“We’d run into them at the occasional social event, but I would hardly call them friends,” he was telling us. “Mr. Connicle was a nice enough chap, but I always found his wife peculiar. She struck me as being a frail, rather morbid woman. I suppose that’s understandable, given her inability to successfully bear children. That sort of thing does something to a woman. Unhinges them, I think. After all, if they can’t fulfill their duty, what else is left for them?”
“I hear some of them have thoughts and ambitions,” Colin parried back.
“That they do.” Mr. Hutton smirked. “There’s no telling the trouble we’ll be in if anyone starts paying them heed.”
“I should think great heed is paid our Victoria.”
Mr. Hutton waved him off. “Now you’re being obstinate. I know what I’m talking about.” He leaned forward. “After my own wife bore me a damaged son it left her all at ends,” he hissed. “And I would tell you she is no better for it these six years later.” He sat back again, his face soured. “Thankfully my daughter was born first and is a jewel, but I shall never have a proper heir.”
“Arthur . . . ?” A warm, honeyed female voice brought us to our feet. “Have you not sent for tea for our guests?”
“I have,” he answered gruffly. “Gentlemen, my wife, Charlotte.”
She stood tall and slender and had remarkable curves just where they belonged. Her hair was a true golden blond that looked like a puff of spun sugar atop her head. I guessed her age to be no more than my thirty-five years, given the luster of her skin, as pale and unblemished as Devonshire cream. All of which accentuated her exquisite cheekbones and delicate features set off by eyes every bit as sapphire blue as Colin’s own.
“Mrs. Hutton.” Colin nodded politely. “You must forgive our intrusion. We have been hired by Mrs. Connicle to investigate the murder of her husband.”
“Investigate . . . ?” she repeated as she came into the room, settling in a chair near her husband. “I heard an arrest had been made?”
“An arrest has been made,” Colin acknowledged. “They have taken the Connicles’ scullery maid into custody. But an investigation is never concluded until the magistrate’s gavel has made its final descent.”
“Yes, of course. And how might we help you?”
“Your husband tells us the Connicles were little more than social acquaintances?”
“They were pleasant enough.” She cast a glance toward the fireplace before looking back at Colin. “But in truth I found the wife rather morose and the husband”—she seemed to struggle for the right word before finally settling on—“boorish. I don’t mean to speak ill of the man, but I found him overbearing and brusque with his wife. And she is such a frail thing.”
“I think some men struggle with their rougher edges,” her husband announced with an amused smile.
“Some men are nothing but rough edges,” she shot back slyly, seeming to freeze the grin on her husband’s face. “I realize he was a man of considerable wealth, but that does not excuse indecorous behavior.”
We were interrupted by a young, redheaded woman rushing into the room balancing a tray of tea things, and it was obvious by the careless way she did so that this was not normally her task. “My apologies for the wait,” she said in a soft Scottish burr, without making eye contact with either of the Huttons as she set the things on the table before them.
“That will be all,” Mrs. Hutton answered crisply as she took over the task of preparing our tea.
“Janelle is our son’s nurse,” Mr. Hutton informed us. “Though we are forced to press her into other services from time to time.” He shrugged. “Decent household staff is so difficult to come by anymore.” He gave an odd chuckle as his wife doled out our teacups, the crease on her brow not escaping my notice.
“Were either of you aware that the Connicles were having work done to the fence separating your properties?” Colin asked, apparently oblivious to whatever had just transpired between the couple.
“That was my doing,” Mrs. Hutton answered. “Our boy tends to wander if Janelle doesn’t keep her eyes on him and I worried he might stumble through a breach in their fence. I understand there were many such breaches.”
Colin nodded as he sipped at his tea. “Did you pay them a visit to discuss their repair of it?”
“I sent them a letter. I must admit to not being particularly comfortable in their company.”
“Yes.” Colin allowed a slight grin to stretch his lips. “You will be pleased to know that their groundskeeper, Albert, had begun work on it.”
“I am certain Mrs. Connicle appreciated my concern.”
“Were you familiar with their groundsman or his wife, Alexa?”
“Whyever would we be?” she asked, staring at Colin.
Colin’s mirthless grin extended as he slid his eyes to her husband. “Did you, by any chance, happen to go riding along your property line before dawn yesterday morning, Mr. Hutton?”
The question brought immediate laughter from the man. “While there is much that demands my attention each day, Mr. Pendragon, I am rarely up to greet the dawn and was certainly not yesterday.”
“Why would you be asking such a thing with an arrest already made?” Mrs. Hutton spoke up.
“We were told the Connicles’ groundsman, Albert, may have seen a man riding along the ridge between your properties before Mr. Connicle was discovered to be missing. With Albert now deceased—”
“What?!” Mr. Hutton sat forward. “There’s been another murder over there?”
“The Yard is calling it an accident at this point.”
“Do you mean to say you harbor doubts about the Yard’s conclusion?”
Colin set his teacup down and stood up. “When it comes to that lot I harbor doubts about their ability to saddle their horses in the morning.”
“Mr. Pendragon . . .” Mr. Hutton also stood up, chuckling in spite of himself. “You jest at the expense of our police staff.”
“I make no jest.”
Mrs. Hutton’s brow knit. “Then you believe that African woman to be innocent simply because you distrust Scotland Yard?”
Colin’s lips pursed as he looked at her. “I do not mean to believe her guilty simply because she is African.” He stuck his hand out to her husband. “We’ve taken enough of your time today.”
“Very well, gentlemen. Let us know if we can provide any further assistance.”
“I hope you don’t mean to prolong this terrible affair.” Mrs. Hutton glanced from Colin to me. “Mrs. Connicle hardly seems up to such political gamesmanship.”
Colin’s brow instantly collapsed, so I quickly muttered something offhanded and got him out of there before he could say anything regrettable. We had barely gotten off the porch before he growled, “How dare that woman presume that I would play games with the bloody Yard instead of solving these crimes!”
I chuckled. “She doesn’t know you, Colin, and besides, her husband warned us that she’s been at ends since the birth of their son.”
Colin scoffed. “A woman like that was born at ends.”
CHAPTER 11
Colin 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.
The Connicle Curse Page 9