The Endicott Evil Read online

  “An urchin . . . ?” I repeated through my fog before suddenly pushing myself up into a sitting position as the pieces of my addled brain finally began to shift into place. “Bring him up to the parlor,” I instructed as I threw the covers off and leapt to my feet, immediately seized by the inexorable cold. “And get a fire going. That young man is a guest in our home, and you will please bring us up some tea and biscuits and treat him as such.” I hurried over to my armoire and began yanking out clothing, my jaw clenched against the chill. “Thank you, Mrs. Behmoth,” I belatedly called out.

  I heard her harrumph as she moved off, her methodical footfalls echoing as she headed back up the hallway.

  I dunked my head into the sink and almost yelped when the icy water cascaded over my hair and neck. This was not how I liked to start my day, and I only hoped it was not indicative of whatever was going to come next. I was unsettled at finding Colin already gone and wondered if the boy being shown in might be bringing instructions from him. Something for me to do so that the two of us would not look the fools tomorrow morning when Colin assembled Eugenia Endicott’s household and Lord Endicott himself.

  With my vest still unbuttoned and my jacket thrown over an arm, I dashed out to the parlor to see who had been sent, while hoping that Mrs. Behmoth had already gotten the fire stoked and the tea upstairs. To my surprise it was the same young boy who had escorted Colin and me the evening before. He was dressed in the same grubby clothing with the same oversized cap yanked down on his head.

  “Charlie . . .” I said with what I could muster of a smile so soon after waking, my fingers fumbling with the buttons on my vest even as my eyes registered the lack of a tea tray anywhere in sight. “I didn’t expect to see you this morning,” I confessed as I sidled up to the fireplace to warm myself until the tea could be brought up.

  “Paul sent me ta fetch ya,” he answered in one great explosion of words. “Says ya gotta come right away ’cause we think we found yer lady.”

  “What?!” I heard myself gasp, nearly toppling into the fireplace I swung around so fast. “Mrs. Hutton?! You think you’ve found Charlotte Hutton?”

  The boy’s eyes went huge and round as he stared back at me, looking as though he feared for his safety in the face of my immediate elation. “I don’t ’member ’er name,” he answered. “Paul jest said ta bring ya back.” He glanced toward the hallway I had come from before looking back at me. “Is that other man ’ere too?”

  “No. He’s out right now, but we shall leave him a message and you can be certain he will join us just as quickly as he is able.” I pulled my jacket on and snatched up a piece of paper and pen from the desk, scratching out a quick note for Colin.

  “Wot’s goin’ on?” I heard Mrs. Behmoth say as I turned to find her standing in the doorway holding a tray of tea things with a generous supply of shortbread.

  “This lad and I must leave at once.” I waved Charlie to the landing and dropped my note onto the tray. “I’m sorry we haven’t the time to drink the tea, but please see that Colin gets that the minute he comes in. It is most urgent.”

  Her face dissembled into a scowl. “Ya tell me ta drag all this shite upstairs and now yer jest gonna run out?”

  “Try not to curse in front of the boy, Mrs. Behmoth. He has enough bad habits already. Go on now, Charlie.” I prodded him down the steps before I grabbed the tray from her hands and whisked it back down the stairs, setting it on the hall stand by the front door. I grabbed a handful of shortbreads and pressed them on Charlie. “There now,” I called up, trying to keep the sarcasm from my voice, “I should think we can all be happy now.” Charlie beamed as the two of us hurried out the front door before Mrs. Behmoth could respond, and I was sure we were all the better for it.

  “Can ya run?” Charlie asked as soon as we got outside, the overcast sky doing little to warm me.

  “I can. I am not that old,” I admonished. “However, there will be no need of it, as we shall take a cab.” Once again the boy’s eyes went wide and I realized he had likely never been inside a carriage.

  We were on our way at once, and as I had suspected the ride proved to be entirely new to Charlie. He perched himself on the edge of the seat across from me and seized the grab bar to his right as we got under way, clutching it as though it was the difference between a sound ride and the possibility of his being pitched out onto the street. I cannot say I blamed him, as the cobbled streets and well-worn springs of the old buggy did make for a treacherous combination. Nevertheless, we arrived back at Albany and Redhill without incident and a far sight faster than if we had run.

