The Connicle Curse (15 page)

I
studied Mrs. Connicle's face, thin and sallow, her eyes shot through with threads of red, and regretted having allowed myself to be coaxed here. It was an odd confluence of emotion that coursed through me as I listened to her. Everything from curiosity to pity to unrelenting dread. There was no mystery in my discomfort around her. Around her mental frailty. I recognized its insidious grip. Even so, it did little to lessen the impact of sitting across from her.

“Dr. Renholme insists I not agitate myself,” she was saying. “He has kept me swimming in laudanum for days now. It has left me quite addled, I'm afraid.” She cast her gaze down to her trembling hands, seeming to fade even further away. “Things that I should know I cannot seem to pull forward. I cannot find them in the haze.”

“Please don't,” I tried to soothe, and was mortified when my voice caught. “You mustn't trouble yourself,” I added as soon as I could draw a full breath. “Whether you can provide a single detail or not will have no bearing on how hard Mr. Pendragon works to determine if that was your husband yesterday at Covington.”

“It was,” she said with surety, her voice thick and sluggish. “You must believe me, Mr. Pruitt.”

“I most certainly do,” I answered at once. “Now that we know the body discovered on your property is not that of your husband, Mr. Pendragon and the Yard are redoubling their efforts to find him.”

“Yes . . . yes . . .” she muttered as she wiped a handkerchief across her upper lip in a gesture that seemed at once as nervous as it was agitated.

I cleared my throat and tried to recall all the things Colin had instructed me to ask her about. He'd been quite undone by Mrs. Hutton's vitriol, suffering equal parts guilt and effrontery, and had been less than articulate as he sent me on this undertaking. “Has your husband ever gone off without telling you before? Perhaps on some quick bit of business that took longer than he meant?”

“Never. Edmond has always been the most considerate of men, patient and kind. I have never had a quarrel with him, Mr. Pruitt. If you are imagining such a thing I can assure you that you are wrong.”

“I meant no offense.” I felt myself flush slightly as I struggled to hold her determined gaze. “You understand that we need to rule out every possibility?”

“I understand,” she said, though I caught a whisper of flintiness in her voice, “but my husband is missing and that means that something is terribly wrong. You and Mr. Pendragon must implement a search for him at once.” She pushed herself forward on the settee as her delicate brow coursed into a frown. “Where is Mr. Pendragon? I have pledged good money for his services and yet haven't any idea whether he has given the slightest thought to what might be happening to Edmond.” Her hands fidgeted in her lap as if they must surely ache.

“Please be assured, Mrs. Connicle, that at this very moment Mr. Pendragon is at Scotland Yard rereviewing the evidence they have collected from your gardener's shed as well as seeing to the release of your woman, Alexa. Your husband's well-being is very much at the forefront of his mind.”

“Oh . . .” She sagged back in her seat. “Poor Alexa. What she has been through.” She turned her eyes to me and I could see a well of pain in them. “I do not doubt her loyalty for a moment and you must make sure she knows she is expected back in this house.”

“I will.” I took a slow breath and tried to calm my ratcheting heartbeat as I tried to formulate the ground I had to travel. “Does your husband suffer from any illness that might—” But the words caught in my throat as Mrs. Connicle's face went ashen and the light in her eyes dimmed to a dull steel gray.

“He does not,” she bit harshly. “Surely, sir, you are confusing him with me.”

I nearly choked. “I beg your pardon. I didn't mean—”

She waved me off and began to weep, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief pulled from her sleeve as she struggled to contain her composure. “You must not judge my husband by my failings. Even as we sit here in our comforts, Mr. Pruitt, his life is almost certainly at risk. I shall never forgive myself if the taint of my infirmity should cause you to neglect to save my husband. Mr. Pendragon gave me his pledge,” she gasped. “Now he must fulfill it without delay.”

I nodded, afraid to say another word, for I dared not ask this brittle woman any more questions. As for myself, I could not bear another second here.

