“I understand the nonsense of it,” Colin said, allowing the briefest flick of a tight-lipped grin, “but recklessness? Whatever do you mean by that?”
Miss Eugenia looked momentarily startled as she dropped her glare and folded her hands tightly across her lap. Even so, her spine and shoulders seemed to steel themselves as she glanced back up again and spoke in a tone laced with frost. “I fail to see what any of this has to do with my sister’s murder.”
“You have never told why you are so certain that Mr. Nettle murdered your sister. Whatever would his reason have been?”
“Reason . . . ?” she echoed with her usual indignation. “Because he was the only person in the room with her when he claims that she jumped to her death. Is that not reason enough?! Now really, Mr. Pendragon . . .”
“I am talking about motive, not circumstances,” Colin fired back with the assurance of having known precisely how she was going to answer him. “You have never given me any sort of indication as to why Mr. Nettle might have wanted to murder your sister. Was he set to inherit something of value . . . ?”
“Inherit . . . ?” She repeated his words yet again, screwing her face up as though something quite foul had happened. “How unseemly. Tell me, Mr. Pendragon, am I to supply every nuance of your investigation? Because I fail to see what they pay you for if that is to be the case.”
I watched Colin’s jaw clench, ticking at the spot just below where it attached by the ear. I considered that I should speak up lest he say something regrettable, but it was Mr. Evans who beat us both. “Without a motive it is nearly impossible for a solicitor to successfully prosecute a case,” he explained with unaccountable patience. “So it is common to seek the opinion of a person who is intimately involved in the case. It has been known to be exceedingly helpful.”
She remained quiet for a minute, making it evident that she was weighing what sort of response she should give, and all the while her eyes remained on the three of us, defiant, willful, and filled with exasperation. “I cannot say what may have been in that man’s mind,” she pronounced at last. “Do you have a motive for your Ripper killings, Detective, or is that why your men never solved them?”
“You do the Yard a disservice with such a statement,” Colin said. “After all, did those killings not cease over six years ago?” He waved a dismissive hand at Eugenia Endicott while I marked the event of his having defended the Yard. “But we are wasting our time here. What I am interested in hearing about is this lady’s maid whose offspring apparently haunted the whole of your sister’s life.”
Just as I could have predicted, Miss Eugenia’s face soured as she drew herself up within her chair. “So you prove yourself no better than the basest of household gossips, seeking to scrounge through the detritus of a good and noble family for any hint of misdeed, no matter its origin.” Her lips, in spite of the color she had put upon them, looked nearly colorless, her eyes having gone quite black. “Very well then—Addie and I shared a young lady’s maid when I was nearing my late teens and she was either nineteen or twenty. I do not recall her name as it was a very long time ago,” she added unnecessarily, though I suspected she had said it to make a point. “This foolish woman compromised herself, which earned her a deserved lashing at the hand of my father for the dishonor it brought upon our household. The proof of which”—she flicked her eyes between the three of us, making certain we each saw the vitriol coiled therein—“can be seen in the fact that we are discussing it still today. My sister interceded and believed she saved the woman’s life if not that of her unborn child,” she scoffed. “My father was not a killer of women. He was a good and decent man. But Addie . . .” She finally slid her defiant gaze away from us.
“And you believe Lady Stuart inflamed your sister’s guilt around that event,” Colin added.
“All that woman did was contribute to my sister’s hysteria to the point that Addie began to have visions and became ever more unsettled with each passing month. It was intolerable. That woman is as much a murderer herself.”
“I’m afraid the events leading up to your sister’s death are far more complex than that,” Colin stated with simple finality. “I have found a pattern of scratches and pitting outside your sister’s bedroom window, and your groundsman, Mr. . . .” Colin’s voice slowed and stalled.
“McPherson,” I quickly supplied.
“Yes, Mr. McPherson. He tells us that a pane had been replaced recently. “Something about a wayward bird, despite no carcass being found. . . .”
Miss Eugenia scowled with a look as much of confusion as distaste. “What is your point, Mr. Pendragon?”
“I believe there was a great deal more to your sister’s haunting than the workings of her own imagination.”
