The Bellingham Bloodbath (10 page)

I pointed to my temple.

“Fine. And I have requested a meeting with Mrs. Bellingham's brother, Thomas Mulrooney, as soon as we leave here. We are to meet him at the Parliament building where he's stationed.” I nodded.

“Sir?” Private O'Fallon presented himself at the door, his expression as contrarian as ever.

“Private . . .” Colin went over to the young man and pumped his hand with considerable vigor as he ushered him in. “Thank you for taking the time to speak with us.”

“I wasn't aware I had a choice.”

“You don't.” He waved him to a chair. “But your willingness to cooperate will be looked upon most favorably.”

“By whom?” Private O'Fallon stared at him blankly.

“By me.” He flashed a smile that was, as usual, not returned. “Now tell us about your duties for Captain Bellingham.”

The private ran a hand through his pale red hair as though the question somehow hurt his head. “I tended to his personal matters,” he said after a moment. “I handled his correspondence, scheduled his meetings, and made sure messages were delivered in a timely manner.”

“I see.” Colin leaned back and stroked his chin. “Is that how you became aware of his association with Lady Stuart?”

Private O'Fallon's milk-white complexion exposed his immediate discomfort. “I was wrong to speak of that. I don't know anything and should have held my tongue.”

“Are you having second thoughts, Private? Or is someone having them for you?”

He scowled but said nothing. We sat like that, silent and distrustful, for what felt an interminable amount of time. Colin did not lift his gaze from Private O'Fallon and I understood that he meant to wait the young man out. For his part, the private remained stiff, his eyes affixed to the tabletop.

I wondered how long we could retain this unnatural peace before the slowly creeping time became too much for Colin to ignore. I glanced over at him and found him looking decidedly content and knew I could stand it no more. “I hate to be the voice of dissension . . . ,” I spoke into the silence, “. . . but you gave us Lady Stuart's name yesterday and confided that there had been some sort of connection between her and the captain.”

The young man looked vexed as he turned to me, his eyes filled with a mixture of surprise and admonishment. “I know,” he muttered, “but ours is a brotherhood that protects its own.”

“So I have heard ad nauseam,” Colin said as he shifted in his chair. “May I remind you that your Major Hampstead hired me to solve this case. He invited me into the sanctity of your brotherhood, unbidden, to do that which I am renowned for doing. Your unwillingness to help would appear to be counter to your senior officer's wishes. Is that what you would have me believe?”

“Not at all!” he snapped. “I'll answer your questions, but you will find that I wasn't privy to much.”

“You may have been privy to more than you know. But what interests me right now, Private, is what you know of Lady Stuart.”

“All I can tell you . . . all I know . . . is that Captain Bellingham went to visit her from time to time over the course of several months.”

“How many months?”

“Five . . . maybe six.”

“And how often?”

“Weekly. Sometimes less, never more.”

“Did you accompany him?”

He scowled, his face flushing pink. “What are you suggesting?”

Colin offered an eager smile. “I meant only to enquire if you ever rode out to her home with him? Perhaps to wait with his horse while he went inside?”

“Never,” he said. “Captain Bellingham was a private man.”

“And yet you knew of his visits to this woman.”

“I kept his schedule. It was my duty to know where he was.”

“Did you record his appointments with this woman in some sort of ledger?”

Private O'Fallon heaved a labored breath before admitting, “It was my job.”

“Didn't it strike you as odd that a woman you believed Captain Bellingham to be somehow involved with was noted on his weekly calendar?”

“It wasn't my business to consider such things.”

“Come now, are you telling me you subverted your sense of propriety?”

He shifted his eyes back to the tabletop.

“And the lady lives on Surrey Ridge?”

“If you say so.”

“You're lying to me, Private,” Colin replied quietly.

“I have told no lies,” he tossed back.

“And what of the captain's brother-in-law, Sergeant Mulrooney? Do you know him?”

“I met him a time or two.”

“I've heard he and Captain Bellingham were at odds.”

“Sergeant Mulrooney is a hotheaded mick. Nobody likes him.”

“And what was it between him and the captain?”

The private's gaze hardened. “I'm sure I don't know.”

“And do you know anything about a brawl between several members of the Irish Guard and a few of your Life Guard officers? Happened at a tavern. . . .”

