The Connicle Curse

by Gregory Harris

  Mr. Guitnu’s smile was ready and warm. “You may ask me anything at all, Mr. Pendragon, as you have most certainly earned the right.”

  “Yes . . . well . . .” Colin flicked his eyes to me before plastering on his smile and looking back at Mr. Guitnu. “As one of this city’s preeminent jewelry designers and fabricators, I was wondering if you were ever asked to craft anything for Edmond Connicle?”

  “Oh!” His eyes lit up. “I made several pieces for his wife. Such a lovely slip of a woman. There was a small bracelet with tiny, round diamonds set in a delicate white gold strand, and I believe two pairs of diamond earrings, one pear cut and one round. I suppose she has a preference for diamonds, but I don’t really know. I believe those were the only pieces I have made for her. Perhaps she does not like beautiful jewelry?” He gave a lilting laugh.

  Colin chuckled. “I don’t believe I have ever met a woman yet who does not appreciate fine jewelry.”

  Mr. Guitnu beamed. “Then you must let me make something for your wife, Mr. Pendragon.”

  Colin’s grin shifted ever so slightly. “I shall certainly ponder that,” he answered quickly. “And have you ever created anything for either Arthur Hutton or Hubert Aston?”

  “Mr. Hutton commissioned me to make something for his wife only once, which I think is tragic, as she is a most beautiful woman with truly wondrous blue eyes. As you might suppose, he wanted a necklace of diamonds and sapphires and two pendant sapphire earrings ringed in tiny diamonds to match. The design of the necklace was exquisite if I may say, with a princess-cut sapphire surrounded by tiny diamond baguettes. The pattern repeated itself all the way around her neck.” He shook his head with the memory. “But he never came to pick any of it up or settle his account. I heard there was some financial trouble, so I eventually sold the set to another gentleman. A gentleman with exquisite taste.” He grinned.

  “And Mr. Aston?” Colin persisted, though I could sense his mood waning.

  “Yes, yes.” Mr. Guitnu’s smile tilted up at one side. “A fine man who has purchased many, many things from me, some for his wife”—his crooked grin became almost roguish—“some not.” He winked.

  “Is that so?” Colin’s eyebrows popped up. “And how can you be sure?”

  “Every woman has her preferences, Mr. Pendragon,” he answered with whimsy, as though schooling ignorant children, which I suppose we were. “And beyond that, the colors of jewels may be right for one woman but wholly inappropriate for the next. Rather like clothing.”

  “Of course.” Colin nodded solemnly, but I knew he had no idea what Mr. Guitnu meant. All Colin could be sure of was that Mrs. Behmoth had a preference for gray and black.

  “Mr. Aston’s wife is a broad-faced woman with alabaster skin and auburn hair,” Mr. Guitnu continued. “She loves emeralds and diamonds, and they suit her well. And because she is an ample woman, she can wear large pieces with substantial stones. The last necklace I made for her had a magnificent eighteen-carat pear-shaped emerald set in gold with tiny marquise-cut diamonds around it. It was a masterpiece.” He gave a sheepish smile. “There I am singing my own praises again. But it looked most spectacular on her.”

  “And the other jewelry he bought?” Colin prodded. “You said it was not all for his wife. Perhaps he bought pieces for his daughters?”

  Mr. Guitnu gave a delighted laugh. “Oh no, Mr. Pendragon, not these pieces. When a man buys something for a daughter you can be sure it will be simple and chaste. Delicate-colored stones like peridot or tourmaline with straightforward cuts in unadorned settings. It is a father’s curse to forever view his daughter this way. Woe to the man who should try to tell him otherwise.” He chuckled merrily, sending a knot to my stomach as I thought about the real reason for our visit. “The other pieces Mr. Aston buys from time to time are much smaller and they are always set with rubies the color of blood. I remember one most particularly: a heart-shaped ruby just a carat and a half in white gold surrounded by tiny diamond chips. Another time he bought the earrings to go with it, and on a third occasion, the bracelet. These pieces are not for daughters and would never be worn by an ample woman with a penchant for emeralds and gold. Do you see, Mr. Pendragon?”

  “Indeed I do.” Colin released an easy smile. “Your information has been most helpful.”

