“Let me see the wounds on your chest that Mr. Tessler caused,” Colin asked, his tone dropping in timbre.
“What?!” she said at once, her tone abruptly inflamed with offense, but not before I noticed the flicker of something startled and off guard stirring behind her eyes. “What sort of effrontery is this? Do you intend to demean me even further?”
“Come now,” he pressed quietly, yet with an underlying force that was diamond hard. “You were keen to share them with Mr. Pruitt when you thought to convince him of your innocence several nights ago. Surely you would not begrudge me the same evidence.”
Her face slowly curled with distaste. Whatever game she had been playing at had evidently reached its zenith, as I realized the wounds she had shown me had indeed been fake.
She stood up slowly and, though she was not tall, there was something almost regal in her manner as she shrugged her shoulders back, her eyes still pinned solely on Colin. “I believe you are correct, Mr. Pendragon,” she said after a moment just before the train’s whistle let out its third shriek. “It would seem we will indeed need to settle this elsewhere, for I will put myself in the hands of a Scotland Yard matron before I will ever allow you such a glimpse.”
Colin’s head snapped back as though she had struck him, and then he took a single step out into the narrow hallway. “As you please,” he said.
She reached into the space above her seat and pulled down a large bag and a small valise, turning to me. “If it would not be too much trouble . . . ?” she asked, even as I took it from her. “Ever the kind one. That’s why I made sure to speak with you alone. I’ll bet you even believed me when I told you I’d meant to find the two of you together that first night.” She let out a low, soft chuckle. “So uncomplicated.”
She slid her purse onto her wrist and took Colin’s arm with her other hand, allowing him to escort her toward the exit just as the train let out a last peal and belch of steam. I felt the car beneath our feet jerk brusquely and then begin to move with the slow ponderousness of a tortoise upon waking. Colin quickened his pace, pushing out into the open space where the door that led back down to the platform still stood agape. “Give me your hand,” Colin instructed to her as he moved down to the step floating just above the platform. We had hardly gained the slightest speed, and I realized I would be able to easily toss her bags out and collect them once I had made my own escape.
“As you wish,” Charlotte Hutton answered, a curious answer, I thought.
She quickly slid her purse from one arm to the other, and that’s when I saw that there was a palm-sized derringer in her hand that had not been there only an instant before. The train screeched once more, warning all the stragglers still rushing to get aboard that their last opportunity was rapidly closing, which effectively covered the sound of the twin pops. Had it not been for the immediate sulfuric smell of spent powder, it would have taken me another moment or two before I realized that Colin had sagged back in the open doorway. Before I could move, or think, or comprehend, Charlotte Hutton raised her left foot and kicked Colin squarely in the chest.
His arms pinwheeled backward as I saw the two small red blotches beginning to blossom on the chest of his white shirt. I fumbled Charlotte Hutton’s bags in an effort to lose them and lurch forward to grab Colin, but I was too late. He tumbled backward onto the platform like a discarded puppet, and I felt certain my heart had stopped even as the train began to pick up a modicum of speed.
“What will it be, Mr. Pruitt?” I heard the low, malicious voice purr into my ear, her lips so close I could feel her breath rake across my neck. “Will you stay here and detain me or will you leap down to save that scourge?”
She had not gotten the words fully out of her mouth before I flung myself down onto the platform, slamming onto the wooden planks hard enough to steal my breath, as we had gained far more speed than I had realized. I scrabbled to right myself and regain my feet, my mind an echo of terrified silence, and that was when I heard it. A sound that chilled me to the bone. She was laughing. Charlotte Hutton was laughing.
CHAPTER 30
Patience is a trait upon which the cases that Colin and I persevere are inherently constructed. They resist being hastened and will only reveal themselves once the layers that inevitably comprise each one are meticulously peeled away. So a person could not be faulted for supposing that a man with such a learned gift for patience might well be able to apply the very same principle to himself. But that would be wrong.
I had bellowed like a madman the moment I managed to shove myself back to my feet on that godforsaken train platform, and had done so with such frantic desperation that I’d not even realized I had twisted my ankle, which would be the size of a melon within an hour’s time. All I knew in that instant was that I needed to get to Colin, and there was nothing in the whole of the world that was going to stop me in my pursuit. I had ceased being aware of the departing train, though I sensed its accelerating movement off to my right. My sole concern was Colin, laid out on the platform, arms and legs akimbo, two spots of burgeoning redness on his chest, one of them a clustering mass of frothy bubbles forewarning that at least one of his lungs had been punctured. But before I could fully register that fact, I was horrified to see a larger pool of blood oozing from behind his head.
I’m not sure when I became aware of the fact that Paul and his mates had come skidding over to me, but I started barking directions at them as though I had some control of the situation, which I most assuredly did not. I sent Paul’s lads to fetch a bobby, or a whole phalanx of bobbies, whatever it was going to take to ensure that we got Colin to a hospital with the greatest of haste. Paul stayed at my side and I told him to compress the two wounds on Colin’s chest to stop them from seeping, and felt my throat instantly catch when, without a word, he flung himself across Colin’s torso, using his small body to apply the necessary pressure that his scrawny arms would likely have been ill-suited to achieve.
