“She’s important to us,” I said rather feebly, hoping that would be enough to keep from fully piquing this man’s curiosity. “She could be the key to a situation she has no idea about.”
“Well, I do spend a good deal of my day out in front of the building. Should I spy anyone who fits the description you’ve given me, I will be sure to send word round. It would be an honor to know that I’ve helped the great Mr. Pendragon. And you too, Mr. Per . . .” His voice drifted off as he failed to place my name, finally settling for a weak shrug and awkward smile.
“Then we can ask for no more,” I answered with false gusto as I headed for the door. I went outside and found Colin standing at the curb with one arm out, the wind having kicked up again and a light patter of raindrops just beginning to fall.
“What kept you?” he asked as a cab drew up in front of him.
“I asked the man to keep an eye out for her.”
Colin waved me off. “We don’t need him. We’ll get the young lad who was so helpful to us during the Connicle case.”
“You mean the boy Paul? That little hooligan who kept an eye on the Guitnus’ house when you were trying to figure out who was pilfering their jewels?”
“Hooligan?!” He turned on me with rounded eyes and a well-placed smirk. “Is that anything to call an enterprising youngster? He was quite resourceful, as I remember it. Helped lead us directly to the culprit.” He shook his head but his eyes never left mine. “I rather think he reminds you of yourself when you were his age.”
I felt my lips curl with displeasure. “I may have been many things back then, but I was hardly a hooligan. The only person I was hurting was myself.”
Colin glanced out at the street. “Whatever the case, I think we need him and I trust him. So we will get Paul and some of his mates to start hunting for Mrs. Hutton. After all, it would have been too easy if she’d had a cab drop her right in front of the very building where she was staying. I’m afraid she’s far too clever for that. But I would wager a bet that she is not staying far from here. In fact, I will even go so far as to say that wherever she is, she almost certainly has an unimpeded view to the front of this blasted, ruddy building, just so she can keep an eye out for us.”
“Do you think so?!”
“Saint Paul’s Cathedral . . .” Colin hollered up to the driver as soon as we’d settled in.
“You mean to find Paul tonight?”
“If I’m right about Charlotte Hutton then we have no time to waste. She will not loiter around while we stumble about trying to find her. Besides, that boy has nothing better to do with his time. We’ll be paying him for good, legitimate work.”
“It seems like it’s going to be one helluva rainy night. . . .”
Colin looked back outside before releasing a sigh thick with his annoyance. “Fine. Then we can arrange to have him meet us in the morning, but we must get word to him tonight. We need him, Ethan. He’ll be glad for the money and work just as he was when we had him watching the Guitnus’ house. We simply haven’t the time to do this ourselves, and I’ll not get the Yard involved until I’m bloody well ready. They’ll only bollocks everything up if we do.”
I shook my head and pursed my lips, cursing myself for having let Charlotte Hutton get away the second time. “All right . . .”
“Then let us hope we can find him as readily as we did the last time we needed his assistance.”
CHAPTER 21
Mrs. Denholm was being perfectly gracious about allowing me access to her files, and yet it was quickly becoming clear to me that her graciousness came with an ulterior motive.
“It is a wonder,” she was saying, “that Mr. Pendragon has never married.”
“Hmm,” I bothered to say as I finished flipping through Freddie Nettle’s file, the seventh such file I had already slogged through.
There was nothing of interest to be found there. It mimicked the story Mrs. Denholm had already told us—and why wouldn’t it? From spotting him hawking newspapers to setting him up working with a gardener in Marylebone until the day she had decided to try him at the Endicott residence, it was all detailed with dates and crowing notes. The handwriting was clearly all done by the same feminine hand, swirling and light and leaning ever so elegantly to the right.
“Mr. Pruitt . . . ?” she said as though she had been repeating my name, and I very much suspected she had.
“Yes?” I looked up as I pulled Vivian Whit’s file toward me, all the while wondering why Mrs. Denholm could not simply leave me be.
