The Connicle Curse (9 page)

C
olin did not say a word as we pounded back to the Connicle estate, the scowl he'd adopted in the Huttons' home appearing to have permanently embedded itself on his face. I kept quiet even as we came to a halt beneath the tree from which Albert had supposedly fallen to his death. Colin took several steps to one side before abruptly kneeling down and pawing at the crushed grass. If he was looking for something, I couldn't imagine what it might be. Instead, I decided to busy myself studying the bark of the tree for signs that Albert had climbed it at all.

“Are you finding anything?” The sound of Colin's voice startled me after such a length of silence.

“No.” I heaved a sigh. “Not even the scuff of a shoe. If he climbed this tree he did so with extraordinary skill.”

“Preposterous,” Colin sneered as he stood up and started stalking off toward the trees behind us, away from the house. “Denton Ross is a bloody, buggery fool, as is Varcoe if he believes the sod.” And that was the last thing I heard Colin say before he plunged in among the trees.

I felt instant relief at being left alone for a minute. I couldn't be sure whether it was the case, the people, or the character of those people that had left Colin in such a mood. Whichever it was, I decided my time would be best spent trying to discern what Albert might or might not have done at this tree.

Releasing another sigh that surprised even me, I began to study that tree trunk as though it might contain veins of gold in amongst its crackled surface. I touched it, poked at it, and searched for signs of recent rupture or breakage before finally coming to the conclusion that there was only one way I could be
certain
. I was going to have to climb one of these old souls myself. I knew I could do it. I'd been quite the climber as a lad. And while I didn't have the musculature of Colin, I was still in shape.

I glanced around and spotted a large elm not twenty feet away that looked to be the ideal comparative. Its girth was nearly identical and its lowest branch appeared to be about the same height as the one Albert had supposedly fallen from. That meant I would need to hoist myself up about a dozen feet before I reached the nearest plateau.

An unbidden doubt curled around my brain as I studied the chosen tree a moment, trying to decide whether I had lost my good sense. Keener instincts swiftly kicked in, however, as I realized there would be little to gain if Colin returned and I was found standing idly by without having formed a compelling opinion. So without allowing a second thought I stripped off my jacket and laid it neatly away from the base of the tree.

From this relative distance I determined the smartest way to make my assault was with a running leap. For what I lacked in brute force I made up for in height. A running start and a jump would serve me well.

I sucked in a deep breath, took another half-dozen long strides backwards, and gave a quick scan behind me at the trees to ensure Colin would not suddenly reappear and scold me for being daft. There was no sign of him. Banishing all hesitation, I launched myself forward like some great vaulter at the Easling and Temple Academy Fitness Games, at which I never once participated. With singular concentration I hastily closed the gap, my eyes never once leaving the branch that was my goal. At just the right moment I hurled myself upward and stretched as far as my six-foot frame would allow, missing the blasted branch by an easy four feet. I slammed back to the earth entirely off balance and went skidding across the ground on my rump.
“Bloody hell . . .
” I cursed.

Stealing another furtive glance at the trees, I was grateful to still find no sign of Colin. I hurried back to my feet and reassembled my dignity, though the seat of my trousers would never be the same again. Nevertheless, I knew it was time for a more sensible approach. So I removed my shoes and set them carefully next to my jacket. If I killed myself in this endeavor it would be a wonder what anyone would make of my precise little arrangement of shed clothing.

More determined than ever, I approached the tree and reached high above my head, forcing my fingertips into tiny crannies in the craggy bark. Hugging the tree like the desperate man I was becoming, I clawed at the base of the trunk with my stocking feet feeling for any purchase I could gain. To my amazement, both feet found outcroppings of bark that allowed me to begin hoisting myself upward. With the tree slowly scraping along my chest and thighs, I was able to move my hands farther up and seize a new hold, scrabbling my unhappy feet along in spite of the shards of bark they persisted in raining down as they sought what purchase they could.

