He started twisting his cap again as he looked at me from beneath his lowered brow. “It’s me little sister,” he said. “She’s gone missin’.”
“Missing? For how long?”
“Since Sunday.”
“Six days?!” Anything less than three wouldn’t have warranted a second thought among those of the East End, but six days meant something, especially for a young girl. “Did you notify Scotland Yard?”
“They don’t care nothin’ ’bout us that lives in Whitechapel. One less ta trouble themselves with.”
Of course he was right. “Has she ever disappeared before?”
His eyes flitted about the room and I knew what the answer was. “A day or two. Nothin’ like this.”
I heaved a sigh, certain that she was either a pickpocket, prostitute, addict, or most likely all three. “How old is she?”
“Twelve.”
I cringed. “Do you have a room in a boardinghouse somewhere?”
“Yeah. Up near Stepney Green. We got a corner of the basement ’bout the size a yer entry run by an old slag wot thinks it were a palace. She don’t treat nobody good ’cept them she calls ’er gentlemen callers. A bunch a drunken sots she gets upstairs and rolls. She’s wicked clever though. Keeps a mess of ’em on a string.”
How well I understood the woman he was describing, for I had spent years under the thumb of someone like that myself. “Tell me about your sister.”
“Angelyne.” He smiled. “Named after the angels.” He described her as a freckle-faced girl with raven black hair who was not quite five feet tall. He said she was slight and hadn’t even begun to reveal the shape of the woman she was on the verge of becoming. I only wished that might make a difference. “Last Sunday I ’ad ta go out for a while. I ’ad things ta take care of. I told her not ta go anywhere, but when I got back . . .” He dropped his eyes and rubbed the heels of his hands across them.
“Does she disobey you often?”
“Naw. She’s a good girl. Never causes no trouble.”
“Did you ask the woman who runs your boardinghouse if she saw or heard anything?”
He screwed his face up. “That one don’t ’ear nuthin’ but ’erself mewlin’ at all the men she drags ’ome.”
“Do you remember Angelyne complaining about anyone bothering her lately?”
“I’d a killed ’em if she ’ad. You can bet yer arse on that,” he blasted back, and I didn’t doubt him. “So will you ’elp? You and Mr. Pendragon?”
“I’ll have to speak with him.”
“Ya want I should wait?”
“There’s no need for that.” I stood up. “Just tell me how we can get in contact with you. What’s the address of your boardinghouse?”
Michael got up and stabbed his cap back onto his head. “It’ll be easier if I come by tamorrow evenin’. That okay?”
I eyed him a moment, wondering whether his reticence was directed toward me or his own bit of subterfuge. “That’ll be fine.”
I showed him out with a promise to receive him in twenty-four hours’ time, all the while thinking how young he was to be dealing with such matters. It was a disgrace that this was the best our city had to offer these children, but then I was reminded that sometimes we create our own worst times.
“When ya go back up . . . ,” Mrs. Behmoth poked her head out the kitchen as I relatched the door, “. . . tell ’is Majesty not ta use up all the ’ot water. I wanna take a bath meself tonight.” She punched her fists onto her hips. “And ’urry up. ’E’s ’ad it runnin’ awhile.”
I tossed her a frown as I padded up the stairs and went to the bathroom. “It’s me,” I said as I poked my head inside.
“Don’t let the cold air in.” He was reclining in his liquid cocoon, a dozen candles scattered about, flickering a warm embrace.
“I’ve been commanded to tell you not to use all the hot water.”
“Ah. Dear Mrs. Behmoth. I would hate to begrudge her the occasional bath.” He rotated the spigot with his foot. “I think I’ll require your warm body to keep the water heated up then. Climb in and tell me who was just here?”
“There’s hardly room for two,” I protested halfheartedly.
“Don’t I always make room?” He sat up and patted the water as though it were the cushion of a chair. “Come on.”
I did as bade, pleased to note the change in his mood and hoping that it might signify progress around the Arnifour case.