“I was telling you about my niece. . . .” she said, as though I should already know that.
“Of course,” I muttered with what I hoped would be construed as an interested smile. “She sounds like a lovely young woman,” I quickly added, hoping this to be the appropriate response.
“And so she is.” Mrs. Denholm returned a generous grin, and I refrained from heaving a sigh of relief. “Which is why I thought she might make a most winning companion for Mr. Pendragon. You simply must help me arrange a meeting for them.”
“Oh . . .” I was already jotting down fruitless notes regarding Vivian Whit’s upbringing in Highbury ward, Islington, where she still lived with her family. I’d already captured her tenure at the Royal London Hospital and her failure to make it into the new nursing program at Tredegar House when Mrs. Denholm made her plea. “You must understand that Mr. Pendragon is quite slavish to his work,” I said, just as I had done on previous occasions when this topic came up. “And he is known to be rather fond of his own opinions,” I added, giving a chuckle as though the two of us were sharing a secret, but she did not join me. Even so, I acted as though the subject were closed, quickly making a note of how Miss Whit had met the Endicotts’ coachman, Devlin Fischer, during her time at Royal London Hospital after he’d gotten pinned by a cantankerous mare, nearly crushing his chest beneath her pounding hooves. It turned out to be a fortuitous event in that it ultimately led to her meeting Mrs. Denholm and gaining employment with the Endicotts. I glanced back up at Mrs. Denholm as I pulled Philippa Bromley’s file toward me, desperate to be done with this chore and out of here. “There really are terribly good reasons why some men never marry,” I pointed out, hoping to close the conversation.
“You are talking nonsense, Mr. Pruitt,” she shot back. “There isn’t a man alive who wouldn’t be better for it to have a wife take care of him and, quite frankly, see that he tows the proper line. Now your good Mr. Pendragon may well be a man of stout determinations, but that is only because he is yet to have the good fortune to meet the woman who can set him to rights. That, Mr. Pruitt, is precisely where my darling niece Hattie excels.”
Mrs. Denholm’s lips continued to move, and I nodded infrequently even as I continued to eye Philippa Bromley’s file, learning little more than that she rented a room at a single women’s boardinghouse in the Canonbury ward of Islington, and that she and Vivian Whit had become friends during their commute to Royal London Hospital where both had decided to try their hand at nursing. Apparently, they had shared visions of tending the city’s downtrodden, which Mrs. Denholm had noted with some apparent amusement along the margin of her document. Nevertheless, it had undoubtedly been a great disappointment when both of the young women had been turned down for the Tredegar House program, though almost assuredly the position with Adelaide Endicott would have softened that blow.
“Mr. Pruitt!” Mrs. Denholm stated with such force that I knew I had been caught ignoring her again.
“Mrs. Denholm . . .” I said with equal force as I pushed the useless file away and popped to my feet, glaring down at my watch. “I fear I have overstayed my welcome and that I am late for another appointment. You have been most kind to me and I will certainly make mention of that to Mr. Pendragon,” I hastened to add. “And if we should have further need of your files, I shall not allow Mr. Pendragon to miss the opportunity to return with me,” I put in rather carelessly.
“Oh, would you?!” she answered at once, eag
erness filling her gaze. “You must make it an absolute point to return then. I will have my Hattie here, and before you know it she’ll have your Mr. Pendragon charmed and far more agreeable than you will ever have believed him to be.”
“How could I refuse such an entreaty?” I tucked my notes and pen into the pocket of my coat as I pulled it from her hall tree and made a hasty retreat, avoiding setting any future date in spite of her obvious desire to do so. If we did have to return, it was going to be a most uncomfortable occasion.
I flagged down a cab and had him deliver me to the corner of Regent’s Park Road and Fitzroy, just down from Primrose Hill and a couple of blocks north of where the cab driver had taken us the evening before. Colin was to meet me here after he checked in with our young accomplice Paul, so I was not at all surprised to find the corner empty when I stepped out of the carriage. I had little recourse but to wait with feigned patience, and was ultimately startled when I finally caught sight of Colin heading in my direction with Maurice Evans at his side.
