“You offer us far too much,” Colin said with a smile as he reached forward and lifted a couple of the sandwich triangles onto a plate and handed it to me. “We certainly do not mean to put you to any trouble,” he went on as he made a similar plate for himself.
“It is no trouble at all,” she said as she poured our tea and handed the cups across. “I would be remiss if I did not treat everyone who enters my home as a potential client.”
“Ah . . .” Colin gave her a sheepish smile as he poured a bit of cream into my tea and then his. “Then I am sorry to have to inform you that we are not here to avail ourselves of your fine services, though perhaps one day we shall,” he added with a crooked grin, “but rather to ask you some questions about a few of your former clients. It is for an investigation we find ourselves entangled in, and I would hope you will be able to furnish us with some much-needed information.”
“Oh . . .” She looked startled as she sipped at her tea. “Well, yes, of course. You may count on me to assist in any way that I can, but as I am sure you can imagine, discretion is an integral part of my business. . . .” She let her voice trail off, and I knew we would have to tread carefully if she was going to be the font of knowledge we hoped her to be.
“We would expect nothing less,” Colin replied with great expansiveness as he grabbed two more sandwich quarters for himself. “How else could you be relied upon by this city’s finest families if discretion were not an integral requirement of your services?”
She beamed at his compliment, reminding me that he could be wholly charming whenever he was so inclined.
“Then do tell me what your questions are,” Mrs. Denholm said as she picked up one of the egg sandwich triangles and nibbled on it like a church mouse.
“Mr. Galloway of Layton Manor tells us you are the person who has populated the Endicott sisters’ household with most of its staff over the last good many years. I was hoping you might share with us any difficulties you have had in accomplishing that.”
“Oh!” Her eyes went wide and she set the mostly uneaten bit of sandwich back onto her plate, dabbing at her mouth with the delicacy her inconsequential speck of eating deserved. “Miss Eugenia and Miss Adelaide are two of the most genteel women I have ever had the pleasure of doing business with: kind and fair, and Mr. Galloway maintains the household impeccably. It is such a shame about Miss Adelaide’s passing.” She leaned forward and glanced quickly to her left and right as if making certain no one would overhear her, though, to the best of my knowledge, the three of us were the only ones in the flat. “It cannot be true what they’re saying, can it? That Miss Adelaide brought about her own demise?”
A taut grimace tugged at Colin’s lips, and I was certain he was thinking the same thing I was: This woman’s definition of discretion ended with her enunciation of its three syllables. “If she did,” Colin said slowly and without the hint of distaste that I could see shuffling about behind his eyes, “then our goal is to find out what drove her to it.” He allowed a hint of a smile to play at one corner of his mouth. “Or who.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Denholm said again, a hand coming up to cover her mouth as she leaned back in what looked almost to be a swoon. “I can hardly breathe for the thought of it.”
“You mustn’t upset yourself,” I spoke up, though I couldn’t help feeling there was a degree of exhilaration to her reaction. “Your assistance, as you can give it, will be a critical part of this investigation and something I am certain Miss Eugenia and her brother, Lord Endicott, will be most pleased to hear of.”
“And how might I be of any service?” She flicked her eyes between the two of us, her enthusiasm sharp and evident. “Most of my dealings were with Mr. Galloway. I cannot claim any but the most cursory acquaintanceship with Miss Eugenia and have never even met His Lordship.”
“Nevertheless”—Colin sniffed as he picked up a piece of the shortbread—“I would presume you have missed little. But at the moment I would simply like to know if you had any difficulty filling the positions at Layton Manor? People not staying or refusing to accept work there perhaps?”
“There were some issues, but you mustn’t blame them on Miss Adelaide or Miss Eugenia. People get such preposterous notions in their heads sometimes it becomes virtually impossible to lead them to reason.”
“Notions . . . ?” Colin pressed. “What sort of notions might you be referring to?”
