“Nah. Bless that poor woman. Alexa never said nothin’ ta me.”
“Thank you.” Colin settled back, his face softening. “We appreciate your time.”
“It’s all so ’orrible,” she muttered as she stood up and made her way out of the library.
“This is ridiculous!” Varcoe snarled in her wake. “You’re wasting time.” He stood up as though to punctuate the veracity of his claim but did not otherwise make a move to leave.
“You needn’t stay on my account,” Colin urged.
Varcoe scowled. “I’ll stay.” He did not, however, sit down until Miss Porter had returned and Colin requested that she send Alexa to see us.
“She has just lost her husband,” Miss Porter reminded us needlessly. “I hope you will be considerate of that fact.”
“It is that very fact that causes us to wish to speak with her.” Colin met Miss Porter’s gaze and held it. “I shall be the only one to question her. The others will be as quiet as church mice.” He turned toward Varcoe. “Isn’t that right, Inspector?”
Varcoe’s face flushed pink. “For now,” he blustered, glowering at Colin until Alexa finally came to join us.
She stood silently in the doorway, none of us even aware she was there until Varcoe’s man cleared his throat and we all turned to find her right beside him. I had forgotten how solid of build she was, tall and lithe with wide shoulders and hips. And though her face was set and proud, the pain in her eyes was undeniable. “Ya sent for me?” she said.
Colin jumped off the sofa so quickly it looked as though something had surely bitten his backside. He moved to her and extended his hand, guiding her to the same seat Mrs. Hollings had just vacated, though when Alexa sat down she did so with the dignity and grace of someone we had come to visit in her own home. “Thank you for speaking with us,” Colin said. “I know how difficult this must be.” He moved around the room ticking off our names before settling in and asking whether she had spoken with her husband this morning.
Alexa eyed Colin warily. “I shared a room wit’ him. It’d be hard not ta.”
“Forgive me.” Colin nodded. “And how did he seem? Was he at all worried or anxious . . . ?”
“He was tired,” she answered back, sounding very much so herself. “Workin’ ’til late and gettin’ up before da sun. He was always tired.”
“Did he tell you that he was planning on trimming trees near the edge of the property this morning?”
Her face puckered and her eyes flared angrily. “Now what’s da sense in trimmin’ trees ain’t even near da house?” She glared at each of us in turn. “Someone tol’ ya dat don’t know what dey talkin’ ’bout.”
“Did he say what he was intending to do?”
“He didn’t have ta. He did da same t’ing every day: planted, cleaned up da yard, cut bushes against da house, minded da garden. ’At’s why dey paid him.”
“Indeed.” Colin nodded as though she had clarified some great mystery. “Then I must ask you again. Given what happened yesterday, did he confide any particular concern about his safety?”
She glanced down a moment and it looked like much of the anger that had held her so steely was deserting her. “He was worried ’bout me,” she answered in a thin, halting voice.
“And why was that?”
“ ’Cause a him.” She stabbed her chin toward Inspector Varcoe. “He was afraid dey guon arrest me for killin’ Mr. Connicle. We heard ’bout dem t’ings you found buried wit’ him. Dat weren’t me. I ain’t callin’ on nothin’ ta harm nobody. Vudun ain’t like dat. It’s about da spirits dat govern da earth. But I don’t ’spect you would know nothin’ ’bout dat.”
“I was raised in India,” Colin said softly. “Alongside Hindus, Buddhists, and Muslims. In my thirteenth year we spent the summer in West Africa on our way to Britain. We were almost three weeks in Dahomey. I still remember the sight of the fierce female warriors, something I had never seen before. But mostly I remember the simple beauty of a religion steeped in the essence of nature.” He leaned forward and held Alexa’s eyes, which were no longer guarded but filled with a raw pain. “Were you worried for your husband’s safety? Did you have reason to believe he might be in danger?”