“McPhee's,” I supplied.

“No.”

Colin exhaled. “Very well. I believe we have finished for the moment.”

The private threw Colin a cold look as he quickly made his way out.

Private Newcombe came in right behind him, a lopsided grin upon his face, his uniform slightly disheveled in an apparent attempt to achieve some greater level of comfort. “You wanted to see me . . . ?”

“Yes. . . .” Colin motioned the young man to the same chair Private O'Fallon had so readily vacated. “I should like to ask you a few questions. I trust you'll be willing to cooperate . . . ?”

Private Newcombe beamed. “I'll cooperate all day if it'll keep me off those blasted parade grounds.” He plopped his mighty plumed helmet onto the table and rubbed a hand through his short, wiry brown hair.

“We'll see what we can do.” Colin smiled. “How long did you work for Captain Bellingham?”

“I've only been with the Guard for eighteen months, but I unofficially reported to Captain Bellingham for the last six.”

“Unofficially? How so?”

“I fill in for Gavin—Private O'Fallon. I help him out. I also assist Corporal Bramwood when he needs help with the major.”

“A man of many talents.”

“Not really.” He laughed rakishly. “My pop was a captain in the Guard. Served until his death six months ago. See any connection there?” He leaned way back in his chair. “Major Hampstead and my pop started in the service together 'bout a hundred years ago. When my pop got himself killed the major reassigned me to Captain Bellingham and himself. I know what you're thinking”—he snickered—“that the major was looking out for me, but I think it was more outta guilt.”

“Guilt?”

“Oh yeah. Major Hampstead and my pop were drinking buddies. They went to the taverns three or four times a week and never failed to get bloody buggery drunk every time. Thank god my mum didn't live to see what a ruddy wanker my pop turned out to be.” He shook his head. “One night the two of them got into a brawl with some Irish blokes and somebody pulls a knife and guts my pop. The major walks away without a scratch and my pop dies in hospital a week later. And just like that”—he snapped his fingers with a twinkle in his eyes—“I've got a cushy job reporting to him and Captain Bellingham.”

“What tavern was it?”

“McPhee's. Down in the East End.”

Colin flicked his gaze to me. “Was there anyone else with your father and the major that night?”

“Captain Bellingham was there and one of my pop's men, Captain Morgesster.”

“Was it unusual for your father and the major to be joined by others?”

He shrugged. “Nah.”

“And who was the other captain?”

“Edmund Morgesster. A fat old sot. Always piss faced.”

“I see. And did you know Captain Bellingham before you reported to him?”

“I knew who he was.”

“Had you met?”

Private Newcombe frowned. “I knew him 'cause a my pop, but I didn't have anything to do with them.”

“Am I detecting a touch of animosity, Private?”

His scowl deepened. “Think what you want. I had nothin' to do with any a them until I got the job helpin' Captain Bellingham and the major.”

“A job you like?”

“It's easy. That's all I'm sayin'. I had nothin' to do with any a them otherwise.”

“So you keep saying. . . .”

Private Newcombe slowly rocked his chair forward again. “Why are you gettin' all slick and oily all the sudden?”

“Am I?” Colin stood up and moved behind me, surreptitiously reaching down and touching the middle of my back with a single finger. “I have a theory,” he said. “Would you care to hear it?”

He continued to frown. “I suppose.”

Colin stepped away, his finger sliding off my back as delicately as it had alighted there. “The Bellinghams' son . . . , ” he said in a faraway voice that sounded better suited to a stage drama. “What is his name . . . ?” And I suddenly understood the poke to my back.

“Albert,” Private Newcombe answered.

“Yes, of course, Albert. And his wife . . .” Colin let his voice trail off again.

“Gwen,” the private quickly filled in.

“Yes.” He turned to the young man and eyed him closely. “I wonder how it is that you speak of your captain's wife with such familiarity? You did the same thing yesterday.
Gwen,
you said. Not
Mrs. Bellingham,
not
Gwendolyn,
but
Gwen
. Rather like an old school chum.”

He didn't answer for a moment and I could see something clouding his eyes. “She said I could,” he said offhandedly.

“Did she?”

“This is bollocks!” He slammed a hand on the table and jumped from his seat with such fervor that he sent it tumbling backwards to crack against the floor in a climax to his statement. “I am guilty of nothing.”

