“Yes . . .” I said rather more haltingly than I meant to as I backed out of his small suite of rooms. “Yes . . .” I said again. And I was suddenly struck by the ease with which he spoke for his mistress. He was her servant, the man who oversaw every facet of the running of her home, and yet he referred to her with the insouciance of someone who had dominion over her person. I was startled by it and jotted it down the moment I climbed aboard the cab he had ordered for me.
CHAPTER 6
“I beg your pardon?”
The Queen’s Arms was overflowing with people and the volume was so intense that I could barely hear anything that Miss Bromley was saying. She had arrived not ten minutes before and been pointed in my direction by the barkeep as I had requested. I had specifically selected a table near the back of the pub for what I had thought would be its relative seclusion, but that was proving to be unobtainable as there was no seclusion to be found here and even less privacy. Still, I was determined to persevere and had gone ahead and ordered her a glass of cider while I continued to sip the ale I had ordered for myself. I knew it was crucial to conduct this interview the best I could, so I would not allow this pub’s incessant clatter to keep me from my purpose.
“I was just asking how I can help you,” she apparently repeated, offering a shy smile. Her pale brown hair was brushed tightly back, and though she’d removed the nurse’s cap she had been wearing, it left a crease around the top of her forehead. Her face was slender and pretty, her brown eyes as rich as chocolate, and her lips were quite full, which made her smile, even with its hesitancy, both generous and warm. She was still dressed in the long skirt and blouse of her profession, which accentuated an immaculate figure, leaving me to wonder why this lovely young woman was not already married.
“Perhaps we’d do well to find a better place to speak,” I fairly hollered across the table at her. “I don’t think we’ll be able to hear each other.”
She held up a hand as her smile widened. “Leave it to me,” she said in full voice before popping out of her chair and disappearing toward the bar.
I sat there a moment trying to figure what exactly I was leaving her to, when she suddenly reemerged through a crush of people with a tall, handsome man in tow. He was clearly someone of consequence in the Queen’s Arms as the crowds moved aside for him and Miss Bromley as they made their way back to the table.
“Philippa tells me ya need a place ta talk,” he bellowed at me, and for a moment I thought I detected a note of disapproval in his statement.
“Yes.” I smiled at the young man, determining him to be at least ten years my junior in spite of the scruff growing along his jawline, and that’s when I noticed that Miss Bromley was still beaming behind him. Given his casual use of her given name and the euphoric look upon her face, I deduced that the two of them were courting. Which left little wonder as to why he had sounded displeased at my wanting to be somewhere quieter with her. “I am investigating the recent death of Adelaide Endicott,” I offered by way of explanation. “I am hoping Miss Bromley might be helpful.”
“She might what . . . ?” He leaned forward, looking no less reassured.
“Be helpful,” I shouted directly into his ear. “That she might be helpful.”
He nodded and waved a hand, sweeping up our glasses before leading us through the door that let out into the kitchen. “You can sit at me desk,” he said, and I noticed at once that the din was reduced almost twofold the moment the kitchen door swung back into place. “I’ll ask ya not ta touch anything ’cause all the food comes outta here, but it’ll be a quieter place.”
The kitchen was humming with activity, men and women bustling about attending pots of stews simmering on two stove-tops, fresh bread going into and coming out of four small ovens, and a long counter upon which any number of items were being sliced, chopped, carved, or hammered. And yet even amongst all of this carefully orchestrated commotion, the level of noise was a fraction of what it had been in the pub itself.
“I hope ya don’t think Philippa had anything ta do with that old woman’s death,” he said as we reached a cluttered desk shoved up in a rear corner of the room.
“Quintin . . . !” she gasped.
“Not at all.” I gave another grin, but the young man still seemed unimpressed. “I am merely collecting information. Trying to find out everything I can about the late Miss Endicott.”
The young man gave a mirthless nod and gestured toward two chairs set by the desk. “Make yourselves ta home then,” he allowed in a way that almost sounded grudging. “And let me know if ya need anything more ta drink.”
