“So it would seem.” Colin’s brow creased. “I can certainly understand your concern for your pup. I had a bulldog named Winston when I was a boy. . . .” His face lit up for a moment. “He was a scoundrel. Perhaps if you just wait a day—”
“No—” Lady Nesbitt-Normand nearly swooned. “I cannot, Mr. Pendragon. She is in peril and I can feel it in my bones.” She stood up and barreled over to him. “Whatever Her Majesty’s regiment is paying you, sir, I shall pay you four times as much.”
“Really now . . . ,” I started to protest.
She spun around and roared at me, “Eight times!”
“I shall do it for my regular fee.” He said it so simply that I nearly didn’t catch his words. “It will be my honor.”
“But—” I started to say.
“I insist!” she blasted over me. “Eight times whatever the Life Guard is giving you. But you must come to my house at once.”
“Of course.” He set the reassembled derringer back onto the mantel. “And you are correct. In matters such as these time can make every difference—”
Lady Nesbitt-Normand swooned. “The very thought . . .” She gripped her chest as though attempting to calm her heart. “I shall go down and tell Fletcher we will be leaving at once.” She started for the door but only got as far as the tea table. “Would you mind if I took a couple of these with me?” she asked Mrs. Behmoth as she stared at the remaining handful of biscuits.
“You must!” Mrs. Behmoth beamed as she wrapped them in a napkin and escorted her back to the landing. “I’m takin’ this fine lady downstairs and givin’ ’er the rest a the biscuits.”
“You are too kind,” our new client fawned as the two of them retreated.
“Those two don’t need ’em anyway,” I heard Mrs. Behmoth say as they disappeared from view.
“What are you thinking?” I turned on Colin the moment I heard the kitchen door swing shut. “We can’t take that case. We’ve got these murders—”
He waved me off. “You don’t know what it’s like having a dog who’s your best companion; trundling along beside you, adoring you, thrilled by even the faintest bit of attention. It’s an indescribable gift and something you have to experience to understand.”
“I have been around dogs,” I protested.
“It’s not the same. We can do this, Ethan. You’re just going to have to trust me.” He strode across the room and picked up his jacket. “Do you know if that bloke of yours . . . that Dennis Ruth . . . or Roth . . . or whatever the hell his name is, still runs the morgue?”
“Bloke of mine?!” I repeated with thick distaste. And only then did I notice the smile curling his lips.
“Is he still there?”
I frowned to be sure he knew I was not amused. “Denton Ross. Yes, he’s still there. Where the hell else would someone like him go?”
“Excellent. This is just the sort of break we need if I’m to bring the Bellingham case to a successful resolution by Friday evening.”
“And just what sort of break are you referring to?”
He gave me a smirk. “Why, you, my love. Given your history with the poor besotted troll, you shouldn’t have any trouble getting me a copy of the autopsy report on Captain Bellingham.” He chuckled, but I didn’t respond in kind.
“Tell me you’re not serious—”
“Well, he hates me and I should very much like to see that report.”
“Oh, bloody hell,” I exhaled. “And what about Mrs. Bellingham? Do you need to see her report as well?”
“No. I’m quite certain she’s peripheral to the case. This is about Captain Bellingham.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the two spent matches from his handkerchief and studied them closely. “We must also find out about that woman Private O’Fallon mentioned. What was her name?”
“Lady Dahlia Stuart.”
“Yes.” He set the matches on the mantel and dropped to the floor, pacing out a dozen fast push-ups. “Everything is going to be much more difficult now that Varcoe knows we’ve been brought in. He’s probably trying to convince some poxy magistrate to bar us from the crime scene this very minute. Even Major Hampstead could find himself castrated from the investigation once Varcoe gets finished. If that old sod were half as good at solving crimes as he is at mucking them up, we would be out of work.”
“Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll go see Denton Ross.”
“Good. You can go as soon as we’ve finished at Lady Nesmith-Norton’s.”
“Nesbitt-Normand.”
“Right.” He stalked to the window and stared down at the street. “And one of us is going to have to speak with young Albert Bellingham—” he tossed out as though a benign afterthought.
