The Bellingham Bloodbath (14 page)

C
olin had given me the most specific of instructions before sending me back to the Nesbitt-Normand estate. While he hadn't bothered to explain
why
I was doing what he'd decreed, I knew it had to be critical, as he had been keenly disappointed not to be coming himself. Lady Nesbitt-Normand also freely displayed her disappointment when I showed up alone. Only a hastily jotted note from Colin that I'd insisted he write had cheered her spirit and ensured he was still fully engaged. Too engaged, in my opinion, given the relentless ticking of the clock on the Bellingham case.

I shifted my feet and allowed an inaudible sigh to escape as I watched Lady Nesbitt-Normand dab at her eyes. “I was hoping . . . ,” she uttered between sniffles, “. . . that you were coming to deliver good news.”

“Nothing would have pleased me more, but it is encouraging to hear that no extortion demands have been made. Whoever has done this thing seems not to have done it out of greed, so you should find some comfort there.”

“But why would someone take her if not for money?”

“Almost certainly to breed her,” I said, offering what I knew Colin had come to suspect.

“Well”—Lady Nesbitt-Normand dabbed at her eyes again—“I do suppose there can be some solace in that. But I shan't be happy again until she is returned to me.”

“I don't know how you could feel any other way,” I said with a smile I hoped she would discern as empathy. For despite what Colin insisted, I couldn't help feeling her the slightest bit overwrought.

“I hope he won't be unduly detained at Buckingham,” she muttered. “Did I mention that Victoria met Lady Priscilla once? She was quite fond of her.”

“I'm sure she was. I look forward to the pleasure myself.”

“Are you certain what Mr. Pendragon wrote is true?” she asked, her eyes boring into me.

“Absolutely,” I soothed, though I felt a knot grip my stomach as I reiterated, “Your little one will be curled up in your lap before day's end tomorrow.”

“But what of today?” she sniffled, her round cheeks making short work of her already-slivered eyes.

“Today is about trapping the thieves. That is why I've come to collect a personal effect of Lady Priscilla's. It will ensure we bring this case to a swift and joyful conclusion.”

“Are you certain?”

This time my smile was genuine. “Without question. Mr. Pendragon does not tolerate failure.”

“He may not tolerate it, but it
is
a fact of life,” she said, tossing me a pointed look. “I shall live for tomorrow then.” She pushed herself off the settee and nodded for me to follow as she trod back to the foyer.
“Elsa!”
she bellowed as she headed to a small side chair near the front door.
“Elsa, where are you?”
She lowered herself onto the seat, virtually concealing it beneath her.

A long minute tiptoed past before Lady Nesbitt-Normand seized a bell from the side table and rang it with the fortitude of a well-schooled night crier. It seemed impossible that a response could be so prolonged in a household as filled with staff as hers, yet there we waited. I was beginning to fear that everyone had fled the estate when Mrs. Holloway came scampering in.

“Where
is
everybody?!” Lady Nesbitt-Normand blasted.

“Sorry, mum. Is it Elsa you want?”

“Well, I'm not calling her name looking for you!”

“Of course, mum.” Mrs. Holloway nodded without the glimmer of a reaction before scurrying away again. Elsa came barreling in almost at once, an appropriately mortified expression pasted on her face.

“Didn't you hear me calling?” Lady Nesbitt-Normand shoved herself to her feet, scowling ferociously.

“I vas in de yard. You vill forgiff me, madam.”

“I cannot imagine why you were out there given that Lady Priscilla's missing!” she snapped, causing the woman to cringe slightly. “Mr. Pendragon needs to borrow something of my little dear's. Go and fetch her pink blanket from my bed. She loves that more than almost anything.”

“Right away, madam.” Elsa nodded curtly and headed for the stairs, bounding up two at a time.

“Honestly”—Lady Nesbitt-Normand glanced at me as she sat back down—“I don't know what has gotten into this staff. Not one of them seems to appreciate my suffering.” With a great sigh, she sagged against the wall as though it were the only thing keeping her from sliding to the floor. “I hope none of them ever has to go through what I've had to endure these past twenty-four hours.”

“I'm sure they mean well,” I answered offhandedly.

Elsa returned at once with a small pink blanket folded under her arm. “Here you go,” she said, thrusting it at me.