  “I do not mean to speak out of turn about Mr. Aston—”

  “Perish the thought.” Colin’s cobalt eyes brimmed with feigned innocence.

  “Then please.” Mr. Guitnu sat back in his chair and picked up his teacup again. “Tell me how you came to find my jewels. I will have the truth so I can punish the man who would dishonor me so.”

  “Well, Mr. Guitnu.” Colin stood up and wandered over to a wall of books adjacent to where we were sitting, absently running his fingers along their spines. “I’m afraid it is a complex and uneasy answer you seek.”

  Mr. Guitnu’s brow instantly furrowed as he stared at Colin. “Someone is robbing me. What can be complex about that?”

  “What if I tell you the perpetrator does not work in your household?” Colin asked while casually studying a row of books.

  “That would be wonderful,” Mr. Guitnu enthused as he glanced back at me with relief. “I should like to think my staff worthy of my trust. You have already brought me peace.” But his brow quickly furrowed again. “Then how did someone from outside gain repeated access to my safe?”

  Colin heaved a sigh as he slid back into the chair next to me and set his eyes firmly on Mr. Guitnu. “I am not making myself clear,” he said. “One of your daughters was involved. But before you say anything, Mr. Guitnu, before you determine what to think, I will ask you to hear me out. Will you do that?”

  Mr. Guitnu’s face went still as he placed his cup back on the table and gave the slightest nod of his head. It was not much, but it was something.

  “One of your daughters has fallen in love with a young man and he with her. They did not mean for it to happen, but it has just the same. It is often the way.” He gave a hesitant smile that Mr. Guitnu did not meet. “A person wants to follow the rules, to be like everyone else, and then he meets someone who makes his heart beat faster, his stomach roil, and his head spin. And no matter how hard he tries he cannot stop thinking of them. You are only truly happy when you are together. Nothing feels more right. So even though you tell yourself it cannot be, it will not be, you have already fallen well into the mire and no longer really even want to get out. No matter the consequences.”

  The three of us sat there quietly, my heart thundering so loudly in my ears I thought surely they would hear it. My breathing came shallow and tight as I waited for Mr. Guitnu to say something and, when I stole a quick glance at Colin, I saw the same dread in him.

  “It was never your daughter’s intent to defy your will,” I spoke up, hoping to allay Mr. Guitnu’s resistance. “You must have understood the potential risk when you brought your family here and exposed your daughters to our more liberal customs of courting.” I thought it a logical argument, but it earned me a scowl from Colin.

  “That is the fact then,” he said as he took a deep breath. “And because of it your daughter made a terrible decision,” he continued. “On her own, without giving you so much as an opportunity to speak your own mind, she determined that you would disapprove of her love for this young man and forbid them from marrying. So she sought to take some of your pieces to allow the two of them to start their life together. It was a regrettable decision. She admits that, which is why she has given me the jewels and asked that I return them to you. She seeks your blessing, not your money. That is what she now realizes holds the only true value for her.”

  Colin sat back and I felt the release of a sigh more than heard it. I peeked over at Mr. Guitnu and found that his gaze had drifted above Colin’s head to one of the windows, his face remaining stoic and composed. I wondered if I dared hope that his love for his daughter might outweigh his traditions. That he might meet poor Cillian before deciding.


  “Which of my daughters has disgraced me in this way?” he said in a thin, tight voice.

  “She meant no disgrace,” I corrected at once.

  “I have listened as you asked,” he said, “and will pay for your services. Now I shall have her name.”

  “Sundha,” Colin answered.

  I suppose I expected to see Mr. Guitnu flinch or sag, but he did nothing of the kind. He simply rose to his feet, pressed the fee into my hands with a nod, and showed us to the door. Even after we had crossed the threshold he said nothing further, merely closing the door without a second look.

  We walked back to the street, my spirits sagging even as I hurried to keep up with Colin. He seemed oddly stirred and stepped right into the street, where he hailed a passing cab. “West Hampstead,” he called up to the driver.

  “What are we going out there for?” I asked as I climbed in beside Colin.

  “We are going to pay another visit to Hubert Aston and see if we cannot coax some keener information from him, given what Mr. Guitnu has just shared with us.”