She dropped her gaze to the floor, but I could still see the tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes. “He tol’ me he saw a man real early yesterday when he was headin’ out ta fix da fence. A man on a horse ridin’ up past da trees where Mr. Connicle was found. He said da man chased after him, but Albert was dark as night and hid away easy. Least dat’s what he thought.” The tears began to leach down her cheeks. “Dat man knew who Albert was. He knew. And now Albert’s gone. . . .”
CHAPTER 6
The sound of rain spattering against the windows of our flat could be heard over the popping of embers in the fireplace. The clouds had waited for the completion of our journey home before beginning to let loose in earnest, saving us from having to huddle within the hansom cab with little more than a quarter-round top to cover the best of us. Though we were soon to be voyaging out again, I knew the carriage Prakhasa Guitnu was sending had a proper roof.
I was attempting to jot some notes in my journal even though Colin was prattling on about the case while simultaneously pressing a set of dumbbells across his chest as though they were fashioned of cardboard. “Varcoe hasn’t the kernel of a notion about what’s going on out there,” Colin grumbled as the weights continued to fly across their effortless arc. “But it did seem even he was finally starting to realize how ridiculous it is to believe Albert fell from that tree.” He flung the dumbbells onto the floor and stood up, quickly rolling down his sleeves. “Get yourself ready. There’s a carriage just pulled up downstairs.”
“So I heard,” I answered with some satisfaction.
And not thirty minutes later we were delivered to a large brick home in Holland Park with an emerald lawn that sloped down from the face of the house to the street. Crisp lines accentuated the clean, Federalist design that nevertheless hinted at a greater wealth than was initially perceived from its tidy size. There was clearly money here, and it made me begin to wonder how extensive Mr. Guitnu’s loss might truly be.
The rain had once again subsided to little more than a sputtering annoyance, so Colin asked that we be dropped at the curb. We made our way up to the house along a curved stone path that ascended the gentle angle of the lawn, and as we climbed the porch I could not take my eyes from the metal door knockers shaped like elephants, lacquered in brilliant jewel-toned colors where the headdress and mantle fell below their sides. Tiny gems were fitted for the eyes, though whether they were diamonds or crystals I could not say.
Colin smiled. “Spectacular. These certainly remind me of a simpler time.” He grabbed the nearest one and gave it a resounding thwack!
“I think your memory is playing tricks on you,” I said.
He chuckled. “Leave me my delusions.”
Before I could say anything further a tall, striking Indian man with a burst of white hair, dressed in an impeccable black suit and white gloves, pulled the doors open and bade us enter. “Mr. Pendragon . . . Mr. Pruitt . . . the family is expecting you.” He led us through an exquisite foyer paneled in what looked to be a deep mahogany or red oak that soared two stories above our heads. It was clearly meant to impress and so it did. A staircase of the same wood sprawled along the right side of the space, further accentuating the unexpected grandeur of the home.
We were ushered into a large sitting room that was surprising in that its furnishings were British, with nary an Indian artifact to be seen. Deep burgundy brocade covered the traditional couches and wing-backed chairs, and there were two hutches and a long wooden bar that looked like they had come straight from one of the shops near Leicester. Mr. Guitnu was seated in the chair nearest an ornate fireplace of geometric design, while Mrs. Guitnu and three young women, presumably their daughters, sat across from him on one of the couches.
“Gentlemen . . .” Mr.
Guitnu stood as we entered. “It is a pleasure to have you in our home. I am only sorry it is for such a circumstance as this.” He turned with a smile toward the women. “May I present my family. My lovely wife and our daughters: Vijaya, Sundha, and Kajri.”
“A pleasure.” Colin gave a generous, dimpled smile as we both nodded to each of the women in turn. Mrs. Guitnu was a handsome woman of diminutive height with dark features and black hair who, in spite of having borne three children, was very slight of frame. Yet it was the daughters who truly drew and held my attention. The eldest, Vijaya, looked to be just out of her teens. She was tall and lithe and the most beautiful shade of pale olive and had the finely chiseled features of a delicate work of art. The middle sister, Sundha, who I presumed to be no more than a year or two younger, was not graced with the fragile refinement of her older sibling but looked sturdier built, with plainer features, though she too shared the same flawless olive complexion. I decided Kajri was the youngest by three or four years, as her face still held the roundness of receding childhood, and while she was a darling girl, with bright features and a ready smile, was still more cherubic than polished.
