The Connicle Curse (7 page)

“As you wish.” She stood up and swept from the room without another word, leaving Miss Thurman to remain settled in her seat by the door. In spite of Miss Guitnu's having been perfectly content to speak candidly in front of her caretaker, I found that I could not, as did Colin, so we remained silent until the middle daughter, Sundha, wandered in.

“Mr. Pendragon . . . Mr. Pruitt . . .” She nodded as she took the same seat her sister had just vacated, moving hesitantly and without the subtle elegance of her sister.

“Miss Guitnu.” Colin smiled.

“Please,” she said, a tight, fragile smile ghosting across her lips, “call me Sunny. Everyone does.”

The incongruity of her nickname from the somber girl before us struck me at once. Though she shared the same dark eyes and long, black hair of her sister Vijaya, Sunny's features were not as finely chiseled, giving her a softness that her older sister did not possess. And I suspected, given the reticence in her movements and manner as compared to Vijaya, that she was aware of that fact as well. I was also fairly certain she was the quietest of the three girls, sharing neither her older sister's confidence nor young Kajri's girlish charm.

“I trust,” Colin began just as he had before, “that Miss Thurman's presence will not keep you from speaking freely.”

“No,” she answered at once, her eyes flicking down to where her fingers fidgeted in her lap. “I trust Miss Thurman with my life.”

I snuck a glance in Miss Thurman's direction, but if she heard what Sunny had said, she showed no reaction whatsoever.

“May I presume, then, that you would not suspect her of the thefts your father has brought us in to investigate?”

“Never.”

“Might there be someone you
do
suspect?”

She shook her head slightly. “I don't know. No one has access to their safe. I've never even seen inside it myself.”

“Your sister Vijaya admits to having the combination.”

“My parents have no son and Vijaya is the eldest. Of course she would know such a thing.”

“Yes.” Colin smiled deferentially. “Might there be some reason your sister would have removed items?”

“I don't think so,” she said, her eyes flicking back down to her hands.

“And what about your younger sister?”

“Ka?!” She glanced up at Colin with the hint of a scowl. “She's only fourteen. She's just a girl.”

“And so she is,” Colin demurred yet again. “Do you think it possible your father could be mistaken about the thefts?”

Sunny looked at him a moment, as though the idea were trying to take form in her mind, before answering, “Perhaps . . .” with a distinct vagueness in her tone.

Colin gave an easy smile. “Very well then. Would you please find Kajri and ask her to spare us a moment of her time?”

She nodded, just as she had done upon entering, and was out the door like the ghost of a shadow. Miss Thurman still did not move from her position at the door, leaving the three of us sitting there, silent and awkward, avoiding even the most furtive eye contact until Kajri Guitnu suddenly came bounding into the room.

“Sunny says it's my turn for the inquisition.” She giggled as she heaved the door shut with the heel of a shoe. “Am I a suspect? Are you going to search my room and rummage through my undergarments?” She plopped down in the chair across from us and smiled broadly, her round face alight with mischief.

“I should think not.” Colin laughed with her. “We would only like to ask you a few questions. We shall leave your undergarments to a better suitor.”

She clapped her hands with delight and howled laughter. “Well, all right then. What is it you wish to know?”

Colin gestured toward Miss Thurman. “I only ask that you not let Miss Thurman's presence keep you from telling us the truth.”

She continued to laugh.
“Miss Thurman!”
she called out in full voice.

“Yes, Miss Kajri.”

“If you listen to anything I tell these gentlemen then I shall never speak to you again.”

“Yes, Miss Kajri,” the woman answered without the slightest inflection.

“So what shall it be?” She turned back to Colin with her ever impish grin.

“Are you aware of the jewelry your father has reported stolen?”

“Aware? It's all my father has been talking about. He thunders around here cursing the staff for their thievery and malfeasance. Isn't that right, Miss Thurman?”

“Pardon, Miss Kajri?”

“Splendid.” She grinned effusively as she looked back at Colin, her honey-brown eyes sparkling with amusement. “I think we've a fine staff.”

“Then what do you make of your father's assertions?”

“It's making him potty to think that somebody has gotten into his safe. He believes himself so clever, but that hasn't worked out well for him at all.” She did not try to control her giggling.

“Is it possible your sister might have revealed the combination to someone in the household?”

Kajri laughed as though the two of us were fools. “Vijaya?! She thinks she's the empress around here. Always walking around with her nose in the air. There's not even eighteen months between her and Sunny, but you'd think they were ten years apart. Believe me, she won't whisper a hint to either one of us, so why would she tell one of them?”

“Of course.” Colin nodded. “Then what do you make of the missing items? Who do
you
suppose might be culpable?”

