The Bellingham Bloodbath (17 page)

“The noble ladies rallied around me and I began to pretend to suffer public visions about one or the other until I finally piqued their intrigue enough that I was forced to feign lightheadedness just to get them to stop peppering me with questions about their lives, husbands, children, and households. After that, establishing my business was easy, and the payment sublime.” She smirked. “I was able to settle Darius's bills in little more than two years, and the fact of my having accomplished such a feat only further propelled my reputation as a just and honest woman. The woman before you.”

“Was Captain Bellingham's wife one of those who sought you out?”

“Gwendolyn?” Her brow creased as she tilted her head to one side. “I thought I clarified that yesterday.”

“You
were
seeing him?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“I want the truth.”

She said nothing for a moment, the only sound in the room the sweep hand of the mantel clock. “I am sorry to disappoint you,” she finally spoke up, “but as I told you before, Trevor and I were not involved in any intimacy. He was my dearest friend. That was the extent of it.”

Colin held his face steady as now
he
stayed silent for a time. It did seem unimaginable that the captain had not become intimate with a woman of Lady Stuart's beauty. There was even less sense to the possibility that he had been seeking her out for such esoteric counseling. “The captain's frequent visits would seem to suggest otherwise,” Colin said after it became clear that she was not about to volunteer anything further.

“A statement that conveniently dismisses the fact that I am known as a gifted prophesier.”

“A talent you have already spent some time this afternoon rebuffing.”

“Do not confuse my dismissal of the craft with my ability to be persuasive.”

“I see.” He stood up and wandered over to the fireplace, poking at the lazy flames with a resolve that assured me he was growing weary of this game. “So Captain Bellingham came to you on a regular basis solely to discuss your intuitions about his future?”

“Is that really so hard to believe?”

He glanced back at her finely sculpted features and frame of coal-black hair and said, “Yes.”

“How very flattering.” She smiled.

“I don't mean to be.”

“And there you are, Mr. Pendragon. Now you sound just like my dear Trevor.”

He dropped the poker, sending the log he'd been poking at rolling backwards out of the grate and earning an angry rebuke from the embers below. “Do I?”

Her smile slowly faded. “Trevor was a deeply troubled man, and if you have sought me out thinking I hold the key to some love-crossed tale with him I can assure you that you are quite mistaken.”

Colin nodded thoughtfully as he moved over to the windows and stared down on the street, appearing almost nonchalant as he fished out a coin and began delicately coaxing it across the back of his hand. “Are you stating a fact, then?” he asked after a moment.

A sad smile flitted across her face. “I am.”

“Will ya be wantin' more tea an' biscuits?!” Mrs. Behmoth's voice suddenly blasted up the stairs.

“We're quite set, thank you,” Colin called back as he tossed the coin onto the windowsill and came back to his seat. “Did you ever meet Mrs. Bellingham's brother? A sergeant in the Irish Guard by the name of Mulrooney?”

“I knew of him.”

“Did you meet him?” Colin asked again.

“A time or two. I didn't care for him. I found him harsh, unapologetic, and wholly unforgiving of Trevor.”

“How so?”

“He was rude and dismissive. It was appalling. I refused to have anything to do with him.”

“Where exactly did you meet him?”

“Trevor and Gwen's.”

“And how long ago would that have been?”

Her eyebrows knit as she looked at him. “I don't know. A couple of years, I suppose.”

“I see,” he muttered as he took a sip of tea. “And why do you suppose Sergeant Mulrooney was so incorrigible when it came to Captain Bellingham?”

“I'm afraid you would have to ask him, Mr. Pendragon, for while I profess to read minds, we both know it's nothing more than a parlor trick.”

“Yes.” And now a smile eased onto his face. “So you have said. And how did Sergeant Mulrooney treat his sister?”

“He treated her better than he did Trevor, but I found his manner toward her disapproving. As if she were his petulant child. I don't know how she abided him. Trevor said they were close at one time, but I never saw it.”

“Did he tell you anything else?”

“A lady does not pry,” she answered simply.

A thin sigh escaped from Colin. “And how is it that you and Captain Bellingham became such close mates?”

“It was the summer after I met him at the fox hunt. He escorted one of the Queen's granddaughters to several appointments with me. One of the late Princess Alice's daughters.”

“Which one?”

“Alix.”

“You consulted with Empress Alexandra?”

