though the very question were almost too astonishing to verbalize.

  “Indeed,” Colin answered with the flash of a smile, his pleasure at being thusly recognized forever a source of pride. “And this is my associate, Ethan Pruitt.”

  “Good evening,” I said with a tip of my hat.

  “Gentlemen,” he replied with a nod, one hand flying up to his head before remembering that his hat was already on the counter between us. He gave a self-conscious chuckle. “Whatever might you be doing here?”

  “We are looking for someone. A woman we believe may live here. Probably arrived within the past few weeks. She almost certainly lives by herself, although it is possible that she has a young daughter with her. She is quite lovely to look at, the kind a man will notice. Black hair, pale features, eyes an unusually brilliant blue. No more than her middle thirties, though you could not be faulted for thinking she could pass for younger.”

  “She has a black cloak with a hood that she’s fond of wearing,” I added. “It hangs almost to the ground and she often pulls the hood up to completely cover her face.” I kept expecting the man to nod or grace us with a knowing smile, but instead found myself confronted by a burgeoning frown.

  “We have no such lady here,” he said after another moment’s thought. “There’s not been a vacant flat in quite some time and certainly no one of that description who has come to stay recently. From the sounds of her, I should think I would have noticed.”

  Colin heaved a sigh and I knew he was as disappointed as me if hardly surp
rised. “You’re quite certain? Is it not possible she could have gotten past you?”

  He shook his head slowly and I thought he looked almost regretful. “I know everyone who lives here. I’ve not missed a day of work since our youngest was born the winter before last. Can’t afford to.” He shrugged his shoulders and gave an uneasy smile.

  “I see.” Colin flicked a thin smile, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “I wonder, might I impose upon you to show me a roster of the building’s occupants? I’m certain a conscientious man such as yourself would maintain such a thing . . . ?”

  “Oh . . .” The man’s smile widened. “I’m not supposed to share it with anyone, but then you’re not just anyone, are you, Mr. Pendragon?” His eyes shifted from Colin to me. “I mean either of you,” he added with a noticeable cringe. “Let me just get that for you.” He sidled over to a short cabinet behind his counter with two locked drawers, pulling a key from a clipped ring hanging at his waist. With a quick turn he sprang the lock and reached in to extract a leather-bound ledger from the top drawer. “Here you go, then,” he said, flipping it open and turning it to face us.

  Colin stepped forward first and ran a swift finger down the list of names. “Miss Eldemeier and Mrs. Schriffen?” he read.

  “Sisters living in flat 304,” the man answered. “Lovely ladies but neither could be considered a beauty.”

  “Mrs. Newcastle?”

  “A widow in 210. She’s lived here for years.”

  “And Miss Holloway?”

  “Aged and not well, I’m afraid.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?” Colin pressed, and I knew he was trying to consider every possibility.

  “Just this morning. There are a few of us who take turns going to the market for her. Saturday is my day.”

  “Blast it. . . .” Colin blurted as he stalked back toward the front door. “Of course she would not be here. . . .” he grumbled as he continued right on outside.