The Endicott Evil Page 9

  “The woman’s daughter,” she answered with the same steady confidence she had shown for the whole of our discussion. “She was convinced that the beating her father had wrought upon the young woman had caused her child to be born with grievous injuries and that the girl could not have lived much past a handful of years at most. It tormented Miss Adelaide. I believe it’s why she began to have the visions that first brought her to me.” Lady Stuart set her teacup down and leaned back, a flash of something bolting past her eyes so quickly that I could not determine what it was. “She wanted me to contact the child,” she finally went on, her voice softening and lowering in a way that made me suspect she was plagued by her own bit of guilt for having allowed herself to be contracted for such a grim and impractical duty. “She wanted me to beseech the child for forgiveness. Miss Adelaide had become terrified of dying because she feared the wrath that would surely be levied against her for what she had failed to do: to spare the life of an innocent child for the iniquities of its mother.”

  My heart felt leaden and I found myself shifting my eyes toward the windows as the thought of the remorse that had seized Miss Adelaide late in her life fully settled on my chest like a weighted coat. That she had carried such a burden for so many decades made her final schism with reality seem almost inevitable. “I hardly know what to say,” was all I could manage to articulate before an insistent pounding at the front door interrupted us. “It would seem I have infringed upon the time that belongs to your clientele,” I muttered as I stood up, relieved to be able to leave just the same.

  Lady Stuart glanced at the clock on the mantel before looking back at me. “I have no clients at this time of the day. . . .” But she got no further before a great bustling in the hallway stopped her, and we both turned to find her father stepping into view with Eugenia Endicott directly on his heels.

  “Mr. Pruitt . . .” she fairly hissed as she came around from behind Evers and planted herself just inside the parlor. “I am aghast to find you here with this . . . woman. . . .” She said the word as though its definition was that of a harridan or prostitute. “I am quite certain that I already made it well clear to you that she did nothing more for my sister than twist her gentle nature and torment her mind. When Mr. Fischer reported that you had insisted he bring you here, I simply had to see it for myself.” She scowled at me with such a look in her eyes that I found myself forced to glance away. “This is intolerable, Mr. Pruitt. . . .”

  “Miss Eugenia . . .” I started to say, though I had no idea what I was going to follow it up with.

  “I do not wish to hear whatever it is you feel compelled to say to me, Mr. Pruitt. You and Mr. Pendragon will not spend my money on such frippery. You vowed to find the cause of my sister’s death or oblige Scotland Yard to arrest Mr. Nettle, which is what I have insisted on from the start. But now I see that you are determined to scrabble through every dung heap you encounter until you have achieved some self-satisfaction that I will not abide. This is my sister, Mr. Pruitt. My good and godly sister. You may submit a final accounting of your time to my solicitor and then the services of you and Mr. Pendragon shall no longer be required.”

  And just as quickly as she had arrived, Eugenia Endicott swept back out of the room, leaving my heart in my throat as I scrambled to think how I was ever going to tell Colin.

  CHAPTER 9

  After I left Lady Stuart’s I made my way to Shauney’s pub and spent the rest of my afternoon there, scribbling notes about the Endicott case and trying to figure out what I had accomplished in Colin’s absence. As late afternoon turned to evening, I ordered supper for myself, aware that Mrs. Behmoth would not be going to such trouble just for me. I nursed a couple of ciders for most of the length of my stay and when Shauney asked if I expected to stay at his table through the whole of the night, I finally determined it was time to go home to wait for Colin’s return. I was anxious to tell him about my contact with Charlotte Hutton. He was going to be amazed, or infuriated, I didn’t really know which.

  By the time I got home from Shauney’s, I found Mrs. Behmoth in a mood amidst the unmistakable signs of Colin’s return. Given that the time had barely ticked past seven-thirty, I was stunned to discover his valise already on the settee, flung wide with its contents scattered about as though they had been held under pressure. I hurried back to the stairs to yell down to Mrs. Behmoth about his whereabouts, as there wasn’t a sound of him upstairs, and Mrs. Behmoth trudged all the way up to see me, and in that one action I knew all was not well.

