“Answer the question, Mr. Chesterton,” Constable Brendle warned yet again. “Answer it as if I had asked you myself. I shall
not
tell you again.”
Raleigh Chesterton's face contorted with his displeasure. “Yeah, I brought him. Them kegs are too big fer me ta handle on me own. And them monks ain't much use. Most of 'em make
me
look lively.” He cracked a slight, one-sided smile at his own joke, but there was little merriment behind his eyes. “Edward Honeycutt's a good lad, Constable. Ya know it like ya know yer own men here,” he said, gesturing to Mr. Whitsett and Mr. Masri, who had thankfully remained as stoic as statues. “Don't let these dandies turn yer head against him,” he sneered, and the way he said it made me feel abhorred.
“No one is altering the way they look at anyone, Mr. Chesterton,” the constable answered tightly. “We are collecting facts and nothing more.” It was heartening to hear him parrot back Colin's own words even though it seemed to have no effect in mollifying Mr. Chesterton.
“And how long has Edward been doing your ledgers?” Colin pressed with his usual determination.
“'Bout a year, I suppose.”
“Do you review young Mr. Honeycutt's work?”
Mr. Chesterton's eyes flicked over to Colin with a disapproving scowl and then shifted immediately back to Constable Brendle. “What for? That's what he gets paid ta do. If I gotta do 'em myself, then I sure as hell don't need him.”
“And who's idea was it that he should start assisting with the monks' ledgers?” Colin continued as if the answers being hurtled back were as pleasant as a teatime repast.
“You'd have ta ask them.”
“Did Maureen O'Dowd ever tell you that she planned to marry Edward Honeycutt and move to London with him?”
Something feral seemed to pass behind Mr. Chesterton's eyes as he took a moment before answering. “I knew,” he finally admitted. “She didn't think I knew, but I did. She told anybody who'd listen. Weren't no secret in that.”
“Do you think it plausible that Mr. Honeycutt and Miss O'Dowd were ever really going to be able to move to London on the salary they were each earning at your fine establishment?”
Raleigh Chesterton puckered his face having clearly caught the scorn in Colin's words. “Why the feck would I pay a bit a mind ta what them two was talkin' about doin'?”
“That seems curious,” Colin muttered with feigned innocence. “They would appear to have represented a good portion of your staff. Wouldn't losing the two of them require your finding suitable replacements? That could hardly be an easy task in such a small town as Dalwich.”
“I got plenty a help. You're a bloody arse.”
“
Mr. Chesterton!
” the constable scolded, sounding undeniably fatigued by his continuing endeavor to get the older man to behave.
A taut grin drifted across Colin's face an instant before he breached the subject I knew he'd been eager to address from the start. “Mr. Chesterton, did you know that Miss O'Dowd was pregnant?”
For the first time since his arrival Mr. Chesterton's face was shot full of surprise as his eyes flicked over to Colin. “She what . . . ?” His mouth gaped open as his arms fell to his sides. I heard a stunned breath exhaled and thought at first that it was Mr. Chesterton, but as his jaw remained slack I realized it had come from either Mr. Masri or Mr. Whitsett, who were standing behind me. “Bloody hell . . .” Raleigh Chesterton finally muttered with a shake of his head. “Does Edward know?” And this time he asked Colin directly with neither disparagement nor distaste.
“He does,” Colin answered. “Are you surprised that neither of them told you . . . ?”
“Huh . . . ? Surprised . . . ?” It took a second before the scowl slowly re-formed on his forehead. “Nah . . .” His voice had grown cold again. “They don't have ta tell me shite.” But I was certain he felt otherwise.
“Did you ever hear Edward profess any desire to have a family?”
“Well, who doesn't?” he snapped carelessly, which I thought curious given his own state of childlessness.
“Do you suppose Edward is ready to do so now?”
“And how the bleedin' hell would I know that . . . ?” he hurled back, his shock at learning of Miss O'Dowd's pregnancy clearly overshadowed by Colin's persistent line of questioning. “I ain't his ruddy parent. The bloke works for me. That's all.”
“I know you were close to Miss O'Dowd, and I can see the same is true between you and young Mr. Honeycutt. You mustn't take offense. I'm only trying to ascertain if either of them had confided anything to you that might prove to have value to this case. You mustn't get upset.”
“I ain't upset.”
“Of course not,” Colin answered in the face of the man's truculent scowl. “I can see that.”
“Them two was daft about each other. Anybody with half a brain knew it. If ya think Edward had anything ta do with her murder, then you're a bigger shite than I already pegged ya for.”