She thought for a moment before her oval eyes came alive with merriment, her face a study of excitement as a huge smile lit up her already-beaming features. “My mother!” she squealed. “She's keeping a dashing expatriate holed up in the East End. He's young and poor and
madly
in love with her, and she's giving him just enough to keep him beholden until she tires of him,” Kajri rattled off breathlessly. “Oh, isn't it romantic?!” She stared at us expectantly before suddenly bursting into a wave of giggles.

Colin raised an eyebrow as he clung to the spurious grin he had pasted to his face. “Do you suspect such a thing could be true?”

“Oh, never.” She rolled her eyes as though it were the largest disappointment she'd yet had to face in her young life. “She dotes on my father as though he were quite without fault, which I can assure you he is
not
. When I get married someday my husband had better not expect any such thing. I'm going to be a modern woman, you know.”

“I have no doubt of that.” Colin snickered as he quickly drew the conversation to a close and asked Kajri to fetch her father. This time, when Kajri left, Miss Thurman thankfully went with her.

Mr. Guitnu returned at once and walked us back to the street, gently needling Colin to see if he had any immediate thoughts. Given what little I had perceived of our enquiries, I was quite surprised when Colin informed him that it would not take long to put an end to the mystery of his missing jewels.

Mr. Guitnu's eyes went wide just as I suppose mine must have. “Do you suspect someone already?” he asked.

Colin's face remained inscrutable. “We shall know more in a day or two. But in the meantime I would suggest you have a locksmith change the combination on your safe and tell no one.” He gave a curt nod before stalking off to hail a passing cab.

As I climbed aboard, watching Mr. Guitnu shuffle back up his driveway like a man condemned, I finally had the chance to ask what Colin had managed to ascertain from such a worthless series of conversations.

“Young Kajri has put an idea into my head.” He turned to me with a keen smile. “And you, my love, are just the one to prove it.”

B
y the time the hansom cab returned us to our flat we found a young messenger huddled beneath the half-moon canopy over our front steps. While the sky had temporarily eased its incessant spattering, the chill of the wind had refused to relent in the least. The lad was wearing a regrettably thin coat pulled tightly around his scrawny shoulders and what was left of his scarf appeared to be doing its best to protect his face and neck. Which made me wonder just what sort of news he could possibly be clutching in the envelope in his hand. Why Mrs. Behmoth had left him to wait outside was no mystery to me.

Colin was the first to charge from the carriage while I paid the driver. “Young man,” Colin blustered as he dashed to the door. “You should be warming yourself by the fire, not standing out in this mess.”

“I don't think yer lady likes me,” he muttered. “You Mr. Pendragon?”

“I am,” he answered as he ushered the youth inside.

I rushed in after them, but before I could even get the door shut Mrs. Behmoth hollered from the kitchen, “Did ya see that scrubby little bit a shite outside?” She poked her head out the swinging door and caught sight of the three of us heading up the stairs. “Oh.” She scowled. “I s'pose you'll be wantin' tea then.”

She got no answer as Colin and I took the boy up and settled him before the fire. The tea followed promptly, without further comment from Mrs. Behmoth, and only after she had thundered back downstairs did Colin ask the boy for the letter he'd been so carefully guarding. “I was sent by a Miss Porter wot lives in a house in West Hampton. Real nice place. She gave me two crown ta make sure I give it ta no one but you.”

“The Connicle residence,” Colin mumbled as he slit the envelope open with the smaller of the hunting knives he kept on the mantel. His eyes were alight and there was no denying his enthusiasm. He pored over the note while the boy and I quietly sipped at our tea, though I admit I wished the boy had left so Colin would have read the letter aloud. My curiosity was threatening to get the best of me, and just as I thought I might be unable to contain it any longer, Colin finally set the letter on the table and smiled at the boy. “You have done a tremendous service for us, lad, and I'm wondering if you might be available for an additional moneymaking venture?”

The boy's hazel eyes blazed eagerly. “I'm yer man fer whatever ya need.”

I figured him for eleven or twelve, the same age I had been when I'd begun losing myself amongst the alleyways of the East End. Yet this boy had a fire in his eyes that I never possessed and I couldn't help admiring his confidence. “What's your name?” I asked.

He turned his gaze to me with a smile. “Paul. Like the cathedral.”

“Ah . . .” Colin stood up and went to the bookshelves where we kept a handful of crowns in an old tea canister. “Your mother a religious woman?”

Paul gave him a vacant stare and I knew at once what his answer would be. “I ain't got a mum. Just me and me da. And he ain't around much, so I take care a meself.” There was great pride in his voice as he spoke without the barest hint of self-pity.

Colin faltered slightly as he dove his hand into the canister and withdrew three crowns. “Well, neither Mr. Pruitt nor I have a mum, either, so I'd say that makes us all very much the same.” He came back over and handed one of the crowns to the boy. “Here's what you've earned for bringing us that note.” He held the other two aloft. “These can be earned for your further endeavors.”