T
he moment I entered the study I felt an unmistakable air of tension. Colin and Hubert Aston were seated across from each other by the fireplace, both stoic, both ramrod straight, and both displaying mild annoyance with one another. A notably inauspicious beginning, given that the Astons' oldest boy had informed me that Colin had arrived not ten minutes earlier.

“Gentlemen.” I smiled gamely as I was shown in. “I apologize for being late,” I blathered on, though we had not set a specific time, given Colin's preference to catch people at will. A behavior that is tolerated, if seldom appreciated.

“So it is to be the both of you again, eh?” Mr. Aston sniffed as he turned to me but did not bother to stand up. “I am afraid I have nothing to add to what has already been said. And I will have you know that you quite unnerved my wife the last time you were here. You might consider that should you mull a further return visit.”

“It is certainly not our intention to cause Mrs. Aston distress,” Colin answered with an embarrassing lack of conviction. “However, I would like to remind you that three men have been murdered—”

“I do
not
need to be reminded of any such thing!” Mr. Aston groused. “Do not presume to condescend, Mr. Pendragon. I shall not abide it.”

“Condescend?” Colin repeated with the height of feigned surprise as he stood up and moved to the fireplace. “We have only come to ask a few simple questions and seem to have brought down a world of offense.”

“Simple questions, are they?” Mr. Aston scoffed. “Damned personal ones.”

“Nothing is too personal when people are losing their lives. Now I have asked you about the potential of Arthur Hutton's extramarital activities because it could be relevant to this case, given what you have already told us about Edmond Connicle's trysts. Surely you can understand that.”

I cringed at Colin's tone, though curiously, Mr. Aston seemed not to care. He flicked his eyes at me, a hint of some perception brewing there, and then slid his gaze back to Colin. “How old are you, Mr. Pendragon?”

Colin leaned against the fireplace mantel as he studied Mr. Aston a moment. “Thirty-eight,” he said at length.

“Thirty-eight . . .” Mr. Aston repeated airily, clearly pleased with the answer. “And yet no wife and no children.” His gaze hardened. “How can someone like you understand what men like Edmond, Arthur, and me contend with? You come here looking for salacious details to infer all manner of indecencies that I, quite frankly, find insulting.”

“I what?” Colin's brow crashed down. “If you believe my questions to be disapproving then you had best cleanse your conscience with your vicar. Be assured I don't give a ruddy piss whom any of you shag. I am looking for a connection, Mr. Aston.”

“But you are doing so in the most sordid way!” he blasted back. “Has it occurred to you that our households all frequent Covington Market? Perhaps
there
is where your connections lies.” His voice dripped acid. “And both Arthur and I are clients of Columbia Financial. Edmond's firm. Has that ever struck you? Not to mention that nearly everyone who lives out here is administered to by Dr. Renholme. Have none of those possibilities stirred within your tawdry mind?”

Colin's gaze was hard and unflinching. “And if I told you we have reason to believe that Edmond Connicle might still be alive? What other hypotheses might you have?”

Hubert Aston stopped and looked truly struck for the first time. “Alive?!” He scowled. “Are you referring to the ravings of Edmond's unhinged wife?”

“So you've heard her assertions?”

“Domestics gossip.” He shook his head like a disapproving parent. “Really, Mr. Pendragon. Are you so naïve? It would seem a wonder the newspapers level such praise upon you.” He brushed at his jacket's lapels and ran two fingers along the length of his overgrown mustache. “I don't see it.”

“And if the evidence were conclusive?”

Mr. Aston chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “Then I should wonder about Arthur's supposed demise,” he said as he stood up. “Not to mention the ineptitude of you and the Yard. Good day, gentlemen.”

Colin tipped him a curt nod and charged for the door before abruptly swinging around as he reached the study's threshold. “Is your bookkeeper at Columbia Financial named Teller?—”

“Tessler,” I corrected as I joined him.

