The Connicle Curse (3 page)

“What? Well . . .” He shrugged vaguely. “Maybe it's part of their custom. They did have it buried. Perhaps they thought that was clever enough.”

“Leaving behind a freshly dug bulge in the earth is hardly clever.”

Evans waved Colin off. “That lot isn't known for being clever.”

“That lot . . . ?”

“The Africans. They're not exactly Oxford trained.”

Colin sucked in a breath. “Given the lack of cleverness your Yard was able to summon on that Ripper case, you might want to be more considerate before you disparage an entire continent of people.” He nodded at me and started back toward the Connicle home.

“You are quite the conundrum, Mr. Pendragon,” Sergeant Evans chortled.

I smiled as though we had shared a good joke, though I knew Colin had not meant it to be. Nevertheless, if Colin was right about the fetishes being nothing more than a deception, I knew we would need Sergeant Evans to be an ally, magisterial order or not. And I had long ago learned that in matters such as these Colin was nearly always right.

T
he night sky was speckled with an ocean of stars by the time we pounded our way back through the woods to the Connicle house. Police lanterns continued to bob about the area and I noticed three bloodhounds being loaded into a wagon parked next to the gardener's shed as three more were brought out from another wagon nearby. “Now why would they be bringing more dogs in?” I asked.

Colin shook his head with a shrug. “I would hope to start searching for somebody else's tracks.”

“You don't think they've been doing that all afternoon?”

Colin's nearer eyebrow arched as he looked at me. “You do give the Yard such credit.” He chuckled as we watched the dogs blunder about in haphazard directions, their noses held firmly to the ground. “Now let's have another look at that shed.” And with that he was off, cutting away from my side and charging back to the shed, nearly bowling over the young bobby currently stationed there.

“It's all right,” I notified the young constable as I caught up. “We've a magisterial order.”

“I heard,” he replied with a decided lack of interest.

I mustered what I could of a smile and followed Colin inside. Only two lanterns were lit, leaving the small space mostly dark and heavily cast in shadows. Colin had stepped to one corner and was staring at the fouled wall as though trying to decipher tea leaves. In the dim light the splatters of blood resembled black slashes, as if a bear or some other great creature had attacked the building with a manic savagery. I could still smell the metallic sting of the blood and suspected the building would need to be torn down and burned to purge the stench.

“What are you thinking?” I asked.

“I don't know.”

“Should we tell Mrs. Connicle about her husband?”

“I'd sooner swallow my tongue. Let the Yard bear that news.” He went back outside and pulled in a deep breath of night air. “I'll solve the case. That will be my contribution.”

“And do you have any idea how to do that?”

“We shall start at once with the African couple,” he said as we headed back across the side yard toward the house. “Once Varcoe hears about the fetishes he's sure to arrest them without a second thought. This will likely be our only chance to speak with them before they're put on their guard.”

“It could be them, you know. It
could
be that simple.”

He tossed me an amused look as we climbed the steps to the front door. “What would I do without you?” he asked before reaching out and pounding on the door. It was drawn open almost at once by the lovely young housekeeper, Miss Porter. “I do apologize for the intrusion,” Colin said as he flashed her a quick smile, “but we've a need to get a bit of information from Mrs. Connicle about the household staff. The usual sort of thing really—”

“And how
is
Mrs. Connicle doing?” I hastily added in an effort to keep him from sounding completely mercenary.

Miss Porter shifted her eyes to me and I noticed both exhaustion and worry there. “I'm afraid she's still up in her room. She's been there since you brought her back this morning. The waiting is . . .” She let her voice drift off as her eyes slid toward the trees, making her fear obvious.

“Of course,” Colin muttered, his brow knitting even as he held his tongue against what we knew. “We needn't disturb her then. Perhaps you might do us the favor of a few minutes of
your
time?”

The fatigue that ringed her eyes made me certain she would demur, so I was surprised when she rallied a smile and answered, “Certainly.”

She ushered us into the same drawing room we'd been shown to that morning and proceeded across it to a swinging door on the far side, which she pushed open.
“Letty!”
she called out. “Fetch some tea for three of us, please.” She released the door and came back to join us. “Do sit down, gentlemen. Mrs. Connicle would insist on your comfort and care were she able to see to it herself.”