  “’E’s afoul,” she had growled at me as though it was my responsibility now. “Came in ’ere like a ruddy tempest lookin’ fer you and railin’ on ’bout the Yard. You’d better get ’im settled down before ’e comes back or I’ll see that ’e ’as somethin’ ta grouse about.”

  I did not doubt Mrs. Behmoth, so I wasted no time in learning that he had immediately headed off for the Yard, his agitation and displeasure intact. And so it was that I now found myself hurrying up the front steps to the great brick turreted building with its white stripes of masonry, New Scotland Yard. I dutifully signed in on the ground floor and was up at the Detective Division two floors above with great haste. My stride only faltered and began to slow when I heard Colin’s voice, clipped and thick with displeasure, as I neared Maurice Evans’s office. While I could not yet make out what he was saying, there was no denying the mood with which he was delivering it. Each of the junior constables I passed averted their eyes from mine, though whether from embarrassment or amusement I could not be sure. All I knew was that for once Mrs. Behmoth had not been embellishing the truth.

  “. . . And where have you been . . . ?” Colin turned on me the moment I eased the office door open, before I could even fully get inside.

  “Nice to see you as well,” I answered with a lopsided grin, hoping to at least be able to partially cajole him out of whatever mood had thusly descended upon him. “Mrs. Behmoth said I would find you here.”

  “Ach . . . Mrs. Behmoth,” he scoffed before turning back to Maurice Evans, who was seated behind his desk with his arms folded across his chest and a pinch to his lips that appeared to speak as much about defense as it did defiance. “He was a self-righteous little prig when we were working on the Connicle case,” Colin carried on, clearly not about to be deterred from whatever was needling him. “You told him yourself to stand down a time or two. I remember it. Mr. Pruitt remembers it. And now you expect that we’re to work with him as though he has the slightest wisp of usefulness to anyone other than himself?!”

  “Mr. Pendragon . . .”

  “Tell me”—Colin kept right on—“is he having it off with the superintendent’s daughter or something?”

  Mr. Evans sputtered as he bolted upright and began to choke, though he had been drinking nothing. “Keep your voice down,” he commanded harshly as he continued to cough.

  “He is.” Colin sneered. “That little twit is courting Tottenshire’s daughter. . . .”

  “Who are you talking about?” I finally cut in.

  “That little toady hanging around the Connicle estate during the initial investigation who decided it was his duty to tell us what we could and could not do.”

  “His name is James Lanchester,” Mr. Evans supplied, as though that would make any difference. “Sergeant James Lanchester.”

  “Sergeant . . . ?” I repeated, immediately remembering the brash young man for both his pomposity and the fact that he had not known who Colin was. “I thought he was a constable . . . ?”

  “He has been promoted,” Mr. Evans said with notable distaste. “When they handed me this temporary assignment after Inspector Varcoe’s murder, they moved Lanchester into my old place. Permanently.” And there, quite evidently, was the rub. Young Mr. Lanchester was handed a new job while Mr. Evans was expected to earn his way into a position he had merited years ago. “I told you he was the one they’d sent ahead to Zurich,” he reminded Colin curtly, his own mood having apparently soured. “It wasn’
t my call to make, but I will see what I can do about getting him reassigned.”

  “I didn’t remember his name,” Colin shot back, which was hardly a surprise, “but I certainly remembered his squirrely little haughty face the moment I saw him.”

  “How nice for you,” Mr. Evans grumbled as he pulled a half-smoked cheroot out of the ashtray on the corner of his desk.

  “You’re not going to light that. . . .” Colin curled up his face.

  “Well, I wasn’t planning on eating it.”

  Colin snatched it out of Mr. Evans’s hands and tossed it into the waste bin. “Not while I’m here. You and your Yard have already been offensive enough; I’ll not stand here and let you blow that putrid filth in my face.”

  Mr. Evans gazed into the trash and for a moment I thought he might be about to fish his cigar back out. “You mustn’t feel compelled to stay,” he sniped back after a moment.