My movements were painstaking, and more than once I heard the muffled tear of fabric, but before I knew what was happening, as though in a dream, the branch I had been aiming for skinned the knuckles of my right hand. I struggled to hook an arm around it, my feet flailing absurdly beneath me, but I didn't care. I had an arm curled over the branch and was able to swing the other up to join it. After that it was almost easy to bring my legs up and hook them over the branch until I was hanging upside down like the inveterate tree sloth.

“What in the
hell
are you doing?”

I refused to answer Colin until I had righted myself, managing to foist myself into the sitting position I had been aiming for in the first place. “Proving a theory,” I said with pique.

He shook his head with a smirk. “You're in the wrong tree.”

“I know that!” I snapped.

“And what have you proven?”

“That Albert didn't climb that tree.”

“And just how have you managed that?”

“Handily,” I fired back. “For one thing, you will recall that Albert had shoes on. I can tell you that it was all I could do to get up here in stockings. It would have been impossible with leather soles on.”

He gave a noncommittal shrug.

I could feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment and was glad I was so many feet over his head. “And if you look around the base of the tree,” I continued defiantly, “you will find a veritable storm of broken bits of bark as a result of my scrambling up here. There is nothing of the kind beneath the tree he's supposed to have climbed.”

“Suppose he was just better at it than you?” came Colin's infernal reply. I thought I heard a snicker as he moved over to the base of the actual tree. “You are right about the bark, though. And Denton Ross's autopsy should prove the rest.” He looked over at me with a laugh. “I concede your point. Now come down here, as I've found something myself.”

“You've found something?” I parroted, suddenly aware that I hadn't the slightest notion how to get down.

“Indeed,” he muttered as he headed back toward the trees again. “Come and I'll show you.”

He plunged into the brush without a backward glance as I stared down at the ground far below my dangling feet. What had I been thinking shimmying up here? I might have proven my point, but I looked about to lose the argument.

“Ethan!”
he bellowed from somewhere out of sight.

“I'm coming!” I hollered back, leaning forward and wrapping my arms around the branch before slowly easing my body out into the abyss. I loosened my grip until I was dangling precipitously, swinging uncontrollably back and forth with only blind terror as my companion. Unable to think of any better plan, I finally released my hold and hurtled back to the earth like a sack of rocks. It was only when my feet slammed into the ground that I remembered I wasn't wearing any shoes. My legs gave way without a thought, crumpling me all the way over until I was facedown in the dense grass. It tasted just as it smelled.

“Are you all right?” I pushed myself up to my knees to find Colin racing back toward me.

“I'm fine,” I answered with far more humiliation than pain.

He knelt down beside me with a lopsided grin. “The side of your face . . .”

“What?”

He reached out and peeled away a small piece of bark that had embedded itself near my temple. “It's bleeding. . . .”

“I'm fine,” I said again, batting his hand away.

He chuckled as he leaned forward and gave me a peck on the forehead. “Then come along, my foolish boy.” He hopped up and headed back for the trees.

I wiped a small smear of blood from my head and glanced about to be certain no one had seen us before standing up, stabbing on my shoes, tossing my jacket over one arm, and hurrying after him. He led me through a copse of trees that opened onto a small field of knee-high brush ending at a narrow hillock. The same tall grass covered the mound save for a narrow swath that ran more than fifty yards downhill, ending in a stomped, circular plot that looked like a herd of deer or pack of wild dogs had spent the night there. “What do you make of that?” Colin asked.

“It looks like somebody rolled a log down the hill.”

“Look closer,” he said, nudging the small of my back.

This game was rapidly fraying my patience, as I did not relish being tested after having so valiantly unhinged myself with the elm tree. Nevertheless, I gamely moved forward until I came alongside the trampled path, and that's when I realized what I was looking at. “Albert . . .” I gasped.

“Precisely,” Colin agreed, his tone dropping precipitously.

The imprint of a horse's hooves could be seen at the center of the flattened trail, yet there were no wheel ruts to suggest a carriage or wagon had been drawn behind. It looked very much like a log had been dragged except for the fact that there was no downed tree nearby or lying at the bottom of the hill. “You said you thought Albert had been dragged to his death. This would seem to suggest you were right.”