“And I don't believe I have accused you of anything, Private—” Colin spoke slowly.

“I'm finished here!” Private Newcombe barked, reaching out and snatching up his great plumed helmet. “I'll not sit here and be laid into with a bunch of bloody nonsense.” He turned on his heels and stormed out the door.

“Well,” Colin said as the young man's footfalls receded down the hallway, “if he wasn't having an affair with Mrs. Bellingham then he certainly wanted to.”

“Do you suppose?”

“It hadn't occurred to me until he became so sticky, but we may have slipped onto something quite unexpected.”

Corporal Bramwood came up short at the doorway. “Did you wish to see me?” he asked tentatively.

“Please.” Colin gestured him in. “I've only a couple of questions for you and you can be on your way.”

“Very well.” Even the young man's smile seemed uneasy.

“Sitting just outside the major's door as you do, I should think you hear a great many things.”

His eyes flicked from Colin to me. “I hear some.”

“Well, I shouldn't want you to divulge any state secrets.” Colin grinned coyly. “But I do wonder if you have heard anything about an incident at a tavern named McPhee's? Your Major Hampstead was apparently involved and Private Newcombe's father was mortally wounded. What was his name?”

The corporal looked down at his hands before answering. “Wilford. Wilford Newcombe. I heard about it, but I wasn't there.”

“A terrible thing.”

“Yes, sir. It certainly was.”

“What was the outcome of it?”

“The Irish lot were discharged without honors.”

“I see.” Colin scratched his chin and slowly sauntered back over to me and sat down again. “Must've been hard on Private Newcombe. . . .”

“I suppose, sir.”

“What do you make of him? Is he a good help to you?”

“He's fine, sir.”

“Was he especially close to the Bellinghams?”

The young man shifted uncomfortably but kept his eyes down. “I guess he thought he was.”

“How so?”

He shrugged. “Acting like he was the captain's confidant. It used to bother me.”

“No doubt.” Colin smiled conspiratorially, though he wasn't fooling me. “He seems the type of chap who doesn't know the boundaries—”

The corporal's eyes flipped up. “That's what I thought too, sir. Thinks he's better than the rest of us.”

“Especially concerning Mrs. Bellingham. . . .”

Corporal Bramwood shifted again. “I wouldn't know about that.”

“But you heard things. . . .”

He shrugged once more and let his gaze drop, and though I could tell he wasn't going to say anything else, I knew he had said more than enough already.

W
e got from Buckingham to Parliament in less than ten minutes and signed in with a captain of the Irish Guard, a portly older man named Brady. He was indeed expecting us and took us immediately to the basement of the building, where rows of discrete little offices lined either side of a vast hallway. He brought us to a small cubby with a single desk and two chairs and beckoned us to settle in. “I've been informed ya only need ta see Sergeant Mulrooney, is that right?”

“It is,” Colin answered. “We won't take but a few minutes of his time.”

“Well, see to it. They ain't payin' us ta be idle.”

“Of course.” Colin smiled as he settled into one of the chairs. “But might I trouble you with one quick question before you go?”

Captain Brady gave a quick exhalation. “I s'pose.”

“Are you familiar with a tavern fight that took place some months back with some men from the Life Guard that cost a captain his life?”

The man's face puckered. “You talkin' about McPhee's . . . ?”

Colin maintained a look of naïveté. “Yes, I do believe that was the name of the place.”

“Wot of it?”

“Can you tell me anything about it? How it started, perhaps?”

The captain thrust his hands on his ample hips. “Is that why ya come here? Ta ask about that rot? Well, I'll tell ya somethin'. I lost three good men 'cause a that bloody row. The lot a them booted outta my regiment. And you know what I say . . . ?” He leaned forward, coming precariously close to Colin's face. “My men were all noncoms while that lot a Life Guarders were almost all officers. Now who do ya think shoulda been held responsible fer a thing like that? I'll tell ya what I think.” He forged on without waiting for a reply. “Them that earned the titles, that's who.” He glared at Colin a moment before straightening up and turning to the door. “I'll send Mulrooney down. Just see ya don't waste his time.” And with that, he was gone.

“I've never seen anyone so passionately not answer my question,” Colin said with a scowl.

