The Bellingham Bloodbath (19 page)

I saw the slightest stitch fleet across the major's brow as he asked, “Deliver it to whom?”

Corporal Blevins tilted the letter and read, “
Lady Dahlia Stuart.
I was to deliver it to her. . . .” His arm slowly lowered. “But I'd forgotten until just now. I'm terribly sorry, sir.”

“You've nothing to be sorry about, Corporal,” Major Hampstead demurred with a grace that sounded unnatural. “These are trying times for all of us. The point is that you've remembered now. I shall see that it gets noted in your record.” And with that, the major snatched the letter from Corporal Blevins's hand and turned back to Colin. “Is this what you mean to turn your attentions to, Mr. Pendragon?”

“I have offered to deliver it tonight on behalf of the corporal.”

“Oh, come now.” He flapped it toward Colin like the broken wing of a bird. “Are you telling me you're not the least bit interested in what it says?”

“It's not addressed to me.”

“Really, Mr. Pendragon. Do let me guess. I'll bet you're acquainted with the lady in question, is that it? You're going to have her read it to you?” His face went dark as he abruptly tore the back of the envelope open. “Well, let me save you the bother.”

“Sir!”
Corporal Blevins jumped but made no move toward his officer. “I gave my word.”

“Don't be insolent, Corporal!” he roared back. “This is the property of Her Majesty's Life Guard. You're dismissed.”

The young man sagged. “Yes, sir,” he said, then backed up and disappeared without another word.

“You're incorrigible, Mr. Pendragon.” Major Hampstead yanked the letter free and unfolded it. “Tricking that neophyte toady to get a look at something you have no business seeing.”

“You made it my business when you hired me to solve this case.”

But the major was no longer listening. He had turned his full attentions to the letter, his eyes skimming the lines even as his face remained indecipherable. I wondered how long Colin would stand here, allowing himself to be baited, but more than that, I feared the case was edging away with every second that passed.

“Well, Mr. Pendragon”—the major finally looked up—“it would seem you are right about one thing.” The tic of a grin scratched at one corner of his mouth. “This letter is indeed valuable. It would seem to bear evidence as to what happened.” And now a mirthless smile overtook his face. “And in the spirit of the cooperation I promised, I shall read it to you.”

“I would rather see it for myself.”

Major Hampstead's eyebrows arched. “Not a trusting man? Here—” He swung the letter to me. “Why don't
you
do us the honor then, Mr. Pruitt? Read it aloud. Read it twice if you would like, but then I shall keep it. It is the property of the Guard, after all.”

I seized it from him with a scowl and gazed down at it. It was a brief letter, barely filling half the page. Given its brevity, it was clear Major Hampstead had studied it quite intently before deciding on the nature of its meaning. That he was sharing it ensured that it either reiterated some belief he had been peddling all along or amounted to much of nothing.

I sucked in a quick breath before describing the script of the letter to Colin: scratchy and haphazardly slanted, clearly that of a man's hand. It looked to have been written in haste with little attention paid to spacing or punctuation. And then I began to read:

“How heavy is my heart that I should find myself putting these words to paper. I loved you with everything I had and know you loved me back. I could see it in your eyes. I could feel it in your touch. And yet you betrayed me. You have thrown back what I have so freely given and deny that which we both know to be true. It shall not be. I will not be cast aside like the fool nor dismissed as one who does not matter. You will acknowledge me, you will embrace me once again, or the price will be complete and you will know that you alone were to blame. Of this I give my solemn vow. Once more will I offer all that is in my heart and trust that you will return the same. For if you do not, then you shall receive this letter and know that it is done.”

I looked at Colin and was relieved when he did not ask that I read it again. I carefully slid it back into its envelope, the red waxen seal rent like a bleeding gash upon otherwise flawless flesh, and tried to comprehend its meaning. That Captain Bellingham had implicated himself in something untoward was irrefutable. His declaration for Lady Stuart was as disturbing as it was unexpected. But what I could not understand was what it said of her. Had she misconstrued his intentions . . . ? Or had she been lying to us all along?

“I should think this concludes your investigation, Mr. Pendragon,” Major Hampstead announced as he grabbed the letter from me. “It seems clear he was obsessed with this woman. Terrible tragedy. Atrocious how the deviant mind works.”

