The Bellingham Bloodbath (23 page)

T
he small coach picked up speed as we turned the corner off Lancaster Gate and headed away from Lady Stuart's home toward Green Park by way of Bond Street. Lady Nesbitt-Normand's driver, Fletcher, was proving more than adept at guiding us around clogged streets and impassable alleyways, just as I had known he would be, which assuaged my guilt for having taken advantage of her gratitude to enlist his aid.

We rocketed through the turn into Green Park, the uneven cobbles rattling furiously beneath our wheels, as I pulled out my watch to discover that it was just past nine thirty; I would make it on time. Fletcher guided us around a steep corner and through a pocket of trees before, at last, we careened across the final leg to Buckingham Palace.

“Shall I wait for you?” he asked as we drew up to the massive bronze gates.

“No. You have done me a world of service. I cannot thank you enough.” He tipped his hat and threw me a small smile as he pulled away.

The guard stationed at the gate seemed aware of my imminent arrival and gestured to a younger guardsman who immediately ushered me inside the grounds. That young man handed me off to yet another gentleman at the side portico who once again led me down the same austere hallway I had traversed so many times over the past three days. At last I was delivered to the same meeting room Colin and I had been using from the start.

Colin was already there, tilted back in a seat on the far side of the table, his agitation evident by the speed with which a silver coin was being rotated between his fingers. I thanked my escort and went inside, catching sight of a burlap sack tucked under the table by Colin's feet. I was about to ask what he had collected when he spoke up. “Thank heavens you've arrived first.”

“First?”

“We are about to be joined by three of the Life Guards, one of whom I am certain is the killer. I'm afraid this is a most sad and regrettable case made doubly so by our own circumstances. Was Lady Stuart cooperative?”

“Without hesitation,” I responded as I sat down beside him. “But what are you talking about? You know who the killer is? And what circumstances of ours?”

But he only waved me off. “I haven't time to tell you all I've come to believe, but you must brace yourself for a most disturbing revelation,” he said, his brow furrowing and his lips drawing tight. “And there is one last thing I will need from you. One last lie you must sell.” My heart began to gallop again as he quickly started to lay out my part. Before he could finish, however, a clamor arose from the hallway and I knew the men he had summoned were coming. “Follow my lead,” he charged. “You'll just have to figure out the rest as we go.” My stomach flopped as he pushed himself up, setting his feet firmly on the floor with his hands folded neatly atop the table.

I glanced over to the door just as Major Hampstead came bustling in with the dour rusty-headed Private O'Fallon and thin, loping Private Newcombe. That these were the three Colin had summoned did not surprise me, and yet, had I been forced to pick the guilty man, I knew I could not.

Major Hampstead, his oval face a vision of pinched angles and displeasure, spoke up first. “I find your beckoning us here an hour before you are to address the newsmen most disagreeable, Mr. Pendragon. If this is some sort of game then I shall thank you to not waste my time.”

“I assure you it is no such thing,” he answered, remaining stiffly upright in his chair. “There are some crucial aspects to this case that I have only just become aware of in the last several hours, and I feel I must outline them for you. I only ask your indulgence for a brief time before I face your cadre of newsmen, six hours earlier than we had originally agreed, I might add.”

“That's not my fault,” he shot back, his eyes shifting to me.

Colin raised a hand. “It hardly matters.”

“I should think your time would be better spent memorizing the announcement I've had prepared for you.”

“You have asked me to lie, Major. There is little preparation needed for that.”

“I have asked you to make them believe it!” he snapped, his face as dark as the room's shadowed corners.

“Yes, yes.” Colin waved him off. “Now if you don't mind, I do have a spot of time left. . . .”

For an instant I thought Major Hampstead might refuse to cooperate, but until Colin addressed the newsmen he retained the upper hand. With a tight nod, all three of the men reluctantly took a seat.

“Private Newcombe,” Colin said smoothly, addressing the normally affable young man. “You will permit me to once again address the evening that cost your father his life?”

He shrugged, though I could tell he was already on edge. “If you must.”

“Who did you tell me was with your father that night?”