“I guess it's to be expected. Still, you were the epitome of decorum while he ranted. I'm proud of you.”

“I'd be prouder if I had ceased his rant with my boot,” he grumbled.

“Come now,” I reminded. “You'll get more aid with berries than brambles.” He flicked his eyes to me and I could see he was in no mood for my grandmother's chestnuts.

Not more than a minute later Thomas Mulrooney joined us, a grimace already set upon his face. I could see he was a young man, not yet over the quarter-century mark, with a broad, otherwise handsome face, a solid frame, and close-cropped deep brown hair. His visage was so sour that at first I thought perhaps he had stumbled on his way into the room before I realized that the sourness was, in fact, meant for us. Whatever he contrived might be our motivation to speak with him, it was clear it made him unhappy.

“Sergeant Mulrooney . . . ,” Colin began, waving toward the chair he had just vacated.

“What's this about?!” the sergeant snapped back, standing firm just inside the doorway. “I don't appreciate being summoned when I'm in the middle of my shift.”

Colin's eyebrows inched up. “We have come about your sister,” he said flatly.

“Gwendolyn?” He shook his head but held Colin's gaze. “Gwendolyn is dead. Will that be all?”

“Have I done something to offend you, Sergeant?” Colin pressed with remarkable restraint.

“Offend me?” he scoffed.

“I have been hired by Her Majesty's Life Guard to ensure that justice is brought to bear in the murders of your sister and brother-in-law, and yet—”

“Justice?!” he sneered. “And what would those British bastards know about justice? They're tossers, they are, every one of them.”

“Nevertheless,” Colin started again, “they
have
hired me to—”

“Be their lapdog!” the sergeant snarled. “That bunch of degenerate trolls doesn't want justice. They're too busy hiding behind their skirts. I wouldn't piss on them to save their lives.”

“And your sister . . . ?”

The question seemed to catch him, just as I knew Colin had intended it to, causing him to draw a labored breath before he answered. “My sister made her own choices and look where it got her. She was stubborn and foolish. At least her boy will have a chance at a new life now. I'm taking him back to County Cork to be raised by my mum.”

“Do you know how your sister died, Sergeant?”

The young man's face went very still. “She was shot, Mr. Pendragon, facing the wrong way. Just like she lived her life.”

“An interesting detail for you to have, given that the press has yet to be informed of that fact.”

For an instant the sergeant looked taken aback before quickly recovering. “I'm done here, Mr. Pendragon. Will that be all?”

“I have heard you had some issue with Captain Bellingham—”

“Trevor was a liar and a fraud. Anyone could see that. Anyone with half a mind.”

“But your sister—”

“There was no reasoning with my sister,” he shot back. “Gwendolyn made her choice and it cost her her life.”

“What if I told you your sister was having an affair with one of the guardsmen?”

“I only hope she was,” he sneered.

Colin stared at him a moment before dismissing him with the wave of a hand. “That will be all.” Sergeant Mulrooney didn't need to be told twice, as he quickly disappeared from the room without a further word. “What in the hell was
that
all about?!” Colin groused as he sat back down.

“It seems we have finally found someone who did not admire the sainted Captain Bellingham.”

“But why such vitriol?” He swept a crown out of his pocket and began worrying it between the fingers of his right hand. “It's almost noon and I'm more confounded by this case than I was this morning.”

“Confounded? The man practically handed you an entreaty for murder. It's obvious he hated his brother-in-law and had little kindness for his sister. And what do you make of that bit about how he knew she'd been shot from behind? It would all seem to suggest—”

He caught the rapidly flipping coin and stared at me. “Do you really think it will be so easy, Ethan? That he will just deliver himself into our hands?”

“Why couldn't it be that simple?”

He continued to stare at me as though my brains had abruptly liquefied. “Have you never worked a case with me before?”

“Sometimes a thing can be just what it seems,” I said rather more defensively than I had intended.

“Are you trying to help solve this case or just look for the easiest possible solution?”

“I mean to be helpful.”

“Well, you're not.”

I knew he was under enormous pressure, but such was the state of my ego that I could not stop myself from blurting out, “Then perhaps you would prefer if I left you on your own until Friday.”

“Perhaps that
would
be best,” he sallied right back as he got up and headed out the door.