“Good day, Mr. Pruitt,” he called out to me.
“And to you, Mr. Evans. What a pleasant surprise.”
He laughed as the two of them drew up to me. “You are ever the diplomat, Mr. Pruitt.”
“When I stopped by the Yard to beg for a photograph of Mrs. Hutton”—to my relief, Colin spoke up—“Mr. Evans refused to believe that it was simply for you to do a spot of research.”
That, I thought, was the best story Colin could come up with? There was no wonder Mr. Evans had decided to tag along. “It isn’t that I’ve forgotten her face,” I tried to explain convincingly, “but it can be tricky when you’re looking through old newspapers and such.”
A slight furrow creased Mr. Evans’s brow. “And why ever would you be going through old newspapers in search of that woman? She is missing now, not fifteen years ago.”
“A woman with a young daughter does not just disappear onto the Continent without some forethought,” I said, giving the only excuse I could spontaneously muster. “So I will be looking to see if there might not be some particular city, or town, or person that she might have some relation to. Anything that could give us a clue, however small, as to where she might have fled.”
“There, you see . . . ?” Colin said rather more smugly than I thought the moment deserved, “. . . I told you we would let you know as soon as we have any information worth the Yard’s time and efforts.”
“And that is precisely what concerns me, Mr. Pendragon. Your disregard for Scotland Yard is exceedingly well known. How you used to infuriate poor Inspector Varcoe. Which means I cannot even begin to imagine whatever might move you to decide to include us should you gain a footing on Mrs. Hutton’s whereabouts.”
Colin appeared to consider his words before giving a small shake of his head. “You do have a point.”
“Colin . . .”
Colin waved me off. “You have always treated us with respect and fairness, Mr. Evans. That is something of a rarity coming from your quarters. So I shall never do you the disservice of putting you in a position that could compel you to act outside of the boundaries you swore to uphold and serve.”
The poor man’s brow furrowed. “I’m really not certain whether I should thank you or curse you.”
Colin flashed a tight grin. “Most people choose the latter.” He stabbed a grainy tintype of Charlotte and Arthur Hutton into my hands—the two of them looking equally ill at ease as their unsmiling portraits were captured for posterity. It was a good likeness of Mrs. Hutton even though her hair looked white as opposed to the black she was currently wearing. Still, with even the smallest amount of imagination, a person would be able to recognize her from the image. “I presume this will help you in your endeavors,” Colin said.
“It should do nicely,” I answered, belatedly realizing that he meant for me to go and meet with Paul.
“Very well then.”
“And where are the two of you going?”
“I cannot speak for Mr. Evans,” Colin said, “but as for myself, I will be heading over to Layton Manor. There are a few things I should like to review to satisfy my curiosity once and for all.”
“Don’t tell me you’re still harping on that nonsense,” Mr. Evans blurted with disbelief. “Why is it the gentry cannot believe one of its own might harm themselves? Do they really imagine such a thing to be solely driven by economics?”
“They shall believe it if I tell them,” Colin stated flatly, though we both knew that would not be the outcome. “Perhaps you can meet me there if you have time later,” he added, making it clear that he expected me at the Endicotts’ as quickly as possible.
“I’ll see how the afternoon goes,” I replied, giving Maurice Evans a look I hoped he would construe as disinterested.
“You two are wasting your time,” Mr. Evans reiterated. “You must be receiving quite the stipend for your troubles.”
Colin’s eyebrows vaulted toward the blue sky. “I find your inference offensive, Mr. Evans. Our efforts are not predicated on the ability of our clients to pay.”
Mr. Evans chuckled as he waved Colin off. “I meant no offense, I am sure. Just do not let me discover that you’ve contrived a way to find Mrs. Hutton and have not shared it with me.”
“Perish the thought.”
“I am dead serious, Mr. Pendragon,” he said, his face losing any hint of levity. “I’ll not stand for it. I’ll not be made a fool of as you did to Inspector Varcoe.”