“Much better,” he said as he rested his chin atop my head with his arms hanging about my shoulders. “Now tell me who was here and I shall pay close attention.” But he didn’t pay attention, and after a few minutes I stopped trying to tell him anything at all.
CHAPTER 8
“Who let you out of your hole, Pendragon? I’d like to know to whom I owe the displeasure of your company.”
“Oh, come now, Inspector.” Colin sidled up to the man’s badly beaten desk piled high with its array of papers and binders, and plopped himself into the creaky chair beside it. “I’ve just come from a bit of sparring at the gymnasium. Worked my aggressions out. You should try it.”
He snorted. “We’ll see if that even lasts the length of this conversation. What are you here for?” He glowered, his naturally opaque complexion deepening. Given his dazzlingly white hair he looked positively monochromatic except when moved to a mood. Tall and thin, Emmett Varcoe was the complete opposite of Colin in both form and function in spite of their shared passion for detection. “You’d best make it quick because I haven’t time for you,” he added, rotating his chair so that we were left staring at his profile.
“Really now . . . ,” Colin replied with a snarky smile. “We’ve only come to share some information.”
“Oh, I’ll just bet you have.” He swung around just as I sat down. “Don’t get comfortable, Pruitt. The two of you are not staying.”
“Not to worry.” Colin leaned forward mischievously. “We’re only here to let you know that we’ve been hired by the bereaved Lady Arnifour to solve the murder of her husband. I thought it only fair to—”
“Bloody hell!” Inspector Varcoe bellowed, slamming a fist onto his desk. “That case is practically solved. Why is that ridiculous woman wasting her money on you?”
“Well, I should hardly consider it wasting—”
“Piss off, Pendragon. We’re about to make an arrest. Nobody needs you slinking around stirring up a bunch of bollocks.”
“About to make an arrest, are you? That’s not always worked out so well for you in the past—”
“How dare you!” he blasted, his voice elevating with the color of his face. “You pompous little twat. What do you know about working a crime? You’re just a coddled diplomat’s boy who attended independent schools and probably never even let his sacred little feet touch the streets of Bombay. How dare you come in here and look down on me.”
I could see that Colin’s posture had become rigid as he said, “A bit jumpy about this case, are you?”
The inspector turned a steely glare on Colin. “If you’re here to share, then what have you got so far?”
“Not that much, really.” He gave a tight smile. “Though I did notice a rather pointed lack of emotion regarding the Earl’s death on the part of everyone in the household—with the possible exception of the housekeeper, Mrs. O’Keefe.”
“That old toad.”
“Ah . . . ,” and now he chuckled, “I must agree with you there.”
The inspector did not share his amusement. “What else?” he growled.
“Well . . .” I watched Colin pretend to ruminate a moment and fought to keep from rolling my eyes. “I believe Victor Heffernan is innocent.”
The inspector’s left eye ticked almost imperceptibly as he managed to maintain his composure with a shrug before allowing, “Perhaps.”
“And I’ve a suspicion that Lady Arnifour has some notion about who may be involved.”
“That’s absurd.” He waved Colin off.
&nb
sp; Colin shrugged lightly as he dug a crown out of his pocket and effortlessly began rotating it between his fingers. “I’m betting you’re circling Nathaniel Heffernan.”
“Damn right,” the inspector sneered with pride. “That Heffernan boy did this and his father ruddy well knows it too. That’s called collusion.”
“But what of his motive?”
“Motive?! Bugger off about his motive. I’m not telling you anything, Pendragon. It’ll be my pleasure to see you looking the fool on this one. Now piss off.” And with a flourish of rattling papers Emmett Varcoe let it be known that our time with him was done.
“Very well.” Colin palmed the coin as he stood up and gave a nod that Inspector Varcoe took no note of. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“Oh, I’m right.” He spun back on us. “You watch and you’ll see him deliver his son right into my hands.”
“Victor Heffernan? Deliver Nathaniel to you? Why would he do that?”
“Because in a few days when I arrest them both, he’ll give the boy up like a rotten apple. That type would eat their young if they thought it would help.”