“Well, I am not one to gossip, but it was said the household was quite dogged with all manner of spectral malfeasance. Objects moved about when no one was there, inexplicable sounds, passing coldness in a hallway or room as though an unsuspecting person had stepped right through some poor tortured soul. And there was a most persistent rumor that Miss Adelaide herself had suffered terrible visions.”
“Do you know what sort of visions?”
“Oh no. I never pried into such things.” She leaned forward and scooped up her teacup and saucer again. “But I do remember someone telling me they had something to do with a young girl. A poor sorrowful thing in search of her mother. Calling out or crying . . .” She waved a hand as quickly as a hummingbird. “I really didn’t pay the story any mind. But it has been said their father was indiscriminate,” she carried on, flashing a pointed gaze that made both the insinuation and her feelings behind it well obvious. “The sad little creature was likely the unwanted product of such a union left searching for her place in this life and the next.” She released a protracted sigh that resulted in both of Colin’s eyebrows heading skyward.
“Are you a believer in such things then?” I asked before Colin could comment.
“Oh no.” She gave a lilting sort of laugh that ridiculed the very suggestion. “If such a thing were true, there would be phantom children in nearly every manor house in this country. I should think those caught wandering in the spaces between our world and the next would have greater concerns than their earthly pedigree.”
“But you did find some people unwilling to accept employment with the sisters?” Colin asked.
“Most would take the positions. Such employment is not easy to come by, especially when it involves serving only two elderly women. Far easier than a large family. But I had a devil of a time keeping people there. Some lasted a few months, others less than that.” She shook her head and set her teacup down and I noticed it still looked practically untouched. “There is just no sense in some people. I felt quite sorry for Mr. Galloway.”
“And I understand you also placed the two nurses who worked for Miss Adelaide.” Colin moved along, tossing a quick look at me. “What are their names?”
“Philippa Bromley and Vivian Whit.”
“I did. I found them at the Royal London Hospital. They were set to enter Tredegar House to begin formalized nurses’ training but were sadly passed over for the inaugural class. I could see they were skilled and level-headed girls, so I snatched them up for Miss Adelaide at once. And you can see I was right. They stayed with her right up to her untimely death.”
“And Freddie Nettle?” Colin continued without a moment’s delay. “You found him a place there as well, didn’t you?”
“Yes. He had done some work out at Bristol House for the groundskeeper there and had proven himself strong, amiable, and trustworthy. When Miss Eugenia contacted me about Adelaide’s failing health, I knew right away that Mr. Nettle would be an ideal fit. His tenure at Bristol House had been completed and he was quite at loose ends—”
“You said Miss Eugenia contacted you,” Colin cut her off again. “So it was not Miss Adelaide herself who sought the assistance?”
Mrs. Denholm gave a wry smirk as she looked back at Colin. “You mustn’t underestimate a woman’s pride, Mr. Pendragon. It can be every bit as ferocious as a man’s.”
“I see. . . .” he said tepidly, and I knew he had little notion of a woman’s pride. “And what exactly did Miss Eugenia tell you her sister required?”
“A nurse to care for her at night and a strong, able-bodied man to ten
d to her activities, such as they were. Someone capable of pushing her around in a wheeled chair when necessary, or to carry her upstairs when she wished to retire. He didn’t need any medical knowledge because they would have the nurse for that. So I placed Vivian Whit first.” She sat back and thought for a moment before continuing. “I sent Mr. Nettle there not a week after Miss Whit started, and it couldn’t have been more than another month before Mr. Galloway came around to say they would require another nurse to assist during the day. I must admit”—her brown eyes sparkled with self-satisfaction—“I wasn’t the least bit surprised. The deterioration of the elderly is never but one direction. I had already spoken with Philippa Bromley and another young woman to see if either of them might be interested in the duty at Layton Manor should the necessity arise, and Miss Bromley was quite receptive. So when Mr. Galloway came back to see me, I was able to fulfill the second requirement at once.” She grinned, quite pleased with herself, which I found rather distressing under the circumstances.