“Many times that summer.” She smiled with pride. “A beautiful girl, but with the most peculiar melancholy streak. She did have an eager mind for my skills, however.”

“I'm sure her visits were a tonic for your burgeoning business.”

“Without a doubt. And not just among the aristocracy, but within the Queen's Guard as well—which included Trevor.” She picked up her tea and sipped it with little enthusiasm. “We saw each other quite a bit that summer. Not just on the occasions when he was escorting the Princess, but at other times, social times. Then, about three years ago, right after Trevor had been promoted to captain, he began to come over with little excuse, wanting to talk about my readings. I thought it a ruse and wondered if he was developing feelings for me.” She chuckled, but this time the sound was hollow. “It didn't take long before I realized his interests truly were around my readings.”

“You were disappointed?”

“I would not break up a marriage, but I cared very much for Trevor. I won't lie about that.”

I could tell Colin was pleased by this admission. “And what did he want to know about your readings?”

“He was afraid for his sanity, Mr. Pendragon. He thought he might be losing his mind.”

“He confessed that to you?”

“He didn't have to. I have developed a keen sense of people, as it is the very heart of my business. For instance”—her eyes narrowed—“your Mrs. Behmoth has an unmistakable maternal streak when she speaks of you, Mr. Pendragon, that does not carry over to Mr. Pruitt. My guess is that she's been in your life since you were a child. Perhaps she filled a void for a mother who was not available when you were growing up? Am I close?”

“You've made your point,” he allowed.

She smiled as she set her teacup on the table. “I loved him very much and I know he loved me in turn. We were the closest of family, he and I.” She stood up and gathered the fine woolen shawl draped across the back of the settee. “I gave him hope. I told him I could see his future and that everything would sort itself out. It's what he wanted to hear.”

Colin stood up and wrapped the shawl about her shoulders. “But he told you nothing more? He gave you no other indications—”

“He didn't need to, Mr. Pendragon. I already knew everything about him that I needed to know.”

I could tell she was flustered as I moved to see her out, but when we got to the landing she abruptly turned and looked back at Colin. “Could I beseech you both to keep my past private? I would hope you agree that my little charade is harmless. I believe I offer a service, a bit of innocuous comfort, but I know I would be exiled back to the Continent were my peers to learn that I had been deceiving them. And I simply could not abide starting over.”

Colin nodded. “We shall keep our peace,” he muttered, “but should you recall anything further—”

“Of course,” she answered at once. “You have well earned my loyalty, Mr. Pendragon, and I intend to yet prove my value to you.”

“I am counting on that,” he answered grimly. “You can be sure of that.”

T
homas Mulrooney was not pleased to see us again. Even his captain had been more reticent to give us permission to speak with Mulrooney a second time. Nevertheless, the captain had finally permitted us entry, delivering us to another small room in the Parliament building where Sergeant Mulrooney was once again displaying an appalling lack of willingness to cooperate. If Colin did not focus the thrust of his investigation against this man, I was prepared to do so for him.

“Do you have any sisters, Mr. Pendragon?” Mulrooney was asking with thick disdain.

“I fail to see what this has to do with anything!” Colin groused in return, which pleased me greatly.

“You cannot indulge me one simple question among your barrage?”

Colin heaved an exasperated sigh and I knew he was wrestling with his tongue. “I have no siblings,” he finally answered.

The sergeant cracked a satisfied smile. “Then what could you possibly know about my relationship with Gwen? You're hounding me with questions and I don't see that you can understand any of it.”

“Then help me understand.”

Sergeant Mulrooney snorted. “And why should I have any interest in doing that?” He folded his arms across his chest and glared at Colin. “Why don't you just be honest, Mr. Pendragon? Are you here to arrest me?”

“Of course not.”

“Then piss off.”

Colin's eyes flashed harshly even as his voice stayed smooth. “So you have no desire to ensure your sister's killer is brought to justice?”

“Justice?” the sergeant sneered, and shook his head. “How do you know the only justice possible hasn't already been wrought?”

“Is that what you'll tell your nephew one day when he asks what happened to his parents?”

“At least Albert stands a chance now. My mum will do right by him.”

“Which certainly doesn't say much for your sister and her husband.”

“I don't give a bloody fig about Trevor,” he fired back, pausing before adding, “Gwen made her own decisions. God have mercy on her.”

“Cryptic—”

“Are we done?”