“Of course. Thank you kindly.”
“Thank you, Quintin,” Miss Bromley said.
The young man gave her a quick wink before his black eyes fell hard on me, and then he was headed back out to the pub, but not before whispering something to one of the thickly built men heaving cast-iron pots about as though they carried no weight. I caught the other man’s gaze as it raked over to me, and then the young barkeep was gone.
“This is certainly an improvement,” I said to Miss Bromley, determined to make the best use of our time together. “How fortunate that you are such good friends with that young man.”
“Quintin and I are to be married,” she answered with a shy smile, and I could see there was real excitement behind her eyes. “We were to have done so already, but his father suddenly got ill and died over the winter, and it’s left Quintin to sort the business here at the pub by himself. He is the eldest boy, you see, and his family depends on him.”
“I’m terribly sorry. . . .”
She cast her gaze down and then up again, and I was struck by her timidity given her occupation. “I believe that things happen for reasons beyond our understanding sometimes,” she said after a moment. “Because of the postponement I was able to help several women I might not ordinarily have been able to assist had we already wed.” She seemed to blush slightly as she shifted her eyes sideways. “We hope to have a very large family, you see.”
“How wonderful. And with the business the Queen’s Arms is doing, I should think you will be able to raise them quite well.”
“I do hope so.” She looked straight at me and her expression changed with the rapidity of a snuffed flame. “What was it you wanted to ask me about Miss Adelaide?” In the matter of a moment she had gone from a bashful soon-to-be bride to a confident woman of both wherewithal and intelligence.
“Ah . . .” I took a mouthful of my ale and turned back to the crux of my visit. “How long did you work as Miss Adelaide’s nurse?”
“About a year and a half. Perhaps slightly longer. I loved working for her. She was a wonderful woman, always kind and patient, and yet she suffered so. I do suppose we all have our burdens to carry.”
“I suppose we do,” I said, struck by the thoughtfulness of this young woman. “How had she been faring lately?”
She pursed her lips and shook her head. “She had not been well. Her nerves were weak and her health was declining. When I started with her she could just barely get around with a couple of canes, but it didn’t take long before she seemed disinclined to move on her own at all. I’m not even certain that she could. That’s why they brought Mr. Nettle in—to carry her up and down the stairs and to push her in her wheeled chair whenever she required it.”
“And her mood? How did it seem? Did she ever give you any notion that she might harm herself in any way?”
“Absolutely not, Mr. Pruitt.” Her eyes locked onto mine. “Miss Adelaide would never have done such a thing. She was a God-fearing woman.”
“Of course, of course,” I said, unaccountably embarrassed for having suggested such a thing. “You mentioned that her nerves were weak,” I pressed on, trying to be as delicate as I could. “Was there anything in particular you feel that may have contributed to that condition?”
Her lips went thin and her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and I knew she had seen through my stratagem. “If you have gotte
n anyone at Layton Manor to confide in you, then you already know that Miss Adelaide believed in the occult. I am not saying whether I do or not, but I will tell you that it did her no good.”
“How do you mean?”
“She hated to be alone in that house unless she was in her room sleeping, and even then Mr. Nettle was posted right next door in case she ever needed him during the night. And she needed him quite regularly. Many mornings I would arrive to find that poor man bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, having spent a good deal of the night running in and out of her room.”
“Why? What was happening that caused her such distress?”
“I don’t know. She would claim to have heard something unnatural or to have seen some inexplicable phenomena. . . .” She shook her head before settling her gaze on me once more. “You would really need to ask Miss Whit, Vivian Whit. She was the nurse on duty during the nights. And Mr. Nettle, of course. I’m certain he can tell you some stories.”
“What did you think of Mr. Nettle?”
“He was a very patient man. He treated that woman like she was his mum. I found it rather sweet. And he was always there. He never had a day off.”
“What do you make of Miss Eugenia’s contention that he might have had something to do with her sister’s death?”