Mr. Guitnu gestured us to sit and did so himself. “Now please tell us how we can help put an end to this terrible circumstance.”
“I should first like to see where you store the jewelry. After that we shall need to meet the members of your household.” He glanced at the three girls a moment and then looked back at Mr. Guitnu. “I’m afraid we will also need to speak with each of your daughters. Alone. I trust, under the circumstances, that will not cause offense?”
“That is out of the question,” he answered at once.
“Oh, come now, Father.” The youngest girl, Kajri, rolled her eyes. “Must you be so old-fashioned?”
“That is quite enough.” He leveled a scowl in her direction.
“Forgive me,” Colin spoke up again. “I am being thoughtless. Perhaps one of the women on your staff could remain in a far corner of the room?”
Mr. Guitnu frowned uncertainly before finally nodding his agreement. I noticed that he never once deigned to look at his wife. If she had any considerations on the matter he did not seem concerned in the least. “Let us show you what you have come to see then,” he said.
Colin and I followed him back through the astonishing foyer and up the stairs to the second floor. He led us down a long hallway adorned with photographs of places in India, so it was hardly a surprise when Colin stopped in front of the picture of a massive Gothic building that looked at first like a structure in London, until the teeming throngs of people in traditional Indian dress became apparent at the bottom of the photo.
“Isn’t that the Victoria Terminus in Bombay?” Colin asked.
“It is!” Mr. Guitnu grinned. “It is a marvel, is it not?!”
“They were still planning it when I left. Hadn’t even broken ground yet.” He studied it a moment more. “I must admit I prefer your country’s more fluid architecture to this.”
“Psssh.” Mr. Guitnu dismissed this comment. “This is modern and strong. This is the coming century.” He beamed proudly before turning and escorting us the rest of the way down the hall to a large bedroom. “Look for yourself,” he invited with a coy smile. “Can you spy where we keep our sparkling treasures?”
I let my eyes rove about the room. Beside the bed stood a small table on either side with a crystal lamp atop each. Two large armoires straddled the doorway and there was a large standing mirror leaning against one wall. Two banquette seats were built into the square, floor-to-ceiling bay windows, and there was a small adjoining room off to one side within which I could see shelves of hatboxes, ladies’ shoes, and endless women’s clothing and linens. It seemed a veritable abundance of possibility, so it was with great interest that I watched Colin begin a slow rotation around the space, stomping on several floorboards near the walls and giving a cursory look into the side room before coming to a halt in front of the banquette farthest from the door.
“My guess is that you’ve either fitted a false bottom into one of your armoires, a costly and rather predictable choice, or one of these banquettes conceals a built-in safe. And if that is the case, then I choose the one farthest from the door.”
“Why, Mr. Pendragon!” Mr. Guitnu’s smile came easily again. “And I thought I was being so clever.”
“You really mustn’t judge your cleverness by Mr. Pendragon,” I said.
Mr. Guitnu laughed. “Perhaps not, but he is most certainly correct. I thought it would provide us the best protection.” He shook his head and walked over to Colin. “I never imagined a thief could come from within our own home.”
He removed the thick seat cushion and lifted a tiny rectangle of wood in one corner. Within was a small lever that he twisted like a spigot, releasing a spring that popped the seat up about an inch. He swung it up toward the window, revealing the dial of a long, slim metal safe inside.
“Ingenious,” Colin marveled.
“Yet not enough.” Mr. Guitnu reached down and spun the dial quickly back and forth before pulling back the door to expose stacks of trays filled with loose gems and exquisite pieces of jewelry. “I thought I was a clever man, but now I see I am only a fool.” He lifted several of the trays out, but as he reached in deeper it became obvious that the trays farther in were sparser in their bounty. “The thief is no fool. He takes only things from the bottom. Harder to notice. Items my wife seldom wears. But I noticed.” He stood up and backed away from the safe to allow Colin to peer inside.