“And what of his own end?” Colin scoffed. “That he may have murdered his wife to exact some sort of revenge on Lady Stuart is possible, but then what happened to
him
in that attic?”

“Suicide, Mr. Pendragon. The ultimate sacrifice. Have you never read Shakespeare?”

“An extraordinary conceit considering he was bound to a chair. Difficult to put a bullet in your own head while tethered. Even more so given that the gun has yet to be found. Imagine the poor man stumbling about with half his face ruptured, trying to hide the weapon. Remarkable. And then there are the three hundred and seventy-one match burns to his body. Such dramatics are most surely worthy of the Bard.”

Major Hampstead's face betrayed little emotion. “I am finding your sarcasm tiresome, Mr. Pendragon. Nevertheless, it does not change the fact of our deal. Twenty hours until you present the conclusion I give you to the press.” His expression soured. “I must say I find it disturbing that you admit to a preference for making a public spectacle of this family's tragedy rather than allowing us to take care of it in private. The Queen's business is not for the rabble. I should think a man like you would understand.”

“The Queen's business?” Colin snorted. “I'm sure Her Majesty would be appalled at your antics in her name.”

Major Hampstead allowed a tight smile as he tugged out his watch and glanced at it again. “You must excuse me, as I'm afraid I am out of time, much as you almost are, Mr. Pendragon. I shall have this letter put safely away. You have heard its contents. I have fulfilled my end of our bargain.” His smile took on an air of derision. “You will fulfill yours tomorrow.” He glanced at me with a curt nod but offered no such pleasantry to Colin as he stalked from the room, Captain Bellingham's letter clutched firmly in his hand.

N
either of us said a word until we were well away from Buckingham. Night had completed its descent over the city, which served as a reminder of how little time was left. The first tendrils of daylight would begin stretching across the city's horizon in little more than eight hours and here we were heading back to Edwina Easterbrooke's flat yet again. As I could have predicted, we'd had no word from the lads we had hired to keep an eye on her place. When I was their age I would never have stayed and I doubted they had, either.

As we wound closer to the Easterbrooke flat on the north side of Regent's Park, I struggled to hold my tongue. Colin's brow had not released so much as a notch of its furrowed intensity, yet I was finding it increasingly hard to keep from peppering him with questions. I was desperate to hear what he had made of Captain Bellingham's letter. It was obvious Lady Stuart was implicated in some fashion, as she had undoubtedly been aware of his obsession with her. Perhaps she had even resorted to hiring someone with the intent of frosting his passion. We had seen the remains of such intent too many times in the past.

“That was a bloody rout for Hampstead to have come in when he did,” I finally tossed out.

Colin gave something of a snort as he yanked the cab's blanket higher across our laps and began absently rolling a coin between his fingers. His gaze drifted aimlessly over the flickering gas lamps as we clattered past and I could tell I wasn't going to get any further. “There must be something I can do to help . . . ,” I said somewhat meagerly.

“Isn't there always?” He turned to me at once, seizing the coin in midair, and I realized he had been waiting for me to make just such a statement. “I need you to find Major Hampstead's corporal—Bramwood, isn't it?” I nodded. “You have to convince him to give you that letter from Captain Bellingham. I'm sure he'll have put it in the major's safe.”

“The letter?”

“Yes. We need to bring it to Lady Stuart. Tonight.”

“Tonight?” I parroted, fighting to keep my jaw from unhinging. I understood why he wanted to see it and could even comprehend his desire to confront Lady Stuart with it, but I could not
fathom
how I was supposed to convince Corporal Bramwood to release it to me.

“Will you do it, my love?” Colin asked as he nudged the coin effortlessly through his fingers again.

“I can't imagine how . . . ,” I mumbled, my mind reeling at the very idea.

“You'll think of something. You always do.”

“So you say . . . ,” I answered with far less faith than he had.

No response was forthcoming as our cab came to a halt just down the road from the Easterbrooke flat per Colin's instructions. To my astonishment, a slim black shadow came hurtling down the street toward us almost at once. As it passed beneath a street lamp I spotted a mop of curly black hair atop a pale, angular face, one of our lads.