“As soon as you tell me about the fight in McPhee's between the Life Guard and your Irish mates. The one that cost Captain Newcombe his life . . . ?”

“Wilford Newcombe was every bit the blighted rubbish that Trevor was. Why aren't you asking me about the three decent men of the Irish Guard who lost their commissions because of that night? Where's your interest and compassion for them?”

“I was told those men were found culpable.”

The sergeant's glare darkened. “Of course they were. They were tried in the ruddy British courts. What else would you expect? So tell me, Mr. Pendragon, where is your esteemed justice in that?”

“Tell me what you know about that night then.”

“To what end? Can you reverse the courts . . . ? Give those men their commissions back . . . ? I think not.”

“What started the fight?”

“Why don't you ask Dashell Hampstead that question?” He abruptly turned and headed for the door, stopping just at the threshold. “Let me be very clear, Mr. Pendragon, so you won't feel compelled to bother me again. I despised Trevor. He was a disgrace. He polluted everything he came into contact with, including my sister. He deserved what happened to him. It is the will of God. And the murder of my sister is Trevor's legacy, not mine. I'm only thankful my nephew has a chance at a decent life now.” He started to turn away and then stopped once more. “Do not ask for me again, Mr. Pendragon”—he bit the words ominously—“unless you've a magistrate's warrant in your hand.”

And then he was gone.

B
y the time we made the short journey to Buckingham Palace the sky was as dark as I could sense Colin's mood to be. I diverted my attention to the nearly full opalescent moon peeking above the eastern horizon and hoped it might aid us in finding further illumination on our night's endeavors. I was also grateful for the clear sky, as we had stopped by the Devonshire to retrieve my things, which were relegated to the roof of our cab for fear there might be bugs in them seeking a better life elsewhere.

We swung around the courtyard in front of the palace and I was mortified at the thought of my scant possessions fastened above our heads for God and Queen to see. I climbed out while Colin conferred with the driver and slipped him the cash I had handed over during the brief ride. And then, quite suddenly, as though to further reinforce the questionable value of my belongings, the coach began pulling away. “Hey!” I shouted.

“What's the matter?!” Colin scowled at me.

“My things! He's got my things!”

He shook his head and started toward the side gate. “He is taking them to Mrs. Behmoth to boil. He'll be back to deliver us straightaway to the Easterbrooke flat. It can't be long now before she and her houseman make their move. We have got to get that blasted case solved tonight.”

My heart sank at his frustration as he beckoned one of the guards to fetch the sergeant on duty. The young man immediately snapped about and marched off. “Do you have any idea who's in charge tonight?” I asked.

“Didn't you notice the man's uniform?” Colin muttered impatiently.

“His uniform?”

“He's wearing the buttons and insignias of the Queen's Life Guard, Ethan. Haven't you been paying any attention?” I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from defending myself and watched as Sergeant McReedy came striding back across the parade ground. It seemed a lucky turn indeed until Colin finally conceded, “And Sergeant McReedy mentioned he would be on duty tonight.”

“You cheat.” I smirked.

“I make use of all resources at hand.”

“Let them in, Private!” Sergeant McReedy barked as he approached.

The young man swung the gate wide even as he kept a firm hand on it, ready to swing it shut in case his commanding officer should abruptly countermand himself. We followed Sergeant McReedy inside and down a hall in the opposite direction from where Major Hampstead's office was, which I thought curious. The sergeant delivered us to a small meeting room and bade us sit.

“We should have some tea shortly,” he announced as we settled around the table at the room's center.

“Very thoughtful.” Colin managed a slight smile.

“And to what do we owe tonight's visit?” Sergeant McReedy's face betrayed nothing as he stared at us, but I could tell by the rigidity of his spine that he was tense.

Before Colin could answer, a young corporal scurried into the room with a teapot in one hand and three cups in the other. He had a creamer wedged in the crook between his chin and breastbone and an open bowl of sugar pressed against his side at one elbow. He looked like the repast version of a one-man band.

“Some things are informal,” Sergeant McReedy said as he reached out and took the creamer and sugar from the man. “There is enough pomp in everything else we do, so we try to keep tea one of our simpler pleasures.” The sergeant dismissed the corporal with the flick of a hand and served us himself. “I must profess to finding it a relief to know this will all be over in twenty-four hours. Less, actually.”

“Thank you for reminding me,” Colin said, sipping at his tea grimly.