“In the face of great passion there are often found the scars of terrible tragedy.” Colin spoke slowly, as much for the constable and his men, I was certain, as for Mr. Chesterton. “It is usually wrought from the seeds of jealousy, or perceived betrayal, or the sudden cooling of affections by one of the pair. Mr. Pruitt and I have beheld such travesties in too many cases over the years. It is foolish to rule out such a possibility no matter the seeming absurdity of the notion. And that is why I seek to understand whether your Mr. Honeycutt may have been feeling the pressure of his decision to marry and move to London when the fact of impending fatherhood had so suddenly become a part of that equation. Given that he had no prospects for employment, you must admit that it adds up to a very profound burden, wouldn't you say?”
Raleigh Chesterton glared at Colin a minute before finally settling on the only answer I assumed he could come up with. “You're a feckin' wanker.”
“When is the last time you and Mr. Honeycutt were up at the monastery?” Colin moved right ahead as though Mr. Chesterton had not said a word.
“Last Thursday.”
“The day after the abbot's murder.”
“If you say so.”
“Did you speak to any of the monks about the murder when you were out there?”
“Well, a course. Brother Clayworth was natterin' on like a bloomin' scullery maid.”
“And did he tell you and Edward Honeycutt exactly how his abbot had been murdered?”
“He didn't have ta.” Mr. Chesterton sniffed with an odd sort of pride. “The constable had already told me about it the night before when he came ta me tavern for a drink.”
Colin glanced over at Constable Brendle and I caught the fair-skinned young man noticeably flush. “Did he mention the bit about the severed tongue?”
“It was foolish of me,” the constable said with embarrassment. “Be assured that I shall never make such an error again.”
Colin swept his eyes over to Mr. Chesterton even as he waved a dismissive hand toward Constable Brendle. “And did you tell Edward Honeycutt?”
“I s'pose I did,” came the irritable reply. “What of it?”
“What indeed . . . ?” Colin responded, giving the first warm smile since Mr. Chesterton's arrival. But if Colin meant to impugn Edward Honeycutt, I found it impossible to concur.
CHAPTER 23
“I
always thought the lad would do right by his family,” Graham Whitsett was saying as he guided the horse and landau carriage toward the Honeycutt farm just outside of Dalwich, “but I can see how you would have suspicions given his access to the monastery and the work you say he was doing on their ledgers. If that abbot discovered Edward pilfering their accounts so he and Miss O'Dowd could go to London . . .” He let out a low whistle as though the obviousness of his words required any further demarcation.
For once I wished it had been raining so we could raise the coach's roof and shut the overly eager Mr. Whitsett out from where he sat in front of and above us. He was nice enough, yet his accidental shooting of the constable and Mr. Masri had propelled him into an orbit of almost giddy earnestness that I could not help but find grating. I understood that he was only attempting to make amends for his terrible mistake, but it made little difference and I wished he would seek some solace in a touch of introspection.
A quick shift of my eyes revealed Colin's expression to still be filled with the same somber intensity that had flooded over him while we'd been in Constable Brendle's rooms. Given his near silence on this journey to the Honeycutt farm I knew he was busy reflecting upon one possibility after another and was anxious to see where his thoughts might be leading him. Did he believe as Mr. Whitsett was stating, or was there someone else upon whom his greatest suspicions lie?
“Have you been able to learn anything else about that poor abbot's murder now that you've been staying at the monastery?” Mr. Whitsett continued to prattle on, turning around in his seat as he was wont to do, his gangly arms and bony shoulders accentuating the unusual length of his frame.
“Not yet,” Colin answered dismissively.
“You mustn't lose faith,” Mr. Whitsett called back over his shoulder.
Colin jerked his head up as he stared at the back of Mr. Whitsett. “What?”
“Faith . . .” Mr. Whitsett repeated, tossing us a hopeful look. “You cannot lose faith.”
Colin glanced at me as one of his eyebrows arced toward the open sky. “You may rest assured, Mr. Whitsett, that a shortage of faith in my abilities is never the issue.” Mr. Whitsett laughed, but then he had no way of knowing that Colin was being entirely serious.
I, on the other hand, found myself continuing to struggle with grave uncertainties around the abbot's murder. Not only had Colin's prowling about the monastery's library for almost three hours the night before revealed nothing, but I had suffered a similar lack of success myself during my deplorable time spent in the abbot's cell. And I had been meticulous in my efforts. Colin had barely taken his leave of me in that spectre-laden cell before I'd finally managed to corral my better nature and set about the duty I was tasked.
