The Connicle Curse Page 3

  “You remember Mr. Pendragon and Mr. Pruitt,” Miss Porter said as she leaned over and began preparing our tea.

  “Aye,” she answered at once, her eyes flitting down as she gave a well-practiced curtsy.

  “They’re here at the behest of Mrs. Connicle. We must give them every assistance.”

  “Yes, Miss Porter.” Letty nodded, her eyes still on the floor.

  “Thank you, Letty.” The young girl took several steps back before giving another quick curtsy and fleeing the room. “You must forgive her. She is the newest member of the staff and is only just sixteen. Her mother is the Connicles’ cook, Edna Hollings. She’s been with them from the beginning. Almost twenty years now.”

  Colin flashed another smile. “We’ll need to speak with her. Has Mrs. Hollings been with the Connicles the longest?”

  “No. That would be their driver, Randolph. Randolph’s been with the Connicle family since Mr. Connicle was just a boy. When Mr. and Mrs. Connicle married, Randolph’s services were a gift to them from Mr. Connicle’s father.”

  “A gift, you say?! How very provocative,” Colin muttered, his poorly veiled disapproval not lost on Miss Porter as she averted her gaze with the thinnest of smiles. “And who else works in the household?”

  “There is a couple, Alexa and Albert, who joined the staff about two years ago. They’ve been here the shortest if you don’t count Letty. Alexa is the scullery maid and Albert is the groundskeeper.”

  “Alexa and Albert . . .” Colin repeated thoughtfully. “I would suspect those aren’t their birth names.”

  “Why, Mr. Pendragon”—Miss Porter looked startled—“how-ever could you know that?”

  “I assume Alexa is short for Alexandrina, our dear Victoria’s given name, making it too great a coincidence to have a married couple on-staff named after our sovereign and her late consort.”

  “How very astute.” Miss Porter grinned. “I’m afraid I don’t actually know their given names. I’ve heard them, but like everyone else found them quite unpronounceable, which is why Mrs. Connicle lent them those. They’re not British, you see. They’re from the Kingdom of Dahomey in French West Africa.”

  “Ah yes.” Colin nodded solemnly. “I believe the French claimed that as their own just last year.”

  “After a brutal two-year war,” I pointed out.

  He tossed me a patient smile. “And what war isn’t brutal?” I opened my mouth to respond before realizing he was entirely correct. “Is there anyone else on-staff?” Colin continued.

  “No, sir. That’s all of us.”

  He settled back on the sofa with his tea held close. “At the risk of being a nuisance, I should very much like to speak with the staff tonight. We shan’t trouble them but a few minutes each.”

  Miss Porter acquiesced at once. “Shall I assemble everyone?”

  “Individually would be best. I find people far more willing to speak their minds when given the opportunity to do so in private.”

  “Certainly,” she said, and once again I could see the stress and anxiety lingering just beneath her movement and words.

  The moment she stepped from the room I turned to Colin, who was already on his feet checking out a series of photographs atop the mantel. “She seems a bit unsure of herself,” I said.

  “She’s too young to be running a household on her own,” he answered without taking his eyes from the photographs. “Must have had immaculate references.” A Cheshire’s grin spread across his face as he moved to a pair of bookshelves on the opposite side of the fireplace. “Or else she knows the family secrets.”

  “Wouldn’t that more likely explain how she keeps it rather than how she procured it?”

  He chuckled. “You have a point.”

  The sound of a door opening behind me brought me to my feet as I turned to find Miss Porter ushering a short, heavyset middle-aged woman into the room. She wore a full-sized white apron and had gray hair shorn so close to her head that there was no need for a toque of any kind. This was clearly Mrs. Hollings. Miss Porter made the introductions and withdrew from the room, leaving Mrs. Hollings looking quite uncomfortable. After much cajoling Colin was finally able to coax her to sit down, but even then she would only perch on the edge of the chair closest to her kitchen.

  “Miss Porter tells us you’ve been working for the Connicles since they married.” Colin offered her a generous smile.