“It makes no sense. Why ever would he do such a thing?” Her eyes continued to bore into mine. “I cannot explain what happened that night, but neither can I imagine that Mr. Nettle was in the least ways involved.”
“Might there be someone in the household who harbored animosity against Mr. Nettle perhaps? Someone who might want it to appear that he had murdered her?”
Miss Bromley shook her head without an instant’s hesitation. “Mr. Nettle kept to himself. . . .” she started to explain, and then took a breath and appeared to reconsider what she had been about to say. “Well . . . actually . . . he was always around Miss Adelaide—other than when Miss Whit or I were attending to her private needs, of course. Otherwise he was always with her and there really was no chance to get to know him very well. I suppose I saw him as much as anyone. Even so, his attentions were always on Miss Adelaide as they were required to be. I’m not at all sure anyone had enough interaction with him to have developed much of an opinion. Other than Miss Adelaide, and it was easy to see that she adored him.”
“Miss Eugenia would be the exception then . . . ?” I pointed out.
“Oh!” Miss Bromley looked almost startled as she reconsidered her statement in light of Miss Eugenia’s charges against Mr. Nettle. “I suppose she is only looking at the facts at hand. She knows her sister would never have harmed herself, so what else can she be left to believe?” The young woman stared at me, her eyes alive with the sensibility of her assertion, and I could tell she was just waiting to see if I would agree with her.
“What about Miss Adelaide herself?” I pressed ahead, unwilling to concur on something I knew Colin had already rejected. “Do you know of anyone who was angry with her . . . ? Upset in any way . . . ?”
“No, no,” she answered again with great speed. “Miss Adelaide was a frail and delicate creature. She gave no one any reason to feel anything against her. Only a person without a heart could have managed such a thing.”
I wanted to tell her that was precisely the sort of person who would wish to end Miss Adelaide’s life but thought better of it. If someone had harbored any hostility toward Miss Adelaide it was obvious that Miss Bromley knew nothing of it. “Would you stake your reputation as a nurse on the fact that Miss Adelaide would never have brought harm to herself . . . ?” I asked again, even though I knew Colin was convinced she had been murdered.
“Impossible,” she replied with such determination that I could not help but be convinced.
“You mentioned that Miss Adelaide could not walk on her own. Can you imagine how she might have gotten to that window without someone’s aid?”
Her eyebrows creased and her gaze drifted off as she gave the question a moment’s consideration. “She was not paralyzed, Mr. Pruitt. It wasn’t that she was unable to move her lower body. Rather she had become feeble in her later years; her legs were weak and her hips brittle. . . .” Her eyes came back to me in sharp focus. “If she held on to the wall . . . I suppose it would have been possible. . . .” But Miss Bromley did not sound particularly convincing.
I drained the last of my ale before posing one more question. “What did you make of Miss Adelaide’s fears, Miss Bromley? You declined to say a moment ago, but do you share her fascination with the occult?”
Her answer came with the speed of a hummingbird’s wings. “I am a nurse, Mr. Pruitt, and as such consider myself a woman of science, which leaves little room for such follies as wandering spirits and rattling chains.” She gave a wry chuckle that lit up her pleasing face. “I do not mean to disparage the beliefs of others, everyone is entitled to hold their own, but I can put no stock in something that cannot be proven, measured, or tested. Perhaps that is my failing, but it is a failing I am well contented with.” She chuckled again and this time I could not resist joining her.
“You have been very forthright, Miss Bromley, and for that I must thank you.”
“It is my pleasure and my duty,” she said. “I was very fond of Miss Adelaide, and if there is the slightest hint of impropriety in her death I hope you will be successful in bringing it to light. She deserved that, no matter her eccentricities. They certainly did not make her any less the gentle person that she was.”
“Mr. Pendragon and I will do everything we can to ensure that is the outcome. May I count on you to make yourself available again should we have any further questions?”
“Most assuredly.”