“So you have gotten nowhere?”

“Where I've gotten is not far enough.”

“I see.”

Colin's exasperation continued to sour as he asked, “What do you know about the night at McPhee's Tavern when Private Newcombe's father was mortally wounded?”

Sergeant McReedy paused as though pondering the question before answering, “Nothing. I wasn't there.”

“But you've heard things . . . ?”

“I've told you before that I do not trade in gossip and hearsay.”

“Within every rumor lies a kernel of truth.”

Sergeant McReedy set his tea down. “I really expected more of you than that sort of claptrap, Mr. Pendragon. Even the inspector could do better.” Colin's face went rigid as the sergeant got up and ambled to the door. “Is there someone else you would prefer to grill for such pabulum?”

“Corporal Bramwood,” I spoke into the edgy silence that had descended, even though I wasn't at all sure if that's whom Colin had in mind. That young man, I was quite certain, could be coaxed into talking.

The sergeant scowled. “Fitting.” And was out the door.

“I believe I shall fail at this case just to make sure they never enlist my aid again,” Colin sneered the moment we were alone.

“Isn't there something I can do to help?”

“You have done more than your share on this case already.” He flashed a meager sort of grin. We sat quietly after that until the major's young attaché, Corporal Bramwood, came striding into the room.

“Mr. Pendragon . . .” He beamed with his usual enthusiasm. “Mr. Pruitt . . .” He tossed me a quick glance with measurably less interest.

“Please . . .” Colin gestured to a chair. “I have some difficult questions to press upon you as Major Hampstead's adjunct. I shall require your full cooperation.”

The young corporal furrowed his brow with what looked like artifice as he continued to stare at Colin. “Of course, Mr. Pendragon. Whatever I can do to help.”

I studied the side of his face: strong chin, straight, slender nose with the faintest bob at its tip, and eager, dark eyes. Even his dusky brown hair was swept across his forehead in a rakish sort of flourish. He looked like a man yet to suffer the anguish most lives dole out, and as I watched him I knew I didn't trust him.

“Tell me . . .” Colin leaned back in his chair and gazed up at the ceiling as though operating on whimsy. “Are you solely responsible for Major Hampstead's calendar?”

“I am.”

“And was it the major's habit to visit a tavern named McPhee's from time to time?”

“It was until a handful of months ago. Some malcontents from the Irish Guard set upon the major and a few other officers there one evening. A captain under Major Hampstead ended up seriously wounded and died in hospital several days later.” His eyes lit up. “It was Private Newcombe's father. You've met Private Newcombe . . .”

“Indeed.” Colin feigned a brief smile. “Seems a decent fellow.” To my surprise Corporal Bramwood neither agreed nor disagreed. “Can you tell me what precipitated the fight?”

“Oh . . . ,” he muttered as I continued to study him, watching as his face categorically shut down, “. . . I'm sure I don't know.”

Colin gave an arid chuckle. “Come now, you sit right outside the major's office. I can see he doesn't make a move without you. Surely you—”

“No, sir,” came the immediate reply.

“Really . . . ?” Colin was as keyed on the corporal's face as I was. “I would have bet that a bright young man like yourself would have picked up some notion—”

“You would be wrong, sir.” He shifted in his chair. “Are we about finished? I've some duties to attend to—”

Colin's glare tightened, signaling that the limit of his patience was fast approaching. “You were so willing to be helpful a moment ago and now you are asking to leave? Have I done something to offend?”

“No, sir. I've . . .” His eyes flicked about the room a moment, betraying his youth. “I don't know anything and don't want to waste your time.”

“Very thoughtful, but I should prefer to decide for myself what is a waste of my time. Now why is it that mention of that night at McPhee's makes you so uncomfortable?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, come now, Corporal, if you could see yourself in a mirror you would be appalled at your lack of cunning.”

I cringed as Corporal Bramwood clenched his jaw and stared back at Colin. “Will that be all?” he asked curtly.

Colin leaned forward, talking pointedly into the younger man's face. “Had you heard rumors that Captain Bellingham was having an affair?”

The corporal's face softened slightly as he continued to glare at Colin. “I'd heard a few things, but I didn't believe it. The captain—”

“Spare me,” Colin spoke over him. “I've heard all about how wonderful the captain was, and yet there was someone who hated him enough to torture that good and kind man to death. So tell me, Corporal Bramwood, whom did you hear the captain was having it off with?”