  “Aye,” she answered.

  “Twenty years, is it?”

  She seemed to consider the question a moment before answering. “Aye.”

  “They must be kind and equitable employers for you to stay so long.”

  She flicked her eyes between us. “Aye.”

  “Wonderful.” Colin stood up and gestured her toward the door. “I think we’ve taken enough of your time. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to send your daughter Lucy—”

  “Letty,” I corrected.

  “Letty.” He smiled easily. “Will you have Letty come and see us?”

  Mrs. Hollings looked befuddled as she got to her feet and nodded. I could hardly contain my laughter until the door swung shut behind her. “That has got to be the shortest interrogation I have ever seen you conduct.”

  He shrugged as he moved back to the fireplace. “We’ll leave Varcoe to spend his time on her. She’s got nothing for us.”

  Not a minute later her daughter reentered through the same swinging door, though this time far more hesitantly and without anything cradled in her arms. “Miss Hollings.” Colin gestured her in with his usual grin, earning him yet another of her awkward curtsies in return. “We appreciate your time and promise to be brief. Will you tell us how long you’ve been working for the Connicles?”

  “I started ’elpin’ me mum in the kitchen a couple days a week when I were thirteen. But I’ve been ’elpin’ more regular now for ’bout a year.”

  “Still in the kitchen?”

  She shook her head. “I ain’t much of a cook. That’s me mum’s knack. I ’elp out wherever the missus needs me. She’s a fine, delicate woman.”

  “How so?”

  She pursed her lips and appeared to consider it a moment. “Just is,” she said with a shrug.

  “Right.” Colin released a sparrow’s sigh as he gazed into the fireplace with marked disinterest. “And Mr. Connicle? Do you ever assist him?”

  “No, sir. He don’t need me ’elp. Only the missus. I watch ’er when she has ’er spells.”

  “Spells?” Colin looked back at Letty.

  “Well”—she shuffled her feet and stared down at the floor—“it ain’t really me place ta talk. . . .”

  “Certainly it is.” Colin turned fully away from the fireplace and focused his attentions solely on Letty Hollings. “That’s why we’ve asked to speak with you. Because we know you want to help your mistress. Now tell us about her spells.”

  “She ’as bad ’eadaches and dizziness and sometimes thinks she ’ears things when no one’s talkin’.”

  “Hears things?” Colin repeated as his eyes slid over to me. And I knew, without the slightest hesitation, exactly what he was thinking.

  “Mum says the missus is fragile. But she’s been good ta me and me mum. She’s never said a mean thing. Not once.”

  “How often does she hear things?” Colin pressed.

  “She don’t like ta say, but sometimes I see ’er turn white as a sheet and I know she’s ’avin’ a spell. It makes ’er look so sad.”

  “What sorts of things does she think she’s hearing?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t ask ’er nothin’ like that. But I know she were in ’ospital for it once. Way back when I was first ’elpin’ me mum. She were gone for quite some time. Least it seemed like it.” Letty shrugged. “That’s what I ’member anyway.”

  “You’ve been most helpful, Miss Hollings. May I impose upon you one last time to send in either Alexa or Albert?”

  “Alexa’s in the kitchen. I’ll fetch ’er.”

  “Thank you.
” He nodded gallantly and she quickly hustled from the room after giving one last clumsy curtsy. As the door swung briskly in her wake Colin turned to me. “Whatever do you make of that?”

  I knew what he was really asking. “It’s certainly not a thing to be taken lightly,” I tossed back, trying to sound blasé in spite of the coiled recollections of my mother that insisted on their due whenever such talk came up.

  “Ethan . . .” he started to say, clearly about to extend some heavy-handed consolation in an effort to neutralize a past I had never been able to set right, when the sound of the opening door thankfully interrupted him. I turned to see the woman they called Alexa coming into the room. She had a flawless complexion the color of tea with a stout dose of cream, and raven-black hair that fell in tight ringlets to her shoulders. Her figure was both lithe and lean, and she stood just an inch or two shorter than Colin’s five foot eight. It was evident by the way in which she carried herself that she was neither intimidated nor anxious about being thusly summoned. Which became ever more obvious when she said:

  “Now what you be wantin’ wit’ me?”