The unmistakably oily scent of dog struck my nose as I took it from her. “This is ideal. Mr. Pendragon will be very pleased.”

“Then tell him to be done with it already,” Lady Nesbitt-Normand sniped. “I cannot stand much more of this.”

“I give you my word.” I nodded.

“You must relax, madam,” Elsa cooed. “I vill show our guest out.”

Lady Nesbitt-Normand responded with a dismissive flick of the hand as she heaved herself up and headed back to the parlor.

“You are getting close?” Elsa asked as soon as we were outside.

“I believe we are. Mr. Pendragon is quite certain he is on the verge of solving this case.”

She shot her arms out and seized my shoulders in a powerful grip, her eyes on fire. “Do not play vit me. Dis dog ist
mein
life. Who does he suspect?”

Even though I eclipsed Elsa by more than a handful of inches, her shoulders were considerably broader and her extended arms greater than the circumference of one of my thighs. Clutching me in her steely grip, she had my attention as surely as if she were dangling me upside down by my ankles. “I am not playing with you,” I blustered. “But Mr. Pendragon has not confided in me,” I lied. She studied me closely and I knew she was trying to discern the level of my honesty, but it was hardly a fair contest, as she had no way of knowing that I had learned to be quite convincing years ago. Maw had seen to that.

“So be it,” Elsa warily conceded before suddenly leaning forward close enough for her breath to rake my face. “But if you learn something, you vill tell me,” she demanded. There was a tight smile on her face but no warmth in her eyes. “I
vill
have my revenge.”

I gave her a stilted nod but did not exhale until she finally released me from the vise of her grip.

A
s I headed back to our flat to deliver Lady Priscilla's keepsake, the sun slid into a steely black layer of clouds, hastening the end of the day and further stirring my dread around the intrepid passage of time. I wrapped myself deeper into my cloak as the smell of rain, fresh and slightly metallic, hung in the air.

I bounded up the steps to our flat and let myself in. Immediately the scent of roasting chicken mixed with the pungent aroma of garlic struck me and I had to stop by the kitchen to shake off the low-slung moodiness of the late afternoon sky. Mrs. Behmoth was washing and chopping crowns of broccoli and feeding them into a boiling pot. She glanced at me with a curious expression as I rid myself of my cloak. “It smells like heaven,” I said.

She grunted. “You'll find it less like 'eaven upstairs.”

“Why?”

She nodded toward the ceiling. “ 'E's in a right foul mood. 'Ad a visitor. Put 'im all outta sorts.”

“Who?”

She tossed me a look of annoyance. “Some young bloke. Stop pesterin' me like a bleedin' owl and go ask 'im.”

“Of course—” I hurried back out with Lady Priscilla's little blanket tucked under an arm, hoping I would be able to put him right when he saw what I had achieved. I wondered which of the young guardsmen had stopped by and what he had said to have so sullied Colin's mood.

When I reached the landing upstairs I found Colin standing by the fireplace curling two heavily laden dumbbells over his head. His mood was palpably sour and, as he allowed the dumbbells to slam to the floor, I knew he meant to be both imposing and confrontational. It brought me to a halt as I caught the animosity firing behind his eyes. Somehow, someway, it seemed
I
was responsible for his mood.

“What's happened?”

“We've had a visitor.” He spoke slowly, sourly, as though the words were bitter on his tongue. “An urchin from Whitechapel.”

“Whitechapel?”

“Whitechapel!”
He punched the word, freezing my gut as I instantly realized what this was about. “And who do you suppose was sending us a message from Whitechapel?”

I knew who it was. I had been careless to think I wouldn't hear from her again. “Maw Heikens.” I tried to say it with nonchalance even as it threatened to stick in my throat.

“Dammit!”
He pounded his fist on the mantel. “Why in the
hell
would you go back to see that drug-addled dreadful old slag? It's an insult. It flies in the face of everything we have built together.”

My pulse thundered and my heart felt like it had leapt into my throat. “I went to try and get information about the Life Guard like you asked.
She's
the one who told me about the brawl they had with the Irish Guard at McPhee's,” I stabbed back defensively. “She knows that world down there. She always has. And given the shortage of time I thought she could be of help.”