Tearing copious sheets of paper from my notebook, I laid them out across the small table and began to color over each sheet with broad strokes from the pencil I kept in my valise. I took special care over every ridge, dent, and bump on the tabletop, hoping to lift a few words of value from within the murky gray scribbles I was creating in an ever-widening arc. And I did find some. There was part of a Psalm that I recognized and a bit of some biblical quote that I did not, as well as various words, or pieces of words, that seemed to have no correlation to one another whatsoever. Even Colin had looked at my endeavors in the morning light with less than his usual enthusiasm before tucking it all into his coat pocket. Which left it impossible for me to feel the same level of faith that Colin insisted he maintained, and therefore I could only offer an uneasy smile as Mr. Whitsett brayed at what he thought was meant to be a joke.
“May I ask you a personal question, Mr. Whitsett?” Colin spoke again as we finally turned onto the long dirt drive up to the Honeycutt house.
“Anything at all.”
“Are you married?”
“Married . . . ?” He released a leaden sigh. “I was,” he said after a moment. “My wife died almost four years ago now. She was a delicate girl, my Ava. Couldn't carry a child nearly long enough. The last one”âhe tilted his head slightly and gazed ahead as we continued to jostle along the ruts in the driveâ“she got sick and there wasn't anything anyone could do about it. I lost her and the baby. Would've been a son too . . .” He shook his head as his voice drifted to silence.
“I'm sorry to hear that,” Colin said, and I suddenly felt guilty for the impatience I had been feeling against this poor man.
Mr. Whitsett settled a warm grin back onto his face as he turned to look at us. “Well, I'm happy to say that I've been squiring the sweetest girl for the last bunch of months. She lives in Arundel with her parents, so I only get to see her on the occasional weekends. Her father is an advocate for the courts there. That's how I met her, through him. He's a kind and whip-smart man who likes the fact that I help keep order here in Dalwich.” His pride was well evident. “But his daughter is like a porcelain doll. Tiny and fragile . . .” He outright laughed. “I know we make the most unusual pair when I'm escorting her about, me nearly as tall as the trees and her no bigger than a flower, but I don't care. Neither one of us cares.” He gave a contented shrug as he swung his eyes forward. “I may ask her to marry me one of these days and then I'll be able to answer
yes
if you ever ask me that question again.”
“I shall hope to hear of your nuptials quite soon then.” Colin smiled. “And Mr. Masri . . . ? How long has he been married?”
“As long as I've known him,” came the answer. “He has a handsome wife. A great, full-bodied woman. But they do get to arguing sometimes. I suppose that's what suits them.” He shrugged as the Honeycutt home came into view, its modest size and unadorned façade leaving it to look like the clapboard box it was with its simple black pitched roof atop.
“Mr. Whitsett . . . ?” Colin's voice quite abruptly turned curiously provocative. “In the time between your wife's death and your fine courtship with the young woman from Arundel, did you ever have occasion for a shag or two with Miss O'Dowd?”
Because Mr. Whitsett was facing away from us I did not hesitate to drop my jaw and roll my eyes before expelling a disbelieving breath. And while I felt Colin's eyes boring into the side of my face, I did not dare look at him as I knew he would justify the bluntness of his question until the end of eternity.
“No, sir,” Mr. Whitsett answered after a moment, and I suspected that he too had been quite caught unawares. “I thought she was a lovely girl, funny and all, but I didn't look at her that way.”
“And Mr. Masri?”
“He's married.”
“So you've mentioned,” Colin muttered drolly. “But did he ever have it off with Miss O'Dowd and perhaps brag about it to you?”
“Well, she
was
more his type . . .” came the thoughtful reply, “. . . since he likes his women rounder and all, but he never said any such thing to me. Not that he would have, mind you.”
“And what about your constable?” Colin pressed ahead, and now I knew he was testing Mr. Whitsett.
“Constable Brendle is a fine and honorable man,” came the answer as he eased the coach to a stop near the short fence that encircled the Honeycutts' home. “That's all I know.”
“Of course,” Colin muttered as the two of us climbed down from the open cab. “You know that he's already admitted such an indiscretion to us himself. Does that change the extent of your feelings toward him?”
“Not in the least. That's his business to tell you, not mine.”
Colin smiled with satisfaction, his azure eyes catching the midday sun with a sparkle. “Then you have just proven your own honor as well, Mr. Whitsett.” He nodded and stepped away from the carriage before just as quickly halting and turning back around. “Our thanks to you for this ride, and you needn't wait on us. We shall make our own way back to Whitmore Abbey.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, and I would have said that he sounded almost crestfallen. “I think the constable might be happy to a have little time to himself,” he admitted with a shy sort of smile.
“Quite,” Colin called back as he headed for the front door that, even now, was being pulled open. “We've bothered you more than enough for one day.”