“We should know soon. Assuming we get a look at his autopsy report and that Denton Ross doesn't misconstrue the damage to Albert's anterior as having been caused by the tree.”

“That would be absurd.” I shook my head. “Even for Denton.”

“Well”—Colin nodded his chin toward me—“given your current state, I'd say there is considerable damage done in climbing a tree. . . .”

“What?” I looked down and noticed for the first time how badly I had scruffed my clothing, tearing my shirt and pants in several places. While I looked the worse for my endeavors, I knew it was nothing compared to what Denton must have seen when he had rolled Albert fully over. “You're not amusing.”

“I am not trying to be,” Colin said, stepping into the large patch just where the bent grass came to an abrupt halt. “Whoever did this dragged Albert along here before throwing him over the back of the horse and climbing up himself. See how the hoof-prints deepen near the edge here?” I noticed not only the heavier markings but also a thin parting of the surrounding grass that revealed the direction the horse and its burden had traveled: back toward the trees we had just come from.

We crept back along the faint trail, Colin in the lead, taking care to step directly in the horse's tracks in order to keep the path as pristine as possible. I kept watch along our flank as we went, searching for any further signs of what had transpired here, and was rewarded after not more than two dozen steps by something so obvious I was surprised Colin had not seen it. “Colin.” I pointed toward a small cluster of frothy gold grass off to our right side that was marred by small black blotches as though bearing the blight of some deathly fungus. “Look at those stains.” It was all I needed to say.

“Blood,” he murmured. “Almost certainly Albert's. He was attacked out here and dragged up that hillside, and then left for dead at the bottom of that tree to make it look as though he'd had an accident.” Colin took off along the horse's trail, taking less care now, plunging through trees and undergrowth that led us, finally, back to the place where Albert's body had been found. “I'd wager Albert was tethered on the horse faceup so that when he was shoved off he would land facedown and the story of his death would seemingly tell itself.”

“Then he must have seen something . . . someone . . . the morning Edmond Connicle was killed.”

“Whatever it was, it cost him his life.” Colin started kicking at the ground where Albert's body had lain, and just as he had done before, he suddenly dropped to his knees and began clawing at the earth like a feral dog.

“What are you looking for?”

“I don't know,” he said with evident frustration. “I just thought . . .” but he let his voice trail off as he sat back on the bare earth, his hands and shirtsleeves thickly smudged with dirt. Even so, I knew he had been checking for fetishes. Yet this death was meant to seem an accident. There would be none here, and as Colin ran a hand through his flaxen hair, leaving a dirt streak down the middle like the reverse of a skunk, I knew he had accepted the same conclusion.

I turned my head to keep from snickering at the sight of him and as I did my eye caught the glint of something shiny just beyond where he sat. I stooped to pick it up, having to finger the earth slightly to loosen the object before finally extracting a small, gold man's pinky ring with the initial
H
on its face in tiny diamonds. “Maybe this is something?” I said as I passed it over to him.

“
H?
How many men have we met with the initial
H?
”

“Arthur Hutton and Hubert Aston,” I answered at once.

“A seeming embarrassment of riches.” He gave a smile as he stood up, looking almost as disheveled and grubby as I.

“I wonder who the lucky owner is?”

His smile turned rogue. “It should be easy enough to find out.”

B
y the time we let ourselves back into our flat I couldn't honestly say which of us looked the worse for wear. While my clothes were torn, abraded, and smudged in a fair many places, Colin looked as though he had been up to his knees and elbows in muck. Yet having all but confirmed Colin's supposition around Albert's death kept either of us from caring a whit about our appearance, even in light of the frown the cabdriver had leveled upon us.

“Wot in the name a me cursed mother's ruddy arse did you two get into?!”
I hadn't even noticed the kitchen door swinging open before Mrs. Behmoth was standing in the hallway, hands on hips, glaring at us foully. “Ya look like a couple a poxy urchins. Ya ain't goin' upstairs like that.”