  “What is going on?” I asked as I sat myself across from Mr. Evans in spite of the fact that Colin remained standing. “What happened at your breakfast in Zurich this morning?”

  “Nothing happened.” Colin answered first, swinging down into the chair next to me. “That little pox doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut, and if we had any opportunity to work with the Zurich authorities I can assure you it is now gone.”

  “Mr. Pendragon . . .”

  “Do not patronize me. . . .” Colin snapped.

  I cringed as I tried to catch his eye, but Colin was not paying the least attention to me. He was clearly well beyond my being able to offer any subtle reminder that we needed Maurice Evans. We had suffered years of animosity with the Yard, so working with Mr. Evans, who actually esteemed Colin’s skill, was a change that could only serve him . . . us . . . well. “Would you mind, Mr. Evans, if I had a private word with Mr. Pendragon for just a moment? I have something of some urgency to discuss, and it could have a bearing . . .” I wanted to say on his mood, but decided to leave the rest of the sentence unsaid.

  Mr. Evans ticked an eyebrow at me and I thought I spotted something like pity dashing across his eyes. “Very well,” he said, and pushed himself up, striding to the door. “I will see if I can’t enjoy a smoke where it will be appreciated.” He glared at Colin, who did not bother to look back at him, and then tossed me that sympathetic look again before pulling the door shut behind himself.

  “I know what you’re up to,” Colin barked before I could say anything.

  “And what would that be?”

  “You mean to scold me like some petulant child.” He finally turned and looked at me, and for the first time I could see a great wave of fury continuing to bubble there just as I had known there would be. “You weren’t there,” he snapped. “To watch that sniveling, pompous little twat trying to monopolize the conversation and order me around as though I worked for him!” He gave a harrumph. “And then he has the audacity to suppose he can simply order the assistant commissioner of Credit Suisse to do his bidding . . . ?!” He screwed his face up until he looked about ready to spit. “It was appalling. All he did was offend everyone we met and ensure their unwillingness to help us any further.”

  “It does sound awful . . . and inappropriate . . . and a little like you at that age.” I could not resist; it seemed important to remind him, though it only earned me a deeper scowl. “I’m sure it was terrible and I understand that you are incensed,” I started again, giving him his due, which I knew was what he needed. “But I have some news that is going to astound you and could quite possibly change everything.”

  His eyes narrowed as he studied me a moment, making it feel as though he were attempting to see what game I might be playing at. “What . . . ?” he finally asked, sounding almost distrustful as he did so.

  “I was walking home from Shauney’s last night, and you will simply not believe who accosted me in the park outside of our flat.”

  “Charlotte Hutton?” he answered without a breath’s hesitation.

  My face froze, or perhaps it dropped just a touch, leaving me both stunned and the tiniest bit disappointed that he had guessed my fantastical news so simply. “Yes . . .” I sputtered.

  “Charlotte Hutton?!” he said again, bolting up from his chair with such a look of exhilaration that it would have been impossible to believe he had been so angry just an instant before. “I knew it! . . .” he carried on, starting to pace the few steps across Mr. Evans’s tiny office. Though what it was he knew I could hardly begin to imagine. “What did she say . . . ? Why didn’t you wrestle her to the ground and drag her to the nearest bobby . . . ? What were you thinking?!”

  I could do little more than blink foolishly as he rattled off his questions in rapid-fire succession.

  He sat back down and leaned toward me, speaking in a soft, intimate way, his words still jumbling out quickly. “Where is she now? You haven’t told anyone else, have you? Do not tell Maurice Evans or any of these other Yard nobs. Especially that spiv Lanchester. They can all scratch their buggered heads until we figure this out.” He suddenly pulled up short and stared at me. “So tell me what happened. Speak up, Ethan!”

  “She told me a very different story, Colin.”

  “What?” It wasn’t so much a question as an expression of doubt.

  “She admits to the affair with Mr. Tessler, but she claims that the money, the murders, it was all his plan and she was as much a victim of him as the very people he ordered killed.”