“That type?” Colin’s voice sank precipitously.
Varcoe sneered at us. “You know exactly what I mean, Pendragon. Street rubbish like Pruitt here. They never lose the stink.”
“You know bloody well Ethan was raised in Holland Park!” Colin snapped back. I reached over and clutched his sleeve, not wanting him to do this, but he only shrugged me off. What nettled me was wondering whether he felt compelled to do it for my benefit or in defense of his own honor. “His father was the Deputy Minister of Education. Which makes Ethan a damn sight better bred than you, Emmett.”
“All the same.” Varcoe’s face lit up with a satisfied smile, clearly well pleased to have riled Colin so. “My ruddy mum didn’t go bleedin’ starkers and off everyone. What kind of man lets his wife do that? Is it any wonder your Pruitt ended up a sniveling addict in the East End?” His grin widened. “He comes from rubbish all right.” He burst into harsh laughter as my heart seized and my stomach dropped below my feet. I opened my mouth to say something, to defend myself—my father—when I caught sight of Colin balling his fist out of the corner of my eye, so instead grabbed him and yanked him out of there.
CHAPTER 9
Within the hour we were back in our flat, dinner behind us, Colin fussing over tea while Mrs. Behmoth tried to coerce a fire back to life by poking at its cinders and kindling, her annoyance evident in her every muttered curse. Colin handed my tea to me with a sigh. “You must do me a favor in the future,” he said as he settled back into his overstuffed chair. “If I ever tell you I want to visit that old bastard again, please remind me how I despise him.”
“That may be so, but you can still be quite charming when you choose.” I peered at him over the rim of my cup. “At least until he starts taking out after me. I’m sorry I embarrass you.”
He stopped and glared at me a moment before quickly downing his tea as he stood up and snatched at his dumbbells. “It’s not me,” he mumbled with seeming preoccupation. “I’m angry for you.”
“Then you’re wasting your energy. I cannot change the regrettable choices I made as a lad. After what happened I was afraid I might be the same. I was bloody well terrified. You know that. I went and hid in the only place that allowed me to truly dispel my fears: the opium dens.”
“Don’t say that. It makes you sound weak.”
“I was!” I shook my head, not embarrassed, but ashamed. “I was not quite ten years old when it happened. My grandparents were thick with guilt and about as afraid of me as I was of myself. I wasn’t in their house much more than a year before they couldn’t stand having me around anymore.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he chided, waving the weights around madly.
“It isn’t. That’s why they sent me to Easling and Temple. To get me out of their house.” I heaved a sigh. “I’m sure it also helped them assuage some of that guilt by affording me such a fine education, despite my squandering of it. And it did allow me to meet you.” A small smile easily crossed my lips. “I thought you so self-assured and handsome.” I chuckled. “Of course that only terrified me more. And you didn’t even know I existed.”
“I knew who you were,” he protested without conviction before suddenly turning on Mrs. Behmoth, still cursing at the flagging embers. “Do you need a ruddy hand with that?” he barked.
“Don’t get cheeky with me!” she growled back.
I shook my head. “Well, no matter. Though I do wish it hadn’t taken you nine years to rescue me from Maw Heikens.”
He screwed up his face, halting the weights in midair. “That regrettable old harridan,” he snarled. “I won’t have that name in this flat.”
There was no surprise in his reaction. He always hated Maw. I suppose it was easier to blame her for what had happened to me than to blame me. “What I really want to know,” I said, content to let that topic be, “is why we went to see Varcoe in the first place?”
“For the information,” he muttered blithely as he settled back into his chair and began curling the dumbbells behind his head.
“Information? What information?”
He glanced over at me as though I were daft. “We now know that his suspicions toward Nathaniel are wholly rudimentary, without the slightest whiff of a motive. You saw how he acted when I pressed him. I’ll bet his entire case rests on nothing more than his own speculations. Once again he has proven that he owes his endless tenure at the Yard to his inability to intimidate the lesser minds who have risen above him.”