  I paid the driver and we were on our way across Cumberland Terrace before I recollected how I was going to need to scramble back down into Paul’s burrow. I cursed myself for not changing into something older and worn as I followed Charlie into the same alley, and was instantly relieved to find Paul and two other youths of similar height and stature standing at the far end of the passageway as though they lived there and had no better place to be.

  Paul turned on Charlie with a scowl, glancing behind me as he pushed himself off the wall and headed back into the shadows where Charlie and I were. “Where’s Mr. P.?”

  “Mr. Pendragon was called away on urgent business early this morning,” I answered in a tone more clipped than I had meant it to be. How was it that I continuously let this lad make me feel superfluous? “I left a message for him to join us as quickly as possible,” I added after pulling a deep breath. “He will be upset to not be here if what Charlie has said is true.”

  “Oh, it’s true,” Paul fired right back. “I seen ’er meself this mornin’. She came outta a buildin’ we ain’t gotten to yet, all covered up in ’er black cloak with the ’ood up, jest like ya said, and off she went.”

  Now it was my turn to frown. “Do you know where she went? Did you have anyone follow her?”

  I thought Paul looked stung until a crooked smile cantilevered across his lips. “Well, a course I did. I ’ad two a me mates follow ’er. We’ll know everythin’ ya wanna know as soon as they come back.”

  “You really are the most clever lad.”

  “Well, ya don’t pay me ta be a nob.” He laughed, well pleased with himself, and deservedly so. “Now ya’d best ’urry up if ya wanna have a look at ’er rooms. I don’t know when she’s comin’ back.”

  “A look at her rooms . . . ?!” I repeated, instantly warming to the idea. “That would be . . .” But I couldn’t even think of the word before Paul turned to the two boys on his other side and rapidly barked out instructions on exactly where they were to post themselves on the street.

  “And don’t forget the signal,” he called after them as they sprinted off in their disparate directions.

  “Call a the balmy birds,” one of them trilled back with a snort.

  Paul ignored the boy as he looked back at Charlie, who was still standing with us. “And you, Charlie, you got the most important job of all. You gotta post yerself at the door to the buildin’ with yer cap in yer ’and and stall that lady fer as long as ya can.”

  “Ya know I’m good fer it,” Charlie enthused eagerly.

  And as I stared at his smudged and resolute face, his eyes sparkling with determination, I thought he would surely be an able distraction for anyone with his cap in hand. But then Charlotte Hutton was not simply anyone. She seemed just as likely to ignore him as to give him even a moment’s pause. “You must watch yourself with this woman,” I warned him. “If she is not inclined to stop, then you must let her pass. You mustn’t do anything foolish.”

  “Ya ain’t gotta worry about Charlie,” Paul insisted as he led me across the street, Charlie in our wake. “’E can take care of ’imself.”

  We reached a four-story building, all dingy brickwork and peeling black paint around the windows that I suspected had likely been a color when originally applied. There was nothing unique or compelling about the place, leaving it as inconspicuous as every other building on the street. Charlotte had
chosen wisely, but then I found no surprise in that.

  Paul pulled up short at the two steps that led to the building’s entrance: a single door that was a muted gray, with two sidelights running along either side that were grimy enough to make their original purpose irrelevant. “Now you stay down ’ere and see what kind a coin you can fetch. And if that lady don’t pay you no mind, then you jest be sure ta let out a good clear call after she passes you and we’ll be fine.”

  Charlie’s face scrunched up. “And ya don’t want me ta call yer name, do ya?”

  “Me name?!” Paul gave a hearty laugh. “That wouldn’t tip ’er off ta somethin’ goin’ on now, would it?” He continued to laugh as he started up the steps, which suited me as I was beginning to feel too exposed on the street. “Gimme a birdcall, or a cricket, or somethin’ that don’t sound like yer chippie voice ’ollerin’ out me name!”