He frowned and I noticed his eyes flick to the major. “Major Hampstead, Captain Bellingham, and Captain Morgesster. Same as the last time you asked me.”

“Of course. And who told you what happened that night? That your father had been injured?”

“I don't remember.”

“It was I, Mr. Pendragon.” Major Hampstead spoke in a voice as chilled as frost. “I relayed the story to Private Newcombe. I was there, after all.”

“Yes . . . so you were,” Colin muttered. “So tell me, Major, will it surprise you then to discover that there was someone else with you that night?”

Private Newcombe frowned. “What?”

“Captain Morgesster—”

“—is an old flummoxed fool!” Major Hampstead growled.

“That old sot was always seeing double.” Private Newcombe laughed. “It's why they retired him. You're making a mistake if you're paying heed to any of
his
stories.”

“What about Captain Brady of the Irish Guard? He mentioned that
almost
all of the men from the Life Guard were officers that night. Funny word, ‘almost.' ” Colin shifted his gaze back to Major Hampstead.

“Either you are insinuating that my memory is at fault . . . ,” he answered with rigid composure, “. . . or you are calling me a liar.”

“I only mean to arrive at the truth,” Colin said, forcing a smile that I'm sure we all recognized as hollow. “What that means with respect to your memory or reputation is beyond my control.”

“Do not piss on me. I'm warning you.”

“You're warning me of what?”

The major held his tongue but took that moment to glance at his watch.

“I don't understand.” It was Private Newcombe who spoke up again. “What does that wretched night have to do with Captain Bellingham's murder anyway?”

“Everything,” Colin answered as he shifted his eyes to Major Hampstead again. “Wouldn't you agree?”

The major calmly drew a breath and announced, “We are done here.” He dangled his watch by its fob, spinning it around like a priceless gem. “I'm certain the majority of the newsmen have already arrived, and as you have failed to solve this case as we agreed, it is time for you to prepare.” He pushed himself up from the table.

“If you are ignorant as to who committed these murders,” Colin said with equal aplomb, “then how can you be so certain I have failed?”

“So now you mean to accuse me?!” he roared.

Colin shrugged as his eyebrows eased skyward.

Major Hampstead leaned forward with a sneer, locking his gaze on to Colin. “If you have an issue with me, Mr. Pendragon, then you shall take it up with me alone. I will not have you bandying about my reputation in front of my men.” He spun on his two young privates. “You are both dismissed.”

“Not just yet.” Colin's grin was tight and threatening. “I still have some time left, Major, and if you don't live up to your part of our agreement then I shall have no choice but to present my case to your newsmen as I believe it to be true. You must understand, Major, that I am certain I have solved this crime.”

“What?!” Private Newcombe's blasé countenance abruptly fell away. “What are you saying?”

No one spoke for a moment as Major Hampstead continued to glare at Colin. My heart was racing and I could not so much as draw a breath until after the major slowly lowered himself back into his seat.

“All right, Mr. Pendragon,” he tersely allowed, “I will hear you out. But not with these men here.”

“No concessions, Major. These men stay.”

Major Hampstead's fury at Colin's unwillingness to be cowed was evident in both the deep furrow of his brow and the tight set of his mouth. “Have your say then,” he growled through clenched teeth, “but unless you have a tintype of the deed being done you shall find my hand up your ass moving your lips to the words I decide in exactly thirty minutes!”

Colin's gaze did not waver. “We shall see. So let us begin with one simple question for you, Major: Who was the fifth person with you the night you were set upon by those Irish blokes?”

“Why do you keep bringing that blasted night up?” Private Newcombe stared from Colin to Major Hampstead, outright fury now flushing his cheeks.

Colin glanced at me and I knew it was time to spin the tale he had fed me. “There were three Irish lads,” I spoke up, “all of whom were court-martialed and discharged from their guard as a result of your father's death.” Having repeated what little truth we had, I began spinning the folly Colin had instructed me in. “We found one of those boys, Private. A scrawny lad who has yet to afford passage back to Ireland. It has left him right foul and he remembers the fifth person with the officers that night. A ginger, he said. And he remembers what started it all.”