“Brutal.” I chuckled. “But what do you mean about his suspicions against Nathaniel?”
“The boy is gruff, uncommunicative, and so clearly hiding something that he couldn’t possibly appear more culpable if he had been found beating the Earl. And then there’s that bit about how he fancies Elsbeth. I can’t stop wondering about the argument they had that night. Jealousy is a potent motivator for the worst in a man.”
“But it doesn’t make sense. He works for the Arnifours, for heaven’s sake; how could he ever think that he might have a chance with her? It’s too preposterous.”
He tipped one of his dumbbells toward me. “Then what do you suppose happened that night?”
“I’m sure I haven’t the slightest idea, but there’s a lot more rotten out there than just that old house.”
“Ach,” Mrs. Behmoth groused. “It’s always that way with them that has too much money.” She abruptly reached up, seized my Jules Verne novel off the mantel, and flung it into the still-sputtering fire.
“My book!” I leapt up, spilling much of my tea onto myself. “What the hell are you doing?!”
“I’m tryin’ to get this bloody fire goin’!” she barked. “That book’s twaddle. It’ll do a lot more good in there.”
“You’ll buy me a new copy,” I shot back as I tried to blot the stains from my clothes.
“Like ’ell,” she answered, pointing to the quickly escalating flames. “It served a fine purpose. I don’t owe no one nuthin’.” A knock at the door was the only thing that kept me from responding in kind. “Don’t trouble yerselves,” she said as she headed for the staircase. “Allow an old lady the pleasure of fetchin’ that.”
“Absolutely.” Colin chuckled.
Mrs. Behmoth shot him a withering glare, which he took no notice of as he shoved the dumbbells under his chair, and then she disappeared down the steps.
“Are we expecting anyone?” he asked.
“I’d guess it’s that scruffy East End lad with the missing sister I was telling you about yesterday. He said he’d come back this evening.”
“Oh yes. What are their names?”
“Michael and Angelyne.”
“That’s right. Very Church of England.”
The thunderous footfalls of Mrs. Behmoth’s ascension brought a halt to our conversation. “Yer alley cat is back,” she announced, glaring at me.
“Well, let h
im up!” I snapped, only to be surprised when he suddenly poked his head out from behind her. I was appalled that he’d heard her disparage him.
“Do come in.” Colin swept past me and ushered him into our study. “We’ve been expecting you.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said as he doffed his cap and nodded at me. The smudges on his face had been scrubbed away to reveal a fragile complexion, which also exposed the hollowness in his cheeks. He went back to the settee and balanced himself on the edge of it just as he’d done the evening before. “Tell me, Michael,” Colin settled into his chair as Mrs. Behmoth trudged back downstairs, “when exactly did you last see your sister?”
“Ye’ll take the case then?”
“We are at your behest.”
“Wot?”
I leaned forward. “He’s taking the case.”
“Oh, ruddy excellent,” he said, his face lighting up for just an instant. “Ya know I ain’t gonna be able ta pay ya much.”
“You needn’t pay us at all. You shall have us for free.”
“Ya mean that? I don’t gotta pay?”
“You can’t very well spend what you haven’t got.”
“I’d get somethin’.”
Colin held up a hand. “That won’t be necessary. On occasion I do a service for someone in need, and today you are that someone. Perhaps you will return the favor one day for someone else.”
“I will.” He smiled broadly. “You bet I will.”
“Now, tell me about your sister,” Colin said, surreptitiously extracting a crown from his pocket and smoothly flicking it through his fingers.
“Angelyne. Like the angels. And she is one too. A reg’lar angel. The last time I saw ’er were a week ago. I’d left ’er in our room and told ’er ta stay there, but when I got back she were gone. I ain’t seen or heard nothin’ from ’er since and that ain’t like ’er.”
“I see. Did anyone at your boardinghouse hear or see anything?”
“No one saw nothin’. Least not wot they tell me.”
“What time was it when you left her alone?”
The Arnifour Affair Page 5