“What?!” And for the first time Miss Eugenia looked profoundly startled. “What are you saying?”
“I am saying that I need to investigate further and will continue to require your cooperation,” he answered succinctly. “And that is how we shall find the truth, the whole of it, around your sister’s murder.”
“Murder . . .” she repeated soberly before releasing a burdened sigh. “Yes. At least we can agree on that fact.” Her eyes instantly regained their resolute focus and she once again bore her gaze into Colin. “Perhaps Mr. Nettle and that disgraceful Stuart woman had some sort of alliance? They may well have been allies against my sister. Do you suppose it so, Mr. Pendragon? He drove with dear Addie to those appointments without fail. He and that woman would have had every opportunity to cobble their vicious plot.”
Colin nodded with a feigned sort of grimness. “At this moment everything you can conceive and everything you have yet to conceive is a possibility. Which is why we must now pursue our investigation again, with your goodwill, of course,” he added, and while I could not believe she would find a whiff of credence in such a banal statement so poorly delivered, she actually looked quite gratified.
“Most certainly.” She shook her head stiffly. “I may have spoken a bit hastily with my initial conclusion.”
“There it is,” Colin said as he bounced to his feet. “Then we should very much like to speak with your Mr. Fitzhenry.”
“Galloway,” I corrected with a stiff smile to Miss Eugenia.
“As you see fit,” she responded, a familiar note of displeasure sneaking back into her tone. She stood up and cast her gaze upon the three of us, one after the other, before she spoke again. “I do hope you will bring an end to this quickly. I simply cannot abide the thought of Mr. Nettle”—she paused and released a stilted breath—“or whomever . . . roaming about freely while my poor Addie is gone. It does not sit well with me at all.” She did not wait for any of us to answer before moving to the door and disappearing from the room completely, her final words as much a threat as a statement.
“I must say”—Colin turned to Mr. Evans with brimming magnanimity—“that your presence here this afternoon has made every bit of difference. But we mustn’t delay you from your official duties another minute. May I see you out?” He gestured in the general direction of the front door as though this was his house and therefore his obligation to attend to. The very sight of it made me want to laugh, though I managed to hold my peace until Mr. Evans released a great guffaw of his own.
“Not for an ounce of gold,” he said.
To my surprise Colin sloughed it off with a disinterested shrug before muttering, “I thought it worth a try. . . .”
Mr. Galloway joined the three of us just a few minutes later, his tall ramrod frame looming in the doorway with his face set in its usual somber way. I could not tell whether he was displeased to have been thusly summoned or if perhaps this was simply the best of his nature. Either way I noted that it took a moment before he finally deigned to step into the room. “Madam instructed that you wished to speak with me?” he droned with all the decorum of a proper steward.
“Indeed,” Colin answered at once. “And may I presume that the discerning Miss Endicott also informed y
ou that we require nothing less than the utmost in forthrightness on your part? For if she did not, rest assured that is both our need and her intention.” Colin flashed a tight-lipped smile that left little room for misinterpretation. “Now, why don’t you come in and attempt to make yourself comfortable? We shall promise not to take a moment more of your time than is absolutely necessary.”
Mr. Galloway came fully into the room, stopping near our chairs as he clasped his hands behind his back. “I prefer to stand,” he said, his eyes focused somewhere above the tops of our heads.
“And I”—Colin waved toward the chair across from us next to where Maurice Evans was seated—“prefer that you sit. As a guest in this house I hope you will indulge me.”
The poor man looked quite taken aback, his brow knitting noticeably before he gave a perfunctory nod and took the chair with the ease of a cat in a puddle of water.
“Now then . . .” Colin pushed himself to his feet and wandered over to the enormous carved marble mantel on the center of the far wall before quickly realizing that he would never be able to rest his arm atop it without having to reach uncomfortably high. “Yes . . .” he muttered as he casually dove a hand into his vest pocket and extracted a coin that he smoothly began twining between his fingers. “What we find ourselves in need of is your understanding of the disagreement that Miss Endicott herself has admitted existed between her and her sister.”