“I
knew
it was you,” the scruffy boy chirped. “Things is 'appenin'. You'll be right glad you 'ad us 'ere tonight.”

“Excellent.” Colin grinned. “And where is your cohort?”

“ 'Oo?”

“Your friend. The sandy-haired bloke.”

“That's me point. 'E's gone after the great carriage that pulled out 'bout twenty minutes ago. 'E 'opped on the back bumper and went ridin' off. I been waitin' 'ere for ya ever since.”

“Outstanding work.” Colin grinned, gently cuffing the youngster's bony shoulder. “You have most definitely earned your second crown.” He tossed the one he'd been rolling over his hand to the lad and said, “I've a suspicion you may earn another before this night is over.”

The boy's eyes about burst from their sockets. “Ya can't get better 'elp than me an' me mate.” He puffed out his chest as he cast a sideways glance at me. “ 'Cept maybe 'im, a course,” he bothered to add.

“Speaking of which.” Colin called up to the driver, “I need you to take Mr. Pruitt back to Buckingham.”

“Ay.”

Colin turned to me and by the light of the brilliant moon I caught a mixture of resolve and apprehension. “You
have
to get that letter.”

“I'll do my best.”

“No.” He grabbed my arm before I could climb back into the cab. “You have
got
to get it.”

I looked at him and felt a knot settle deep in my gut. It twisted about as I sensed the weight of the case descending upon my shoulders, leaving me almost without voice as I muttered, “Of course.”

Only then did Colin release my arm and step back. “Come back here as soon as you get it. This lad will know where to find me.” He shifted his eyes to the boy. “Will you do that for another crown?”

“Yes, sir!” he answered with unbridled vigor.

Colin watched as I eased back into the cab, the disquiet in my belly now thundering up through my chest. “Godspeed,” he said with the faintest of smiles.

I
found myself returned to Buckingham Palace long before I was ready. I had been racking my brain to think what I might say to Corporal Bramwood, with little success. Between his obvious disinterest in me and the afternoon's confrontation with Colin, I was certain the corporal would be unlikely to allow me to plead my case. The one thing I
had
decided was to ask to speak with Corporal Blevins rather than Corporal Bramwood. At least that way I could be sure of gaining entry. I knew
he
would agree to see me again if only to lament the major's seizing of the letter.

The guardsman who'd gone to announce me took no more than a handful of minutes before he hurried back and ushered me to Corporal Blevins's tiny office.

“Oh, goodness,” I feigned exasperation the moment my escort left, “I'm afraid I have made a foolish error.”

“You have?” As always, Corporal Blevins gave me a pleasant smile.

“I have confused you with the major's adjunct . . . Corporal Bramwood, isn't it? How terribly embarrassing.”

“Not at all.” He grinned. “He's just down the hall. Follow me then,” he said as he headed for the door.

“No, no.” I waved him off with a chuckle, eager to be on my own when I confronted his colleague. “I know where he is. You mustn't bother yourself.”

“It's no bother.”

“I have been dim enough already,” I insisted. “If you lead me down the hall like I'm starkers I shall be quite mortified.” I backed toward the door, smiling with all the humility I could muster. “I shall see you tomorrow, Corporal. You have been most kind.”

“It's my pleasure, sir,” he said, following me to the door but thankfully going no farther. “I do hope you and Mr. Pendragon will get this behind us soon. It is such a terrible thing.”

“You can be certain we will.” I nodded fervently, as much to convince myself as him. I gestured toward the vicinity of Corporal Bramwood's office. “I remember now.” I chuckled.

He waved but did not go back inside his office until I had reached Corporal Bramwood's door. I signaled to him and drew a quick breath, waiting for the instant when Corporal Bramwood would catch sight of me, but as I stepped inside all remained silent. I looked around to find the small anteroom empty. “Hello?!” I called out in an alarmingly feeble voice. No answer came. There were no lamps lit in Major Hampstead's interior office, although several were still on in Corporal Bramwood's area.