  “Mrs. . . .” Colin stood up and smiled broadly as he gestured to a chair.

  “Alexa. Jest Alexa. Dat’s what dey call me.” Her tone was cool but without a touch of artifice as she sat down in the chair next to the one Colin had pointed her toward.

  “Alexa then.” He held his smile even though she did not return the pleasantry. Rather, her face remained blank, without reproach, making it clear that she was waiting for some sort of explanation. “I would like to ask you a few questions about your time here with the Connicles.”

  “Me time ’ere?” She clucked dryly. “Ya make it sound like I’m on ’oliday. I work for ’em, ya know.”

  “Yes,” he answered, his smile faltering at the corners. “That’s what I’d like to speak with you about.”

  “Then get to it. I got t’ings ta be doin’.”

  Colin’s brow curdled as she stared back at him expectantly. “Are you really so unconcerned about the welfare of your employer?” he snapped.

  To my surprise she smiled. “Now wot makes ya say dat? ’Cause I ain’t weepin’ all about? Ain’t ya never seen a rainbow after a terrible storm? Dat’s wot dey call ’ope. Ya see?”

  Colin stared at her a minute before turning to me and grousing, “Is she bloody starkers?”

  And before I could even think to respond, Alexa leapt up and scowled at me with fire in her eyes. “Is ’e talkin’ ’bout me like dat? ’Cause I won’t ’ave it.”

  “He was joking,” I said, braying the worst sort of laugh. “It was only a joke.” Fortunately, he had turned his back to us as he stood gazing into the fireplace, for I knew she would find no smirk upon his face. “How long have you been working for the Connicles?” I asked, trying to ease the strain.

  “Two years. Two years last April,” she sniffed.

  “And before that?”

  She pursed her lips and sat down again. “Me ’usband and I worked for an old couple in Notting ’Ill. Dey brought us ’ere ’bout a dozen years ago. We were starvin’ ta death back ’ome and da blasted French were already sniffin’ about for control.”

  “And the Notting Hill couple?” I pressed. “What happened to them?”

  “Dead. Left us a bit a money, but it weren’t enough ta live off, so we ’ad ta come ’ere.”

  “You don’t like it here?” Colin interrupted, finally glancing around.

  “Dey good people. But I’d rather work for meself. Missus is a poor soul and I don’t ’ardly see da mister.”

  “What did you do back in Dahomey?” Colin leaned against the mantel with a studied indifference.

  Her deep brown eyes momentarily betrayed surprise that Colin knew where she was from, but a practiced coolness quickly settled over it. “Stay alive,” she said offhandedly.

  “Are you a Christian woman?”

  She studied him before answering. “Now why ya askin’ me dat?”

  “I am conducting an investigation into the disappearance and possible murder of your employer. I’m likely to ask you anything.”

  “I go ta church wit’ me ’usband when it suits me. I know da stories. Dat make me Christian?”

  “Better than some.” He flashed a tight smile. “And in Dahomey ?”

  “Ain’t no Christians dere,” she said flatly. “’Cept dem French.”

  “Yes . . .” he muttered. “And what’s the name of the traditional West African religion?”

  “Dere are many traditions in Africa.”

  “What about yours?” he pushed. “What is yours called?”

  She settled her eyes on him, but I couldn’t otherwise tell what she was thinking. “We call it Vudun,” she finally answered. “It means spirit. Da belief of a single, divine Creator named Mawu. So we ain’t so very different. We jest use different names.”

  “Vudun,” he repeated as if tasting the word. “I believe it’s more commonly known here as voodoo. And while the precepts may be similar, we don’t have fetishes in the Christian faith.”

  She looked wholly amused as she let out a laugh. “Ya ’ave saints carved in wood and stone, and shiny crosses ’angin’ round yer necks. We jest prefer our t’ings from da earth. But it don’t make much difference ’cause it all means da same t’ing: blessings and good life. No.” She chuckled. “We ain’t so different at all.”