“Don’t hurt him. . . .” I heard myself start to say before clamping my foolish mouth shut.
I turned my attention to the wound at the back of his skull. His cranium bled profusely, as was the case with the head, I knew that, but it was still terrifying to see the puddle slowly pooling there. He was unconscious, and when I pried one of his eyelids apart it was to find his pupil so blown open that there was only the thinnest ring of blue visible. I shed my coat and draped it over both Colin and Paul, hoping the heat from the boy’s body would help keep Colin warm. And only then did I finally become aware of the passage of time. If I have ever been a man of patience it deserted me in that second, and I thought surely I would fly apart in a million fractured pieces if help did not arrive at once.
And so it finally did.
The two boys came skittering back with two bobbies, a doctor one of them had found on another platform, and an elderly health care worker who worked at the station treating motion sickness and other mild discomforts. An ambulance was summoned, and even when the doctor tried to shoo me away after peeling Paul off Colin’s chest, I would not move. I prayed for the learned man to announce that everything was going to be all right, but he said nothing as he hastily fussed over Colin. Even after his prostrate form was loaded into the back of the ambulance, I was offered no encouragement or consolation. It made me feel that I might truly burst from the dread. In that moment, patience was as foreign a concept as I could have conceived.
None of that compared, however, to the unrestrained rashness that occurred later in the day.
While a group of doctors at St. Thomas’s Hospital worked on Colin in one of the surgical rooms, I was exiled to a hallway two floors below with explicit instructions not to pester the staff. My presence, I was curtly informed, was superfluous, as I was not family and could therefore make no decisions on Colin’s behalf. So I sent Paul and his mates in opposing directions to collect Sir Atherton and Mrs. Behmoth. There was no doubt that Sir Atherton’s presence would be critical, but I cannot precisely say why it had s
uddenly felt so important to have Mrs. Behmoth with me as well.
Only after Sir Atherton had arrived were we finally able to learn that Colin was a very lucky man. While one bullet had indeed punctured his chest and collapsed a lung, the other had entered at so steep an angle that it had been diverted by a rib before exiting at the midpoint of his underarm. The wound to his head was nothing more than a gash of several inches and there was no underlying damage to his skull. It all amounted to a great deal of discomfort ahead, but Colin was expected to make a full recovery as long as infections were kept at bay.
The news brought such an embarrassment of relief to me that I found myself struggling to maintain my decorum. I had to excuse myself and go for a walk to steel my heart and head; and upon returning some thirty minutes later was met by an agitated Sir Atherton, who hurried over to me.
“He’s awake.” He said it as though it were a single word, ensuring that I had the good news at once. “He’s awake and he’s . . .” Sir Atherton waved his arms and stepped back. “Go to him. It’s you he needs.”
I dashed down to the room where Colin was, a sense of defiance in my stride as I felt the eyes of the staff, who could no longer keep me from seeing him, follow me as I pushed my way inside. And there was Colin: lying on his side on a wheeled table with a pile of sheets beneath him, his face so sallow and drawn that he looked almost monochromatic. My breath caught in spite of my best efforts and I had to blink several times to assure my composure. It took another moment before Colin finally looked up and spotted me, his eyes once more a brilliant blue, if shot through with cracks of red, and there was a great deal of fire there. Indeed. A great deal of fire.
“Where the hell have you been?!” His voice came out breathless and slurry. “These people are cretins. How could you leave me with them? Get me the bloody hell out of here!”
And so it went for the entirety of a full week until he was finally released, against the doctor’s orders, but with Mrs. Behmoth’s assurance that she would see to it that he convalesced as directed. I cannot say whether Mrs. Behmoth actually believed her pledge, but only two days after coming home he began to complain of boredom, even though he was shuffling around the flat like a wizened old man, flinching and wincing with nearly every move he made. Had I ever truly believed that Colin could harness himself to exhibit the level of patience he could so readily bring to bear on a case? I decided I had not.
Which was why, a mere week after Colin’s homecoming, I begrudgingly agreed to allow Maurice Evans to come for a visit. I also could not deny the feeling that we owed him something after our deception around Charlotte Hutton. What I refused to do, however, was allow myself to imagine how differently the case might have turned out had Mr. Evans been at Victoria Station with a battalion of his men.
“. . . And it is without any thanks to either of you,” Mr. Evans was explaining with a touch of mockery in his tone, even as I continued to study Colin’s pallor so as to ensure a quick end to this conversation when his strength inevitably waned. “Nevertheless, I am pleased to inform you both that I have finally been granted the title of Inspector. I am no longer simply acting like one.” He chuckled.
“Well, it’s about bloody time,” Colin said. “I was beginning to think your Yard incapable of making even the most banal of decisions.”
“Banal, is it?”
Colin winced as he shifted in his chair. I knew better than to fuss over him with company on hand, so I took the opportunity to refresh our tea, making a show of reaching the bottom of the pot without calling for a refill in hopes of subtly encouraging the inspector to bring his visit to a close.