“She's a lecherous pariah who would sell her own child for a farthing.”

I shook my head. “She did me a service at the most miserable time in my life.”

“She used you and everyone else she came into contact with. You're a fool if you can't see that.”

“Well, we weren't all born to the Queen's colors, you know.”

“Neither do we all choose to drown our fears in opiates and pandering.”

“That's not fair,” I shot back.

But without another word, he turned his back to me.

I opened my mouth to say something, to defend myself, but to my utter dismay I knew he was right and so I was left to stand there mutely. It took a moment before the stink of the little cloth tucked under my arm began to strike me. Unable to think of anything better to do, I tossed it onto the settee and said, “There's Lady Priscilla's blanket.”

And then I left.

T
he clouds let loose their fury by the time I got within a block of the Devonshire Hotel. It seemed as incapable of containing its rage as everyone else this evening, sending a great crack of thunder shivering across the city just before unleashing a mighty torrent. Had I been in a better frame of mind I would have dashed the rest of the way, but I did not so much as quicken my pace, so that by the time I reached the Devonshire I was as saturated as if I had taken a bath in my clothes.

I trudged through the dismal lobby and the same woman, still clad in the checkered robe she had been wearing that morning, tossed me a disapproving look as she slid the key across the counter. Her withering gaze made me feel accused of some wrongdoing and I half-expected her to tell me it would cost extra if I didn't stop dripping on her sorrowful floors.

The oversized key fit the lock loosely, which only made matters worse as the lock itself partially rotated within its circular cutout. I was on the verge of kicking it in with the full extent of my pent-up anger when the bolt suddenly slid back and the door swung wide. The room stared back at me with the same disinterest I was feeling, requiring all my determination to step inside and boot the door closed.

Home.
Temporary
home: Though considering the way I had left things with Colin, it suddenly didn't feel all that temporary.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust and, in the interim, I could feel cold air rushing in through the window Colin had shattered. Determined to find some way to keep the storm from raging inside my room, I tugged the sheer drapes closed only to be slapped by them as they immediately whipped back at me. I slid on the damp floor, nearly tumbling down, but the sound of glass crunching beneath my shoes was enough to convince my brain to seize control and hold myself upright. I was already wet to the skin; I hardly relished adding a web of cuts.

I glanced around to find something to staunch the flow of weather into the tiny space, but nothing caught my eye. There was nothing to
catch
my eye. Only the pitiful chair, tilting precipitously to one side, and the matronly-looking bed, all plump and sagging, looked back at me. With little else coming to mind, I wedged the chair beneath the gaping window, effectively pinning the sheer drapes against the void. It would have to do. Perhaps tomorrow I would mention it to the woman beneath the stairs. Then again, perhaps not.

I herded the bits of scattered glass into a small pile and scooted them beneath the chair with a sigh and then collected my small bag and trudged down the hall to the communal bath, grateful to find it vacant. I twisted the gas sconces and latched the door before casting my gaze about the utilitarian space. With great relief, I found a rag and small bottle of bleach hidden behind one of the tub's claw feet, so was able to set to cleaning the tub until beads of perspiration leached onto my forehead, all the while thinking how proud Mrs. Behmoth would be of me. The task wore me out, which was exactly what I had hoped for.

While hot water cascaded into the now pristine tub I peeled off my wet things, leaving them in an unaccustomed pile on the floor. The steam and heat of the water felt soothing as I eased myself in, urging my mind and heart to release the crux of their concerns, but they were not so willing. Thoughts of Colin continued to swamp my mind: his disapproval . . . his anger. After all these years I could still be stung by the errors of my youth, all I had done and feared. Could I not finally forgive myself, if not also the illness that had been my mother's?

A sudden rattling at the door brought me upright, sloshing water onto the dingy floor. “ 'Ow bloody long ya gonna be?!” a husky female voice called out.

“A while!” I snapped back.

“Well, some a us got business to attend to and I ain't walkin' down a bloody flight a stairs ta do it, so you'd best get yer arse outta there before I get back.”

“Piss off,” I mumbled.

“I'm pretendin' I didn't 'ear that.”

“I said piss off!”
I hollered, but got no further response.