I turned to find Colin smiling beatifically at a lovely girl in her middle teens with waves of dark brown hair cascading below her shoulders and warm honey-brown eyes. She was dressed simply in a white dress that was gathered just below the bodice, accentuating a lush figure that made me suspect she would be married before very much longer. Tied over the bottom part of the dress was an apron cinched around her waist that was smudged with flour and something faintly yellow, butter I presumed, attesting to the fact that she, and probably all of the girls in the Honeycutt household, were expected to earn their keep, just as we already knew the boys did. While the young woman did not smile back at Colin, neither was her face closed or disapproving. “Yes . . . ?” she asked as her eyes flicked to me and then the carriage with Mr. Whitsett that was just now disappearing from view.
“Colin Pendragon and Ethan Pruitt,” Colin announced with bountiful pleasure. “And you are?” I knew he hadn't the slightest recollection of most of the Honeycutt children's names, but I was willing to bet this was the second oldest daughter, Francine.
“Francine,” she answered even as I was thinking it, her eyes narrowing the tiniest bit. “You're those ones was talkin' to Edward, aren't ya?”
“Indeed, we are,” Colin answered, his smile remaining indelibly intact as he tipped his head ever so slightly. “And I'm afraid we have come to bother him with just a few more questions. Is he at home?”
“'Oo is it?” a woman's voice hollered from somewhere behind the girl, and I was certain it had to be Mrs. Honeycutt.
“Them blokes was askin' about Edward a few days ago,” Francine shouted back over her shoulder without bothering to fully turn her head away from us. “They say they wanna talk ta 'im again.”
“Well, let 'em in. We ain't got nothin' ta 'ide.” The girl immediately did as bade, swinging the door wide and stepping back even as her mother came pounding down the stairs. “Gentlemen,” she said with the same sort of taut smile she'd displayed on our first visit, which seemed to belie her statement of a moment ago. “Come in and settle yerselves. Frannie, go tell Ben ta fetch Edward. 'E's round back tendin' to the layin 'ens.” As Francine scurried down the hall toward the back of the house, Mrs. Honeycutt showed us to a tidy, if compact, front room to the right of the entrance that was filled with well-worn furniture and an old stone fireplace that had years of char scorched across its face. The meticulousness of the room was most impressive given that I remembered the Honeycutts to be raising nine children. “Clare . . .” Mrs. Honeycutt called back toward the stairs, “fetch some tea and biscuits fer our guests.”
“You mustn't go to any trouble,” Colin said at once as she gestured us to the cornflower-blue slope-backed couch with its cloth button tufting. It had obviously been a fine piece of furniture at one time, though its fabric was now thin in spots and its stuffing had shifted over the years, leaving me to land rather harshly when I hit the cushion.
“'Tis no trouble.” She waved us off, her deep brown hair held up with a confluence of pins atop her head. Despite a figure that showed the effects of having borne so many children, I pegged her to be no more than a handful of years older than me, and it was still easy to see where her daughter had gotten her comely looks from. “Is there some trouble?” she asked after she settled herself down on a chair across from us, her face clearly revealing her concern.
“Not at all,” Colin assured with a warm, patient smile. “We are merely looking for a bit of additional information. Your Edward seems to be a fine lad,” he added, but it wasn't as filled with the reassurance of his first statement. “You really mustn't worry yourself.”
“I'm afraid 'tis a mother's job ta worry,” she replied with the same tight smile, and her words instantly sliced through me as thoughts of my own mother stormed my mind.
A young woman with a tall, bony frame, almost boyish in figure, swept into the room with a tea tray full of mismatched cups and saucers and a plate of shortbread biscuits with an ample jar of jam. “Eddie's comin',” she announced as she set the tray down on the heavily scarred table between the couch and the chair where Mrs. Honeycutt sat.
“All right, darlin',” Mrs. Honeycutt said as she scooted forward and quickly poured three cups of tea. “This is me daughter Clare,” she muttered, pushing two of the cups toward us along with a nicked ceramic creamer and a small pewter sugar bowl. “She's a good girl,” she added, though I had no idea why.
Clare Honeycutt gave us an odd, off-balanced curtsy as if we were nobility and then bowed her head, casting her gaze to the floor. “'At's fine.” Her mother tipped her a tender grin before waving her out of the room. “Now go on and git back ta yer chores.”
The girl scuttled out of the room in a curious way that made me realize she was simple in her manner. It had to be a particularly grave disappointment given that she was their eldest daughter. Nevertheless, Mrs. Honeycutt made no mention of it, which I admired, and a moment later young, handsome Edward Honeycutt entered the room, wiping his hands on a rag.
“Mr. Pendragon . . . Mr. Pruitt . . .” he said with a note of surprise, making it clear his younger brother had told him nothing of why he was being summoned.
“Young Master Honeycutt.” Colin stood up with a smile, holding out a hand.