My heart sank. “Please don’t ask me to do that.”
He waved me off. “We needn’t worry about that now. You just get me that autopsy report and perhaps we won’t have to bother the lad at all.”
That was all I needed to hear. “I’ll get it,” I promised.
“Outstanding,” he said as he bolted across the room and down the stairs without a backwards glance. There was no way I would fail at getting him that autopsy report. I would beg Denton Ross all afternoon if it meant I wouldn’t have to speak with that boy. The thought of sitting across from him, hearing about what he saw and heard that night. The raw terror that would have gripped his throat, clawed at his insides, and set his heart pounding nearly out of his chest . . . It would bring up too many memories that I had worked too hard to keep safely packed away.
CHAPTER 4
“Please know that I realize . . . ,” Lady Nesbitt-Normand hissed the moment she joined us in her massive library, “. . . that any of my staff is a potential suspect. I may treat them dearly and consider one or two almost like family, but I know better than to trust a single one.” She looked at us as though we shared a clever secret. “You’ve a clean slate here, Mr. Pendragon. I’ll not vouch for one of them.” She stepped back and bellowed to a thin, elderly man who was hovering in the doorway, “Hamilton!” He snapped to attention. “Please have Mrs. Holloway assemble the staff in the main hall. I should like to introduce everyone to our guests.”
“Right away, ma’am,” he returned smartly as he took his leave.
“Hamilton has been with me since I was young. He’s like a father to me,” she said as she took a seat near one of the two roaring fireplaces in the room.
“He must be much older than he looks,” Colin mumbled.
“What’s that, Mr. Pendragon?”
He leaned forward and gave her a bright, dimpled smile. “I certainly know how you feel, as our Mrs. Behmoth has been very much like a mother to me. The only one I’ve ever really known, actually.”
“Such a dear woman. And quite the culinary artist. I’m afraid you are likely to find my chef quite unable to come up with anything as comforting as your woman’s jam biscuits. She’s a jewel, that one.”
“That she is.” Colin nodded, tossing me an amused glance.
I rolled my eyes as I looked about the library, finding its size and scope enough to elicit the envy of most scholars. The elderly houseman returned almost at once with a silver tea cart. Beyond the usual accoutrements, there were two Wedgwood serving dishes of three tiers each filled to overflowing with a display of petit fours in bright pastel coatings, little round chocolates rolled in cocoa the size of a thumbnail, warm mincemeat tartlets, tiny rectangular spice cakes no bigger than a finger and topped with a buttery frosting, lemon curd on golden pastry shells, shortbread cookies, and small ramekins of a warm apple mixture dusted with baked crumbles of brown sugar and butter. Next to these serving dishes sat a large silver bowl brimming with fresh strawberries and a small dish of clotted cream. It was the sort of abundance Mrs. Behmoth would be unable to provide with even a week’s notice.
“It would seem . . . ,” Colin drolled, “. . . that your chef manages well enough.”
“I suppose . . . I suppose . . .” She waved him off glibly. “I must
profess to a weakness for sweets, but oftentimes it is the simplest things that bring the most pleasure. Don’t you think?”
I feared the answer he might give, so was relieved when a sudden rap on the door interrupted his necessity to do so. A soft, well-worn woman with graying hair wound into a tight bun peered in. “Everyone is ready, ma’am.”
“Very well, Mrs. Holloway.” The woman receded as Lady Nesbitt-Normand got to her feet. “I am most anxious for you to meet my staff, though I shall be positively adrift should any of them prove to be guilty of this horrid crime. They all love my little lady, but then she is irresistible.” She shook her head wistfully. “Undoubtedly that’s precisely why she’s been spirited from her home. Come now. We must hurry, as her very person may be in danger even as we sit here prattling about.”
“Of course,” Colin tsked.
A minute later we were standing before a staff of better than forty in the oval two-story foyer that was greater than the size of our entire flat. “There are more people here than in one of Victoria’s regiments,” I would say to Colin later, and indeed there were.