Colin glanced at me, his eyes rolling. “Why don't you go draw us a bath.”

I curled my nose up. “I'm not getting in a bath with you. You'll turn the water black.”

“Do I really need ta 'ear this? Ain't there no end ta wot I put up with?” She scowled and shook her head. “Get upstairs and don't make a bloody mess.”

Colin took two strides forward and bussed her cheek before she could recoil. “We'll be tidy.”

“ 'E may be,” she said, nodding toward me, “but I ain't never seen the day you was.” She shook her head and tsked before bustling back into her kitchen.

I had not truly realized how done in I was until I was reclining in the tub, Colin slumped behind me with his chin resting atop my head. There was no doubt that I had wrenched several muscles during my foray into that wretched tree, but at least the outcome had been decisive. While we didn't have much to show for this case yet, we knew someone was working hard to cover their tracks.

“What do you make of Hubert Aston's assertion about Edmond Connicle having an affair?” I mumbled in spite of the lulling effect the hot water was having on my body and brain.

“Hmmm . . . ?” came Colin's lazy reply. “Oh . . . I'm sure it's true. Entitled men consider a mistress a right. I've little doubt that Mr. Aston is similarly engaged himself.”

“And him with his fine, proper wife,” I scoffed. “Does he owe her nothing after she bore him seven perfect progeny?”

Colin laughed. “Don't be balmy. She's living in grand style and wants for nothing. By now she'd probably rather watch snails race than shag him anyway.” He slid his hands beneath the water with a snicker. “Unlike me.”

“Fancy him, do you?” I teased.

He responded by pelting me with a faceful of water. “You're vile!” he growled.

I burst out laughing just as a sudden pounding rattled the door. “When you two are done 'avin' yer jollies in the w.c.,” Mrs. Behmoth barked, “that scruffy lad is 'ere! Says ya owe 'im a crown for spyin' on people 'alf the day.”

“It's Paul!” Colin bolted upright. “He'll have news about the Guitnu girls. We'll be right out,” Colin called. “Settle him in the study.”

“If ya insist, but I ain't entertainin' the little shite.”

“We'll be right out!” Colin blasted back as I tugged the drain plug out and he grabbed for the towels. “Bring him up and fetch some tea.”

I heard her mutter something as she ambled off, but neither of us paid her any mind as we dried off and quickly dressed in clean clothes. In a matter of minutes we were back in the study before a roaring fire, tea and biscuits served, settled into our usual chairs across from the settee where Mrs. Behmoth had directed Paul.

“I see you're a man who takes his responsibilities seriously,” Colin remarked with the hint of a grin. “I knew I was right about you.”

“Yes, sir.” Paul beamed with pride. “ 'At's why ya won't catch me pickin' pockets on the street.”

“I'm sure a conscientious young man like you is far too clever to get caught,” I agreed, letting him know he didn't fool me.

“'At's right.” He puffed out his chest before the true meaning of my words sank in.
“No!”
he snapped far too harshly.

“Never mind.” Colin waved him off and tossed me a scowl. “What I'd like to know is what you observed this afternoon at the Guitnu residence.”

“I seen plenty,” he said, his voice immediately charged with excitement again. “I got one a me blokes ta help and it were a good thing I did too 'cause we had ta split up fer part a the day.” His face was aglow with fervor, much like a carriage salesman hawking the latest model as though there truly were nothing else like it. “I promised 'im two crowns like ya said I could.”

“Excellent.” Colin smiled as he dug three crowns out of his pocket and poured them enticingly from hand to hand. “So what did you boys see?”

“We seen one a them girls go out with 'er father. Me chum followed 'em and said they went ta a jewelry shop and set about workin' there.” He shrugged. “Didn't seem there were nothin' else ta see, so 'e came back. I followed an ol' woman who must a been the cook, 'cause she went to the market and bought all sorts a food. She were real stingy too, yellin' 'bout the prices and puttin' as much back as she bought.”