He pursed his lips with distaste. “I don't see what this—”

“Who?!”

“The Stuart woman. The one he was always visiting.”

“And is that what started the fight at McPhee's?”

“I don't know.”

“Did you ever meet Captain Bellingham's brother-in-law?”

“Who?”

“Sergeant Thomas Mulrooney of the Irish Guard. Do you know him?”

“No, sir.”

“Ever heard of him?”

“No.”

“You have a deplorable way of helping, Corporal.”

“Are we finished then?”

Colin leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “You expound great affection for Captain Bellingham and yet offer only the barest assistance. I find that mystifying.” Corporal Bramwood stood up and moved for the door without a word, but just as he stepped out into the hallway Colin asked, “Will you do me one meager service, Corporal? Will you ask Private O'Fallon to join us?” The corporal nodded wordlessly as he hurried from the room.
“Bloody hell . . .”
Colin pounded a fist on the table.

“You can't let them get to you.”

He turned a deep scowl on me. “I've got twenty-two hours to solve this blasted case. Do you have a better suggestion?”

“How about a different approach? Your impatience is having little impact on these men.”

He immediately dropped to the floor and knocked out two dozen push-ups before springing back to his feet just as Private O'Fallon, the tall guardsman with the porcelain complexion and wave of strawberry hair, arrived. To my amusement, when he did so Colin turned to him with a most welcoming smile that was nothing less than what I knew he could conjure. He warmly beckoned the private to the chair Corporal Bramwood had so eagerly vacated, but Private O'Fallon stayed on his feet, maintaining the same grim expression he always seemed to wear, leaving me to wonder what he had to be so cheerless about.

“I appreciate your time once again, Private, as I find myself in need of just a bit more clarification with regards to what you have already told us.”

The young man gave a halfhearted shrug, keeping his eyes on the wall behind me as though preparing for a grilling by a military tribunal.

“Right. . . .” Colin shot me a perturbed glance. “Do you recollect our initial meeting at the Bellingham flat?”

“Of course.” The private glanced from Colin to me as though searching for some subterfuge in so innocuous a start.

Colin sucked in a breath as he laced his hands behind his back and began pacing around the room. “You mentioned something that day that I have not been able to forget. It concerns the Lady Stuart. . . .”

Private O'Fallon's eyes narrowed. “I've already told you everything I know about her,” he insisted.

“So you made clear the last time we spoke.” Colin moved back around to me and sat down, trying to adopt a look of nonchalance. “But I find memories to be funny things. Sometimes the tiniest nudge can trigger a world of recollections. So let us see if perhaps we cannot stir your thoughts.”

The private turned a tepid sort of pink and I feared he was on the verge of refusing to cooperate before he finally said, “If you insist.”

“You mentioned you had the impression Captain Bellingham was enjoying some sort of dalliance with Lady Stuart, did you not?”

“It wasn't my impression,” he answered with a thick note of condescension. “It was the truth. I was privy to his calendar. I set many of his appointments myself. Her name was repeatedly there and yet he refused even the most trivial reference to her. I found that suspect, especially for a man said to be the ideal husband and father.”

“Didn't you find it odd then that he would keep a public calendar entry for a woman he was having it off with?”

“What?!” His voice increased its edge as he glared at Colin. “He was up to something with her, but I never said they were having it off.”

“You alluded—”

“
Alluded?!
Is that how you investigate your cases? By allusion and distortion? And do you also manipulate the words of the people you interview to fit your own determination of how a thing should play out?”

Colin's lips stretched into a rigid line as his brow sank ominously. “Is that what I have done, Private O'Fallon? Have I misinterpreted your intent in telling us of the many visits your captain made to Lady Stuart?”

“
My
captain?” His face went as hard as the gaze still boring into Colin. “And what might
that
mean, Mr. Pendragon? What is your implication
there?
”

“Implication?!” Colin flicked his eyes to me and I could see a simmering outrage blazing within them. “I imply that you worked for him. That you answered to him. Is that offensive as well, Private?” He rose to his feet. “There seems to be a world of secrets about this case and I am beginning to find it all exceedingly tiresome. You provide nothing more than grudging cooperation, making it abundantly clear that you don't give a fig about seeing these murders solved. I would say that doesn't reflect very well on you, Private!” he snapped.

“I don't care in the least if you mean to accuse me of something, Mr. Pendragon. Have at it.”