  Charlie snapped about immediately, cap in hand, looking ever so like the forlorn ragamuffin he was. It would do, I decided, but we would have to work quickly. This was bound to be our only chance. With any luck Colin would come along shortly and we could have her arrested within the hour. But in the meantime I meant to discover whatever I could about her, just in case, I told myself, which only set my stomach aflutter.

  Paul pushed inside the building ahead of me, and as the door swung wide I could see along its edges that it had once been painted canary yellow. The inside of the building looked very much better. It had a small entry, but the slate tile floor looked buffed and polished, and the walls looked freshly painted and free of the markings usually found in these types of buildings. A staircase rose directly in front of us, its balustrade a warm cherry-colored wood, and the burgundy-patterned runner wrapped around those steps was plush and well maintained.

  “The building is deceiving,” I muttered.

  “Wot?” Paul mumbled, but I could tell he was hardly paying any attention as he studied the postal boxes imbedded under the staircase. I did not bother to repeat myself as I went over to him. “Are any a these ’er name?” he asked.

  There were twenty slots with paper nameplates attached to seventeen of them: last names, first initials. It came as no surprise that none of them said Hutton, C. I scanned a second time looking for the name she had used when she’d made her way to the Continent, Mary Ellen Witten, but that name was not there, either. She was far too clever for such a witless mistake.

  “No. None of these are right.” I swiped a hand through my hair and wondered if it wouldn’t be best to just leave and find Colin. What did I expect to accomplish here anyway? And was it worth the chance that she might return and discover me here? “I think . . .” I started to say with a glance back toward the front door, and for no particular reason suddenly changed my mind. “Let’s check the flats with no name tags on them.”

  Paul looked at me and gave an easy shrug. “If ya want.”

  I barely knew what I should want but nodded my head anyway. “It looks like one of these is on the third floor and the other two are on the fourth.”

  “Yep.” Paul gave a snicker and was halfway up the first staircase before I could even reach the initial riser.

  As I rounded the second- and then third-floor landings, I made sure to notice the proximity of the fire escape. While I did not wish to make use of it after my acrobatics at Freddie Nettle’s boardinghouse, neither did I intend to be caught here.

  “3B,” Paul announced as though I couldn’t read it for myself. “Why don’t you push off some and let me knock on the door. If someone answers I can handle it better if you ain’t standin’ right behind me.”

  “All right. Good thought,” I said, stepping back to the top of the landing so that I was out of sight if not out of hearing.

  “’Ello . . .” I heard him call out, pounding a fist on the door. He was met with silence, and in another moment he did it again to the same result. I was about to come back around the corner when I heard a knob rattle and a door swing open.

  “Who is it?” an elderly-sounding man’s voice demanded.

  “Pardon, sir,” Paul answered in a tone as sweet and polite as I had ever heard him use. “I’m lookin’ for the bloke wot lives over ’ere. Gotta message I been asked ta give ’im.”

  “Well, you ain’t givin’ nothin’ to anybody over there. The place is empty. Nobody lives there. You don’t suppose maybe that message is meant for me, do ya?”

  “Are you Mr. Pruitt, sir?”

  I rolled my eyes even as I strained to hear the conversation.

  “Pruitt? That ain’t me. Wasn’t a Pruitt lived there before, neither. I think you’re lost, boy. I hope they didn’t pay ya good money to deliver that message. Now feck off.”

  The door clicked shut again, and after another minute Paul came strolling back around the corner. “Place is empty,” he said.

  “So I heard.”

  “I stuck me ’ead inside after the old bastard shut ’is door. People lie all the time, ya know.” And having made his pronouncement he catapulted himself up to the top floor, me trundling along behind him, unease slithering deeper into my chest with each step I took.

  “Are you sure we’ll hear your mates’ signal if one of them spots Mrs. Hutton?”

  “A course.” Paul chuckled as though I were being absurd. “Now wait ’ere,” he ordered with a stiff arm pointed at my belly before he headed for the flats at the front of the building again, and I, dutifully, did as instructed.

  Knocking followed just as before: once, twice, three times, but with no one poking their nose out to see what the fuss was about. Because I had almost been fooled on the floor below, this time I waited until I heard Paul quietly call out, “It’s locked.”