“Disagreement?” He looked wholly astonished. “I can assure you I have no notion of what you are referring to.”
“No notion?!” Colin repeated with a twinge of mockery. “Surely the distinguished steward of such a place as Layton Manor would be aware of any amount of dissension within his purview, and most especially that between the mistresses of his household.” The coin in Colin’s hand whirled effortlessly as he took several steps toward Mr. Galloway, his face relaxing and the hint of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “And given that Miss Eugenia herself has confessed to the truth of it . . .” He shook his head and snatched the coin into the palm of his hand just as he moved past Mr. Galloway, startling the man as he had meant to. “Perhaps we would do better to speak with one of the chambermaids . . . ?”
I could see that Colin had hit his mark, though Mr. Galloway was clearly not a man to give up his restraint so readily. “If Madam has already confided in you, then whatever do you need from me?”
“Perspective, my dear man,” he said with relish as he swung back around and dropped back into his chair, leaning forward so that he was still very much in Mr. Galloway’s sphere. “As the man in charge of this household I fully expect that you have an opinion on everything that transpires here. Miss Eugenia has acknowledged that she did not approve of her sister’s consulting with Lady Stuart. What did you make of it?”
“Me?!” He looked startled again. “It was none of my affair who Miss Adelaide chose to visit. I simply run the household—”
“And you were instructed never to permit Lady Stuart entry into Layton Manor,” Colin interrupted, waving him off. “Even though such an order may have been out of your realm of questioning, I am certain that you have an opinion, Mr. Galloway, and I shall have it.”
“I was rather glad of it, if you must insist,” he finally answered, shifting his weight uncomfortably. “Miss Adelaide’s visits to that woman seemed troublesome to me. At the very least they left Miss Adelaide’s temperament very much the worse for it.”
“Her temperament? Whatever do you mean?”
“She became more frightful . . . tremulous . . . and she would speak about hearing things that were not there and having visions that did not exist. It got so I could hardly keep any staff.”
“We have become such a gullible society,” Colin acknowledged as he finally sat back. “But not you? Miss Adelaide’s musings did not stir your imagination?”
Mr. Galloway scoffed before hastily rearranging his stern features, yet even so, in that instant I knew I had caught a glimpse of the man behind his well-honed façade. “I am not a man who gives credence to such things.”
“Did you ever speak to Miss Eugenia of your concerns around Miss Adelaide’s visits to Lady Stuart and your difficulty with the staff?”
“Never,” he said with distaste at Colin’s having even suggested such a thing. “I am not here to air my grievances. Were that the case, then I should think any sort of half-wit could run a household.”
“Of course. And what of the other staff? Has anyone ever confided their feelings around Miss Adelaide’s convictions?”
Mr. Galloway’s gaze curdled. “Their feelings are not sought,” he said indignantly. “Anyone confiding such impropriety would have been dismissed.”
Colin nodded once, his lips pressed tight and his blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “And what do you know about the root of Miss Adelaide’s fears? The lady’s maid who brought shame upon the Endicott family when your mistresses were but young women themselves.”
“That is no business of mine,” he answered perfunctorily, though his brow notched the thinnest tick, assuring me that he knew.
“Yes . . .” Colin nodded again and leaned forward. “We have already well established that you are a man who tends to his own and for that I commend you. So let me ask you, how did you know about the lady’s maid who brought such a lifetime of regret and terror to Miss Adelaide?”
Mr. Galloway’s mouth pursed so tightly that I thought it might disappear from his face completely. “A staff hears things. . . .” he reluctantly allowed.
“Indeed . . .” Colin sat back.
“There were arguments between Miss Adelaide and Miss Eugenia. Things were said. . . .” He cleared his throat. “Sometimes I was privy . . .”
“Yes. And did the rest of the staff also know or were you the only one with such knowledge?”
“There have been many such conversations over the last couple of years—”
“Then everyone knew,” Colin cut him off, having reached what I suspected he’d been after from the start. “You have been helpful in spite of yourself, Mr. Galloway,” he announced as he got up and threw a glance back at Mr. Evans and me. “I should like to poke around outside for a bit but would appreciate it if you would show Mr. Pruitt and Mr. Evans to Miss Adelaide’s room again.”