“You really mustn't trouble anyone on our account,” Colin said as we settled onto the sofa across from her. “I would only like to know something of the staff here. Names, position, tenure . . . all very routine.” He gave her an easy smile that earned him one in return.

“Of course,” she answered, her polite grin reminding me how very striking she was with her delicate features accented by a froth of curly brown hair. I determined her to be somewhere in her mid-twenties, which struck me as curious that the Connicles had selected such a young woman to take charge of their home. “We are a rather disparate group,” she acknowledged with some unease. “A few have been with the Connicles from the beginning of their marriage while the rest of us are rather new to their employ.”

There was a clatter of dishes from the back corner of the room as the fretting girl we'd seen that morning pushed through the swinging door balancing a large silver tray. She had been quite beside herself earlier in the day and appeared little better now. Her face was ashen and she was clearly in some disarray. As she set the tray in front of Miss Porter I noticed that the girl's hands were trembling, leaving me with nothing but pity for the poor thing.

“You remember Mr. Pendragon and Mr. Pruitt,” Miss Porter said as she leaned over and began preparing our tea.

“Aye,” she answered at once, her eyes flitting down as she gave a well-practiced curtsy.

“They're here at the behest of Mrs. Connicle. We must give them every assistance.”

“Yes, Miss Porter.” Letty nodded, her eyes still on the floor.

“Thank you, Letty.” The young girl took several steps back before giving another quick curtsy and fleeing the room. “You must forgive her. She is the newest member of the staff and is only just sixteen. Her mother is the Connicles' cook, Edna Hollings. She's been with them from the beginning. Almost twenty years now.”

Colin flashed another smile. “We'll need to speak with her. Has Mrs. Hollings been with the Connicles the longest?”

“No. That would be their driver, Randolph. Randolph's been with the Connicle family since Mr. Connicle was just a boy. When Mr. and Mrs. Connicle married, Randolph's services were a gift to them from Mr. Connicle's father.”

“A gift, you say?! How very provocative,” Colin muttered, his poorly veiled disapproval not lost on Miss Porter as she averted her gaze with the thinnest of smiles. “And who else works in the household?”

“There is a couple, Alexa and Albert, who joined the staff about two years ago. They've been here the shortest if you don't count Letty. Alexa is the scullery maid and Albert is the groundskeeper.”

“Alexa and Albert . . .” Colin repeated thoughtfully. “I would suspect those aren't their birth names.”

“Why, Mr. Pendragon”—Miss Porter looked startled—“how-ever could you know that?”

“I assume Alexa is short for Alexandrina, our dear Victoria's given name, making it too great a coincidence to have a married couple on-staff named after our sovereign and her late consort.”

“How very astute.” Miss Porter grinned. “I'm afraid I don't actually know their given names. I've heard them, but like everyone else found them quite unpronounceable, which is why Mrs. Connicle lent them those. They're not British, you see. They're from the Kingdom of Dahomey in French West Africa.”

“Ah yes.” Colin nodded solemnly. “I believe the French claimed that as their own just last year.”

“After a brutal two-year war,” I pointed out.

He tossed me a patient smile. “And what war isn't brutal?” I opened my mouth to respond before realizing he was entirely correct. “Is there anyone else on-staff?” Colin continued.

“No, sir. That's all of us.”

He settled back on the sofa with his tea held close. “At the risk of being a nuisance, I should very much like to speak with the staff tonight. We shan't trouble them but a few minutes each.”

Miss Porter acquiesced at once. “Shall I assemble everyone?”

“Individually would be best. I find people far more willing to speak their minds when given the opportunity to do so in private.”

“Certainly,” she said, and once again I could see the stress and anxiety lingering just beneath her movement and words.

The moment she stepped from the room I turned to Colin, who was already on his feet checking out a series of photographs atop the mantel. “She seems a bit unsure of herself,” I said.

“She's too young to be running a household on her own,” he answered without taking his eyes from the photographs. “Must have had immaculate references.” A Cheshire's grin spread across his face as he moved to a pair of bookshelves on the opposite side of the fireplace. “Or else she knows the family secrets.”