“You had some knowledge of Mr. Nettle then before you placed him at the Endicotts’?”
“Oh yes. I wasn’t about to send just anyone there. It was quite a coup for my business to be able to serve the Endicott sisters. I was determined that they would be entirely satisfied because if I were ever called upon to supply staff to Lord Endicott. . .” Her eyes flashed like a child’s on Christmas Day. “I’m sure you can imagine how that would affect me.”
“And Mr. Nettle . . . ?” Colin prodded, barely concealing his lack of interest in the trajectory of her business.
“I’ve known of him since he was hawking newspapers on the street. He caught my eye because he was bigger than the other lads. A handsome boy who looked already a man and I wondered why he hadn’t procured some better employment for himself.” She gave a fluttering sort of laugh as she snapped off a small corner from a piece of shortbread. “My late husband would buy a paper from him most days, and finally I could not contain myself and began to speak with him, and you can imagine my surprise when I learned he was not quite sixteen. I’d thought him nearly ten years older.” She shook her head with a laugh as she set the untouched bit of biscuit back onto her saucer. “He was living in one of the workhouses not far from Limehouse. No family. Not even a sibling that I know of. But he was trying to make something of himself, and I recognized a certain quality in him.” Her expression went soft, and she stared past us, and for a moment I thought I sensed something of a maternal bent from this woman for Mr. Nettle.
“So you started finding him work . . . ?” Colin asked, his impatience with her remembrance beginning to leak through.
“Not right away.” Her eyes snapped back and she picked up her tea again and took the most delicate sip. “My husband became ill around that time, and I didn’t work for almost two years while I took care of him.” She flashed a brief, mournful smile that made the outcome of that story obvious.
“And after that?” Colin pushed, though his voice had notched back.
“I ran into Mr. Nettle again. He was doing some courier work, odds and ends, whatever he could land for himself, I suppose. So I decided to test him out and gave him to a man who was handling the green space at several rows of houses in Marylebone before procuring a place for him working on the grounds at Bristol House.” Her smile came easily again. “He did beautifully in both positions, just as I had known he would. Never late, never missing, and so very bright.” She set her teacup down and leaned forward again, speaking in a charged whisper as though about to share the most extraordinary thing. “So I did something I have never done before or since. I started tutoring him in the etiquette of working for a proper family: the customs, protocols, and routines. Everything from the way he spoke to the way he handled himself. It was thrilling. He was the most eager pupil.”
“I would say you did your job well, as he was quite polished on the occasions when Mr. Pruitt and I met with him.”
“Oh”—she grinned—“he deserves all of the credit, not me.” But I could see that she was well pleased by Colin’s compliment.
“Do you review the backgrounds of the people you place?”
“Yes, of course. What sort of businesswoman would I be if I did not?”
“And what does that process constitute?”
“I interview past employers whenever practicable and procure letters of recommendation when not. I also collect and maintain brief biographies about the people I place: where they were born, what sort of education they’ve received, who they’ve worked for, that sort of thing. I think it’s important to know something about the people I place.”
“Commendable,” Colin said, and as his eyes drifted back to the piles of file folders on the table there and the wooden cabinet against the wall I knew why he thought it so. “And might we avail ourselves of your meticulous records at some point? I should think we might find them most useful.”
“Well . . .” she demurred. “That would be highly irregular. . . .”
“These are highly irregular times,” Colin reminded her perfunctorily.
“Yes . . .” She nodded. “Yes . . . I suppose they are.” She seemed to give it some thought as she sipped at her tea for a moment. “I would certainly not want them taken from here. . . .”
“There would be no need.” Colin flicked a brief, tight smile at her, well pleased. “Mr. Pruitt can work right here.”