Mr. Galloway pushed himself up and straightened the tails of his coat. “I shall need to inquire with Madam.”
“That will be a courtesy,” Mr. Evans spoke up, “as I shall remind you that this is official Scotland Yard business now. Just as your mistress wanted.”
It was a generous statement by Mr. Evans, as this was neither official nor exactly what Miss Eugenia had been after.
“Yes . . .” Mr. Galloway said, his voice rife with his unease, “yes, of course.”
We all started toward the parlor door, though I made certain to fall back so I could sidle up to Colin. “And just what am I looking for upstairs?” I asked out of the corner of my mouth.
“Signs of ghosts,” he muttered.
I wanted to protest but knew nothing would come of it, so I followed Mr. Evans and Mr. Galloway through the towering foyer while Colin shifted his trajectory toward the front door. The three of us climbed up the sweeping staircase to the third floor and moved down the wide hallway resplendent with original portraiture on either side that appeared to mark many lifetimes of Endicotts, given the variations in dress and manner. Just as we rounded a bend to the right, Mr. Galloway came up short and swung open the door that I remembered from our first visit led to the rooms belonging to Miss Adelaide.
“Should you require anything further . . .” he said as we entered.
“You have done more than enough,” I quickly answered. “Thank you.”
He nodded his head once and stepped back out, leaving the door conspicuously open, and I was sure he would alert one of the chambermaids to keep an eye on us.
“So what exactly have we been sent here for?” Mr. Evans idly asked as he began to stroll around the large bedroom.
“We are looking for signs of ghosts.” I repeated Colin’s directive with amusement as I went over to the door that led to the antechamber where Freddie Nettle had spent his nights. “Surely you can manage that,” I quipped. He mumbled something from across the room, but I paid him little mind as I edged into Mr. Nettle’s compact sleeping quarters. There was a single bed shoved against the shared wall with his mistress to my right, a tiny round bedside table with an electric lamp next to it, and a small armoire that looked well used on my left. It was only when I focused on the meager single window set high upon the outside wall that I realized the space had been intended as a dressing room. That Mr. Nettle had slept here spoke as much to the needs of Miss Adelaide as it did to the station that he fulfilled.
The armoire was empty, which I had expected, with nothing personal left in either it or the space. That a young man had spent the better part of a year and a half dwelling here was undetectable. I could not help but find that inexplicably sad.
“Find anything?” Mr. Evans startled me as he poked his head through the doorway.
“Not so much as a dust mote.” I moved forward and stood on my tiptoes so I could just manage to peer out the bottom of the sole window and spotted Colin far below in the side yard with Mr. McPherson, the two of them muscling a long ladder out from the stable. “Did you see anything of interest?” I asked as I joined Mr. Evans back in Miss Adelaide’s room.
“Nothing that caught my eye, but I would dare not presume to speculate on what might catch yours,” he answered with a chuckle.
I glanced over at him to gauge what sort of jest he was trying to insinuate and decided I had every right to be suspect, given the rogue’s grin he returned.
“Allow me to take you through Miss Adelaide’s last moments as they were relayed to Colin and me by Mr. Nettle,” I said as I went back to the doorway that led to Mr. Nettle’s tiny quarters. “Some time well into the night, we have not yet been able to pinpoint exactly when, Mr. Nettle claims to have heard a series of great anguished cries coming from Miss Adelaide. He says he rushed into the room”—I swept my hands out in front of me—“which would put him somewhere about here . . . and says he spotted Miss Adelaide quivering by that window all the way over there.” I instantly launched myself across the room, passing a nearer window, Miss Adelaide’s four-poster bed, a second window, and a large straight-backed chair with a small side table beside it before finally arriving at the spot where the poor woman was said to have been found cowering. “He says he called out to her, but before he could take a single step forward she turned and flung herself out the open window.” I turned toward the window with a dramatist’s flair, intending to heighten the story by pretending to cast myself out, but nearly let out my own shout when I abruptly found myself inches from Colin’s face.
The Endicott Evil Page 12