  A chill coursed up my spine with the speed of light. Why would an empty flat be locked? I came around the corner and found Paul bent over the doorknob with a hairpin in his hand, already working the lock. “If you don’t know how to do that . . .” I started to say just as a soft click echoed in the small space and Paul stood back with a satisfied smile. Of course he knew how to do this.

  “Keep watch on the staircase,” I bid him. “You will be our last assurance that we don’t get caught.”

  “Ay,” he answered smoothly. “And you keep yer ears out fer birds and crickets wot sound like me lads.”

  “Yes . . .” I repeated, but I was already lost to the sight of the room that was slowly coming into view as I pushed the door wider.

  It was tidy with dusky mauve walls and contained a small settee and a single high-backed chair, both covered in the same soft floral pattern. There was a half table tucked into the space between the two street-facing windows and there was a newspaper flung there, along with something else. Leaving the door slightly ajar to be sure I would hear if Paul called to me, I crept over to the table as though I might disturb someone sleeping in the next room. That thought made me abruptly turn in my tracks and move in the direction of the darkened bedroom.

  White sheers were covering the one window in the room, leaving it to look muted and gray, though I could still see clearly enough that no one was there. A tiny water closet stood just beyond and I could tell that it too was empty. What did catch my attention, however, was the trunk lying open on the bed and the carpetbag next to it. The trunk was obviously in the midst of being packed since clothing, shoes, purses, and hats had been carefully placed inside, leaving the armoire on the farthest wall with its doors thrown wide and nearly empty.

  I moved into the room and peered into the trunk without touching anything—not even allowing myself to brush against the bed lest I should leave any sign whatsoever that someone had been here. Nevertheless, I needed to see if these things truly belonged to Charlotte Hutton. I had to be sure since the multiple pairs of slim, black, leather laced boots and colorful garments could belong to any woman. What did I know of Charlotte Hutton’s taste or style? I had only spoken with her a handful of times, and on two of those occasions she had been completely encased in a hooded black cloak.
r />   When the trunk offered nothing personal, nothing that would allow me any certainty, I rushed over to the gaping armoire only to find it as useless as the trunk. It was left with nothing more than personal garments folded neatly across its bottom that could, once again, belong to almost any woman.

  I turned back to the carpetbag, knowing that within it lay my best chance at discerning the identity of its owner, and though it was closed, I was relieved to see that it was not clasped. Without a second’s thought, I withdrew a pen from my pocket and stabbed it into the jaws of the case, delicately prying them open. Almost at once one side of the soft, pliant bag gave way, sagging over and making it look as if it had been kicked. I cursed as I jammed the pen back into my pocket before impatiently pulling the ruddy thing open with my hands.

  There was a folded black shawl inside keeping me from being able to see anything beneath, leaving me forced to plunge my hand within where I felt the laces and silks of underthings as well as the soft cotton of what was surely a nightdress. I was about to pull my hand free so I could reset the bag when my fingers brushed against something hard.

  With a harsh intake of breath, my heart ratcheting in my chest, I took a second to see whether I could catch the sound of a bird’s trilling in a young boy’s falsetto. The rhythmic clip of horses’ hooves and the clatter of carriage wheels on the cobbles below rose to my ears along with the murmur of a sea of people going about their business, but there were no birds or crickets.

  With my breath held tight in my chest, I carefully removed the shawl and placed it on the bed, and then dug out the garments with as much care as I could, given that my hands had grown unsteady even as my heart continued to rage in my ears. Leaving the remaining few items where they were I reached back to the bottom of the bag and brought out a small wooden box that jingled metallically as I lifted it free. Even before I could make my fingers release the tabs on the ends of the box, I knew what I was going to find.

  A dozen bright, shiny .41-caliber bullets slid out into my hand with a clang. I stared at them as if I had never seen a bullet before, unable to stir myself for what felt like the longest time. They winked with newness, their gently curved points rising above the casing, the round disk of their primer at the opposite end pristine and just waiting to be struck. The room around me seemed to fall back and then abruptly rush in on me again, leaving me light-headed and struggling to control my breath.