“I'm sure you're right. And was there anything else?” Colin asked, a note of disappointment creeping into his voice.

“I followed another a them girls off ta school,” he said as he snatched up several biscuits. “She walked part a the way and then a cab stopped without 'er even askin' and took 'er the rest a the way.”

“She didn't hail it? You're certain?”

“I know what I saw! She were just walkin' down the street and it pulled right up beside 'er and she climbed in like she owned it.”

“Was anyone else in it?”

He shook his head and popped a biscuit into his mouth. “Not that I saw.”

“How about when it got to the school? Did anyone get out with her?”

He shook his head. “Just 'er.”

“Which daughter was that?”

He shrugged, a peppering of crumbs drifting down to his lap.

“Did she look older or younger than the one who went to the shop?”

He seemed to think about it a minute before finally saying, “I dunno.”

“Fine.” Colin exhaled, giving a broad smile to the lad anyway. “And was there anything else?”

“Some man brought a delivery of bread and another milk and eggs.”

“Was either let into the house?”

“Nah.”

“Did anyone from the house give either man anything? Anything at all?”

The boy screwed up his face as though with great thought, casting his eyes to the windows a moment. But all that came of it was another “Nah.”

Colin stood up and finally passed the three crowns to Paul. “You've done us a fine service today,” he said. “Here's a crown for you and two for your mate, just as promised.” I fought the scowl trying to crease my forehead at the cost of this scant information, so was even more chagrined when Colin added, “And might we impose upon you for a bit more of your time tomorrow? Mr. Pruitt will need to know which daughter went where, so he'll meet you at the house tomorrow morning. Shall we say for another couple of crowns . . . ?”

“Blimey!”

“What time did the girl leave for the shop with her father?”

“ 'Bout ten, I guess.”

“And the young lady to school?”

“ 'Bout eleven.”

“All right. Then if you'll watch the house through the morning, Mr. Pruitt will meet you there shortly before eleven.”

“I'll be there.” He jingled the coins with a toothy grin before bounding down the stairs and out the door.

Colin stalked over to the window and peered through the drapes. “I hope you don't mind me volunteering you for duty tomorrow.”

“You know I don't. But what is it I'm supposed to do?”

“First you must stop by the Connicles' to speak with their driver, Rudolph.”

“Randolph.”

He waved me off. “Whichever. If anyone might know about Edmond Connicle's infidelity, it would be he. I'm most interested to see if he suggests any such link between Mr. Connicle and their scullery maid, Alexa. Then go see which Guitnu daughter is getting into unbidden cabs on the street.”

“And what will you be doing?”

“Our Paul is turning out to be quite the entrepreneur.” Colin chuckled as he came away from the window and snatched up his dumbbells. “He only handed one crown over to his mate. A crafty boy like that could well end up in Parliament one day.” He hoisted the weights over his head and began pressing them up and down. “For my part, I shall find out whether Arthur Hutton or Hubert Aston has lost a pinky ring. Needless to say, I will be asking their wives or one of their children.” He chuckled as he kept the weights moving effortlessly. “And then I'll head over to Columbia Financial Services, where Edmond Connicle was a founding partner. I shall see if I can ferret anything out about his indiscretions from one of his chums.”

“So what are you thinking?”

“Perhaps he picked the wrong husband to cuckold. Or maybe his dalliance
was
taking place in his own home.”

“You mean Alexa?”

He tossed me a pointed look as he kept the weights flying back and forth. “Alexa . . .” he muttered airily. “Or suppose his wife found out and her brittle mind snapped. . . .” He stopped himself and lowered the weights at once, staring at me. “I didn't mean . . .”

“No.” I waved him off, stung by the inevitability of something I had not even considered myself. “You're right. We would be foolish not to consider it.”

He set the weights down and came over, curling his arms around me. “We'll know more tomorrow,” he said.

And I hoped we would, though I knew it would take time for the memory behind his words to let go of me again.