“Wouldn't that more likely explain how she
keeps
it rather than how she
procured
it?”

He chuckled. “You have a point.”

The sound of a door opening behind me brought me to my feet as I turned to find Miss Porter ushering a short, heavyset middle-aged woman into the room. She wore a full-sized white apron and had gray hair shorn so close to her head that there was no need for a toque of any kind. This was clearly Mrs. Hollings. Miss Porter made the introductions and withdrew from the room, leaving Mrs. Hollings looking quite uncomfortable. After much cajoling Colin was finally able to coax her to sit down, but even then she would only perch on the edge of the chair closest to her kitchen.

“Miss Porter tells us you've been working for the Connicles since they married.” Colin offered her a generous smile.

“Aye,” she answered.

“Twenty years, is it?”

She seemed to consider the question a moment before answering. “Aye.”

“They must be kind and equitable employers for you to stay so long.”

She flicked her eyes between us. “Aye.”

“Wonderful.” Colin stood up and gestured her toward the door. “I think we've taken enough of your time. Perhaps you'd be kind enough to send your daughter Lucy—”

“Letty,” I corrected.

“Letty.” He smiled easily. “Will you have Letty come and see us?”

Mrs. Hollings looked befuddled as she got to her feet and nodded. I could hardly contain my laughter until the door swung shut behind her. “That has got to be the
shortest
interrogation I have
ever
seen you conduct.”

He shrugged as he moved back to the fireplace. “We'll leave Varcoe to spend his time on her. She's got nothing for us.”

Not a minute later her daughter reentered through the same swinging door, though this time far more hesitantly and without anything cradled in her arms. “Miss Hollings.” Colin gestured her in with his usual grin, earning him yet another of her awkward curtsies in return. “We appreciate your time and promise to be brief. Will you tell us how long you've been working for the Connicles?”

“I started 'elpin' me mum in the kitchen a couple days a week when I were thirteen. But I've been 'elpin' more regular now for 'bout a year.”

“Still in the kitchen?”

She shook her head. “I ain't much of a cook. That's me mum's knack. I 'elp out wherever the missus needs me. She's a fine, delicate woman.”

“How so?”

She pursed her lips and appeared to consider it a moment. “Just is,” she said with a shrug.

“Right.” Colin released a sparrow's sigh as he gazed into the fireplace with marked disinterest. “And Mr. Connicle? Do you ever assist him?”

“No, sir. He don't need me 'elp. Only the missus. I watch 'er when she has 'er spells.”

“Spells?” Colin looked back at Letty.

“Well”—she shuffled her feet and stared down at the floor—“it ain't really me place ta talk. . . .”

“Certainly it is.” Colin turned fully away from the fireplace and focused his attentions solely on Letty Hollings. “That's why we've asked to speak with you. Because we know you want to help your mistress. Now tell us about her spells.”

“She 'as bad 'eadaches and dizziness and sometimes thinks she 'ears things when no one's talkin'.”

“Hears things?” Colin repeated as his eyes slid over to me. And I knew, without the slightest hesitation, exactly what he was thinking.

“Mum says the missus is fragile. But she's been good ta me and me mum. She's never said a mean thing. Not once.”

“How often does she hear things?” Colin pressed.

“She don't like ta say, but sometimes I see 'er turn white as a sheet and I know she's 'avin' a spell. It makes 'er look so sad.”

“What sorts of things does she think she's hearing?”

“I don't know. I don't ask 'er nothin' like that. But I know she were in 'ospital for it once. Way back when I was first 'elpin' me mum. She were gone for quite some time. Least it seemed like it.” Letty shrugged. “That's what I 'member anyway.”

“You've been most helpful, Miss Hollings. May I impose upon you one last time to send in either Alexa or Albert?”

“Alexa's in the kitchen. I'll fetch 'er.”

“Thank you.” He nodded gallantly and she quickly hustled from the room after giving one last clumsy curtsy. As the door swung briskly in her wake Colin turned to me. “Whatever do you make of that?”

I knew what he was really asking. “It's certainly not a thing to be taken lightly,” I tossed back, trying to sound blasé in spite of the coiled recollections of my mother that insisted on their due whenever such talk came up.