Quite done with myself, I yanked the plug and climbed out, watching the water gurgle down the drain as I wrapped myself in my robe and gathered my pile of wet things. It occurred to me that the woman might be waiting to pummel me for my surliness and determined she would get a face full of sodden garments if she tried, but there was no one there.

The rain was still pounding determinedly when I got back to the room and the frail drapes were so thoroughly drenched that they now stuck to the wall without any help from the chair. I threw my wet clothes onto the floor at the end of the bed and tried to convince myself it would be good to settle in for what I knew would be a long night.

I pulled back the thin bedcovers, tossing my robe over top, and slid onto the mattress only to find it even lumpier than it looked. Even so, I pressed my eyes shut and pretended I was going to sleep while my restless mind continued to impose visions of Colin, Lady Nesbitt-Normand, and, most of all, the Bellinghams. With little more than forty hours to go, I feared the possibility that we might never find the truth of what had happened. It was unthinkable.

I rolled into a tight ball to shield myself against the damp chill of the storm as my thoughts stole back to the sight of Colin's back and the unkindness of his last words. I had no idea what the morning would bring, whether he would seek me out or if I would wait all day in this godforsaken room for some word that might never come. We had never traversed such territory before.

At some point I drifted off. I know it because somewhere well within the belly of the storm, in between the deepest hours of night but long before the first hint of dawn, I was awakened by a clap of thunder that imploded upon my wearied mind as having been particularly close. The incessant pounding of the rain had yet to renounce its vigil, leaving me with little to do but roll over and try to find some position on the mattress that would do the least amount of damage to my spine. Another immediate drumming, louder and even closer, seized me fully out of my dopey cocoon and bolted me upright in fear that I might actually be struck. I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands, attempting to clear my addled brain, when another crash rocketed me to my feet, leaving me naked and shivering at the side of the bed.

It wasn't thunder; someone was at my door.

I stumbled to it just as another pounding cracked through the storm's tirade, and, without even thinking, yanked it open. At first my eyes refused to adjust to the diffuse gaslight flickering in the hall, but as my brain caught up to the signals being relayed through my retinas I found myself staring at Colin. His hair was matted flat and there was water dribbling down the sides of his face. It took a moment before I registered the expression on his face and the dark, sunken look in his eyes.

“I can't sleep,” he mumbled.

I stared at him a moment before saying, “Oh,” my voice cracking as a fresh wave of exhaustion swept over me.

He kept staring at me, his gaze unwavering, and when nothing else would come to my mind I finally stepped back and gestured him in. He shuffled inside without another word and I closed and bolted the door behind him, all the while trying to think what I should say. I sucked in a deep breath and turned around, set on lighting a few candles, only to find that he had already peeled off his saturated clothing and was climbing into the bed. My brain heaved with relief as I stumbled back and climbed in beside him.

I resumed my former position, curling into a tight ball, but before I could properly settle in he moved against me, gently tucking himself within my arms. He pressed himself so completely that I was certain a wisp of wind could not come between us. I held him, the cool dampness of his skin warming at once, as he reached out and clasped my nearest hand, pressing it to his chest.

 

The next thing I knew I felt his lips on mine and as I smiled and opened my eyes I was stunned to find the sun streaming in and him standing beside the bed fully dressed. He straightened up while fumbling with the buttons on his vest, the poor thing as wrinkled as a centenarian, while I tried to coax myself to wakefulness. The rest of his clothes had fared little better, leaving him looking ready for a day in pursuit of charity.

“Rise and shine,” he said cheerily, his face lighting up with his dimpled smile. He stepped over to the glassless window and whisked the sheers aside, allowing an effervescent swath of warm sunshine to stream unimpeded into the room. “There's much to be done today.”

“Maybe so,” I said, kicking the covers free and stretching lazily. “But you certainly can't do it looking like that.”

“No?” He swept his jacket off the floor and shrugged into it. “Something amiss?”

“Unless dishevelment became the fashion overnight.”

“You were wearing much less than dishevelment when you opened that door last night. What a sight.” He chuckled as he tugged at his clothes as though that might encourage them to lie flat. “Now get up and get yourself dressed before you're the cause of further delay this morning.”

I laughed as I sat up. “You really aren't going out like that, are you?”