“You cannot blame another man’s foolishness on me.”
“Mr. Pendragon . . .”
Colin held up a hand and flashed a placating grin. “You have had your say. Now shall we head back to the Tube? I know the Yard won’t authorize cab fare.”
“You’re a pip,” Mr. Evans grumbled as they turned back in the direction they had come from. “Are you coming, Mr. Pruitt? I do believe I could benefit from spending a bit of time with someone less exasperating.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to continue to fend for yourself, Mr. Evans. Now that I have this picture of Mrs. Hutton, I must get started at the archives.” I held my ground while the two of them started off, Colin walking with his usual determination while Mr. Evans was at his side looking far less certain of anything.
Long before the two of them were out of sight I circled around onto the parallel block and headed in the same direction, south toward Prince Albert Road. From there I crossed onto Albany Street until I could cut between several of the buildings that led out onto the north end of Cumberland Terrace. Somewhere here, within this well-kempt if unremarkable area, Charlotte Hutton was in hiding. The very thought of it made my pulse quicken and caused me to pull myself back into the gloomy shadows cast between the buildings.
I glanced along the street as far as I could see, searching for any sign of Paul, knowing he would be along here somewhere. Between his admiration for Colin and relentless pursuit of sterling, I knew he would not fail to be here. The young scruff had proven himself both resourceful and dogged in watching the Guitnu home and following their middle daughter, Vijaya, when it looked as if she could be involved in the systematic pilfering of her parents’ treasure trove of jewels. I only hoped that he would again prove as indomitable in helping us to find Charlotte Hutton.
A cool breeze whipped around the bottom of my coat, tugging at the flaps and sending a chill racing up my body. I yanked my collar up and stepped out of the gloom, trying to look as though I were a natural part of the day’s activities, which proved difficult as it was Sunday and there was a frustrating dearth of commotion. I knew I could not simply stand about and was considering a quick jaunt down the length of the street, something I really did not wish to do lest Mrs. Hutton catch sight of me, when I spotted Paul. He was across the street and several doors down, leaning against the blackened stone and wrought-iron fencing of a dreary apartment building, his arms folded across his chest and a cap tugged low on his head. Dressed in his usual well-worn, dark, baggy clothing, he looked more a
part of the fence than a living boy.
He crooked his head at me and I noticed a lopsided grin split his lips. No doubt he had spotted me long before I had seen him. How could I have forgotten how smug this lad could be?
A scowl tried to take root on my face, but I fought it off as I gave a quick nod before crossing the street and heading into the short alley across from where I’d been standing. I moved back into the shadows just far enough to avoid being seen from the street and waited. That Paul did not immediately follow me seemed considered on his part, but that I waited a full five minutes before his thin face poked around the corner was infuriating.
He dug his hands into his pockets and finally came trundling back toward me, moving with the nonchalance of one who rules the city. “Where’s Mr. P.?” he asked as soon as he drew close to me. “’E tol’ me I was ta meet ’im ’ere today.”
“He is caught up in something else,” I answered, trying to tamp down my annoyance. “He sent me instead.”
“Oh.” His face fell.
“You needn’t look so disappointed. You’ll still be doing his bidding. We all do his bidding,” I quipped, only half in jest, but drew nothing from the lad.
“’E said ’e wants me ta look for some lady?”
“That’s right.” I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the photograph from Maurice Evans. “She is a clever and dangerous woman, and you must not make the mistake of forgetting that.”
He looked down at the picture and frowned. “’Oo’s the bloke?” he asked, ignoring my warning as though it did not deserve comment.
“That was her husband. Was. He’s deceased. Hence my remark that she is a dangerous woman.”
“She’s a right bird,” he snickered with a lecher’s grin, which looked comical on a boy for whom puberty had yet to take hold. “’Er ’usband were a toad. Ain’t no wonder she got rid a ’im.”
The Endicott Evil Page 21