There was no surprise in his statement, though I was annoyed just the same. That I would be consigned to this woman’s parlor for what would amount to several hours was as good as forgone, and yet still I wished that I was not always thusly condemned.
“I suppose that will be fine then,” she agreed with a note of hesitancy.
“Wonderful.” And now Colin’s smile came more easily. “We shall arrange a suitable time for him to come back, as we have other business to attend to and his right hand is not as dexterous as it should be just now.” This last he said with a chuckle that only further riled my mood. “But let me ask you something on a wholly different topic, Mrs. Denholm. Did you ever have occasion to place staff at the home of Arthur and Charlotte Hutton? They had a rather large house north of the city. . . .”
“By the widow Connicle,” she interrupted, her eyes going wide. “A terrible thing, that. I placed staff at the Connicle household over the years until the poor widow lost everything, but I never had cause to send anyone to the Huttons. I believe”—her voice dropped and her hands fluttered up around her face as she tilted her head slightly forward—“that they were living beyond their means. I don’t even know what’s happened to Mrs. Hutton after the death of her husband. But such things are not my concern.” Yet her tone suggested that it was very much of interest just the same.
“They had a nurse who cared for their son,” Colin continued, ignoring Mrs. Denholm’s obvious fascination. “Might you have helped to settle her elsewhere?”
“Janelle Godwin,” she said at once. “She did come to me, but I didn’t have anything for a woman with her experience. She dealt only with children who weren’t quite . . .” Her voice trailed off, and it was clear she was at a loss to explain any further.
“Did you happen to collect her contact information, by any chance?”
Mrs. Denholm looked pleased, or perhaps relieved, to have her statement dispensed with. “Why, yes. Yes, I did.” She pushed herself off the chair and walked to the brimming table of files and sorted through one corner quickly before pulling out a single sheet. “Would you like me to copy her address for you?”
“We would be most grateful,” Colin said as we both stood up. “And though you did not place anyone in the Hutton household, did you ever hear any chatter from anyone who did work there? Nurse Godwin perhaps . . . ?”
“Really, Mr. Pendragon.” She glanced over at him with an expression as filled with determination as it was with facetiousness. “You must believe me when I tell you I do not partake in such idylls. If I have heard things it is in spite of my wish not to do so.”
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“And if I have given the slightest indication that I think you guilty of such trifling, then I do indeed owe you an apology,” Colin said with a slight bob of his head and such smoothness that I knew his father would be proud. “It is simply that, given your position in the community, I would suppose you must hear things, and while I would not expect a woman such as yourself to perpetuate such chatter, it could be useful to know what has been said. Ofttimes there are sparks where there is smoke. . . .” He let the suggestion hang in the air as he accepted the piece of paper she handed over, her eyes never once leaving his face, and I could see she was well in his thrall.
“Yes . . . of course . . .” she muttered, finally tearing her eyes away and twittering a self-conscious sort of laugh as one of her hands flew up to flutter about her lacy collar. “I believe I did hear that there were some frightful rows between Mr. and Mrs. Hutton. I could not even speculate as to the cause, but it was enough to elicit comment on more than one occasion. But such things . . . A staff can be privy to such things in even the finest homes.”
“Was there ever the suggestion of physical altercations?”
“Physical . . . ?!” She stopped herself from repeating the phrase and looked quite drained of color as she flicked her eyes between Colin and me. “I am sure I would not know. The very idea of such a thing happening in one of our city’s finer homes. It is too repugnant to even consider.”
“My apologies,” Colin said airily as he headed for the door. “If you would be so generous as to arrange a time with Mr. Pruitt to review your files . . . ?” He gave a thin smile and nodded before sweeping his hat back onto his head and disappearing outside.
I turned to find Mrs. Denholm staring at the blank entry where Colin had just been, her eyes as filled with bewilderment as intrigue. “He’s rather an extraordinary man, isn’t he?” she mumbled under her breath, her gaze unmoving.
The Endicott Evil Page 17