“Who knows the combination to this safe?” he asked as he ran his fingers along the door and locking mechanism.
“Only my wife and our eldest daughter, Vijaya.”
“And who else knows about the safe?”
“All of our daughters. My valet, Damish, who met you at the door, and the girl who tends to the upstairs. No one else.”
“You seem very certain,” Colin prodded, “and yet someone is helping themselves to your hoard.”
Mr. Guitnu’s smile wilted. “And so he is.” He took the trays and laid them back in the safe in the same order he had removed them before closing the lid and whirring the dial about haphazardly. Appearing satisfied, he pressed the wooden seat back down upon the top and set the heavy cushion back in place. “Shall we go back down so you can ask your questions and sort this matter? I cannot abide this scoundrel living under my roof one more night.”
Colin’s eyebrows arched up. “I’m honored by your faith in me but cannot promise a resolution in a single day. These types of crimes can be difficult and I do not want to accuse someone wrongly.”
We made our way back to the sitting room and within half an hour Colin and I had questioned both the valet, Damish, and the upstairs housekeeper, a pretty freckled Irish girl named Molly. Both admitted knowledge of the safe and yet neither recollected having ever seen it open, a contention Mr. Guitnu and his wife ultimately verified. While Damish had proven to be collected and succinct in his demeanor, poor Molly had been nearly undone by nerves as her dark eyes darted about and her already-pale complexion grew almost transparent.
“That . . .” Colin said as she hastily made her way from the room, “is either the guiltiest woman I have ever confronted or the most timid.”
A moment later the Guitnus’ eldest daughter, Vijaya, came into the room followed by a plump older woman whom she introduced as Miss Thurman, the caretaker for her and her sisters. We all sat down, Miss Thurman relegated to a chair just inside the door, leaving quite a bit of space between her and the three of us.
“I hope,” Colin spoke quietly, “that you will accord us nothing but the truth in spite of Miss Thurman’s proximity.”
Miss Guitnu looked over and twisted her graceful features into a sour glare. “Yes.” She turned back to us. “I am already twenty and hardly need a caretaker any longer.”
“A father’s desire for propriety can hardly be undervalued,” Colin said with a smile as he fished out a crown and be
gan shifting it smoothly between his fingers.
She flashed something of a labored grin, her dark eyes sparkling fiercely. “I find it stifling.”
“I should think you’re supposed to.” He winked. “So tell me, what do you make of this business with the missing jewelry?”
She heaved a ready sigh. “I don’t know. I wonder if they’re not simply mistaken.”
“Do you suppose?”
She scowled at Colin. “It’s perfectly conceivable. They just throw things in there. I don’t know how they could possibly know what they have.”
“Does your father keep an inventory?”
“Has he told you he does?”
The coin skating between Colin’s fingers hesitated slightly as he looked at her. “I haven’t asked him.”
She waved him off. “I should think you’ll find that he doesn’t. I don’t even think he knows what’s really gone. After all, only my parents and I know the combination and I certainly haven’t given it to anyone.”
“Then if things truly are missing,” Colin muttered as though deep in thought, “are you saying I have no further to look than you and your mother?”
“What?!” Vijaya’s spine went rigid as her black eyes bore into him. “Do you mean to accuse me?”
“I mean only to understand what you make of all of this.”
“What is there to think?” she said blithely. “How would I know if someone is pilfering from their safe? I’ve only opened it once or twice. If I want something I ask for it. I’ve no need to rifle through their things.”
“Does anyone amongst the household staff give you pause?”
She pursed her thin, dainty lips and turned toward the fireplace, whether considering an answer or lost in thought I could not say, but it took several minutes before she finally spoke up. “I don’t know these people any more than they know me. I couldn’t even tell you Miss Thurman’s given name and I’ve known her all of my life.” She flipped her gaze back to Colin. “What gives me pause, Mr. Pendragon, is my father’s ability to find a crime where one might not even have been committed.”
The Connicle Curse Page 6