“Whatever ya need.” The boy beamed.

“There are three young ladies living with their parents in Holland Park. I should like to know where they go when they leave the house and with whom they meet. And should the mother ever venture out on her own, I would ask the same thing of her. But they mustn't know you're following them.”

“I'll be like a ghost,” he fired back at once.

Colin laughed. “Perhaps you have a chap who could help you? It is four women after all.”

“I got a mate. He ain't as good as me, but 'e'll do what I tell 'im.”

“Very good.” Colin handed over the second crown. “Come back at nightfall with your report and I shall have two more crowns for your friend and one more for you.”

“We'll be 'ere.” He leapt up. “Wot's the address?”

I jotted it on a slip of paper while Colin went over to the hall tree and pulled off his black cashmere scarf, tossing it at Paul. “Take this and give me your old scarf, and you'll take one more thing.” Colin disappeared down the hall a moment before striding back with one of his old coats flung over his arm. “This will be a bit big for you, but it'll keep you warm if you put it over what you're already wearing.” He snatched Paul's old threadbare scarf and flung it into the fireplace. “You'll not be cold on our watch.” He smiled at the bright-eyed boy. “Now get out to Holland Park,” Colin said as he handed young Paul the slip of paper I'd filled out.

“Yes, sir!” The boy was practically aglow as he turned and bolted down the stairs, the front door slamming in his wake.

A
s we neared the West Hampton residence of Mrs. Connicle I handed the note back to Colin that had brought young Paul to our doorstep. Mrs. Connicle's tight, tiny, haphazardly slanted writing looked like the work of a feeble mind, scribbled with less care and attention than what I imagined Paul could have produced. It portended the frame of mind we were likely to find her in.

“What do you make of it?” Colin asked as he stuffed it back into his coat pocket while keeping a crown absently swirling between his fingers.

“She sounds quite undone,” I answered with a sigh. “Not that I blame her. I understand her fears for the safety of herself and her staff. But demanding our immediate return?” I shook my head. “We were just there a few hours ago. If she thinks us her bodyguards—”

“Perhaps she has a suspicion.” He eyed me keenly. “To have awakened this morning and learned that both her husband and groundskeeper are dead. . . .” He slipped the crown back into his pocket as the cab pulled under the portico. “It may well have spurred her to considerable thought.”

“How could it not?” I said as I handed the fare to the driver and Colin and I climbed out. “Nevertheless, I worry what her expectation of us might be.”

“Her expectation . . . ?!” He looked at me as though my sense had fluttered off with the late morning winds. “Her expectation is that we will solve these murders at once,” he said as he rattled the great ringed door knocker.

I was scowling at the obviousness of his words as the door was hauled open by Miss Porter. She still looked quite scattered and worn. “Mr. Pendragon . . . Mr. Pruitt . . . thank heavens you have come.” She sounded breathless as she quickly motioned us inside. “Mrs. Connicle is not well . . . not well at all. . . .”

She revealed nothing more as she led us to the rear of the house, where a vast sunroom that stretched almost the length of the structure looked out onto the back of the property. Replete with twisted bamboo furniture topped by overstuffed cushions in a bright palm leaf pattern, several large jute rugs, and enough towering potted ferns to affect the out-of-doors inside, the space struck me as quite charming. With the day's burgeoning sunlight beginning to stream in through the walls of glass, it was hard to believe that anything untoward could have touched this home.

Miss Porter gestured us to seats, and only after I had settled into one of them did I realize that Mrs. Connicle was huddled on the nearby settee beneath a thick blanket, nothing more than her ashen face visible from within its enfolding embrace. “You will forgive me,” she murmured in a barely audible voice, “if I do not rise to greet you.”

“I wouldn't hear of it,” Colin soothed.

“I have tea prepared,” Miss Porter announced. And true to her words she returned with a tea service and plate of ginger biscuits before we could even commence to speaking.

The three of us stayed silent until well after Miss Porter had left again. I was beginning to wonder if Mrs. Connicle only wanted our company, so I could not stop myself from finally saying, “We are terribly sorry for your losses.”

“Yes,” she answered with an odd bluntness.

“We will see to it that justice is brought to bear for both your husband and your groundskeeper without delay,” Colin assured her.

“Of course,” she muttered, her gaze fixed somewhere out the window along the rolling expanse of her back lawn with the same rigidity that seemed to be holding her slight, drawn figure upright.

“You summoned us here to give us news?” Colin spoke gently, clearly also aware of the brittleness of our hostess.