  “Perhaps we’re not.” He nodded stiffly, pushing himself away from the fireplace and crossing to one of the large windows overlooking the grounds. “I think we’ve taken enough of your time for now. Would you be so kind as to ask your husband to come and see us.”

  “As ya wish.” She stood up and headed for the same door that led to the kitchen. “You jest let me know if ya wanna talk more about religion.” Her deep chuckle followed her out as the door swung shut behind her.

  “I doubt she’ll find our next conversation half as entertaining,” Colin grumbled.

  “Nor the one she’s likely to have with Inspector Varcoe before this night is through.”

  Colin shrugged. “She’ll deny everything. By the time he gets through haranguing her he likely won’t even be able to get her to admit she’s from Africa.”

  “Well, you almost trod upon her good nature yourself by accusing her of being daft. Must you always say whatever comes into your head?”

  He shifted his eyes to me with a sly grin. “I’m not saying what I’m thinking this very minute.”

  Not a moment later Alexa’s husband, Albert, pushed his way into the room through the kitchen door. He was a short, thickly muscled man, attesting to a life spent in labors of one sort or another. He appeared slightly older than his wife and in marked contrast to her was as dark as the night itself. His clothing was worn, as one would expect of a groundskeeper, yet it was pressed and clean. He clutched a small navy cap in both hands that he was twisting as though trying to wring it of water, making it obvious that he was nowhere near as confident as his wife.

  “Thank you for coming.” Colin smiled and gestured to the same chair he had offered everyone else. “Please sit down.”

  Albert shook his head and cast his eyes to the floor. “No t’anks.”

  Colin pursed his lips and took a seat himself. “I understand you were born and raised in Dahomey.”

  He nodded tepidly, wringing his cap first one way and then the other, his eyes remaining down.

  “And you have been working for the Connicles a little over two years?”

  He gave another nod, all the while twisting the cap.

  “Do you like working here?”

  Another nod.

  “Do you use the shed on the side of the house?”

  I thought Albert was going to rend his cap in half as he dropped his chin almost to his sternum. “I didn’t do nothin’.”

  “I’m just asking whether you use the shed. Do you keep your tools in it?”

  It took a minute, but Albert gave yet another nod.

  “W
ere you the one to discover all that blood this morning?”

  His head shot up and his eyes locked on Colin’s. “I didn’t do nothin’,” he repeated, this time with force.

  “I didn’t say you did.” Colin stood up and wandered around behind where Albert was standing, his movements slow and casual even though his words bristled with expectancy. “Tell me, Albert, are you a practitioner of voodoo like your wife?”

  “Wot?!” His eyes shot over to Colin as his hands went still.

  “Voodoo. Your wife tells us she was a practitioner in Dahomey. Were you as well?”

  He shrugged, his gaze drifting back to the floor in front of him.

  Colin waved him off. “It doesn’t matter. What time did you go out there this morning?”

  “ ’Bout five. Same as always.”

  “Did you go directly to the shed?”

  “Yeah. But there weren’t nothin’ wrong.”

  “No blood?”

  He nodded.

  “Did you see anyone else?”

  He shook his head.

  “And what did you do after you went out to your shed?”

  “I got me shovel and took it down past da trees ta fix da fence. A couple posts was knocked down yestaday.”

  “Beyond the trees on the eastern edge?”

  He shook his head. “No. Da west.”

  “The west . . .” Colin repeated, and it struck me at once that Albert would have been on the opposite end of the property from where the murder and immolation of Edmond Connicle had taken place. “And what time did you get back to the house?”

  Albert shrugged his broad shoulders. “Eight? . . . I don’t see da time.”

  “Did you go right back to the shed?”

  It took him a moment before he nodded again.

  “And before you looked inside and saw the blood, could you tell that someone had been there? That anything had happened?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?” Colin stepped toward him, forcing Albert to look up.

  He shook his head vehemently as he began winding his cap again.