And as the two of us stood up from the little desk in the far corner of the Queen’s Arms’ kitchen, I found myself considering the possibility that Colin could be mistaken, that Miss Adelaide had, in fact, taken her own life out of some terrible perceived fear. Yet what that fear was, to drive a woman described as nobly as she sounded to such a tragic end, I could not even begin to imagine.
CHAPTER 7
I pulled the collar of my coat up around my neck as I stared out for a moment at the settled night from the warmth of Shauney’s Pub. While I would have rather gone directly home from my meeting with Miss Bromley, Mrs. Behmoth had announced quite resolutely in the morning that without Colin in town she would not be preparing dinner and I should attend to myself. And so I had come to Shauney’s, as Colin and I often did when left to fend for ourselves, and had my fill.
I headed out into the night just as the wind started to rise in earnest, the portent of rain dense in the air. Tucking my chin into my upturned collar I hurried toward the alley that dissected the street leading to our flat, the clicking of my boots the only sound to keep me company. It was simply far too early for most people to be heading home, which is why I was surprised when I caught the furtive sounds of someone moving in my direction from not far behind me.
It is a curious thing—hearing footfalls when none are expected. What is the appropriate response? Should one crane around and gawk as though the street belonged to them alone? There seemed little sense in doing so. London is a city of almost five million people. That any block, no matter how insignificant, should ever be traversed by one person alone seemed most unlikely, and it was for that reason that I merely hunched farther down and picked up my pace as I darted into the alley. My companion, whoever he was, doubtless would not follow me through here as its only outlet was the end of our street.
As I had expected my escort did not follow, and curiously I could not deny that I felt myself relax again. It was a foolish reaction; I scolded myself, but nevertheless it did renew my determination to get home as quickly as possible. I told myself my nerves were thin because of my doubts around the Endicott investigation, and for a moment I believed that to be so, but then I heard a soft tread from somewhere closer behind me, faint and cautious, and I knew for certain that I was being followed.
&
nbsp; My heart instantly amplified its beating before I could expel a single breath, leaving me to struggle to keep my movements unhurried and consistent. It seemed important not to allow my pursuer to know that I was aware of him, though I could not have explained precisely why. I suppose it gave me the only bit of an edge that I had. So I kept walking, huddled deep within my coat, striving to maintain my steady gait, all the while waiting for a sudden burst of sound to explode from behind me in a signal that the hunt had just become an attack.
The end of the alley loomed directly in front of me, the outlet to our street not twenty feet to my left, and I girded myself for what I knew must be coming. If I could just reach the corner, I hoped that I would be able to secrete myself in a nook or doorway and change from being the pursued to the pursuer. That, I well knew, was what Colin would do.
I reached the exit and took it, glancing back as I moved out and continued to my left. My furtive look had earned me nothing; the alley was as dark as midnight. There could have been a mouse or a mob behind me and I would not have been able to decipher either.
I yanked the low gate open that led onto the long, narrow park that sliced through the center of our street and moved quickly to try and fade into the shrubbery and trees. Almost at once my ears prickled with the sound of the gate swinging open behind me. The blatancy of this rogue quite suddenly stoked my ire, and I found myself coming to an abrupt halt and turning around before even realizing that I intended to do so. It took an instant for my eyes to adjust until I caught sight of a smallish figure moving toward me, swathed in a full black cloak with a cowl pulled far enough forward to conceal the face. While it was difficult to get an accurate sense of the man’s build beneath the bulky cloak, I knew at once that I was broader and very much taller, and if he was not wielding a weapon I realized I had nothing to fear.
“Mr. Pruitt . . .”
As we were shrouded in darkness, I felt reassured that the woman could not see the surprise that overtook my face at the mere sound of her voice. The advantage, nevertheless, was clearly hers, for I could see nothing of her as I tried to decipher who she was and why she had been trailing me. She came to a stop when there were fewer than a handful of feet between us, a distance that immediately felt both improper and perilous, and then reached up and tugged the cowl from her head.
The Endicott Evil Page 6