“Yes,” she answered again in that vague, hollow tone. “An inspector came and arrested Alexa several hours ago. She has been charged with the murder of Edmond.” Her eyes shot down to her lap as tears began to streak across her face, making her look even more sorrowful, as she did not move to wipe them away. “He said there could be more charges once they have completed the autopsy on Albert.”

“And what do you think?”

“I don't know anymore. . . .”

“Do you have any reason to believe Alexa would do such a thing?”

“I do not,” she answered immediately but without conviction, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don't know what to think.” She drew even farther into the couch as she finally wiped at her eyes. “You see, Mr. Pendragon, I am not a woman of great reserves of strength. In fact, I spent some time in hospital some years back.” Her eyes grazed across our faces, revealing a vast pain that made it clear she was willing herself to continue. Neither of us breathed a word that her driver had already confessed as much to us. “I am visited by spells that leave me . . .” Her voice cracked. “. . . unwell.”

“Spells?” Colin repeated, and I could not help but cringe.

“I am sometimes nettled by thoughts . . . voices . . . they pick at the very fabric of my mind. So I am not the one to ask about reason and belief.” Her words so startled me that I could not move as she began to weep again, leaving Colin to finally lean forward and hand her a handkerchief. “If you think me mad,” she managed to say, “you are not the first.”

“You have nothing to fear from us.” Colin glanced over at me with a pointed look that made it clear what he meant for me to say.

“I have seen true madness, Mrs. Connicle,” I began. “I can assure you that you display nothing of the same. You see, my mother was thusly plagued. I watched her struggle with things no one else could hear or understand. It was”—my own thoughts quite suddenly seized as though I were a nine-year-old boy once again—“difficult,” I finally managed.

“Then you understand,” she muttered thickly as she dabbed at her eyes. “And how has your poor mother fared?”

Her question hung in the air as I tried to think how to answer, for I dared not admit the truth to this sad, broken woman.

“She found her peace,” Colin thankfully spoke up. “And I should very much like to hear what you think about every facet of what has happened. Now tell me about Alexa.”

“She has always been proper,” she answered vaguely as she handed Colin's handkerchief back to him. “And Edmond rarely spoke with her anyway. What need did he have to converse with our scullery maid?”

“Indeed,” Colin answered with a smile, but I could see that his thoughts were already leading him elsewhere. “And Albert? Did you have any sense of the union between Albert and Alexa?”

Mrs. Connicle turned her eyes to Colin with confusion. “Why would I?” And then, without a note of warning, she flicked her eyes back to me and asked, “Did your mother take her own life, Mr. Pruitt?”

I felt myself physically cringe, though I do not believe she noticed me do so. My throat clutched and I feared how my voice would sound, so I did nothing more than nod once. My silence, I was certain, had been answer enough anyway. But I did not mention the lives of my father and infant sister that my mother had taken with her. Little Lily, barely past her eighth month when the end came, and yet she remains forever in my heart and conscience. Her beautiful round face and huge blue eyes, bluer than Colin's, bluer than the daytime sky when the sun is at its peak, with short, curling wisps of white-blond hair like fluff across the top of her sweet, soft head. She had been beautiful and innocent and I still could not justify how she could be lost when I had lived. Lived because of my cowardice.

“Of course,” Mrs. Connicle said with harsh finality. “Of course.” She turned away and stared out the large windows onto the expanse of her back property again.

I understood that she was lost to her own demons once more, and it made my heart sink even further. It was a look of untenable grief and anguish that I had seen on the face of my father too many times to ever forget. I had always thought him aloof and brusque—I knew he loved me, but I also knew that he carried the burden of a wife who was as fragile as gossamer. He needed me to be strong, to behave—and so he had told me as far back as I could remember. Yet in the end, when it had mattered the most, he had put himself in the path of my mother's final undoing. I have always wondered if he knew, if he realized what might happen that evening, if the years of torment had taken their final toll and he had shielded me as the last vestige of his own life. It is a thought that has haunted me ever since.

“I believe . . .” Colin suddenly spoke up, startling both me and Mrs. Connicle, “. . . that we have taken up enough of your time today.” He stood up and gave an ill-fitted smile, aware, I was certain, of what I had been thinking.

“Where will you be going then?” Mrs. Connicle asked with little real interest.

“We shall spend some time walking your grounds and check in with your neighbors. Critical bits of information can come from anywhere.”

“I see,” she answered flatly. “The Astons are a fine family. They're blessed with seven children and their house is always filled with such joy. But the Huttons . . .” Her voice trailed off a moment as her eyes drifted toward the north. “They have had a difficult time. Their young boy, William, is not right.” She looked back at us and I could see that her eyes were rimmed in red again. “Please, Mr. Pendragon, you must promise to come to me as soon as you know something. I cannot bear this for long. I simply cannot.”

He nodded solemnly. “You have my word.”