“I won't listen to this.” Private Newcombe jumped up. “What my father was—killed my mum. I'm glad he's dead. He got what he deserved.” And before any of us could react, he turned and fled, leaving a steely silence in his wake.

“Well”—Colin spoke gravely—“I suppose Private Newcombe has made the point all of us fear the most. Besides which, he's not a ginger anyway. But you, Private O'Fallon”—he turned to the pale young man seated next to Major Hampstead—“you rather fit that description.”

“So what?”

“Come now, Mr. Pendragon,” Major Hampstead scoffed. “What sort of drivel is this?”

“Will you still think it drivel when I ask Mr. Pruitt to bring the young Irish rogue in here to identify Private O'Fallon?”

“Bollocks!” the major barked too harshly. “You haven't the time for such a thing. You're out of tricks, Mr. Pendragon.”

Colin nodded to me and I stood up, just as he had warned that I would need to, and began heading for the door. “I believe Mr. Pruitt mentioned that the Irish bloke is right foul,” Colin reminded with utter calm. “Which has made him most eager to be of assistance. Came right over this morning—”

“So what?” Private O'Fallon glared at Colin, ignoring me as I passed behind him. “So what if I was there that night?”

“Shut the hell up!” the major snapped.

The faintest smirk edged onto Colin's face as I stopped. “So what indeed?” he said, leaning back in his chair. “There's certainly no law that states a private cannot be seen in public with his ranking officers. And yet, until this very moment with the threat of an eyewitness, neither of you has ever mentioned that you were there that night. I cannot help but wonder why.”

“It would seem there has been some misunderstanding, Mr. Pendragon.” The major spoke in a condescending tone as I quietly returned to my seat. “You weren't asked to enquire into the death of Captain Newcombe. That travesty has already been dealt with.”

“Ah!” Colin said as he held a finger up. “Now you see, Major, there's the thing. I'm quite convinced that the genesis of Captain Bellingham's murder was born that same night. But then I would wager you have suspected that all along.”

“I have no idea what you're insinuating.”

“Oh, come now. The ramifications of that night were swift and severe. Captain Newcombe died within days and the three Irish blokes were instantly discharged without honor. Nevertheless, no formal charges of murder were ever brought against them for the simple reason that no one knew who actually delivered the fatal blow to Captain Newcombe. There appeared to be fault all around—even among the five of you.”

“That is absolute rubbish,” Major Hampstead sneered. “You are flailing about like a fool.”

“Am I? Then let us consider the other repercussions of that night: Captain Morgesster forcibly retired within the month, rumors of your promotion to lieutenant colonel silenced, and the once jovial Captain Bellingham left inexplicably sullen and secretive. Why?”

“You have no idea what you're talking about!” the major roared.

“Oh, but I do,” Colin said grimly. “Private Newcombe made that clear just now.”

“He said nothing!”
But in spite of his indignation Major Hampstead did not move.

“It was the very thing that bound the five of you together,” Colin continued. “The truth that leaves Captain Morgesster perpetually besotted and blathering on about hummingbirds and bees leaving each other in peace. It's why Private Newcombe abhorred his father.”

“You're playing a treacherous game, Mr. Pendragon.”

“It is far from a game,” he answered at once. “I certainly have no right to judge the determinations a man comes to understand about his own life. If you are the least bit clever, Major, you have long since figured that out. But you denigrate the uniform you wear when you seek to muddy the facts of these terrible murders to cover your own self-loathing.”

“How dare you—”

Colin's hand shot up. “Don't. You sully the best of what any of us can hope for with your continual lying. Now I'm almost out of time and you
will
want to hear me out before you set me in front of your newsmen.” He pushed himself to his feet and walked around to the far side of the room. “I must admit, at first I didn't see the correlation between the brawl at McPhee's and the murder of Captain Bellingham, but that was before I realized how dire the outcome of that night had proven to be for him. I only realized it after I saw the letter he had given to Corporal Blevins for Lady Stuart. Where I made my mistake was in thinking that Captain Bellingham had
written
it. Something you were happy to have me believe.” He flashed a tight grin.