“Wynn Tessler is a partner in the firm. He can hardly be classified a bookkeeper. I work with Noah Tolliver. Really, Mr. Pendragon, this has almost been amusing.”

Colin flashed a fox's smile as he turned and barreled off.

I mustered what I could of a grin in the face of Mr. Aston's unpleasant gaze before hurrying after Colin. I caught up with him some distance down the graveled drive just as he dove a hand into his front pocket and extracted a coin. “Whatever do you suppose had him so tossed about?” I asked as I fell in step beside Colin.

“Hmmm . . . ?” came the distracted reply as the coin began gliding deftly between the fingers of his right hand. “Mr. Aston? It would seem he feels distinctly reproached by us. Which is wearisome, given how little I care about what he does with himself short of committing murder.”

“Yes, but what do you make of it?”

“Make of it?” He tossed me a wry look. “He is a haughty tosser who imagines himself above the likes of anyone not worth an elephant's weight in sterling. I should be delighted to reorder his thinking.”

“He defends infidelity as though it were a birthright.”

“Men like him believe it is. But you're missing the point.”

“Which is . . . ?”

“How glibly he recriminates both Edmond Connicle's firm and the local doctor. He either means to steer us or is truly a reprehensible man. I haven't decided which yet.”

“He is certainly dismissive of Mrs. Connicle.”

Colin grimaced. “I'm afraid that's something we are bound to find prevalent amongst those who know her.”

“Of course.” I heaved a sigh.

“What I'm interested in,” he said as we reached the street and he swung out an arm to hail a coach, “is this man at Columbia Financial we keep hearing about.”

“Wynn Tessler?”

A hansom cab pulled over as Colin slid the coin he'd been flipping back into his pocket. He shouted an address up to the driver and we climbed aboard. “Charlotte Hutton says her husband complained about Mr. Tessler's handling of their money. And now we know that Hubert Aston, though he does not work with Mr. Tessler, is well enough acquainted to refer to him by his first name. I find that provocative.”

“Seems a bit thin to me.” I shrugged.

“Well, of course it's bloody thin,” he shot back. “Do you have a better idea? Shall we go off after the country doctor? Or perhaps you'd prefer we just leave Alexa with Varcoe and let him settle on the voodoo bollocks.”

“Don't be a twit,” I admonished. “What happened at the Yard this morning? Did Varcoe finally release Alexa?”

“He did. That woman is ruddy well outraged at what's happened to her and I can hardly blame her. The evidence Varcoe has against her is absurd and yet he's treating her as though she were caught in flagrante. How did I forget what an arse he is?” Colin turned and glared at me. “Why didn't you remind me?”

I shook my head.“I will remind you that you need his help on this case. He has given you access to more information than you normally ever get.”

He heaved a sigh. “You have more of a point than you know.”

“Do I?”

“Varcoe showed me the photographs of the blood splatters in the Connicles' shed. Looking at them again, one after the other like that, it made me see something I had not noticed before. The patterns could not possibly have come from a single source, someone having been butchered with a knife while standing in the center of the space. Not unless the victim had spun completely around as he fell, which is preposterous. I'm convinced that scene was meant to do nothing more than throw the Yard off course. Make them believe that Edmond Connicle had died there in some ridiculous ritual. No.” He glanced out at the passing streets as we crossed the Thames into the city proper. “Wherever Edmond Connicle is, he means to be thought dead.”

“You think he's a willing part of it?!”

“It seems an awfully elaborate scheme to kidnap a man.”

I exhaled my surprise. “What did Varcoe say?”

“About what?”

“Everything you just told me.”

He gave a slight shrug. “I may have forgotten to mention it to him.”

I laughed. “So that's how it works?”

“You don't think I've lost my mind completely, do you?”

“I should have known.” I glanced around as great, long shadows from the increasingly condensed buildings began to block the light of the sun along the road. “Where are we going?”

“To meet Wynn Tessler.”

“Is he expecting us?”

A rogue's smile slid onto Colin's face. “Now where would be the fun in that?”