“Only as far as our flat,” he said, bullying his feet into his shoes without even looking down. “Can you be out front in ten minutes?”

“I can.”

“Then I shall get us a cab.”

Sunshine made the Devonshire appear almost agreeable, or perhaps it was my mood. The room seemed almost vaguely charming in its stark simplicity, with the well-worn bed more a comfortable old friend than the hazard to the spine I had first pegged it to be. Even the gaping window commanded a compelling view of the hopscotch of rooftops with their chimneys and pipes.

The fresh morning was so relieving that I didn't even mind the brief wait for the bathroom. Even so, within ten minutes, my spirits soaring, I was bounding down the stairs to join Colin.

“Well . . . well . . .” The accusing words erupted out of the dark space beneath the stairs so unexpectedly that it caused me to miss the final step and lurch jarringly onto the ground floor. “Look 'oo's up,” the voice sneered.

“Morning.” I offered a quick smile as I glimpsed the haggard face of the black-haired woman still wrapped in the same robe she apparently spent her life in. While everything else about the day looked brighter, nothing of her had altered a whit, including the fork still holding her mop of hair aloft.

“ 'Oo do ya think yer foolin'?” She stood with her arms folded across her chest, the sly smile on her face revealing more gaps than teeth.

“Pardon?” I started to say before realizing that she had likely discovered the shattered window the day before. “Oh. You mean the window.”

She slammed a hand onto the dust-laden counter and snarled at me, “I'm talkin' 'bout 'im that spent the night in yer room! I told ya a thousand bloody times that two a ya cost extra and I don't give a bloody shite if he
was
only there part a the night. 'E's extra and ya gotta pay.” Her eyes narrowed. “And what about the winda?”

I pulled out some coins, trying to ignore her withering glare. “Of course.”

“Damn right.” She snatched some of it before seizing my wrist. “What about the ruddy winda?”

“It was stuck,” I said. “When I tried to open it the glass broke.”

She puckered her face. “It was rainin' last night. What the 'ell were ya openin' the bleedin' winda for?”

“The room stank,” I grumbled.

She was clearly unimpressed. “That'll cost ya,” she sneered, snatching a few more coins before releasing my wrist. “And if
'e
comes back tonight, you'll be payin' fer 'im again. I ain't runnin' no buggered charity 'ouse.”

“A charitable organization would never stand for these conditions.” I scowled.

By the time I stepped outside and breathed the clean air, now washed free of its customary soot, smoke, and animal detritus, I felt rejuvenated again. Even the grimy buildings looked almost renewed.

We got back to our flat in minutes and I remained with the driver while Colin ran up and changed. He was gone an astoundingly brief time yet looked ever so much more dapper by the time he returned.

“Let's be quick,” he called to the driver as he climbed aboard. “There is money to be earned if you proceed with all due haste.”

“Bribing drivers, are you?” I laughed.

“Without question. We've a full day ahead and I don't relish continually searching for transportation, so I have offered the fellow a bonus if he provides his services solely to us today.”

“A bonus . . . how extravagant.”

“It will be wisely spent. Especially given the neighborhood I've coaxed him to start in.”

I looked at Colin curiously. “What neighborhood?”

He picked up a small leather satchel that he'd brought from our flat and opened it so I could peek inside. Nestled within lay the little pink blanket belonging to the missing Lady Priscilla. “This will be our second stop.” He grinned mischievously. “It will provide the proof we need to bring the little pup home to her mother. But our first stop”—he flipped the satchel closed and looked at me—“shall be Limehouse Street.”

“Limehouse?!”

“I may have been a mite hasty about your visiting that Heikens shrew. She sent that urchin to let us know she had learned something about Lady Stuart.” He shrugged with uncustomary remorse. “If she really has come up with information on her then I'm a fool not to hear her out.” He turned his gaze to the passing scenery, placing a protective hand over mine.

“I should have just told you I had gone there—”

“No . . .” He removed his hand and dug a crown from his pocket, flipping it easily through his fingers, a contented smile settling on his face. “You probably did the right thing. If she hadn't sent that boy . . .” He shook his head with a smirk on his lips. “But I'll tell you what. Later on we're getting your things from that infernal hotel. You'll not spend another minute there. That was a terrible idea.”