I wandered around to the far side of the corporal's tidy desk, trying to discern whether he might have left for the night. Everything was in impeccable order and I could see at once that the letter had not been carelessly left out. With a sinking disappointment, my eyes drifted over to the large metal safe in the far corner of the room. It was a foreboding piece, jet-black and nearly six feet in height, without the slightest hint of scrollwork or decoration that might suggest it was anything other than what it was—an impregnable fortress, immovable and unyielding in its secrets. Why had I never learned to pick a lock?

“Forget something?” A hard, sarcastic voice startled me. I turned around to find Corporal Bramwood standing in the doorway, a chagrined expression on his face.

I tried to smile, but fear caught the best of me, constraining my throat and seizing my face as though with rictus. What had lulled me into thinking that wandering over to this side of his desk was a good thing? “I've been waiting for you,” I managed to say, trying to casually sidle out from where I was. “I owe you an apology, Corporal. Mr. Pendragon's behavior was inexcusable this evening. It's the reason I came back.” I hoped I sounded plausible.

Corporal Bramwood stared at me, his face dour, and I feared he was on the verge of telling me to bugger off. He pursed his lips and stepped all the way into the office, taking great pains to cross behind his desk from the opposite side I had been trying to extract myself from. Still, he said nothing.

“I was looking for paper and something to write with,” I offered belatedly. “I thought perhaps you had already left. I wanted to leave you a note. To apologize—” I bit my tongue and told myself to shut up.

The corporal brusquely sorted an already-meticulous pile of papers on the near corner of his desk before finally raising his gaze to me. “Well then”—his eyes were hooded and dark, his mouth a thin line—“you have accomplished your goal.”

“No,” I said at once, a pained smile coming easily to my face, “I don't see that I have. I can tell you're angry and my apology is ringing untrue. You have taken offense with Mr. Pendragon's methods and I can hardly blame you.” I was desperate to get him talking, or commiserating, or yelling . . . anything to get him to engage. “I know he can be infuriating at times, but I assure you it is only out of passion for the case at hand. I don't mean to offer an excuse, only to state a fact. Even so, there
are
times when he does go too far.”

“He's pompous”—the young corporal seized the bait—“and he's accusatory. I don't like being accused. I haven't
done
anything.”

I nodded agreeably. “Well understood, Corporal Bramwood, but you must realize that everyone is a suspect until the case is solved. While that may seem harsh, it has proven to be effective over the years. It has allowed Mr. Pendragon to see past the rhetoric of those who are most deceptive.”

“Nevertheless,” the corporal grumbled, “it might do him good to learn to be more discerning.”

“And there is no denying that.”

“I don't know how you work with him.”

“There are days . . . ,” I chuckled, but the young man did not join me. With nothing else coming to mind, I gestured to one of the chairs and asked, “May I?”

He nodded and sat down himself.

“Is Major Hampstead still here?”

“No.”

I feigned disappointment, though it was what I had been counting on. Even as the young man continued to absently rearrange papers on his desk I knew my time to try for that letter had come. There would be no other. “I am sure you must be aware of the deadline imposed on us to solve these murders,” I started, desperate to find the right words.

“Of course.”

“Yes.” I nodded again while he continued to fuss about his desk. I let a minute pass before pressing on. I would like to say I was playing a calculated game, but in truth I was only stumbling haphazardly forward. “Most of your regiment wishes to dispense its own judgment outside the public's scrutiny, but there is a chance that an error could be made, or worse, that no conclusion might be reached at all. Murders like these can be a mire. Even Scotland Yard struggles to wring justice from such cases. Just look at the Ripper killings a few years back.”

Another group of papers moved from one corner of his desk to another, followed by a thorough reshuffling. “And what's your point?”

“We
can
solve this case properly, Corporal, and have an end to it by five o'clock tomorrow. We will bring justice where it is due and make certain that the murderer of Captain Bellingham and his wife pays the price at the end of a rope.”

“And why are you telling me this?”

“Because you could make the difference.” I leaned forward and locked eyes with him. “Corporal Bramwood, you could make
all
the difference.”

“I don't have any idea what you're getting at.” His voice was clipped and strained, but he did not drop his gaze.

“It's the letter, Corporal. The one Captain Bellingham wrote to Lady Stuart. I should very much like to get my hands on that letter for just this one night. I can have it back in your hands with the dawn, delivered whenever and wherever you tell me.”