Lady Nesbitt-Normand escorted us past the rigid formation of grim-faced workers, but it was Mrs. Holloway, shuffling along behind us, who stated the names and duties of each one. It gave me the distinct impression that our patron would have been incapable of that particular challenge. She did offer smiles and cluck over certain individuals but otherwise appeared to have little to say as we filed past her troops. The sole exception was a harsh, broad-faced woman named Elsa, who, we were informed by Lady Nesbitt-Normand herself, was Lady Priscilla’s trainer. Elsa was compact and solid, with two muscular calves, like overfilled wineskins, poking out from the bottoms of her culottes.
She spoke in a thick German accent and bobbed her head stiffly. “You vill find our dear von, ja?”
“Of course they will,” Her Ladyship scolded. “Elsa is the one who normally takes Lady Priscilla out for her morning constitutionals, but she was delayed this morning”—a withering look was lobbed at the trainer before Lady Nesbitt-Normand continued—“and I’m afraid our girl simply could not wait.” She sighed. “I suppose it’s my fault really. I shared some marmalade and a biscuit with her at bedtime last night and it unfortunately wreaked a bit of havoc on her system. I had to shoo her from my room well before dawn this morning. You can only imagine how that’s left me feeling.” Her voice caught as she spoke.
“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Colin soothed.
Lady Nesbitt-Normand looked about to succumb to a righteous spell as she brought a clenched fist to her mouth.
“Who was it that let her out this morning?” Colin asked.
“I did,” Mrs. Holloway spoke up with the faithfulness of one who is long-suffering. “She was scratching at the door and yelping. I’m to blame. I should have gone out with her instead of fussing over the breakfast preparations. . . .”
“Was anyone outside when you opened the door for her? A deliveryman, perhaps? A groundskeeper?”
She shook her head. “There was no one. The morning deliveries were done and Mr. Simpson and his crew”—she nodded toward a short, squat, powerfully built man with a ruddy complexion—“they hadn’t even gone out yet themselves. That’s how I realized she was gone, when they did finally go out.”
“How do you mean?”
“She doesn’t care for Mr. Simpson. He sends her into fits of barking. As soon as she sees him she’ll come running back inside to stand in the doorway and give him a good roust. So when he went out and she didn’t come scurrying right back, I knew something was wrong.”
“How long was she out before you realized something was amiss?”
Her eyes darted to Lady Nesbitt-Normand before she answered. “About ten or fifteen minutes.”
Colin rubbed his chin. “How long was she normally out in the morning?”
“I’m not sure. Elsa would know that better than I.”
“Ja, ja, dis ist mein fault.”
“Now, now . . . ,” Colin exhaled with singular patience. “No one is to blame. I am merely trying to establish the sequence of events.”
“Let us adjourn back to the library,” Lady Nesbitt-Normand interrupted. “I’m afraid my heart and feet are aching and I simply cannot stand here another moment.”
“Of course.” Colin stepped back and gazed down the assembled line of faces one more time. “I should like to continue speaking with Mrs. Holloway, Mr. Simpson, and Elsa. That will do for the time being.”
“As you wish.” She waved a hand at her staff, sending her upper arm into shivers of motion. “You heard what he said!” she bellowed. “The rest of you back to work.” She turned a weary smile on us. “Come then, we mustn’t let our refreshments get sour.”
We followed her back to the library, the discomfort of her three selected staff members as evident as the reserve with which they so carefully held themselves. There was no wonder she held such affection for her little pup.
Mrs. Holloway set herself to pouring the tea as Lady Nesbitt-Normand slipped a tartlet into her mouth. “You were saying, Mr. Pendragon . . . ?”
“Yes.” He flinched as crumbs flitted down her front. “Mr. Simpson . . .” He settled his eyes on the groundskeeper, who looked quite out of context in this part of the house. “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary when you went outside this morning? A gate unlatched? Fence boards pried aside? A bloodied patch of fur . . . ?” Our hostess gasped.
“No, sir. I didn’t notice nuthin’ ’til Mrs. Holloway came runnin’ out.”
“Were you aware that Lady Priscilla had been let outside?”