  “Ah.” I leaned back as the carriage lurched forward, trying to imagine how that haughty man was likely to respond to such a tactic. “I cannot say I have a good feeling about this.”

  Colin waved me off. “You worry too much.”

  I ignored him as I returned to my thoughts of Sunny and Cillian. “Do you think Mr. Guitnu will meet with Cillian? At least give the boy a hearing?”

  Colin looked at me as though I had sprouted a pair of horns from my forehead. “No. He was only kind enough to hear us out because he is a gentleman.” Colin looked back out the carriage window as the teeming city began to give way to the verdant expanse of West Hampstead. “Once he has satisfied himself that Sundha’s chastity is intact he will have her betrothed. It is simply the way of it, Ethan. It cannot end any other way.”

  “Then I am sorry for them.”

  He heaved a sigh and took my hand. “They’re young. Let us hope they are equally resilient.”

  “Yes . . . well . . . I’m just glad I wasn’t born to such customs.”

  He laughed as we pulled into the Astons’ drive. “There’d be little difference, as you’ve already made folly of the customs you were born under.” He chuckled. “Come now,” he said as we pulled under the Astons’ portico. “Pay the driver and let us get on with this. I can hardly contain myself.”

  I don’t know what I thought was going to happen. Certainly Hubert Aston had been less than cordial on our last visit. Yet I suppose I had at least expected gentility. Never mind our feigned apologies for arriving unannounced, Mr. Aston was out of sorts from the moment he barreled into the library we’d been dispatched to. The first thing he did was dismiss his houseman by telling him there was no need for tea as we would not be staying, and then he spun on Colin with a deep-set scowl and snarled, “Why are you here?” before the door had even fully closed.

  Colin smiled as he sat back on the settee, his pleasure unmistakable. “The murders of the two men who live on the properties that border your own, Mr. Aston, have been most confounding. Even now I continue to search for every possible connection that may have bound those men. And that fails to speak to the killings of the Connicles’ groundsman, Albert, or your noble Irish wolfhounds. The only thing that seems to tie them is the fetishes, though that excludes Albert since his death was meant to appear an accident.”

  “Have you a point, Mr. Pendragon?”

  “There is always a point.” He flashed a calculated smirk before continuing. “You mentioned at one of our very earliest meetings that you believed Edmond Connicle to be engaged in an affair. You made the point that such liaisons are quite commonplace amongst your gentrified brethren.”

  Mr. Aston’s face colored with anger, not embarrassment, as his eyes pinched and his mouth drooped down. “What is this about?” he demanded. “Your inference is neither appreciated nor will it be tolerated.”

  “I mean to imply nothing,” Colin replied casually. “I simply want to know with whom Edmond Connicle was involved, and whether Arthur Hutton was similarly disposed?”

  Hubert Aston stood up with all the authority and indignation of a church prelate. “As I told you before, Mr. Pendragon, I am not a gossiping washerwoman and will not sully the names of two decent and respectable men.”

  “Nevertheless . . .” Colin stared up at Mr. Aston as though at a disobedient pupil. “I am afraid I must insist.”

  Mr. Aston was so startled by Colin’s response that he stood there a moment before collecting himself and snapping, “I beg your pardon?”

  “There is a woman, Mr. Aston,” Colin spoke as offhandedly as if he were describing the room, “who is young and petite, with fine, delicate bones and a decided preference for rubies. My guess is that she has dark hair, perhaps even black, and pale skin that immaculately sets off the necklace, earrings, and bracelet you gave her.”

  “How dare you!” he sputtered.

  Colin stood up, refastened his jacket, and tugged his sleeves crisply into place. “I’ll have that name.”

  The man huffed his indignation, stomping back toward an upright console festooned with crystal decanters containing a myriad of colored liquids, most of which I could not have deciphered. Mr. Aston, however, seemed to know precisely what he was after, as he snatched up a particular carafe and poured himself a finger of something amber. He downed it without a thought, not bothering to offer us a similar repast.