“Out of the question!” he snapped, turning back to his desk.

I was glad he had looked away, as I'm certain despair was etched all across my face. While it was certainly the answer I had expected, it was distressing to hear just the same. I leaned back and watched as he shoved an appointment book into a top drawer. This was it. He was clearly ready to go home. “I'm sorry,” I blustered out of nowhere. “I just assumed you had access to the safe.”

“I have access.” He turned on me as though I had questioned the very state of his virility. “Who do you think put the wretched thing in there?”

“Then I don't understand. I know you admired Captain Bellingham. You told us so yourself. This case can be finished tomorrow. The Bellinghams avenged—”

The corporal scowled. “You can do all that with one letter?”

“The letter is critical.”

“I read it. I didn't see anything so important there.”

“To be honest, Corporal Bramwood”—I offered a crooked smile as though we were in league—“neither did I. But Mr. Pendragon insists differently, and in all the years I've watched him work, I have never seen his instincts fail him.”

“You have great faith in your Mr. Pendragon,” he said with a noticeable measure of animosity.

“It's not faith.” I smiled. “I have been at his side for almost a dozen years now. Time and again I have been witness to the depth of his abilities, and while his methods and demeanor can be unorthodox”—I gave an uneasy shrug—“even abrasive . . . his skill is without equal. And tonight, Corporal, I am telling you that there is no one here who can have a greater impact on this case than you. That letter, something you and I have both dismissed, may well hold the key to the solution of this case and I am beseeching you to allow me to take it for just a few hours.” I held his eyes and endured the discomfort of him studying me, gauging, I am sure, my sincerity.

“I'm not sure I like your Mr. Pendragon,” he said after a moment. “I don't know why I should help him.”

“It's not for him,” I scoffed. “You misunderstand me, Corporal. This has nothing to do with him. It is about Captain Bellingham and his wife, Gwendolyn.” And even though I felt as if I had just wielded a sledgehammer, I thought I detected a crack in his façade.

“I have no desire to cooperate with your Mr. Pendragon,” he said again, only this time with an odd gruffness. “And I am not all that interested in helping you, either,” he added, “but Captain Bellingham was good to me, kind to me, at a time when many others were not. I owe him a great deal and never had the chance to tell him.” He glanced down and I watched as his body sagged the tiniest bit. “I won't be the reason some bastard gets away with what was done to him.”

I nodded but kept silent, my heart ramping up with hope that maybe . . . just maybe . . .

“However”—he leaned across the desk and his eyes flashed angrily—“I will not take a fall for you or Mr. Pendragon. When I walk through that door at five forty-five tomorrow morning the first thing I will do is open that safe to get Major Hampstead's ledger, same as I do every day, and if you haven't already handed that letter back to me I shall send up an alarm that the safe's been breached. And you can be sure I will tell them how you were poking around asking to see it tonight. The two of you won't see the arrival of six o'clock before a contingent of Life Guards will be raging at your door.”

“I would expect no less,” I immediately agreed.

Without another word, he stood up and went to the safe, tumbling the dial with the assurance of someone who did it routinely. At the sound of a loud
click!
he yanked one of the horizontal handles and swung the massive door wide. He reached in and extracted the familiar envelope with its hastily torn flap sticking up and then slammed it shut again, tossing the envelope into my lap. “There,” he said with finality.

I stared at it like some sort of feral thing, fearful that I was about to find myself the brunt of a terrible hoax. That as soon as I picked it up a phalanx of the Queen's Regiment would come tumbling out from the blackened inner office to arrest me for what I had attempted to do. “I will be outside by five fifteen tomorrow morning waiting for you,” I said, my heart thundering as I stood up. “I shall not let you down.”

He shrugged. “Makes little difference to me.”

I slid the letter into my coat. “You have done a noble thing.”

“If you don't mind . . . ,” he muttered as he crossed back behind his desk, otherwise ignoring me.

“Of course. Thank you, Corporal Bramwood.” He did not respond as I moved to the door, and I took his silence as a warning to get out quickly lest he should change his mind. With my heart pounding in my ears, I hurried off, hoping I would be able to dissolve into the night long before he could do so.