He shrugged uneasily. “I never paid ’er much mind since she didn’t want nuthin’ ta do wit’ me.” I saw him flick a surreptitious glance at his employer.
“Very well, Mr. Simpson.” Colin stood up and paced over to the nearer fireplace as Lady Nesbitt-Normand devoured another mincemeat tartlet. “Let me not detain you any longer. If I could just have a moment with Elsa then . . .”
Mrs. Holloway and Mr. Simpson made a hasty retreat, but not before Mrs. Holloway refilled our cups.
Colin turned to Elsa as the other two took their leave. “You will permit me to ask if Lady Priscilla is in season?”
“I already answered that, Mr. Pendragon!” Lady Nesbitt-Normand sputtered through a hail of shortbread crumbs.
“You did,” he acknowledged, “but I should prefer to have it confirmed from her trainer.”
“Nein,” she answered with a note of disapproval.
“Are there other dogs in the neighborhood you allow her to run with?”
“Never.”
“Anyone you meet while taking her for walks?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Not once? Not ever?”
“She is a champion, Mr. Pendragon,” Lady Nesbitt-Normand cut in. “She is not allowed to fraternize with street curs.”
“Are there other show dogs in the neighborhood?”
“Not’ing close to de caliber of dis little lady. She ist a diamond among coal. Face of an angel und de heart to match.”
“I have no doubt of that.” He smiled as he turned back to our hostess. “Is she insured?”
“Most certainly. I am not a foolish woman, Mr. Pendragon. Lloyd’s has a twenty-five-thousand-pound policy on her.”
“That’s an incredible sum for a dog,” I blurted without thinking.
“She is a champion,” Colin said before Her Ladyship could, digging a crown from his pocket and sending it winding casually through his fingers. “I’m sure you’re quite proud. Are you the sole beneficiary?”
Lady Nesbitt-Normand scowled. “Of course I am.”
“You must forgive the regrettable line of questioning, but I am simply trying to assemble the facts in order to ensure a quick and successful resolution.”
“Yes, yes,” she exhaled impatiently. “But how is any of this going to return my girl to me?” As though to punctuate her frustration she leaned forward
and whisked up a handful of chocolates into her napkin. “I really wish you would go outside and do something. Make no mistake, Mr. Pendragon, I shall never forgive you if you fail.”
Colin fumbled and dropped the crown he was spinning to the floor, his face withering. “I do not fail.”
“Well then,” she blustered, clearly surprised by such a pointed retort, “I’m certainly relieved to hear it. Now you will have to forgive me, as I must lie down. I am positively faint with worry.” She slipped a chocolate into her mouth and I wondered if it was meant to give her sustenance to climb the stairs.
“You must allow me one request,” Colin called after her. “If your Lady Priscilla has been kidnapped, then you will likely be approached with a ransom demand before the day is out. You mustn’t respond to any such ultimatum until you have sent for me. It could mean the difference in your Lady Priscilla’s life. I will have your word on that.”
She sighed. “Yes, I suppose. But you had best be available then, Mr. Pendragon. I shall not have your absence be the cause of my never seeing her again.”
“Blindly following a ransom demand is the surest way to have a thing like this end badly.”
“Oh!” She went pale as she sagged against the doorjamb. “I cannot hear another word. My nerves are gone . . . just gone. . . .”
“If I may trouble you for one more thing, wholly unrelated . . .” Colin’s tone eased as he knelt to pick up his dropped coin. “Are you familiar with a Lady Dahlia Stuart?”
Her brow furrowed as she shook her head. “I don’t believe so. I know a Stuart family, but there isn’t a Dahlia among them. Two boys, William and Randall, both of them no-accounts, and three girls, Daphne, Mary, and Edith. I shouldn’t think you would find any of the three of them interesting in the least. Is there anything else . . . ?” Colin nodded and she took her leave.
“You are finished vit me?” Elsa piped up.
“Not just yet.” He flashed a quick grin. “Have there been any enquiries about Lady Priscilla lately, whether for purchase or breeding?”
The Bellingham Bloodbath Page 4