  “Of course she did,” he sneered.

  “I have to admit there was something compelling about her tale, especially after she—”

  “Oh, come now . . .” he said dismissively, his expression going hard as he stared right into my eyes. “Tell me . . . did she tear up when she spoke about the horrible loss of her poor young son?”

  I could only sigh in response.

  He stood up again with a laugh. “It’s brilliant! She is the devil.” He took a few steps away from me as he dug a hand into his vest pocket and extracted a crown that he quickly began spinning through his fingers. “Let me guess. . . .” he muttered with a hint of gamesmanship in his voice as he started pacing around the tiny space, his gaze cast toward the ceiling in amused thought. “She’s looking for us to release some money to her, just enough so she and her daughter can disappear somewhere safe and live out their lives in peace: America, Bolivia, the Far East. Somewhere Wynn Tessler and his supposed network of thugs will never be able to find her. Because she claims to still be terrified of him. . . .” He dropped his gaze to me, one eyebrow arced heavenward. “She said that, didn’t she?” I nodded and he gave a pleased snicker. “That’s why she didn’t go to the Yard to straighten this matter out like a true innocent would. That’s why she appealed to you, my dear Ethan. Because she knew damn well that if she stood any chance of selling her bag of twaddle it would have to be to a tender heart like yours. Did she ask about me? I’ll bet she said she was hoping to speak with the both of us, didn’t she . . . ?”

  I swallowed hard at his apt relay of our conversation and managed nothing more than a light shrug.

  “There is no doubt in my mind that she knew I was gone before she approached you. Cunning . . .” The coin spinning around his fingers was moving so quickly it seemed conceivable that it might soften from the friction. “Did you follow her . . . ?” he asked after a second, keeping his back to me.

  “There was a cab . . .” I started to say.

  “No doubt she had arranged to have it waiting for her.” He turned back to me and seized the coin in his hand as he fairly blurted out, “Did you see a livery number on the carriage? A name of any type?”

  “It was pouring rain. . . .” I started to say, realizing how feeble an excuse that sounded, so I left it at that.

  “No matter. Likely there was neither. She would have made certain of it.” He came and settled back down next to me, his expression full of fire.

  “There is something else,” I finally had a chance to say, though I could tell his mind was already r
acing well ahead. “She opened the neckline of her dress and revealed her décolletage.” I gestured with my hand to the delicate area below the neck.

  Colin scowled. “Well, that was a foolish miscalculation on her part,” he drolled, but I ignored his inference.

  “The skin is covered with scars,” I said. “Horrible marks and such disfigurement that it appeared to bolster her contention of the sort of relationship she suffered under Mr. Tessler.”

  His scowl deepened as he continued to stare at me. “How do we know she did not receive those from her late husband? Or that they were the product of makeup and putty? You said it was night and raining out. That is a perfect combination for such trickery of the eyes.”

  “Well . . .” But I had nothing else to add. His point was keenly made and certainly in keeping with the sorts of lies I would have believed her capable of before the previous night.

  “Tell me. . . .” Colin interrupted my thoughts in the most off-hand way. “When did she state she would contact us again?” And all I could think was that of course he knew this was how she had left it.

  “In a few days,” I answered. “Once you got back and I had a chance to speak with you.”

  “Of course. . . .” he muttered, pursing his lips and casting his gaze far out the window.

  “There is one more thing that has nothing to do with Mrs. Hutton. . . .” I spoke up again, eager to deliver all the news I had while he was in his current contemplative state. “I’m afraid Miss Eugenia has fired us from her sister’s case.”

  “What?!” And this time it was a question filled with surprise. “Well, no matter.” He quickly dismissed this news with a wave of his hand as he got to his feet again. “We shall just go back to the service of Mr. Nettle then. He brought us into that case anyway.” He took the few steps to the office door and swung it open. “Let’s go. We’ve much to discuss, not the least of which is how you got us fired by Miss Eugenia in such a brief period of time. I do fear I may be rubbing off on you. . . .” He chuckled.