“You are about the only man among that whole lot who is worth a damn,” Colin continued as he appeared to settle in again. “It is nice to hear they have likely figured that out for themselves as well.”
“Even your compliments have teeth.” The inspector laughed before his face slowly drew into something more thoughtful, and I feared I knew what was coming. “I do wish you had included me at Victoria Station when you went after Mrs. Hutton. I might have been able to help, you know. I could have made a difference.”
Colin’s face paled as he stared down at his tea still sitting on the table in front of him. It hurt my heart to see him looking weak and contrite, and I had even less of a stomach for anyone else to see it. “Come now—” I started to say.
“The regret is mine,” Colin cut me off. “And you may be assured that I am unable to forget our folly with Mrs. Hutton for even an instant while I am awake. She has even begun to haunt my dreams.” His expression darkened. “I tell you I will not cease until I have captured that woman and made her pay for everything she has wrought. She is the devil himself.”
If Inspector Evans had intended to chide Colin further, it dissipated as he pushed himself to his feet. “Then I hope you will allow me and my men to work with the two of you to finally bring this woman to justice. I’m talking a real partnership. I’ll not need anyone’s approval anymore.”
Colin flicked his eyes to the inspector as a warm smile brushed past his lips. “That would please me. I shall not lose this woman a third time.”
A sudden pounding at our door startled all three of us before I managed to jump to my feet and hurry to the landing. “We’ll have no more company,” I called down to Mrs. Behmoth.
“And I had best be getting back to the Yard before they come looking for me,” the inspector said, taking my hint.
Colin pushed himself to his feet in spite of the incessant discomfort I could see he was suffering and shook the inspector’s hand. “You have been a worthy ally, Inspector, and I shall not allow Ethan to treat you with such disregard again,” he announced impishly.
“Consider me admonished,” I said with a chuckle of my own, only to have it quickly die on my lips as I heard the sound of twin footfalls thudding up the stairs. My brow furrowed as I turned to find Mrs. Behmoth trudging up with Superintendent Tottenshire close on her heels. Was the whole of Scotland Yard intent on coming over to disturb us?!
“Now don’t ya be givin’ me one a yer looks.” Mrs. Behmoth scowled at me as she ushered the superintendent into the room. “You want ’im out, you’ll ’ave ta do it yerselves.”
“I thought I was jesting when I said they would come looking for me. . . .” Inspector Evans spoke up with a wry snort.
“Settle yourselves,” Superintendent Tottenshire demanded of all of us. “Mr. Pendragon . . . Mr. Pruitt . . .” he continued as he pulled his hat from his head and sat down on the settee as though he had been invited to do so.
“I suppose I’ll fetch some fresh tea, but I ain’t got any biscuits.”
“Tea is fine,” the superintendent answered before either Colin or I could. “We won’t be staying long enough for biscuits, though Inspector Evans tells me you’re quite the baker.” He tossed a quick smile to Mrs. Behmoth that looked more pained than pleased as his eyes drifted over to his inspector, who had remained standing beside me on the landing. “Get in here and sit down, Evans. Why are you hanging by the stairs like that?”
Inspector Evans did as instructed while Mrs. Behmoth headed back downstairs. I moved around to sit next to Colin again, determined to give this man five minutes to have his say before I tossed the two of them out like yesterday’s paper.
“What a pleasant surprise,” Colin said archly. “So very unexpected that you would come to check on me.”
“Yes . . . well . . .” The superintendent’s eyes snapped from Colin to Inspector Evans and then back to Colin again. “How are you then?”
“I have been better,” Colin answered, and even through his glibness I was struck that he had told these men the truth.
“You know we could have helped if you had taken us into your confidence. . . .”
“Inspector Evans has already made that very point,” I said, wishing Mrs. Behmoth would hurry back so I could end this strained conversation.
“It remains to be seen.” Colin shrugged noncommittally.
“So tell me, Superintendent . . .” It was Colin who finally broke the silence as he sat back, cradling his teacup almost lovingly. “Beyond your obvious concern for my well-being, whatever is it that has brought you to our door in the wake of your newly christened inspector?”
To my surprise the man heaved a burdensome sigh before sagging back on the settee, his eyes raking past Inspector Evans before finally settling on Colin. “I see you remain astute, Mr. Pendragon. It is good to know that your wounds have not diminished you.”
Colin flashed a tight smile. “I am not so easily undone. Now out with it.”
“There was a murder just over a week ago,” he began, sipping at his tea as though he were discussing the most ordinary thing. “You’ll not have heard about it as it took place in Whitechapel, just off Framingham Lane, and we have worked exceedingly hard to keep it quiet.”
Colin frowned and I could tell he was already intrigued. “Keep it quiet? Why ever would you do that?”
“You will understand precisely why when I explain to you the circumstances around it,” he answered grimly.
“Was it a woman?” Colin asked, though I wasn’t at all sure why he would have arrived at that conclusion.
The Endicott Evil Page 32