  “I find your methods appalling!” he growled as he slammed the glass back down. “Blackmail is a devil’s game, but this, Mr. Pendragon, is so very sordid.” He glared at Colin with an undeniable loathing, his enormous mustache amplifying the disapproving droop of his lips. I thought surely Colin would defend himself or at least hurl some flip retort, but he did nothing, his face remaining as steady as his posture. “Edmond had been seeing Charlotte Hutton for years,” Mr. Aston seethed, the words seeming to catch in his throat. “Are you satisfied?”

  “It’s a start.” If Colin was as surprised as I was his voice and manner failed to show it. “And how did that come about?”

  Mr. Aston’s eyes went cold. “How does such a thing ever come about? Edmond found himself tied to an hysteric and Charlotte Hutton was bound to a fool of a man who had squandered her family’s fortune before their daughter was even five.”

  “And Arthur Hutton?”

  “What of him?” Mr. Aston scoffed. “He was a pompous prig whose death held little significance to anyone other than you and your ruddy Scotland Yard.”

  Colin’s eyes narrowed. “What of his relationship with his wife?”

  “How the bloody hell would I know anything of that?” he exploded. “I had no use for him. She’s well rid of him if you ask me.” He poured another drink and downed it. “I liked and admired Edmond Connicle, Mr. Pendragon. While that may mean nothing to men of your ilk, it carries a great deal of weight to a gentleman.”

  “Men like Mr. Hutton?”

  “That man was a pox! I’m certain he’s the reason their boy turned out so wretchedly.”

  Colin’s eyes narrowed, but when a thin smile gradually formed on his lips I knew he was pleased with what we had learned. “Were you aware that Mrs. Hutton and her daughter have left for Paris?”

  His eyebrows creased. “Isn’t her boy still missing?”

  “She claims to no longer feel safe in London.” Colin gave a small shrug. “Understandable, I suppose.” He tilted his head and peered at Mr. Aston. “Do you feel safe? After the slaughter of your dogs, do you worry about your safety? Or perhaps that of your family?”

  “Why should I be worried? I’ve done nothing.”

  “Of course.” Colin nodded at once. “I suppose then we cannot say the same for your dogs—”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Forgive me,” Colin replied smoothly. “I thought you meant to suggest that Edmond Connicle and Arthur Hutton were up to something. Something that should have caused them worry?�
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  He gritted his teeth and looked on the verge of assaulting Colin. “How eagerly you seek to impugn my words. Yet another of your contemptible games. Now if you are finished extorting from me, I have business to attend to.”

  Colin flipped open his pocket watch and glanced at it. “Yes. It is time for us to be off. We are expected next door at the Hutton property, where I am afraid things continue to be grim.” He glared over at Mr. Aston. “Good that you are free of worry.” He stood up and smiled. “Give our regards to your wife.”

  “Sod off,” he said, clearly having caught Colin’s meaning.

  There was no further conversation after that. There was no need for it. Mr. Aston did not bid us anything, silently escorting us to the door and sending it crashing shut behind us the moment we had cleared his threshold. It earned a laugh from Colin, though I failed to find the humor in it. And while our visit had given us some modicum of information, I failed to see that it had drawn us any nearer to a conclusion in the case. All it had done for me was stir suspicions around Mr. Aston, though I could not settle on what his connection to any of it might be. I wanted to grill Colin for his thoughts, but his pace had picked up considerably as we cut diagonally across the Astons’ property and I suspected he was trying to process everything himself.

  The last tendrils of daylight hung along the horizon as we crossed the unfinished fence that separated the Connicles’ land from the Astons’. I kept right alongside Colin as we circled north of the Connicle house, keeping along the irregular fence until we entered onto the Huttons’ acreage. We continued to crash through the underbrush by little more than the light of the rising half-moon until we drew closer to the Huttons’ home.

  The sound of barking dogs drifted toward us before we’d even crested the last hillock. As soon as we reached the top of the slope we could see the stanchions of electric lights grouped in a semicircle and flooding a great wash of luminescence onto a swath of otherwise unremarkable earth. There looked to be dozens of bobbies milling about, with a core group clustered near the center of the focused lights. It didn’t take long to spot Inspector Varcoe at the apex of it all, or the multitude of clustered piles of dirt scattered about as though someone had been trying to unearth a gopher.